Imagine a fine Friday morning in May. You leave home half an hour early “to help prepare for a presentation”. Arriving at your stop, you leave the tube and walk past me “making a phone call” on the corner. I fall in behind you, admiring you legs, the curve of your calf and the way your butt sways as you walk in your heels. Through the slit in your stylish, mid- thigh skirt, in catch an occasional glimpse of what might be a stocking top. We’d agreed you would toss a coin to decide between tights and stockings that morning.
Shortly after you hit the button for lift, I catch up to you. It’s not exactly a new lift, and it takes it’s time. Complaining about it is regular sport in the building. Will it come soon enough that we have it to ourselves? I work on the floor above you, and no one knows that we’ve caught each other’s eye.
The doors open, you step in towards the controls, while I step past into the back corner. You grin briefly to me over your shoulder, select you floor, my floor, and the three empty floors 4, 5 and 6. Then you take two steps back and feel my chest at your back.
Smoothly, I move your hair over your right shoulder, then place my right hand on you hip then slowly pull your butt back into my crotch. “stockings or tights?” I whisper in your ear, then brush my lips down the side of your neck. “not telling,” you giggle in response, then feel finger stroke down your spine from between your shoulder blades, in no rush, on a mission to answer the question at hand.
Slowly, it passes down, over your waistband, and finally reaches the slit in your skirt as the doors open a floor 4. A second later you feel my hand on the back of your thigh, stroking the tops of your tights When we reach your office, you turn to face me, aware of my broad shoulders. I step forward, and whisper “ready to play?” you smile demurely, and I peck you on both cheeks, then kiss you briefly on the lips. Then I pause and gently turn you round and ask you which is your desk. You point it out, so I lead to it and gently lean you over so that both you palms are resting on the desk. “if you move your hands, you owe me a blow job, OK?” You nod.
Now I get to admire you at leisure. No need to rush. I slowly embrace you from behind, pulling your back into my chest, your butt into my crotch. My right hand strokes your right side and cups your breast, then I bury my face in your hair and briefly kiss your neck. “Lovely. But first, let’s check you told the truth about the stockings. And remember not to move your hands.”
I step back and you gasp briefly with surprise when I place my hands on your knees. “These need to be a little further apart.” You are aroused now, breathing deeply as you move your feet in their 3inch heels apart as directed. I’m holding onto one of you thighs now, squeezing gently, then run one of them up under your skirt and feel the stockings tops.
Instinctively, you reach for the zip of your skirt then catch yourself. You aren’t supposed to move your hands! You shrug and say in a bedroom voice, “Ah, guess it’s a good thing I give great blow jobs” and in a moment the skirt is around your ankles.
I have a huge grin on, and say “Nice. Give a twirl so I can admire the view.” There follows a few moments while I admire your legs in their stockings. “And now back to the desk, por favor.” While you are standing there facing away from me, I unbutton your blouse and help you remove it. Again I pull you towards me, sweep your hair over your right shoulder, and begin to kiss you neck. My right hand cups you right breast again, and I listen to your breathing to learn what you enjoy. Soon, I feel you nipple rise to meet my hand through your bra.
I’ve deliberately not touched your butt or pussy, anywhere near your panties. Time to fix that. My hand moves from your breast down your front, stroking towards your pussy. It takes many seconds on its path. You’ve been waiting for this, wanting this. I told you to play with yourself, but stop half an hour before you expected me, before you could come. You’ve been simmering away since, thinking about release. I stroke your pussy over your white panties, listening to you breathing, matching your breathing, tracing the outline of the damp spot, feeling your pubes. “My you’re wet. Did you cum?” A shake of the head. “Do you want to cum?” You nod. Vigorously.
“Soon, it’s not a race.” my hand rises up your belly, then descends inside your panties. Gently I massage your outer lips then as your inner lips emerge my middle finger starts to trace it’s way from the bottom to the top of your opening,back and forth. By the tenth pass, you’re wondering, does he know where the clit is? Then I prove that I do. “There’s something we’re forgetting,” I say, listening to your gasps. “What?” you say, slightly incoherently. A thirty second pause makes you even hotter. Is there going to be an answer? “Theres the small matter of that blow job. Is this your seat?” You realize I want out to crawl under your own desk to give me head.
