THRILL OF THE CHASE

(MF, exhib, cheat)


"Yale Law Review - they all go to the Current Journals section."

Carol reeled off an identifying number from the new coding system, and soon I 
was able to find the correct shelf.  I heaved the stack of musty tomes up from 
off the trolley.

""Come and work for a big glamorous law firm", they said.  "Do important cases 
and be famous" they said ..." I tailed off sardonically.

"The cases we have to do are these ones ..."  

Carol swept out her arm to indicate the rows of tall grey metal bookcases in the 
archive room.

 "... in accordance with this new system".

She tapped emphatically on the manual we'd been given by Brad, our immediate 
boss, when he told us we'd be working together on this "vital reorganisation" of 
the firm's case-law collections.  

Carol had been here almost twenty years, but I was a new kid on the block.  A 
lot of the people here I still only knew by sight.  Including Carol, until just 
lately.

"If you don't like it" she continued, "why don't you quit this job and finish 
your law studies full-time?  That way, you'd start at the top.  Well, the 
middle, anyway."

"I don't have the dough.  And it will look good on my resume.  Always looks 
better for a law student to be doing the shitwork of a law firm than some 
grocery store ..."

She flinched at this.  

"Excuse me, I've been doing this ... this "shitwork" since almost the time you 
were born ..."

Oh-oh!  Looks like I was in for an inter-generational telling-off!  But, 
impetuous youth that I was, the flames got fanned with:

"Yes, how'd you put up with it for so long?  I'd have been driven insane by 
now!"

She went quiet, then: "Sometimes it does drive me insane. But it's a job ... and 
better than some things I could be doing ..."

That made me bite my tongue.  I'm no bleeding-heart liberal but you didn't have 
to be an Einstein to get her drift, about being a girl, and Hispanic, and 
growing up in the place that she did. 

"So I always take this kind of thing seriously " she continued.  "It's Brad's 
way, or the highway."  

"To hell with Brad!  Soon this stuff will all be on-line anyway!  I'd rather be 
working-out, or mountain-biking  ... anything but this for three straight 
weeks!"

"Then go ride your mountain bike, so I can go ask Brad for a new assistant.  One 
who can knuckle down, and not just be only thinking about "looking good" ... if 
kids like that can even be found these days ..."

My turn to get tetchy, about being called a "kid".   At twenty-one, hadn't I 
just been given the keys to life, and everything?  Anyway, what's wrong with 
looking good?  Far from a sign of laziness, it'd been a career in itself 
developing an upper body like mine.

But the conversation here was really not that heated.  Banter like this helped 
to pass the time, and after this exchange we lapsed into silence for a while.  

Then we got on to spouses.

"So ... when did she move in with you?" Carol wanted to know, having just 
learned about the existence of Fay.

"About three months ago.  It's getting serious, I guess"

"I guess.  Are you engaged?"

"Shit, no!  I'm not ready for anything like that!"

"I'll bet you're not.  But what about her?" Carol's probing hinted at a deeply 
ingrained Catholicism.

"I dunno.  She hasn't said.  We mostly just have a good time together."

"And what makes a "good time"?"

"You mean, lifestyle in general?  Or intimate secrets?"

"You can save the intimate secrets.  I meant lifestyle in general."

"Okay, I guess we have a lot in common.  She's sporty.  I'm sporty.  We met when 
competing in a triathlon.  I like to spend a lot of time in the gym.  She does 
too, fortunately for me.  It'd cause a problem for us if she didn't."

"What else?"

"I like girls with athletic bodies.  She has a very athletic body.  Very taut, 
very ..."

"Hey, that's intimate!"

"No it's not.  I'm just describing her figure."

"To us women, having our figure described is intimate."

"Why?"

"It's like being looked-at all over, but in words ... oh, never mind!"

"I thought women like being looked at!"

Carol didn't dignify that with an answer.  Another period of silence, punctuated 
only by book-moving talk.

"Anyway" I said after a while, "Enough of me, what about you?  What do you think 
about me?"

I'd heard this line in a Bette Midler movie, but if Carol thought it witty she 
didn't show it.

"I got married when I finished high school, and have two sons.  Miguel is smart, 
handsome, but shy.  Anton is lazy and already a charmer with the ladies."

"Anton ... that doesn't sound like a Spanish name."

