Deirdre's Downfall Ch. 01

“Well,” I forced with bravado, “drop by, stick your head in and say, ‘hi, stranger!’ I’ll be here all afternoon!”

“I’ll bring my portfolio and show you some of my old designs, okay?” he said. “It’s slow here and I need to get out.”

“I look forward to it, Jack. Just give a knock,” I said, gasping, as the now-familiar buzzing numbness took command of my body. Signing off, I shakily replaced the handset in its cradle and had to thrust both of my clenched fists between my legs and lean forward to quench the throbbing in my loins. I was wet again and ran to the bathroom to clean up and check myself in the mirror. As I wiped my crotch I noticed that my lips down there were swollen and, oh, so tender. It felt so good to touch them that I had to will myself to stop. I needed to cool off before he arrived, and knew that I could since his office was 30 minutes away.

I turned off the heat as it was quite warm. Since I was to be alone in the office, that morning I’d dressed in a pair of skin-tight, low rise jeans – emphasizing my pear-shaped bottom – and a wine-colored, deep-V necked top. The top laced up the sides at the shirttail, and exposed the upper slopes of my breasts…a bit too much, actually. I put on my floor-length, form-fitting black coat to disguise the revealing clothing and guard against the cold. Low temperatures do terrible things to my nipples, and I didn’t want them displayed blatantly. My leather running shoes were the only un-provocative thing on me.

I made fresh coffee and attempted to work, but couldn’t. Grabbing an old Time magazine from the waiting room I tried to immerse myself in an outdated article on the New York Metropolitan Opera, but just gazed at it until I jumped at Jack’s knock. Taking two deep breaths, I opened the door and he beamed, “Hi, stranger!” I looked puzzled, and he murmured, “That’s what you said to say.”

“Oh!” I grinned, letting him in and locking the door. He looked delicious! So tall! So…mmm… well built! Wearing a starched, blue chambray shirt that hugged his broad chest and flat midriff, with striped repp tie and tropical weight wool, navy blue pants, he looked like a mature model in a men’s magazine ad. His hair seemed lighter – almost blond – and his eyes flashed clearly as he unzipped his large portfolio to pull out several color renderings and photos. “Want some coffee?” I offered, which he accepted. I excused myself to walk the long way into the back, past the six empty cubicles to the coffee room, as I fanned my flushed face.

When I returned, he asked, “Am I keeping you from something? You have a coat on.”

“Oh…no. I’m just…a little cold,” I said, giving a mock shiver so I’d not have to unveil my tight, revealing clothing.

“Business first, then, okay?” he said.

I wondered, naughtily, what might come second, as the throbbing in my lower tummy began again.

Jack continued: “You said you have a large, two-story Prairie-style. Here’re some interior renovations that maintain the Frank Lloyd Wright look but are more contemporary, to make the lines cleaner…a bit less cluttered.”

I pored over his work and was really impressed. He’d maintained a combined Arts and Crafts-Craftsman style in all of them but, by eliminating support posts, using subtle colors and new wood and hardware details, had created classic masterpieces, according to my untrained eye.

“I’ve not yet met your husband…Frank, is it?” he asked, quietly. “But, in my study of you, it’s important that your surroundings provide a non-conflicting, “un-busy” background for living. In your case, your presence should be the focal point of your environment, not the other way around. Otherwise, aesthetically, the house detracts from your being,” he purred as he looked at me meaningfully, causing my crotch to seep wetness. “Would Frank agree?” he asked.

“I…I…don’t know,” I muttered. Then, looking at him – almost beseechingly – I said, “You’ll have to…ask him.” I was flattered that, given our brief acquaintance, he’d “studied” me. I felt guilty about how I’d studiedhim in my lurid imagination. When saying that he should ask Frank his opinion, I know the expression on my face mirrored my wantonness. I just wanted him to…to grab me…and crush me to his muscular body with his strong arms. I wanted to kiss him…taste him…smell his odors…lose myself in his enveloping soul. I wanted him to…to…but he merely stood there, relaxed. He watched me place an arm on the counter and steady myself. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m daydreaming about something else,” I said, turning away as I felt tears begin to well. A kleenex in my coat pocket saved me. “Must be getting a cold,” I said, as I blew my nose.

He smiled, knowingly, and suggested, “Why not copy these and take them home to show him. No cost or obligation, ma’am,” he grinned, lightening the moment. “You have a color machine?”

