These many years of physical attraction between us in the office and it is now that I conceive the courage to act on my feelings. I sat across from her, staring intently at the movement of her lips as she articulated what was going to become of my last day in the company. She spent the most time on my compensation package as if I cared about the two weeks of wages for each working year; at my hourly pay I’d have enough for lunch for the next two days.
I welcomed every ticking second of the period she spent talking. It afforded the time to carry out my plan. I sought to go medieval on her. I wanted to appease the bubbling desires demanded by my id. I no longer felt unconscious energy operating on my urges, it was a blatant conscious feeling by now. Each enunciation formed through her lips bubbled more “id-pulses” in me. Taunting me that If I waited much longer she’d be forever gone from my life.
She stopped the monologue to ask if I had any questions. That if I didn’t, she’d ask for my immediate supervisor to come into the office. I shook my head rejecting the offer. She picked up the telephone, dialed my supervisor’s extension, and my heart sunk. I was more coherent about my thoughts than I was about her question. I meant to prolong her monologue but instead shortened our last interaction to where it might be impossible to sooth my boiling id.
She must have seen my physical reaction because she canceled the call and small talked for another while. She appeared concerned about me. Gave me a few articles and websites about depression, and the like, along with a hot-line number if I ever felt like talking to someone. We spoke of my time with the company, of those things I enjoyed as well as disliked. When we touched upon the topic of people I would miss, about those I would contact, the hairs in my spine stood up shooting waves of shivers through my body.
The blinds were closed; I gather for the purpose of hiding the tears of the “Sun-Setted” from the public at large. It took a minute of silence before she stood up from the desk to open the blinds; talking about how sunlight can help deter sadness. As she pulled down on the chain that controls the blind height, I jumped out of my chair pressed my body against her back, and attempted to lift her skirt. She stepped away from me, turned around and slapped me. I pushed again towards her to only encounter multiple slaps with both hands right across my face. I didn’t care that she was slapping me, I moved forward, closed in on her, threw my right hand in front of her raised left arm about to slap me, and pulled her towards me. We caught one another right on the mouth. I tried to kiss her, she looked to the side… a few times until finally giving up the fight.
Both of her hands grabbed my face, she looked at me, took a deep breath and asked, “why now? Why here in the office after all these years?” I didn’t answer. Instead I leaned her against the exposed glass of the recently opened window, and lifted her skirt to reveal the unobstructed view of a progressive woman stating that underneath the business attire and, behind the prudent demeanor lived a world of cravings. She wore nothing that prevented me from seeing her feminine affection. She wasn’t pileous to any extent. It was evident that she needn’t to worry about “manicures”. Instead, the natural shaped of the cumulative nearly-same-length-hair-strands traveled down and diagonally from very low in her abdomen until meeting at the cusp. The pattern reminded me of an upside down Christmas tree with my star waiting to be grasped at the very top. Even Santa Claus had never been this kind towards me.
It was a surprised to realize that she disguised her natural aroma with fabricated fragrance. I had always imagined her scent made specifically to attract me. I found myself crafting escapades of lips in harmony hoping she would promptly yield her true persona. I traced her lips with my tongue, biting her lower lip, inhaling her breath, palming her face from her left cheek to the back of her neck, my left arm pressing about her inner thighs slightly touching the back of my hand against her delight. I enticed her neck, earlobes, even biting her chin… dipped down to run my lips through her clavicles.
During the interactions of our tongues, she managed to tell me that she feared being at work, being caught by her boss… that her nerves would prevent her from enjoying me as much as she should. That she was struggling to impede appropriate conscious behavior. I was already in the Sunset room, so I cared little for either of our inhibitions. I dropped to a knee, pushed her legs aside, reached between the legs with both my hands grabbing each one of her cheeks with each one of my hands and pressed her forward onto my mouth.
She cursed the all too popularized four letter word, bowed down and with both hands grasped a full set of hair. Not only did she grasp, but she pulled me away detaching my tongue from its rightful place just to look at me, to look at herself readily reacting beyond her expectations. She pulled me into her again, holding my hair in a painful grasp while maneuvering her pelvis to the exact locations she wanted appeased. She came down close to my ear, instructing what was expected. She disclosed the speed, direction, strength and locations which she wanted to be pleasured.
My hands were instructed for one to trace the buttocks down the center and press against the orifice there found, the other was asked to trace a path from the back down to the front and pierce inside. The tongue and lips were to wrestle appetite out of her with each clitoral stroke. Whenever the finesse of my tongue faltered she’d shove my face harder against her crotch. A few times cutting breathing passages quite successfully.
I ignored the rule to have both my hands participating independently in nearby areas and pulled my rand hand up towards her to feel her mouth engulf my index finger. She whispered moans that could have triggered premature ejaculation, but I held strong, thought that I had to use my working hand to devour both the front and the back. My thumb enjoyed her warmth, the moisture that had saturated her crotch and my indexed pressed firmly in the rear.
Her thighs got a hold of my face, both my neck and jaw found the restriction disagreeably intoxicating. I didn’t care that for a period of about 30 seconds my jaw bone was forced skewed as it was never intended to be, nor that air couldn’t find a free pathway to my lungs, just as I didn’t care about the contorted state my neck was held. She pulled my hair sending cries of scalped cowboys through the Sunset room. Have you ever heard a woman talk through her climax? I never had until I heard her expressing the precise moment she climax. How she wanted me to continue on the very spot, taking the very same uninterrupted action. My mouth was pressed tightly against her, then she slightly released… Her scent rushed through my nostrils down my throat and into my lungs. I’d been taken to the garden of dreams where each petal of every flower smelled like divine intervention.
She had willingly chosen to hide the lure of her lust behind fabricated fragrances… leaving it to the lucky few, today me, to discover.