"It isn't. I just happened to like it."

"And your husband?"

She was slower to answer that one.  

"Anton takes after him" was all she'd say. 

After I'd digested this, my mind went back to what she'd said about describing a 
woman's body.  I'd just tried to describe Fay to Carol - so how would I describe 
Carol to Fay?  Not that I made a point of letting on to Fay that I noticed other 
women's figures - quite the opposite.  But I did notice.  I noticed lots and 
lots and lots.  Especially Brad's personal secretary with the legs that went on 
forever, and the junior clerk in Accounts who sometimes wore a tight stretchy 
miniskirt, and ...

... so why hadn't I particularly noticed Carol before? 

She's not from an age group I was attuned to noticing, perhaps.   

I regarded her surreptitiously, or so I thought.  

Her face was pretty, with smooth olive skin, though some lines here and there.  
A strong face, with heavy eyebrows if left unplucked.   Nice full lips.  Dark 
hair that fell in heavy curls about her shoulders.  Dark eyes, usually with a 
warmth in them but sometimes guarded and sometimes with a trace of sadness.  

Figure ... a lot more rounded than his own past dates or preferences to date.  
Her frame was petite, and a little padded now with the passage of time.  A 
narrow waist that flared out to her hips, a blouse front that swelled 
promisingly, and a gorgeous backside under that tailored skirt.  She could look 
good - could put to shame some girls half her age.  But the packaging ... she 
always dressed conservatively.  Demurely.  Dressed down, you could say.   In a 
way that always lessened rather than increased attention toward her ... ahem ... 
"assets".

She looked up sharply and caught me "regarding".

"What are you looking at?"

"Nice outfit!" I volunteered.

"Thanks" she said, but gave me a funny look.

A few more days passed, in the same old boring tasks.  I couldn't wait to get 
back to my usual desk, doing my usual paperwork while surreptitiously surfing 
the net.  The only upside of my present task was working with Carol, who was 
loosening up a bit and becoming easier company.  Though I got the impression 
that at times I irritated the hell out of her.  

"Have there been many other girlfriends before Fay?" Carol wanted to know one 
day.

"A few.  In fact, several.  I lost my virginity when I was fifteen."

I was being deliberately provocative here, and expected censure for it, but 
there was none so I followed with "How 'bout you?"

"Eighteen.  On my wedding night" she said primly.  One point to her, in the 
morality stakes.  But a milestone had just been passed.  We were now talking 
about intimacies.

"To have had so many girlfriends already, you must change them like library 
books.  How do you do it?" she wanted to know.

"Same way you'd change a boyfriend, I guess".

"Which is ...?"

"You mean, you don't know?"

"I've only ever had the one.  I married him."

"Weird!  Try before you buy, I always say!  It pays to shop around."

She allowed a silence which obviously did not indicate assent, then "Well ...?"

"Well, it's usually obvious if we're, like, drifting apart.  We'll see each 
other less and less, phone each other less and less, then one of us finds 
someone else that we want to see more, and then ... we say "It's over.  Bye-
bye!""

"As easy as that?"

"As easy as that.  Unless, you've just met someone really hot, and you want to 
be free of complications real quick, then it can get heavy."

"So, what do you do?"

"Just tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That I don't want to see her anymore."

"How does she take it?"

"Not well.  Lots of waterworks, maybe things thrown.  A stuffed toy once got 
disemboweled with a bread knife.  Very symbolic.  But hey, to make an omelette 
you gotta break some eggs!"

She didn't approve, I could tell.  But then, she'd asked a straight question and 
I'd given a straight answer!

She got back to asking about Fay.

"What's the main thing that first attracted you?"

"Her body.  In a two-piece Lycra triathlon suit, she looked so hot.  I had to 
ask her out, the minute I saw her."

"What was so great about the triathlon suit?"

"The way it clung.  And what it was clinging to.  And the fact that she was 
dressed like that in front of 300 other entrants, mostly male."

"Is she big ... y'know, in front?"

"Nah!  Fried-eggs!  And just as well, if you're an athlete."

"Do you still allow her to dress like that in front of other men?"

"Sure.  I get a kick out of it.  She does too."

