My Vietnamese Secretary Pt. 03

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Last night had been crazy. I knew she was coming over for only a short while and I hadn’t really expected to have more than a couple of glasses of wine with her, chatting, showing off my wonderful view of the lake in front of my home. But things had moved very swiftly after a rather slow start. We made out on my couch; not really made out but some very very intense foreplay that had left me sexually frustrated when she had to up and leave.

After a bout of heavy necking and caressing, we had kissed. And as the kissing got heavier, I touched a lot of skin. I felt up her breasts, her abdomen; I managed to unbutton and unzip her jeans and slip my hand inside to feel the thick bushy undergrowth of her pubic curls. But I never got her clothes off. I felt up her taut little arse and fondled her tits from on top of her blouse. She rubbed herself against the bulge of my engorged penis but never took it out from inside my Levi’s.

Nguyet isn’t my secretary. In fact she heads one of the critical departments in the firm that I manage across the Asian region. From regional headquarters in New Delhi, India I oversee our offices across the Indian subcontinent, Southeast Asia, the Far East and Indochina. For the last few months, I’ve been working out of the Hanoi, Vietnam office because the GM left quite suddenly and we haven’t been able to find a replacement. And in all honesty, I haven’t been trying too hard.

My personal secretary, executive assistant, had to quit her job because of some personal commitments that I’m not really aware of, and Nguyet has taken on the role as my Chief of Staff here in Hanoi, in addition to her business development functions. She’s under a lot of pressure at work but has the ability and the energy to still sustain a rigorous and demanding schedule.

So…., after she left last night, I tried to get some sleep after successfully avoiding the temptation of masturbating myself to a release. I slept fitfully, waking up frequently amidst feverish dreams of erotica that involved women that I knew and some that I didn’t. Early, at about 5:00 in the morning, I decided to stop trying to find a peaceful somnambulant phantom zone and got out of bed instead. After the briefest amount of time spent on ablutions, I pulled on a t-shirt, tracksuit, socks and running shoes and hit the road. I ran eight kilometers, walked another few, and got back home by 7:00. The sun had risen.

As soon as I got back into my apartment, my phone rang. I pulled off the sweat drenched t-shirt and threw it into the laundry bin before picking up the cell phone. I was surprised to see it was Nguyet calling; I hesitated for a second before tapping the appropriate icon for call pickup. Before I could utter a word, I heard her say “Allo? Hjjer? Are you awake? Hi, its me. Are you angry?” All rattled off in a sequential string of phrases.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I responded “Hi Nguyet. Yes I’m here and I’m awake. And ‘no’ I’m not angry.”

“Are you planning to go out for a walk around the lake this morning?” she asked. So I told her I’d already been out for a run and had, in fact, just returned. She sounded disappointed when she said “Oh! I just got my bicycle out and thought I’d go cycling around Westlake and maybe catch you on your morning walk. It’s not even 7:30; why did you go so early?”

I felt no animosity towards her despite her getting me all coiled up and sexually charged the previous night, and then abruptly walking out on me. In fact I was happy that she’d called and I welcomed the opportunity of spending some more time with her.

“I can go out for another walk. Give me about half an hour to shave and shower. If you leave now, that should give you enough time to cycle through the Water Park and I could meet you somewhere on Quang Ba, the road that runs along the western shoreline of the lake.”

“OK. See you soon”. That’s all she said, and then disconnected. I shaved and showered before pulling on a pair of fresh khakis and slipping in to my chinos. I settled for a collared t-shirt since the sky was clear and the fog was lifting; it would be pleasant without any chill in the air. For the second time that morning, I set out on my preferred route around Tay Ho.

After about 25 minutes of a pleasant walk, I saw her in the distance. Although I couldn’t discern her features too clearly, I just knew it was her. The fog hadn’t lifted completely and there was a mild haze in the air. Across a bend in the lakeshore road, as I walked along the tree lined footpath, I saw her riding a bicycle about half a kilometer away. She wasn’t wearing a helmet and her hair was lose, bouncing on her shoulders as she pedaled gracefully. She was wearing loose pajama like pants and a long long shirt. As we got closer — she hadn’t spotted me yet but I knew she was peering ahead — I realised she was wearing an Ao Dai (pronounced Ao zai).