“Uh…yeah, right here,” I responded heavily. Taking the drawings and photos, I walked behind the counter to the copier and – with my back to Jack – composed myself as best I could as I slowly fed them through. The tension was unbearable, broken only by the humming machine easing out its copies. Just before placing the last illustration on the glass, I looked over my shoulder – shyly smiling – to catch him devouring me with a hungry look. My coat did no good. It was tailored specifically to show my hourglass figure and, even to a casual eye, I’m sure looked very attractive. That’s why I’d bought it. I heard him groan softly, and my pulse raced again with a new flush of moisture wetting my panties. I placed the drawings in two stacks, the originals for him, and set them on the counter. “There,” I breathed quietly, as if having just completed a task for my boss, and walked around to stand before him and look up.

Nothing was said. Time seemed to stand still. I gasped as – almost in slow motion – I let him open my coat fully, defenselessly revealing my body to him, and he wrapped his arms around me and brushed my lips lightly, tickling me with his moustache. I whimpered slightly as his soft lips met mine and, wanting so much more, molded my body to his as his open mouth moved down my neck, across my clavicle, and down the upper slopes of my breasts to my deep cleavage. His strong hands were everywhere and I cried with joy. He touched me – first my breasts, kneading them softly – and moved down to my waist, then across my bottom, stroking it gently as my knees went weak and I pushed my pelvis against his hardening groin.

Jack peeled my coat off my shoulders, letting it pool on the floor, and eased me against the counter. My arms stretched around his neck to pull his face down to my heated, trembling lips. I kissed his sweet mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, his neck and throat, tasting his saliva and salty skin garnished with remnants of tart after shave. He found my mouth suddenly, plunging his tongue to my throat as I moaned. I smelled his rich, masculine vapors as our thrashing tongues found targets easy to exploit. We breathed in excited gasps and I keened his name while he groaned and captured mouths full of my breast flesh. Still barely standing, my hips ground at him and he lifted me off my feet, allowing me to lock my calves around his hard legs and push my hot vulva against his swollen loins. We stood together, our bodies locked in a sublime, primordial, undulating dance as I felt the rising wave of an oncoming orgasm. Shocked that this could happen, I murmured, “Oh…please…Jack…please…tell me…,” and he did, lowly muttering my name over and over, and punctuating his gasps with lewd exhortations about what he wanted to do with me. I just whimpered, “Yes…yes…yes…yes…yes,” not knowing what else to say and hoping this feeling would never stop.

Then I felt another orgasmic surge. I was again amazed that it would occur this way. Never had I climaxed before by merely pushing against Frank, and I’d never cum with my college boyfriend. Mmmm, “cum,” I quickly fancied. That word had sounded so dirty to me when Mandy had used it in describing her sexual liaisons. But now it seemed so natural with Jack. I wanted to cum with him. I wanted to melt into him, and him into me. I wanted to wrap my body around his bigness…his penis. I cried, “God!” using the Lord’s name, which I never do, and suddenly, feverishly, wanted his…hiscock! inside me. Mandy’s tales now seemed to be so right! – so exciting! – and my revulsion at using dirty words evaporated as my climax increased in intensity.

Jack’s voice whispered a passionate litany of lascivious words into my ear as the glow in the center of my body became more acute and began to flow into my breasts. My erect nipples straining through my bra and top rubbed against his stiff, starched shirt and I wanted him to touch them. It was all I could do to keep from shouting, rub my…my tits! Yes, now they were my tits!…and ripe!…starved for his attention. “Oh, Dee Dee,” he gasped, “I’ve wanted you…since the first time…I saw you. I want to…to…taste you…eat you…mmmm…gorge myself on you!”

I heard the strangest sound as Jack continued his murmurings. Through the ringing in my ears, and the blood pounding in my head, there was a wailing that bounced off the walls of the waiting room as we writhed against one another. Its crescendo broke into a staccato yelping as my orgasm reached its peak. I realized that the shrieking was not words, but wild peals of joy, redolent of a nocturnal beast mating in heat. My body then froze in its position, flung against Jack’s strong frame like a spider clutching in agonizing throes at a much larger, zealous predator, when I finally gleaned that I was the source of the noise. Embarrassed though ecstatic, I thrust my mouth at his, slipping my tongue into his sweetness, and moaned for the longest time. Then, breaking for lungs full of air, I lay my head on his shoulder, dribbling saliva all over his shirt, and exhaled, “Oooohh…Jaaack.”