CRASH!  Carol's grip on a pile of folders momentarily faltered, and most of them 
ended up on the floor.  We scooped them back up.  While we were bent down on the 
floor, I took the opportunity to glance down her blouse.   Only a brief glimpse 
of a deep cleft, but enough to confirm the presence of certain attributes that 
would render her seriously triathlon-challenged.

"How do you know she gets a kick out of it?" Carol finally brought herself to 
ask.  

"She told me.  We were confessing turn-on's to each other.  She says it's like a 
revenge on all the big-breasted women in the world, when she dresses to make her 
nipples really obvious.  Guys can't take their eyes off them!"

Funny, Carol didn't seem to be placing so many news-blackouts on "intimacy" 
these days.

But she had her limits.

When she asked "And what's the main thing that keeps your relationship going?" I 
replied simply "The sex.  Her blowjobs are fantastic!"

Carol was offended by my crudity, and ended the conversation to go into a huff 
for a while.  But hey, it was the truth!

Well, not totally.  I was about as in-love with Fay as I was capable of being in 
those days.  But if I'd been forced to choose between love or blowjobs, it'd be 
a close call.  I guess you could say I had a short attention span.

Speaking of which, Carol was starting to catch my attention more and more.  

Why, I don't know.  

Maybe it was a combination of things.

First, she was different.

Different to what I was used to.  Soft and rounded, not lean and taut.  Dark, 
not fair.  Quiet and considerate, not showy or egocentric.  Mature, but on some 
things quite naïve.

Or was it just the close familiarity we now had at work, being on the same 
project for over two weeks with mostly just each other's company - a sort-of 
"hot-house" atmosphere where things might happen that in other circumstances 
wouldn't?  

Or maybe it was just the fascination of somebody who is off-limits, a case of 
wanting to obtain the unobtainable.  I mean, I'd have no intention of forming a 
relationship with her.  She was at least fifteen years my senior, and married 
with kids.

At least that's what I'd remind myself each time I found myself fantasizing 
about her, or glancing at her legs while she was up the stepladder with a stack 
of files.  Good legs, too ... now stop it, will ya!

"Nice outfit!  It suits your figure."

I was taking to making little comments to show I noticed what she looked like.  
Yeah, obvious, I know.  Subtlety was not my strong point.  She was suspicious at 
first.

"What figure?  I'm a mom, remember?"

But after a couple of days she'd take my occasional compliments in good grace.  

She'd even return them, in an indirect way.

Like, instead of just saying "Lift that carton of files up for me", she'd 
instead go "Get those ab's and pec's working for me, will ya?" and give my upper 
arm a squeeze.  I enjoyed her touch.

I began wondering how I could take this further, how I could find some way of 
winding up in bed with her.

Then fortune smiled upon me.  Or so I thought.

 "Hand me up those Harvard publications?"

She was balanced on the ladder, high enough that I could see a little thigh 
under the hem of her knee-length skirt.  Nothing to get too excited about; 
still, she had to place one foot on the bookshelf itself to reach across to the 
"H" section, almost out of her reach.  Would I get to see more?  One foot was 
still on the ladder.  Not an ideal situation in terms of the laws of physics.

And sure enough, the ladder toppled sideways.  She had one foot on a shelf, but 
immediately lost this precarious toehold.  It happened so fast that my reaction 
was purely instinctive, but I managed to catch her as she literally fell into my 
arms.  I was able to break her fall, but got pushed off-balance hard up against 
the opposite shelving, with Carol wrapped up in my arms.

We remained frozen like that for a couple of seconds.  

Then I kissed her.

Just lightly, on the lips.  Fairly chastely, I thought.

I kissed her again, a little more forcefully, seeking out each full lip.

But now her eyes had gone round like saucers, her hands came up between us, and 
she tried to fend me off with a hard shove.  Except I was still jammed against 
the bookshelves, and had my arms around her.

Her arms relaxed for a bit, and I felt her lips soften too.  The tip of my 
tongue flickered along the tiny gap that was opening up, but then her lips 
hardened again and she pulled her face away.

"Please stop!  This isn't right ..."

"It feels very right to me" I replied, bending and covering one of her soft 
cheeks with light kisses that ended at her earlobe.

She tried another push.

"I'm married!  I can't do this!"

My lips tried to move back to her mouth again.

"Stop!  This is harassment!"

