It was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong
for so many reasons. For starters,
he was married – happily no less. She
was engaged, her wedding just months away.
Plus they worked for the same company, a firm that had taken the wave of
harassment lawsuits cluttering the courts so much to heart that it had doubled
the size of the entire employee handbook with admonitions and warning on just
that one subject. And she had just
recently been temporarily assigned as his assistant – making the nature of his
thoughts all the more taboo.
Her name was Lisa and it fit her
well – simple, unassuming, yet somehow as sexy as the girl next door.
Actually, she was more like the girl you wished lived next door.
Her looks were wholesome and clean.
Her brown hair just long enough to dance over her shoulders, her eyes a
moist hazel and a smile that seemed to reflect a light that you somehow
couldn’t see unless she was in the room too.
She was petite, perhaps 5’2”,
and her diminutive size and natural sweetness – combined to give her an air of
youthful innocence. But in truth,
her a quick wit and ribald sense of humor told a different story.
She gave as well as she got. In
many ways, she was just like one of the guys.
But not quite; Bradley had no desire to do the things with the guys that
he longed to do with her.
Bluntly put: he wanted to fuck
her.
And not in the way, that he’d
had other woman. Oh, he’d seen
plenty of other attractive women. Slept
with his share too - perhaps even a few more than his fair share, at that.
But something about her… Actually,
it wasn’t some thing about her, it was everything about her.
He had noticed her from her first days on the job, in another department
and thought instantly that she was cute. Over
the weeks, the casual exchange of formal pleasantries gave way to small talk and
eventually real conversations. The
more he came to know her, the more he came to realize just how very VERY much he
wanted to fuck her.
She dressed smartly; her clothes were crisp and professional yet hinting at something extraordinary underneath. Her ass, my god, her ass. From weeks of watching it in everything from skirts to khakis, he imagined that he knew every detail of it. It was strong and firm, but with natural famine curvaceousness. He never really thought of himself as a breast man, but he found himself curiously drawn to hers, forgetting at times in their hallway chats to maintain eye contact.
And then, with his normal
assistant on a long-term absence, she was assigned to work for him.
He hadn’t requested it. In
fact, if he’d been asked, he most likely would have come up with some reason
to protest the arrangement. Having
Lisa around more often, he knew, would only make him want her – more and
often.
But she was his now.
Well, in a sense. She was most certainly not his in the way Bradley wanted.
What he wanted was to be inside her, their bodies moving in an innate,
mutually understood rhythm. Her
teeth on his neck, his hands on that subtle ass, both of them pulling each other
closer and closer as if having her pussy swallow him completely were not enough,
as the bulb of his cock rubbing against the tip of her cervix wasn’t deep
enough, like they needed to take each other so fully that that were inside each
other’s skin – no, their souls. He
wanted to fuck her alright, and he thought of it every day.
As much as he imagined it, in his fantasies he never came, as though the
hot gush of his semen would somehow mark the end of their make believe coupling.
He never shared this, of course. Not
with his co-workers, not with his friends and certainly not with her.
Especially not now. Not with
her working for him for the last few months.
It was wrong, and he knew it. He
told himself that a thousand times. But
damn it, there was something so damned right about her.
He’d want her even it she weren’t a temptress. Her obvious physical charms just made it all the worse for
him.
The only concession Bradley made
to his secret desire was making sure he was always in his office when she
delivered the morning’s mail. Her
cheerfulness and humor brightened even the dreary days.
Not to mention that he got to watch her ass as she left his office.
He memorized ever detail of her wardrobe, playing her outfits over and
over again in his head, calculating the time it would take to undo that button,
loosen that strap, slip open that clasp. No he never missed that
“appointment.”
He almost had today, though.
A breakfast meeting had run later than expected and he’d just gotten
back to the building. All that coffee was coming back to haunt him, however, and
the call of nature mandated he make a quick stop on the way back to his office.
He rushed, impatient with himself, almost annoyed with his own body
functions. Rinsing, but not drying his hand, he hustled down the call,
unaware that in his haste he hadn’t fully managed to close his trousers.
Trying hard to look casual, he
eased around the tall hutch on his old, wide desk and settled into his chair.
It wasn’t your typical modern office chair.
Covered with maroon cloth, high backed and with curved wooden handles, he
salvaged it from a defunct boardroom when the building was remodeled. It didn’t really go with the décor of his office and it
certainly wasn’t ergonomically correct, but it was somehow – surprisingly -
comfortable. And with an old
athletic injury in his back, he’d take comfort over style.
