Shape

Late Night Lust at the Office

I’m a 26 year old single guy who works in a smaller office with 96 percent women. For those who thinks that’s awesome, it’s not. For those who think it sucks, it doesn’t. It’s great most days, and honestly, it’s rarely that noticeable. I get along great with the 15-20 people I work with, and I assume they get along with me, too.

One thing I have noticed recently, or at least now that the summer is coming around and office dress code is pretty lax, is how attractive I find some of these women who I never thought much of before. I’ve never been with anyone that much older than me, but I am one of the youngest in the office. Most of the women are between 30 or 35 and 50 or 55. I’ve usually been attracted to women more around my age, and about the same size or bigger than me.

I’m a 6-foot zip white male, blonde hair blue eyes. I’m a runner and skier, so I like to believe I’m in decent shape with a lean build. At 170 pounds, I’m certainly no walking hunk by any stretch of the imagination. When I first met Christine though, my jaw dropped.

I was confused by my instant lust for this new employee. At about 5-foot-5 and 100 pounds soaking wet, this incredibly petite and frankly skinny figured woman walked in and setup shop at her new desk. What was so jarring was her brilliant summery red hair and these stunning brown eyes, paired with some sharply thinned out eyebrows and mascara. She did that thing where she points the tips of the mascara to make, well, pointy tips off her eyes. And for me, the nose stud was wild.

This woman was hardly someone I’d want to try and woo or date or even hookup with. She wasn’t my type and aside from my instant attraction, I didn’t think much past that.

Fast forward about two months. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. The town isn’t that small, but there are scenes. And our scene turned out to be this little pub and grille place not far from work. After work beers turned into after work dinners. We never went to each other’s places, but there was a friendly connection. And again, while I thought she was attractive, I wasn’t really that attracted to her.

About three months after she started, her and I were working late on some progress reports for our departments. We were equals in the scheme of things, and everyone else had taken off for the night. She was having issues with saving her document to our servers and called me over to her desk in the corner of our open office. Leaning over her desk to browse her computer and attempt to help, I couldn’t help but be staring down her shirt. Completely innocent at first, I copped another look. Maybe two. The third time she caught me though. She had been saying something and I just wasn’t listening.

She swung her chair around, her nose inches from mine. I couldn’t move. I wanted to pull back and just leave the office, but here I was as close as I’d ever been to those balmy brown eyes. “Do it,” she said. “Kiss me.”

What I thought was a peck was more of a lunge. I leaned in, hard, and planted a piercing two lip kiss, interlocking with hers. My heart was racing as I leaned in harder, my hands locking her into position in her office chair. The kiss became more passionate and the lips began to open. Tongues danced and she started to giggle.

“Let me up,” she said. “You sit.” He voice was mousey and I loved that about her. We swapped positions, and she kneeled on the ground in front of me. Nervous giggling and laughter filled the silent void as she undid my belt and jeans, sliding them to my knees. Then my boxers revealing to her about six stiff inches of confirmation that I wanted this all along.

As she ran her hands along my thighs and eventually grabbing me, I jolted as her icy cold hands caressed me. “Close those blinds behind you,” she said. The final task before we got started.

Struggling to reach up behind me to draw the blinds, I felt an instant warmth where her cold hands once cradled me. I grabbed the string, gave two tough tugs and the blinds fell. A summer sun set on our day and as I turned back around, nothing but the top of her head was in my lap. Again that dancing tongue was accompanied he high pitched giggles as I gave a few affirmations aloud.

She continued for a bit, not going all the way down until I placed my hands on her head. She gave her head a wiggle side to side and I could feel myself sliding down the back of her throat. He ridges on the top of her mouth were defined as she slowly engulfed me.

She threw her head back and coughed. My face must have been in complete shock. “That good, huh?” she asked. “Christine. That felt incredible. You have no idea,” I agreed. “Well, I might have an idea…” she trailed off, going back down.

I interlaced my fingers and threw a makeshift ponytail through a few of my fingers, placing my hands on the back of her head. “Again. Again. Please, just once more,” I said, pressing her head downward as she worked to take me down.

She coughed once, twice, then against the pressure of my hands, the third cough gave way. I thought I was already all the way down her throat. But when she coughed a third time, I went even further. I watched as her poignant nose smashed up against the hood of my pelvis. It might have been only a second but the warmth of her throat felt like an eternity.

I let up and she sprang back, coughing as expected. “Holy shit, that’s the furthest I’ve ever gone,” she said, almost proud of herself. “That’s the furthest it’s ever felt like someone has done that,” I replied, my brain oozing with chemicals I didn’t know it had.

She stood up, wiping her mouth. She unzipped her jeans and kicked them off to the side. I watched, laughing and touching her thighs as she turned around in a seductive act, bending over and removing the lacy black thong hidden between her legs.

“This way first work alright?” she asked, backing up into my lap. “Absolutely,” I replied, guiding her on top of me. It slid in effortlessly as I watched it disappear then reappear then disappear again. She started slow with long strokes where I slipped out a couple times. I continued to reenter and with each full squat, he vocal affirmation grew. She went faster with shorter strokes until she was nearly grunting and riding, just sitting in my lap.

The angle we were at was extremely sensitive and I could feel the tip grinding the inside of her as vigorously as she was on me. I gave her the “tap out” tap on her petite but still semi-plump cheeks and she pulled out. “It feels great. Too great. Give me a bit of a break?” I asked. She nodded and laid down on her desk. In a stereotypical move, she slid everything to the back of the desk, behind her computer. As I worked my jeans off, she opened her legs and laid on the edge of the desk. An open invitation for an after work dinner I never dreamed of having.

I began to go down on her, slow and long laps. I worked her clit more than anything, which she seemed to enjoy. She had her legs draped over my shoulders and when I’d find a good spot, she’d clench and her legs would hold me in place. I began stroking myself as my tongue worked up, down and all around her.

“Ready?” she asked, in between gasps. With my mouth full, I “mhmm’d” and stood up.

Again, in a drenched and effortless motion, I was inside her again. The angle didn’t rub me the same way, but for whatever reason, she was enjoying this far more than our last position. I changed speeds and it seemed to bring her to the edge more so than when she was on me.

After she finished a couple times, she asked how much longer for me. I was enjoying myself and when I’d get close, I’d pull out and go back down. I didn’t want it to be over. Maybe a fear of the consequences. Maybe she’d regret it. Maybe I’d regret it.

The final time I entered her I didn’t last more than a minute. As I felt myself coming to the end, I pulled out and stroked as hard as I could. The first rope hit the bottom of her chin as she tried to watch. The second landed square on her blouse she never took off. She put up her hand to keep anymore from reaching past her belly. The third and fourth ropes hit her palm, with the rest dribbling out on her hood.

We sat there, exhausted, giggling at first then confirming we’d both thought about this for a while (I lied just to avoid any further awkwardness). We tidied up the mess, sorted through the spilled over papers and straightened up. It wasn’t until we were about ready to leave when I noticed her mascara. The winged tips were more like a black paint running down a wall; as if it had melted off.

I remembered the third cough and began to think about 20 minutes ago when our entire working relationship had changed. We were bound to be fully engulfed in each other again.