That brought me to my senses.  I released her at once, and she spun away.  She 
stood against the shelves a few feet from me, looking straight at the floor, and 
breathing heavily but otherwise silent.

"Carol, I'm sorry!  I ... I don't know what came over me!  I acted on impulse, I 
guess ..."  

She gave me an angry look, though her anger was already fading - from white-hot 
to about red-hot.

"Look, you're basically a nice guy, and I don't want to get you into trouble, 
but if I say "stop" can you please stop?"

"Yeah, sure.  I ... I really apologize for upsetting you."

Her dark eyes flashed hard looks at me for another few moments.

"Accepted.  Now lets get back to work.  Your turn to go up the ladder."

We spoke only a little for the remainder of that day, just sticking to the 
business at hand.  She was really pissed off with me.  And fair enough, too.  I 
must have been nuts to think she'd respond to an overture like that.  I was 
feeling pretty embarrassed about it.

Every so often, though, I'd catch her glancing at me briefly.  She was working 
on auto-pilot, and seemed often lost in thought.

"Good morning!  We're not far from finishing ... in just another few days time!" 
was Carol's greeting to me next day.

Everything seemed cool again.  She could even joke about the day before.

"Can you spread a safety net around this ladder before I do my next high-wire 
act?" she kidded me upon going up its steps.  

"I'll get a mattress and lay it ready, so you can have a real soft landing this 
time ..."

"As long as its not a double mattress ..."  she shot back.

All in all, she seemed to be taking my indiscretion in good humour.  

Another day later, and Carol did something out of the ordinary.

Ordinarily, she'd be dressed in formal skirts of conservative length, and loose, 
heavy blouses that didn't give too much indication of what she had up on top.  
Today she still had the regular skirt and tailoured jacket, but she'd also 
chosen a thin knitted sweater instead of the usual blouse.  To put in bluntly, 
it accentuated her breasts.  And she was a lot breastier than I'd previously 
given her credit for.

I wasn't the only one to notice.  I'd gone out for some more boxfiles and other 
stationary supplies, and heard somebody say to another "Did you see Carol today!  
Is she changing her image, or something?"

There were no more ladder jokes between us today, but she was up the ladder a 
lot as we moved a stash of stuff that had to be archived.  I could hardly take 
my eyes off her breasts.  She'd removed her jacket before long and, as she held 
her arms up high and concentrated on getting the files in the correct order, I 
could take in her profile from a range of two or three feet away has I held each 
file up to her from below.  Her bra was outlined in the stretchy wool, and 
strained to contain such heavy globes.

Nothing slutty here, you understand.  On a woman of lesser dimensions I wouldn't 
have thought twice about the particular way she was dressed.  It's just that, 
with someone of her chest size, it wasn't hard to choose clothes that brightened 
up my day considerably.
  
She must have known I was captivated, but gave no sign of noticing my glazed 
expression.  Sometimes she bent down to put something on a lower shelf, and 
showed a deep, deep cleavage down the v-neck of that top.  I was entranced.

Should I make any mention of this new state of affairs, or should I not?  I 
decided it was a trend that ought to be encouraged.

"That sweater looks good on you."

"What, this old thing?" she answered nonchalantly.

Then there was another accident.  Or "accident"?  If it was faked, then it 
wasn't faked by me.  Stepping down off the ladder with her back to me, she 
missed her footing and stumbled backwards on a collision course.  I could have 
jumped out of the way, but then she'd have slammed into the shelving, so I stood 
and caught her - again.

In so doing, I managed some faking of my own.  I managed to have one hand land 
across her chest, and the other on her hip.  

My hand was pressed against the under-hang of one breast, with my thumb close to 
its nipple.  This feels pretty good, I thought, and down in my groin, pressed 
hard up against her buttocks, something started twitching.

Though expecting a telling-off at any moment, I decided to get bold.  My thumb 
found her nipple and started teasing it through her bra.  There was no sign of 
panic.  Carol remained leaning into me, her eyes closed and breathing evenly.  

Give me an inch, and I'll take a mile.  I cupped her breasts with both hands, 
testing their weight and brushing my thumbs over her nipples.  I slumped down so 
that my lips could find an earlobe and start nibbling it, and so the tip of the 
tent-pole in my trousers could nestle at the tops of her thighs.  She remained 
in a trance-like state.