The trousers were black, and the shirt was almost a gown. I knew it would be slit at the waist, about three inches above the waistband of her trousers. The slit causes tuzla escort two lengthy drapes of fabric; one in front and the other at the back. She would be sitting on the length of fabric behind her to prevent it from getting caught in the spokes of the cycle’s wheels or dusting the street. The front would either be bunched up around her crotch or let loose over her pumping thighs.

She was now barely 25 metres away from me but her focus was beyond me, which is why she still hadn’t seen me. The top of the Ao Dai (literally, shirt long) was tailored fashionably in a tight fit across her torso as the modern Vietnamese girls wore their national dress. Nguyet’s dress was a blue-grey outfit with flower patterns across the chest and a matching band at the hem.

Now 10 yards away, she looked absolutely the most beautiful sight I had seen in a very long time. In a few seconds she was going past. I let her cross me and then said aloud “That is the prettiest woman I have ever seen in Vietnam…” Although she wasn’t cycling at a very fast clip, she clutched the hand brakes and the wheels actually screeched to a halt.

“Hjjer!” she almost screamed, even without turning around to see if it really was me. She leaned the cycle against a tree on the side and came running back about 20 feet and threw her arms around me, hugging me tight as she placed her head sideways against my chest. I had a huge grin on my face when she looked up, playfully angry that I had probably been watching her all along and hadn’t waved to her or stopped her from cycling past me. I wrapped my arms around her and we laughed.

I said “Let me look at you for a minute; you look absolutely gorgeous. Most beautiful sight.”

“You like it? I wore it for you. It’s my favourite non-formal Ao Dai.”

“I love it. But more than the dress, I love how you look in it. You look so completely different from your day to day office demeanour. I’m so glad you wore this today.” We stepped off the road and got on to the shaded footpath. I lifted the bike off the road and leaned it against the railing between the footpath and the embankment. And then, Holding her hands in mine, I stared at her.

Her face was radiant; the black hair raining from her head to her shoulders was shining like a raven’s feathers. She kept smiling, allowing me to drink in her presence, and the vision in front of me. Like a bodice, the top of her shirt was tight like a glove across her body. Buttons ran down from her neck almost to her left armpit in a 45-degree slant that represented the collar of the dress. And then the swell of her breasts.

Broad daylight, no privacy, but I was getting intoxicated looking at her and imagining her body underneath the dress. It was easy to detect her brassiere under the shirt because, in addition to being a tight fit, it was also fashionably transparent. Her bra was white, and I could see everything from the straps over her shoulders to the lace that bordered the cups. I raised my arms and placed my hands on her hips, saying “I want you out of the dress”.

She laughed a beautiful tinkling laughter. “I thought you just said you liked me IN the dress?”

“I do. But I want your body against mine. Can’t we go home now?”

“You sure?”

I didn’t respond to that. Instead, I walked over to her bicycle, put it on the road and straddled it. I turned around and said “Let’s go”. She walked up slowly, gathered the flow of her long shirt, and sat side saddle on the carrier behind me, looping her arms around my waist as I pushed the pedals with my feet and set off. I set off at a fairly brisk pace because I was in a hurry to get Nguyet home. All of last night’s frustrations resulting from her sudden departure were gone.

As I was cycling along the smooth tarmac, she suddenly squeezed around my girth and said “Wait, wait, wait, wait…. Look. You see that hut at the end of the walkway?” I looked at what she was pointing at and I saw what I see every weekend when I go out for my morning walk/jog. At this point where we were, one side of the road has the lake and the other side has a fairly large lotus pond. It’s a lot larger than a pond of course, because it is a lotus farm. During the latter part of summer, the waters are full of lotus flowers at one corner of this particular pond; the rest of it is harvested before they fully bloom.

The plant is harvested for many reasons: home decor and lotus tea being the main reasons. But the owners leave a section untrammelled and almost an acre of water is covered with the beautiful shades of pink and red. The lotus flower symbolizes purity in the Buddhist and Hindu religions, and is the national flower of both Vietnam and India. During the weeks that they bloom, this farm sees hordes of Vietnamese girls and women who come here to be photographed against the backdrop, all wearing their best Ao Dai dresses.