He settled in, not a second too
late. She was wearing a brown skirt
today, mid thigh and topped with a brown and grey striped sweater loosely knit
of a material – cashmere? – so soft, it clouds looked upon it with envy.
That was one of the things he loved about her.
She could take even a basic outfit and make it come alive.
She’d worn this before and he allowed himself a half smile.
He couldn’t be certain given the flowing cut, but he suspected she went
braless whenever she wore that sweater. He
wondered if the yielding fabric massaged her unprotected nipples, whisking them
into arousal with every move, each breath.
Although he’d be disappointed when she left, at least watching her most
womanly curves during her stop in his office would be a suitable consolation
prize.
“Here’s the paper,” she
said, as though the familiar cylindrical package wrapped in orange cellophane
could be anything else. “This
came too.” A wave of an envelope.
“Some kind of invitation to a charity dinner. I don’t know what you
wanted me to do with it.”
She walked toward the desk, the
movement of her hips under the fabric of her skirt making a slight swishing
sound.
“Do you have an interest in
these things, or should I automatically just RSVP to the negative anytime these
come in? What does Carrie (his
regular assistant) usually do with these”
Normally, he wouldn’t have cared
less. But if the delivery of fund
raising solicitations provided an additional opportunity to see her, he decided
right then and there that he was VERY interested in any invitation that came his
way.
“Sure, I’ll take a look.
Why not? Thanks.”
She handed it over, with a crisp
flick, slapping the card into his outstretched hand like an operating room nurse
providing a retractor.
“Ouch.” The dang thing gave him a paper cut.
She froze, biting her moist lower
lip, her eyes slightly wider.
“I’m sorry! What did I do?
I’m so sorry.”
“Paper cut - no big deal.
It just startled me.” It
occurred to him that even acknowledging such an insignificant injury was a bit
unmanly. Yet she genuinely seemed concerted. He quickly defused the
situation with a joke.
“Hey, ironically enough, this
dinner is to raise money for the prevention of paper cuts, and thumb tack
pricks.”
In her worry, it took her half a
second to realize Bradley was kidding. But
when the realization came, it took on the form of a radiant smile.
“You crack me up. That’s
one of things I like best about you – your sense of humor.”
Then she turned as if to go. The
motion of her hair was enough of a breeze to carry her scent to him.
God she smelled great. Sweet
and tangy. Like honey and oranges.
Or maybe berries and cinnamon. Something
familiar and earthy like it should be carried on the comfortable breezes of a
summer afternoon in the county, but with a twist of something from an exotic
Asian market. God, he’d love to
wash her hair, to see the water cascade across her locks, massaging in the
shampoo, pressing his finger tips in small tight circular motions across her
scalp, the lather forming in mounds, then being carried away in small, white
rivulets down her neck, between her shoulders, leaving a trail heading
invariably toward her… With a start, he realized he was so caught up in the
daydream, he’d actually shut his eyes. When
he looked up, Lisa had turned back, looking at him quizzically.
Except she wasn’t looking at his
face. Instead her gaze was lower.
Bradley followed her silent stare. Son
of a bitch! His fly! And if
not getting it fully closed wasn’t bad enough, a tiny bit of his shirt was
hanging out as well.
Desperately trying to come up with
another joke to quip his way out of this mess, his mind raced.
Not fast enough. Before he could speak, she returned to his desk.
She walked around it, and silently pushed him, big maroon chair and all,
back against the wall. His head against the cork board, they were screened from the
doorway by the cubby-holed hutch on top his wide desk.
With tantalizing slowness, she
gradually eased his fly down the rest of the way, one slow, short zip at a time,
each millimeter a maddeningly deliberate flick by he delicate wrist.
His zipper now fully undone she reached inside and slid out his
stiffening member. She held it in
her right hand, watching him firm beneath her grasp.
Her concentration was intense, her face expressionless.
She slowly bent at the knees, back
on her haunches until her face was level with his now fully erect manhood.
With three fingers on her left hand, she ran her nails lightly across his
scrotum, almost like one absentmindedly strokes a pet behind the ears.
The electricity of the move sent a jolt in opposite directions.
One ran down his ball sac, causing his rectum to involuntarily tighten.
The other volt ran straight his shaft, making it jump discernibly.
This spasm seemed to snap her back to the moment; she blinked, and then
paused for a second, as if to collect herself.
Her hazel eye still locked on his cock, she leaned forward.