Carol felt good, so soft and pliant, and the situation was getting better by the 
minute.  I yanked up her top, pulled down the cups of her lacy bra, and her 
heavy boobs just popped out.  Now that they were hanging over her bra, I could 
get my hands onto an abundance of soft warm flesh and easily find turgid nipples 
to tug upon.

I kissed my way down across her cheek and she slowly turned her head around 
until our mouths could connect.  Her lips parted to accept my probing tongue, 
and her own twirled against it.  I began to grind my prick harder against her 
butt, and she met these warmup-thrusts  by pushing back against me.

Things happened fast after that.  I wanted to have her there and then, possess 
her totally, not even wait to get her clothes off.  Releasing her boobs, I 
fumbled with my fly and got my pants down far enough for my cock to spring free.  
I hiked up the back of her skirt and, while she braced herself against the 
bookshelves opposite, I whisked her panties down to her knees.  Then I was 
buried up to the hilt in molten slickness, my desperate thrusts cushioned by the 
two sweetest pillows it'd ever been my pleasure to part.

I held her hanging breasts for a time and enjoyed the feeling of having my hands 
so full.  But my butt wanted to go like a buzz-saw and I needed more grip on 
her.  I grabbed her by the hips and found it allowed me to thrust harder.  
Luckily she was well braced, because my cock was practically lifting her off the 
ground.  She started squeezing me internally, and it was this that tripped my 
trigger.  That familiar salty, tickling sensation in my prick heralded the onset 
of frantic, spastic jerks, and then I was spurting my stuff into her.

I stopped to catch my breath and clutched her hanging breasts again, my cock 
still inside but gradually retreating.

I popped out of her as she straightened up and turned round.  She put her arms 
around my neck and kissed me full and slow, our lips melting together.  Her 
skirt had fallen back into place, but her bare boobs still spilled over the top 
of her bra.

Pushing me away, she commanded "On your knees!"  What's up? I wondered.  Do I 
get a knighthood for this?

But she lifted her skirt up to expose her bush, with panties still down around 
her knees.

I took the hint, and believe me, it was no problem.  Laying a hand on each soft 
buttock, I pulled her to my face and gently kissed the sparse black curls on her 
mound, licking my way down her cleft and, with one of her feet up on a rung of 
the stepladder, I could press my face into her moist entrance.  I lapped and 
supped at her, kissing her full on her other lips as my nose tickled her bud.  
My fingertips caught the stickiness that was seeping out and spread it out over 
silky inner-thighs. 

She gasped several times, with long pauses in between, and I could feel her body 
quiver.  Then her thighs closed to push my face back out of her tender spots.

I stood and, without speaking, we straightened up our clothing and both headed 
off to a Ladies and a Gents to clean ourselves up again.  Me, specifically, to 
wash the pussy smell off my face.  Not that I am averse to it or anything, but 
out of consideration for anyone who might pass within two yards of me.

We managed to get about another hour and a half of work done, talking small-talk 
and trying to focus on the task at hand.  But she had this soft, fuzzy, "fucked-
duck" look about her, and her boobs were still so painfully obvious in that 
tight top, and as soon as I thought my cock was ready, I just took her again.  
Grabbed her from behind and eased her forward, cupping those magnificent breasts 
and bumping her rear with my groin until we'd arrived in the most private spot 
in the Archives suite.

This time I spread clean sheets of flipboard paper on the floor at the end of a 
row of shelves, took her panties right off, and got her top and most of her bra 
out of the way of those perfect, luscious breasts.  I covered her in kisses from 
her face to her chest to her thighs while she lay with legs open waiting to 
receive me.  Her boobs had big nipples - berry-like teats set in large dark-
brown circles - so different from the delicate coral-pink buds I'd so far come 
across.  Carol remained passive as I mounted and eased myself inside, and I 
began leisurely strokes that gradually quickened in pace and intensity until she 
brought her legs up, to change the angle and get me bumping right against her 
sweet spot.  I came without drama, just began squirting without even changing 
pace.  If she came at all this time around, she was pretty quiet about it.

We got dressed again, and this time stayed dressed.  We didn't speak of anything 
much at all until hometime, but she patted the front of my trousers and shot me 
a knowing look before heading for the elevator.  I went home with a silly grin 
on my face.