I relaxed as I slipped to my feet, releasing my legs from around his, and almost collapsed. “Come on! Please!” I rasped, reaching around the back of the counter to activate the burglar alarm on the office door. If one of the doctors – or Mandy – came in, at least I wanted fair warning! I looked up at Jack and turned, unsteadily trotting to the back, past the cubicles, to the coffee room where the lights were off. My crotch was soaked with my juices and ached dully. I turned quickly around as he got to me, leaning against a wall of cabinets that reached the middle of my back. My arms were down at my sides, with palms touching the cold metal, as my breasts heaved with excited gasps and Jack loomed before me in the darkness, the only light being the dim red one on the coffee maker. He stripped off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt, prompting me to whine, “Oh, Jack, I want you so much…sooo much, but…” and he once again wrapped me in his arms and kissed me deeply.

I knew I was about to fall…to be unfaithful to Frank…and it didn’t matter. I returned Jack’s kiss, longingly, and felt him undo the laces on the lower tail of my top, freeing it so that he could touch my tummy…and everything else. His fingers seemed to worship my skin as they moved up under my top to my breasts, which caused me to groan deeply in my throat. He unfastened my bra in back with one hand, expertly, I thought, since there were three clasps. And then…he slipped the bra and top over my head, past my willingly upraised arms. I began trembling and my breasts quivered with nervousness as – yes! – his hands finally reached them. My nipples burned with desire as he placed his soft lips around one, sucking it as he delicately caressed the other with his thumb, then reversed his position and movement. Always extremely sensitive, they were as hard as stone as he nibbled moistly at them, stimulating harsh, breathy sighs from my open mouth.

I was mewling soft cries and breathing so loudly I thought I’d die from pleasure. I was so nervous – frightened and ridden with guilt – that I exhaled a loud “Ahhhh!” as one hand reached for the button on my jeans. Whimpering constantly, my tummy trembled visibly as his fingers touched the soft skin below my navel, trying to unfasten the tight pants. I squeaked and sucked in my belly to make it easier and in a flash he’d released them, slowly sliding down the zipper. Once again my tummy launched into jerky spasms as the room echoed the incredibly loud, metallic sound of the zipper being undone. For a moment fear gripped me and I grabbed his hot hands, panting, attempting to stop him. My feverish mind told me I could never go back if we went any further, yet I quickly stifled the rational impulse in favor of my lust and his resolve, silently praying that he’d continue.

My crotch was now sodden with juices. I noticed a dark blue stain on the inside of my jeans as he slowly peeled down the tight garment past my light blue bikini panties. My rich, acrid odor reached my nostrils as I heard him moan appreciatively, “Mmmm,” smelling me and nipping lightly below the hollow of my throat and all over my flushed breasts, then down over my quivering stomach. Then he dropped to his knees and worked the pants over my knees and calves, pausing for a moment to gaze admiringly at my legs. My face grew hot again as I gazed down at this delightfully handsome man…the man that I wanted to make love to me, and I felt a momentary flush of pride that I could awaken such profoundly sensuous feelings in him.

I stepped out of my jeans, puddled around my feet, and heard him mutter under his breath through the ringing in my ears, “Let’s leave your shoes on.” It gave me a quick thrill to know that he wanted to take me with them on, with little white socks up to my ankles. He then reached above my hips and began rolling my panties down with agonizing slowness. His face went to my tummy and he languorously claimed a bit of flesh with his nuzzling mouth as each centimeter was tantalizingly revealed. I groaned loudly when he reached my generous, dark brown bush, which I keep carefully trimmed so I can wear a bikini, and began sucking the sticky, smelly moisture from the mass of hair.

By this time the characteristic numbness had permeated me, and my labia – my pussy, I thought capriciously – had swollen to throb dully with each rapid heartbeat. “Come here, sweetest,” Jack quietly rumbled from his chest, leading me to the only chair, an armless plastic-upholstered metal type, which coldly touched the back of my legs. While I still stood, he stroked my entire body – from shoulders, down breasts and tummy, over hips and down legs to ankles – as softly as a butterfly. “Mmmm, My God!…your skin’s as soft as butter,” he murmured, causing me to flush and spring goose bumps. He lingered especially long at the nexus of my thighs, fingering the soft flesh on either side of my pussy as bolts of fire streaked through my brain. Then he sat me on the chair and once again dropped to his knees, kissing lightly along my inner thighs toward the ultimate, moist object of our desire.

As Jack’s hot, wet kisses inched toward my crotch, my mewling became constant, fired by

the deep, breathy moans coming from his throat. I wove my fingers into his hair, having wanted to do so from the first day we’d met, and brought him closer to my center, frantic in my attempt to end the agony of further waiting. Frank had never been fond of cunnilingus, regardless of the fact that I loved it. So, Jack – this…Jack – was offering me a special gift. And, at the first touch of his tongue to my secret lips, I screamed!…and pulled his head toward me, desperately wanting to engulf him with my needful cunt.