Extending into the middle of the farm is a wooden plank pier or walkway, at the end of which are tethered a number of boats ucuz escort made of woven bamboo. The girls like to get into that and row a few metres into the flowers; that make for the best pictures. Now, in winter, everything is still there except the flowers. Nguyet was pointing to the walkway and saying “Let’s go there for a minute. Come. Come Hjjer.”

I stopped the bike on the side of the road and she slipped off. I picked it up and rested it against the railing on the lakeside and chained it to one of the rods, locking it in place. We crossed the single lane road to the other side and walked up to the hutment from where the pier began. Other than a friendly mongrel, there was no sign of life. I pushed past a wicker gate and drew her along, holding her hand. We reached the end of the jetty and she sat down on the planks, pulling the tail of her Ao Dai up before placing her bum on the edge and letting her legs dangle over.

The sun barely filtered through the clouds and the fog had mainly lifted. The landing we were on rested on four thick bamboo poles that were obviously driven into the muddy bottom of the pond. hitched to these rods beneath us were six of the basket boats, stationery in the still waters below. Reed like stems, dried and brown, stuck out of the water around us; they were the remains of last summers blooms. By April next year, they would be extracted from the mud and fresh plantings done.

I told Nguyet to wait while I walked back to the hutment. “Where are you going, Hjjer. Come and sit with me. I didn’t come her to be alone'” she cried after me. I turned around, smiled at her, and said I’d be back in half a minute. When I reached the hut, the mongrel was wagging her tail and looked up expectantly. I cuffed her and rubbed behind her ears as she rose, licking the back of my hand and feverishly wagging her tail.

I looked at the darkened walls and found what I had come looking for: six keys to the locks that bound the bamboo boats to the pier. I plucked one off the hook and walked back to Nguyet with the dog happily following me now. When I reached her, she looked up and smiled that beatific oriental smile, gleaming white crooked teeth and all. She looked at the dog and said “You found a new girlfriend, I notice.” Raising her hand, she tickled the mongrel behind her ears, said something in Vietnamese to her, and they were friends suddenly.

She was looking up at me, smiling beautifully as the misty light washed her face and a slight breeze tossed her hair. “Come, sit” she said, patting the wooden floor next to her. The dog sat down next to her. I, instead, went to the five step ladder and scaled down to where the boats were tied. Using the key I’d brought with me, I started inserting it into the locks one by one. On the fourth attempt, I successfully unlocked a boat and looked up at her.

“Reaching a hand up, I said “Come on. Let’s go”. She was looking dazed and a little confounded, but still had that wonderful smile on her face. She stood up and quickly walked to the ladder as I kept my hand outstretched. But she didn’t take my hand, turning around instead so she could step down the ladder facing inwards and away from the water. She took the five steps down, I reached up and held her gently behind her knees to ease her descent.

As she slid down, my hands glided up the silky trousers and I felt the firm roundness of her delectable arse, the ridge of her panties lightly brushing past my fingers. As she descended, my hands still supporting her slid along the side of her long shirt, the Ao Dai, and felt the contours of her boobs. Unable to resist, I clutched them as she gained her balance on the rocking boat, ostensibly to steady her. They were ripe but firm, perfectly shaped in the cups of her brassiere.

We settled on to the single plank that crossed the middle of the circular basket, balanced it with our weight, and then looked at each other. There were no oars to row the boat. “What next, my knight in shining armour. How do we escape now?” she jocularly asked. I looked up at the dog two metres above us and saw she was frantically wagging her tail, wanting desperately to join us. And then she did; she just leapt off the top and landed on our laps.

The boat rocked vehemently, almost knocking Nguyet out as she screamed and laughed and grabbed at my t-shirt. I had an arm around her in no time, steadying her as we guffawed and cackled to the surrounding water and each other. The dog settled in front of our legs, her chin resting on Nguyet’s knees as she stroked the mutt’s nuzzle.

I rowed with my hands, and by grabbing the stems that stuck out of the water and drew us forward. We went to the edge of the farm, rowing and pulling. Then circled around, occasionally finding a stray lotus flower in late and unseasonal bloom. The water was cold on my hands so I rowed less and instead perfected the art of holding the old lotus stems and pulling us along. Half an hour in the boat with almost three accidents where one ümraniye escort of us, including the dog, nearly fell out.