Fay was "in the mood" that night, but to be honest, my prick hurt.  I pleaded 
that I had a groin injury from playing squash, so couldn't screw.  I went down 
on her instead, but my heart wasn't in it and it took her a while to come.  She 
said "I hope your leg gets better real soon ..." and drifted off to sleep.

I couldn't wait to get to work, and start manhandling Carol again.  She was 
dressed a bit more sexily, not outrageously so, but in a shorter skirt and a 
tight cotton top through which her bra was visible.  And she had real stockings 
on ...

But she had gone all cold on me again.  When I tried to embrace and kiss her she 
pushed me away and said "No.  I'm feeling really guilty right now.  I've 
betrayed my husband, and it's hard for me to deal with.  Lets just cool it ...".

This was torture.  She'd keep bending in front of me to get stuff, and I'd see 
those stockings go up, up, up under that skirt, and I could see the garter 
straps and some creamy thigh, but if I put my hand on her butt she'd slap it 
away and say "I told you, "No!""

And her top was low-cut so I could see how her bust welled up and quaked as she 
moved, and her lacy bra left little to the imagination.  It was driving me 
crazy.

I had to spend some time back in the main administration area because Brad 
called me for a progress report on the Archive project.  When he'd finished, he 
said conspiratorially "Carol's looking good these days.  Have you noticed?"  I 
just nodded, but didn't say anything.

Well, nothing happened that day.  Carol stayed thoroughly professional at all 
times, and I gave up trying to seduce her.

Her dress sense was giving other signals, though.  Next time she arrived for 
work, she had a dress of soft, clingy material.  Viewed from the rear, one could 
see panty lines that were fairly high-cut.  Her bare legs were shapely, and 
there was a moderate amount of cleavage on display.  As I came into work, the 
lift operator said "Wait till you see Carol today.  She looks like she's off to 
a party someplace!"  This of a woman who two weeks ago hardly anyone was giving 
a second glance!

When we were alone in the Archive room, I tried to hug her.  She said a firm 
"No!", and pushed me away.  She began work, but I just looked her up and down.  
Her bra showed the bumps of her nipples through the fabric of that clinging 
dress, which looked like it was moulded to her.  It showed that she had a bit of 
a tummy roll and broad hips, but this just made her even curvier, sexier, like 
the voluptuous nude women those mediaeval artists used to paint.

I couldn't stand it.  I ached to have her again.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  

I unzipped my fly, pulled out my prick, coaxed it up to full hardness while 
ogling her tits, and started masturbating in front of her.  She stopped working 
and looked at me, stunned.

"What are you doing?!!?"

"You look so fuckable.  I want to fuck you again."

She watched me beating away furiously for a few moments.

"Do you really want me so bad?"

"Yes"

"A woman who could be your mother?"

"Yes"

"So bad, even though you've got a sexy young girlfriend?"

"I haven't screwed her for days."

She looked at my vigorous stroking some more, then came over to me.  She knelt 
down, took my cock out of my hands and sucked it into her mouth.  

Well, hello!  It was obvious she'd done this before.  She applied just the right 
friction, and tickled my balls, and looked up soulfully with dark eyes as my 
cock stretched her lips and engorged her cheeks, and she kept her teeth well out 
of the way, and made little "Mmmmmm!" noises, until I hit the point of no 
return.  Some semen slipped out the corner of her mouth and dribbled down her 
chin, but its forceful arrival didn't faze her and she kept up the suction until 
the last drop had been extracted.  Then she stood up, pulled by face down to 
hers, and kissed me full on the lips.  We shared my load until it had all been 
swallowed.

Then she hiked up her skirt and sat up on the table, laying back with her legs 
open.  Her panties decorated rather than concealed her curly bush, and I soon 
got my face down there to nuzzle them aside.  Gripping the sides of her 
buttocks, I licked and nibbled all over her gash, kissing and sucking, tasting 
and tongue-fucking, until finally I was done teasing and settled into a steady 
tempo on her stiff little bud.  Her hips bucked and thrust up against my face, 
and I had to hold on tight to stay on the right spot.  She was silent but 
violent when she came.

Again we visited respective bathrooms, and after that we actually got a fair 
amount of work done that day.  Little was being said, and I suppose little 
needed to be said.  Obviously she'd changed her mind about me in some way, but I 
didn't want to question in case she changed it back again.  My theory was she'd 
either decided that she liked me after all ... or still disliked me but found I 
could give her something her husband couldn't.