The air was so thick with tension, he swore he could not only feel her
breath on the shaft, but see it as well.
Breath. It dawned on him
that he hadn’t taken one since the moment she had placed her hands upon him.
Fully cupping his balls now with her left hand, she grabbed the base of
his manhood between her right thumb and forefinger, clamping it tightly.
Just as the pressure of it began to feel a tinge uncomfortable, she began
to steadily slide up his shaft. She
never loosened the pressure, just gradually moved it up from the base until she
was three-quarters toward the top.
A single clear drop of his passion appeared like morning dew on the stem
of a plant. She looked at it,
approvingly. Her grasp still tight,
she moved his cock in small angles, watching the light reflect off his essence
like a jeweler appraising a diamond.
Finally, for the first time since
they had last spoken, she looked up at him.
The sight of his dick in the foreground and her eyes like two warm suns
rising above a mountain peak was like nothing he could comprehend.
The beautiful agony of it caused his hips to thrust forward just an inch.
She smiled.
It wasn’t the warm friendly smile he’d memorized a million times.
It was something different. Almost
as if she were amused with him, like knowing she’d excited him this much both
pleased and bemused her. Where eyes
normally sparkled, there was now a fire.
Wetting her lips, Lisa unhurriedly
slid her tongue out, stretching it to its fullest length, a wet pink V.
Little by little she allowed it to come closer to him.
In his mind, Brad could feel the passion arching back and forth between
them, blue bolts of lighting like electricity in some high school science fair
demonstration. The circuit was
finally complete, as at long last the very tip of her tongue made contact with
the single drop of pre-cum still atop his cock.
The dewlet quivered for a second, then merged with her saliva. She tantalizing pulled back, their respective wetnesses now
merged into a single silver strand stretching between them.
A millimeter, a centimeter, an inch, then two… she deliberately allowed
the string of moisture to length and sag. Just
at it seemed it would break like a bubble, she twirled her tongue twice and
sucked the damp twine into her.
Smiling again, she puckered her
lips and slowly let the juices dribble out, back onto his cock.
The entire head was wet now. A
bit of her spit beginning to seep toward his glans.
Then, in split second her whole
moth was upon him. The suddenness,
or perhaps, the sheer awesome pleasure of it caused him to gasp aloud.
Her hand tightened sharply and uncomfortably on his balls.
Bradley knew instantly it was a warning:
if he couldn’t handle this, couldn’t accept this gift without making
a sound, she would not allow him to have it.
With increasingly tempo, she
worked her mouth up and down on him. Occasionally,
she lingered at the head, to flick it with her tongue and her right hand
occasionally worked the bottom of his shaft, but by and large she allowed her
head to provide most of the pleasure.
Taking him ever deeper, she began
to tighten her cheeks. Never
breaking the seal of her mouth, Lisa’s eyes found his.
She raised her eyebrows just a tick, half questioning as to whether he
was enjoying her ministrations and half acknowledging that she knew damn
wellwhat she was doing and that he was totally in her control.
She allowed her left hand to drop
from squeezing his balls, and found Bradley’s palm. Changing the angle of her thrusts slightly, she allowed him
to see the bulge of his knob pressing against her cheeks.
She raised his hand to her face, watching the reaction of his face to the
dual sensation of feeling the wet inside of her mouth upon his dick and her
straining cheek against his palm. He’d never experienced anything like it.
It was almost as though he was using her face to masturbate.
He had the growing realization
that his body was beginning collapse in on itself, like an aging star caving
into its own gravity. He recognized
it at the start of his orgasm. Perhaps
it was the almost insane fullness of his erection or perhaps a tiny twitch that
would be almost imperceptible if he were not almost within her throat –
whatever, or however, she seemed to recognize it too.
She intensified her strokes, bobbing down so far, so fast that Brad could
feel her fighting against her own natural choke reflex.
Le Petite Morte.
That’s what the French call it. The
Little Death. A moment so intense, so draining that it straddles the line
between this world and the next. His
pleasure had reached such a crescendo he could barely keep from slipping into
the heaven of release, but he would not have it this way.
No. I told you before: Bradley wanted to fuck her.
He wanted to give to her what she was giving to him.
He wanted to take control of her bliss the way she had his.
Sliding his hand from her cheek to
below her chin, he gently but urgently directed her gaze into his eyes.
With a quick, but emphatic, shake of his head, he let her know that this
was not the end, but rather the beginning of what would go on at that old
desk…
TO BE CONTINUED