But she was absolutely radiant, her hair loose and shiny; her face smooth and clear in the daylight. Her breasts firm and round inside her tightly fitting shirt, the outline of her brassiere clearly visible. In fact, the protrusion of her nipples were stark against the otherwise smooth satin texture of the Ao Dai and I even imagined I could see the brown aureoles through fabric and bra. My imagination was running wild.

When we finally went back, I had to lift our canine companion and place her on the jetty before helping Nguyet up the ladder. After that, I locked the boat back in place and went up as well. I kissed her on the cheek and on the lips as we held each other; survivors after a dangerous maritime journey. Leaving the mutt behind in the hut, not allowing her to come past the wicker gate, was a saddening experience. Nguyet sat down with the mongrel for a few minutes, caressing and tickling and rubbing and talking to her; promising to come back and visit. As we left, her tail-wagging slowed down and her eyes softened as she saw us cross the street towards our bike.

We continued on our way home, a little sombre to start with, but then as I began to race down the street, Nguyet clutched me so tight, I had to briefly turn around and say “You’re going to kill me with that strong-woman grip. Ease up, baby.” She didn’t ease up, but I continued cycling at a fairly steady and rapid pace for the next few minutes. Her breasts were flattened against my back, rubbing from side to side as I pedaled along.

But then I suddenly slowed down again, stopped pedaling, and let the bike coast; a sudden thought had struck me. Nguyet wrapped her arms tighter around me and almost whispered into the breeze, “What? What, Hjjer? Something stopped you. You had a thought. What is it?” That incisive mind again, I thought to myself.

“Nothing” I replied.

But she persisted. “Hjjer? baby? I know when something enters your mind. Tell me.”

So I did. “Will you have to leave again in a hurry?”

I felt her palms rub over my chest as she pressed her cheek against my back. She didn’t say anything, but I felt comforted by her physical communication. I sensed that she would not leave me today. I placed a hand over hers on my chest and began cycling again. We were about a kilometer from home and I was in a hurry. I pumped hard, trying to keep my balance as the bicycle — a few sizes too small for me and modeled a lady’s bike — wobbled when the toes of my chinos almost scraped the road.

I got there in a few minutes, but stopped at the store two blocks away. We went in together and said “Xin Chao” to the girl at the counter. She replied with a “Chao Ban” and after the greetings proceeded to have a conversation with Nguyet. While they spoke I went to the shelves containing wine and picked up a white Chardonnay and a red Shiraz. I bought a pack of Gitanes and a handful of other stuff and paid for it with some cash which I had slipped into my pocket just before leaving home earlier.

We walked the last 50 yards home with Nguyet holding the bag of purchases and I wheeling along the bike. I punched in the security code to enter the building and locked her bike in the garage before getting into the elevator. Unlocking the door, I let her enter first, then took the bag from her and headed to the kitchen. She took off her sandals by the entrance and walked barefoot to the balcony across the living room.

Staring out, she said “It looks so different in the day time. But still so beautiful even though the sky is grey; the water ripples and that I love.” I walked up to her after placing the Chardonnay in the refrigerator and pushed my arms around her waist. Looking over her head through the glass sliders, I saw that the fog had completely lifted and the sun was making a half hearted attempt at breaking through the cloud cover.

I parted the doors and we stepped out together, feeling the slight chill as my body temperature approached normal after the bike ride. I opened the pack of cigarettes and lit up, leaving it in the ashtray outside after a couple of pulls before going back in. I had intended to open a bottle of wine but realising it may be too early, decided to call out to Nguyet and asked what she’d like to drink?

“It’s only 10 o’clock but let’s be naughty and have a vodka!” she exclaimed. She walked back into the apartment and came up to me in the kitchen. “I’ve had breakfast so I think I can stomach it” she said.

I grinned at her; she was being my kind of girl now. “You sure?” I asked, using one of her pet phrases. We laughed together and she gave me an impish grin back. “Do you like tomato juice?” I said.

“For a cocktail? Lovely idea. Lets, lets!!” she exclaimed, actually clapping her hands together.

I didn’t have a shaker so I plucked out a couple of highball glasses and proceeded to make a drink for her. I poured in a couple of ounces of Finlandia and another two ounces of tomato juice, droplets of Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco, ground some pepper into it, dumped a fistful of ice cubes and squeezed a quarter of lemon juice. Taking another highball, I poured the mixture back and forth between the glasses till I had a fairly chilled drink in one hand, which I raised and proffered to her.

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