As we worked, I would occasionally squeeze her arm or rub her butt, and she 
might give my cock a squeeze, until finally, half an hour before home time, we 
spread sheets of paper between the shelves, completely disrobed, and fucked like 
bunnies.  She finished me by getting on top, grinding her hips against me.  I 
had fun trying to catch her big nipples in my mouth as her bosom heaved and 
swayed above me.  Then she started squeezing my prick with her internal muscles 
to complete her total de-spunking of me.

Fay was disappointed to learn that my groin injury was no better.  After the 
distracted way in which I finally brought her to orgasm, she was probably now 
entertaining thoughts of buying a vibrator.

The library project came to an end a day or so later.  It was behind schedule 
because we'd been fucking each other so much, and I got criticised by Brad.  
"What the hell have you guys been doing down there?" he wanted to know.  "Don't 
ask!" I replied.

Carol was back in her section again, and I was based at the other end of the 
building.  The loss of intimacy was more than I could stand.  Any excuse at all, 
I'd go on errands to Carol's end of the office, to check out what she was 
wearing that day, and find if there was any chance of being alone with her.   
She'd play it cool, but was lapping up the attention and was now dressing to 
thrill.

Today she had a black silk blouse, a short red skirt, and high-heels.  She was 
already up out of her desk when I came along, and was sashaying away down the 
corridor.  I followed her, and saw her go into the stationary stockroom.  I went 
in after her, closed the door, and locked it.

She spun around at the sound of the door closing, then stood there looking at 
me.  Without a word, she began slowly unbuttoning her blouse.  I unzipped and 
got my cock ready as more and more cleavage, then black lacy bra, then tummy 
came into view.  She bent down and removed her panties from under that short 
skirt.  I stepped up to her and hastily pulled down her bra cups until each boob 
spilled free.  Then I was devouring them, covering as much of them with my 
tongue as possible, manhandling her nipples, thrusting my fingers up between her 
thighs, smoothing the soft flesh in the space below her entrance.  I cupped her 
fluffy mound, testing the entrance with a fingertip and finding it soft and wet.  
I lifted her up onto a table, got in position, and entered her swiftly and 
desperately.  Her insides felt as good as ever, gripping me and sucking me 
inward, clamping with her muscles, while she locked her legs around my back and 
hung on for the ride.  It didn't take long, and I left her very messy down 
there.  Then I zipped up and strode out without a backward glance.

Fay was beginning to suspect something.  "Are you seeing another woman?" she 
wanted to know.

"No!  Why?"

"Well, you're not the same anymore.  You don't seem to find me sexy."

"I do!  I do!", and I hugged her to prove it.  We tried to make love, but my 
prick was still sore from fucking Carol twice that day, once in the stockroom 
and again in the Law Partners Private Bathroom, and I ended up fingering Fay to 
a climax.  I knew she preferred cocks to fingers any day of the week.

Carol also seemed to like cocks.  Well, my cock, anyway.  As long as I could get 
her anyplace alone, she was mine for the taking.  Today, just to be different, I 
tried her asshole.  I bent her over the table, parted her bottom cheeks and used 
some saliva to make things a bit slippery.  It was tight getting my cock in, and 
she grunted a bit as the head wedged its way past her ring-piece. I didn't know 
if she'd done this before and I didn't ask, but she permitted it and things 
relaxed a tad once I was in.  It felt different, and for me a change was as good 
as a holiday, but I didn't think that she got very much out of it at all.  I 
withdrew without coming, and masturbated until I could shoot all over her broad 
bottom.  Then I left her to clean herself up, all the while hating myself for 
wanting her so badly.

I was getting addicted, and fast losing control of the situation.  

We were screwing each other at least twice a day.  It was always me that chased 
after her, but I knew she was ready and waiting for it.  If I willed myself to 
hold back though, she'd provoke me with flashes of cleavage or thigh, until I 
abandoned whatever I was doing and took her with me to the nearest secluded 
spot..

Meanwhile, Fay was giving me a hard time at home about not paying her enough 
attention anymore.  Brad was giving me a hard time about hardly ever being at my 
desk, and not getting though my work fast enough.  Carol's co-workers were 
giving me a hard time about lurking in their section, and were gossiping about 
us.  My law professors were giving me a hard time about missed assignments.  It 
was going from bad to worse.