Yes, it was now my cunt. I’d always thought that was a filthy word, something only low-class people used to describe a very private, almost sacred part of a woman. It’d always sounded debasing, from the time I’d first heard it in school to adulthood. With Jack, though, it seemed okay. I wanted him to lick my cunt…to suck my cunt...to eat it. I wanted to drip my love juices into his mouth so he’d want me even more. I wanted him to want only my cunt.

And, so, I leaned against the back of the chair and spread my legs open obscenely to his mouth. With my hands still stroking his hair and the planes of his strong, tan face, he licked the creases on each side of my labia, then teased me again by licking slowly up the slit…and then plunged his tongue deeply into me. I screamed “Eeeeyeeeahh!” and my hands went to knead my breasts to further coax the lusty pangs from my cunt to my swollen, throbbing mammary glands. My legs were wide open, yet for a moment I lifted them even wider – up to my chest – to give Jack the room we both needed. He then placed my trembling calves on his shoulders, which allowed me to hunch my pinkness forward to meet his stabbing tongue.

Our rhythm became stately, heavenly in its gentle, pulsing beauty. Now there was no fear, no nervousness, no sorrow, no frustration, though I selfishly wished that his tongue were a foot long, able to caress the whole long passage far up into my womb. I smiled inwardly at the image of me crying earlier, when I’d been confused about my lusty feelings for this man. Now my joy was so clear…so right! I closed my eyes and undulated against him, pushing my seeping loins toward his marvelous mouth. The chair’s metal joints creaked as he repeatedly laved the inside of my vagina and then outside to tease my clitoris. “Oh, yes…Jack…, lick my…my clit!” I begged wantonly, aware that I’d never in my life uttered that word either. And he did, now more rapidly, as the little button swelled, filling with more blood in thanks to his ministrations. Slowly, he inserted two fingers in my cunt, spreading the lips apart and twisting his wrist to touch all around my tender inner tissues…as he continued to feather my clit with his slippery tongue. Bright spots appeared behind my eyelids as I approached another orgasm. I’d never before cum in this way, and was pleased that Jack would give me my first. I wanted so to have him give me everything.

My belly began undulating, not quivering from nervousness as before. I was captivated to see the muscular movement progress horizontally from my flexing mound up to my breasts, as if broad, slow waves were cresting onto the dunes of a hilly shore. My breathing came in short, wracking gasps, “Aaakkh…aaakkh…aaakkh,” as Jack’s tireless tongue licked the tender petals of my steaming cunt. At just the right time he’d alternately flick at my clit, now seemingly bulbous with blood. Never had I experienced such a slow, agonizing ascent to an orgasmic pinnacle. I knew now what the French meant when they called it le petit mort…the little death, because I felt as if I were being drawn inexorably toward the gates of heaven with each loving lap of his tongue and lips.

And finally I was there, as I screamed out my joy, shouting Jack’s name over and over, clamping his loving head between my stiffened thighs and thrusting my bottom off the juice- soaked chair seat, noisily demanding more. My tightly closed eyelids were bathed in a white light as every muscle in my body froze, finishing their trembling demands for more stimuli, more hormonal energy, more profound gratification, MORE!…until there was no more left. “God! Jack! I’M, I’M, YES! YES! YEAH! OH, YEAH! OH!…OH!” I shrieked, then moaned, “ohhhh, ohhhh, nnnguhh, nnnguhh, nnnguhh,” as I flung myself forward to capture his head in my arms and bring it to my heaving chest. He leaned against me, softly nuzzling my breasts, and inched his knees forward to press his stomach against my sopping crotch, staining his shirt with my copious smelly juices. Still moaning, I kissed him – tasting myself for the first time in my life – and off his tongue sucked two of my stiff, curly pubic hairs.

We held one another for the longest time, with me covering his face and neck with kisses. Looking into his eyes, I then wordlessly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his broad chest and midriff. I stroked him, brushing the few fine hairs that formed a “V” just above his sternum to end below the hollow of his throat. His pectorals and upper arms were chiseled of prominent muscles, which I delightedy fondled. His flat midriff was marked by articulated, though not knotted, abdominals. His wrists were comparatively small, flaring out nicely to forearms covered with fine light hair. And, I took a few moments realizing the fantasy of days before when I wanted to caress him as I did now. I then slipped off the chair and pulled him down to me as I reclined backward on the floor. “I want…all of you, Jack. So much. But…I can’t. This is a terrible time for me…my cycle…I’m ovulating,” I whispered, nevertheless drawing him to my breasts as my body lay on the scratchy carpet.