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Women Masturbation

A Blog By Nancy Underwood

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Nancy Underwood

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Miss Trimble

If you wanted cold, quiet, and efficient, then yes, that was Jane Trimble. If you wanted immaculately turned out, that was definitely Jane Trimble. Everything was expensive, classy, tasteful. Nothing overstated, nothing flashy, nothing that reminded you of sex. Blue skirt suits beautifully cut, A line skirts and high cut blouses, quiet but expensive jewelry. Low to medium heels, subtle but impeccable make up. Blonde hair well groomed and well cut.

You only got to meet Jane Trimble when you had lost your job. You see that's what she did. She told you you had lost your job when the lousy organization you worked for was too scared to do it themselves. She downsized you so efficiently and coolly that it was only ten minutes after you were out the door that you realized you'd been canned. In another age she would have had a promising career as an executioner. She'd have sent you to meet your Maker before the Devil knew you were dead.

So given this quiet, serene, professional implacability she's the person least likely to do what she did. People still talk about it, and it's nearly five years ago that it happened. That's how stunning it is.

And I hate to say it, but I was the architect of it. I didn't do it you understand, but I gave someone else the idea. I suggested that someone should slip her an upper to see how she would react. A colleague and I had visions of this ice queen melting and becoming a real vamp.

You see part of our job was to prepare reports for her on personnel about to be canned. We had to sit through long and frankly tiresome meetings in which downsizing plans were discussed to the last detail, how it would be handled, where, who, when, what compensation, and all the accompanying what if's, the ones that Jane Trimble always assured our clients there would be none of.

So it was quite easy during these meetings to try and instill Miss Trimble with a sexuality we never knew she had until one lunch time; the lunch time when my friend slipped her not one, but two uppers in her drink. He didn't tell me he had done it until after lunch, and I got scared. I got mad and scared, because I did not know what the effect would be, I was worried for me and I was worried for her. And I was worried something would happen. And boy did it happen. I guess if you introduce powerful mind altering drugs to a system propelled by salads and mineral water you will get an extreme reaction.

The reaction came in the middle of an afternoon meeting with a large insurance client. We were planning to help them rationalize over 400 staff in five cities. It was a shirtsleeves session with guys writing stuff on a whiteboard justifying their actions as much to themselves as to us. I kept looking at Miss Trimble, and she was looking, what was for her, uncomfortable. Instead of serene and in control she was fidgety. She even seemed distracted. After a while her rigid body language had wilted, she sit back in her chair and stretched her legs out before her. This was very uncharacteristic. My friend and I looked at each other and grinned. But her next move wiped the grins off our faces.

She reached into her purse, something she would never normally do in a meeting.

We watched in shock as she pulled out a vibrator, a big 10" vibrator. And then she turned it on. The buzzing sound stopped the guy at the whiteboard in mid drone. All eyes turned to Miss Trimble, holding the vibrator and watching it closely as it vibrated in her hand. There was stunned silence.

"What if..." she said watching the vibrator buzz in her hands "What if these 400 staff just tell you to go fuck yourselves?"

Nobody said a word, everyone was shell shocked. Miss Trimble Queen of Cool was holding a vibrator and had just mouthed the 'F' word. Then it got totally surreal.

Without a word of a lie, she climbed on top of the conference table, pulled up her A line skirt, nudged her panties to one side and said "What if they tell you to shove your offer where the sun don't shine."

And with that she plunged the vibrator into her pussy. After a short while standing on the table in front of all these stunned insurance suits with a vibrator tickling her clit, she slumped to her knees on the table and groaned. Then she turned to me and said "Well don't just stand there Alex, fuck me- you know you want to. She shifted her ass so I was at eye level with her amazingly pert tush and her wet pussy into which she was still pumping the hot buzzing vibrator. Someone had to take control, and that someone was me.

"She's not well" I said. I grabbed the vibrator from her and threw my jacket over her ass. "She's not well" I repeated, "Come on now Miss Trimble, we're going to seek medical attention." One of the nerdy insurance clients said "Hey I'll give her some attention - is she a stripper gram babe?' Client or not, I told him to go stick his remarks where the sun don't shine.

Well, long story short, I took her home, stayed with her till the effects of the uppers wore off, became her confidante and her lover. I nursed her through three months of compulsory sick leave, gave her all my love and affection, which it turned out she needed so badly, and now she's back to her quiet, subtle, brilliant self. I should know, because I'm her house husband, ready with a cooked meal and a foot spa as soon as she comes. She knows it was my idea to give her the uppers, and she was angry at first, I mean angry for her, but she forgave me in the most warm and loving and delightful way and she will forever be my Miss Trimble.


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