I accosted Carol on the ground floor outside the lift, as she was heading home 
from work.

"Carol, this is too much.  We've got to finish it!"

"Well, you started it, loverboy!"

"I know, but I'm a wreck.  My life is falling apart.  I can't handle it any 
more"

"Okay, I'll stay away from you.  But the question is - can you stay away from 
me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It'll be over if YOU can end it.  But you can't.  You can't stop fucking me.  
You'll keep coming back for more.  And as long as you do, it will continue ..."

"Oh, shit ... Carol, please!""

I followed her as she turned into a big department store.  She walked to the 
ladies fashion section, selected an outfit, and went to a changing booth.  I 
trailed along after like a dog following a bitch on heat.

"Just check out how this looks on me, honey?" she said to me loudly for the 
benefit of the sales assistants, and then we were inside, ripping off panties, 
unzipping flies, parting thighs, and humping and bumping to record-time 
climaxes.

We managed to get out of the store without being arrested, and went our separate 
ways.

It was the same the next day.  She had to run an errand to my section, and bent 
over the desk of the person she was delivering the papers to.  From where I was 
sitting I could see right up her thighs and almost see her butt cheeks peeping 
out from under that short dress.  As she walked away, I got up and followed.  

We went out onto the emergency stairwell.  No one used these stairs unless the 
lift wasn't working, but it's windows looked out onto another office block and 
people could see us.   We didn't care.  We didn't uncover much flesh, just 
enough to find the right orifice, but it was obvious to any casual observer that 
meat was in motion and body fluids were being exchanged.  When we finished, we 
looked out and saw that about half a dozen people at a window were putting their 
hands together in applause.

I was now very close to getting myself fired.  I was constantly distracted from 
my work, with visions of Carol always flooding into my thoughts.  At home, Fay 
and I were hardly talking to each other.   I was seriously in lust, and it 
couldn't continue.  Something had to give.

It all finally came to a head when Carol turned up at my apartment one Saturday.  
Luckily Fay had just gone out to the convenience store, and meanwhile Carol 
stood there in the hallway dressed in cut-off shorts, a halter top with no bra, 
and "come-fuck-me" leather boots. A vision of bare brown skin and dangerous 
curves.

I gawped.  I never expected her to come around here.  And I certainly didn't 
know she went in public dressed like that.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

She pulled aside the cups of the halter top and her boobs spilled out.  Right 
there in my hallway, just like that.  She cupped her breasts with her hands and 
offered them up to me, big teats pointing right at my face, dark circles like 
inviting targets.

"Shit!  Get inside before someone sees you!"

"My pleasure."

Carol had so little on, that it was the work of a moment to get it all off.  I 
was still in the process of impaling her upon my prick on the living-room floor 
when Fay walked in on us.

Carol quickly got dressed, as cool as a cucumber, and walked out of the 
apartment without saying a word.

Fay said plenty, most of it unprintable even in a story of this nature.  She 
packed up all her stuff, called a friend to come help her move it, and then she 
too walked out of the apartment.  I didn't expect that she'd ever be back.

At work on Monday, I went to see Carol at her desk.  I hadn't slept for two 
whole nights.  She was not inclined to talk, and I couldn't get her to leave her 
desk without making a scene.

I waited on the street for her after work.  I fell in step beside her and 
pleaded "Carol!  I've got to see you!"

"No" she replied, "This time, it really is over".

"But ... I need you!"

She looked at me with pity, and a little bit of scorn.

"Look, I was angry with you at first.  But then I enjoyed your attention.  I was 
very flattered that you'd find an older woman like me so attractive.  And the 
sex was great ... it's never been as good as that with my boring husband ..."

"Then why is it over?"

"Well, the biggest thrill was finding I could steal you away from your young 
girlfriend.  That's what made the sex so great, knowing I was taking you away 
from her ... that you'd rather be fucking me than her ... but now the stealing's 
been done, and for me the thrill just isn't there anymore. 

"And since I started dressing up for you, other men have been noticing me.  I'm 
a hot property now ...  and that handsome young guy in Accounts has asked me out 
on a date tomorrow night ... and guess what?  

"I happen to know he has a beautiful young wife ..."