Millie, From The Office Ch. 01

I slammed the phone down in disgust. My wife had done it again. She had a nasty habit of calling me at work, on my desk phone - preventing me from stepping outside, to argue or tell me off. She knew, while in my cubicle, I couldn't raise my voice or curse or make hurtful comments or any of the other things she insisted on doing from her side. It made for very frustrating arguments. I could barely respond and had to listen to a torrent of abuse.

I sat with my head on my desk like a preschooler taking a nap. I was furious and needed a minute or two to calm down.

"Everything okay?" a soft voice asked behind me.

I sat up to find Millie, my department's tracking manager and office grandma, in my cube looking concerned.

Millie had been with the company forever and nothing would get accomplished without her. She knew the inner workings and politics of the company backward and forward. She kept it all together and we all knew it ... and counted on it.

I have no idea how old Millie was, she had to be at least 60. She was a large African American woman with uneven, blotchy dark skin. Her hair was short and brittle looking. She had broad shoulders and even broader hips, thick legs and a full ass. Her breasts were enormous and must have been something to see in her youth, but now they drooped sadly across her protruding belly -- they were still large, but soft and tired. Millie often rested her crossed arms on top of those melons, pushing them even further south.

That was exactly what she was doing when I turned to face her. She was wearing what she always wore: a long draping, pleated skirt and a tight, sleeveless sweater. The dark circles under her eyes made her look sad, but she was really very pleasant.

"Trouble at home?" she continued, her rough elbows pressing down on her tits.

I don't know if it was the calm of her voice or the size of her chest, but the frustration came pouring out of me.

"Yeah," I said angrily, talking a mile a minute, "My wife is pissing me off. If it's not one thing, it's another. She is always mad at me about something. She pushes the issue until you don't want to hear it anymore. I'm tired of trying to hold it all together. I'm tired of taking all the blame. I'm tired of being the fall-guy. I'm tired of her lame excuses and don't want to hear them anymore."

I turned away from her.

"I just want a quiet evening - one without any fights. I want a nice meal and maybe a fucking movie," I ranted, picking up my stapler and having it jam when I tried to use it, "Dammit! I want a stapler that works and I want to get fucking laid!"

With that, I slammed the stapler onto my desk sending a plastic cup of pencils flying. I sat with my head in my hands and the rattling of the cup as it wobbled to a stop was the only sound I heard.

I looked over my shoulder and Millie had left. Damn. I felt like a total heel. She had come to check on me and I had exploded. She probably thought it best to give me some distance -- she was probably worried about her own safety; I was acting like a lunatic.

I needed to apologize and convince her I wasn't losing my mind -- even if I thought I might be.

It was late, almost 8pm, but her purse was still at her desk so she had to be around. The ladies room? No, the light looked to be off. I heard a cabinet shut and realized she was in the supply room.

I made my way down the hall and stopped short as I came to the door. Millie was bent over, digging through a cardboard box, and her sweater gaped open at the neck providing a fantastic view of her long, aged cleavage. Her breasts were tucked awkwardly into her unflattering bra.

She saw me and slowly stood up, seemingly oblivious to my stare.

"I found you a stapler," she said, handing it to me and making me feel like a bigger jerk.

"Uh, thanks," I said, taking it, "Hey, look, about my outburst back there ... I'm really sorry. That was uncalled for and very rude. I'm just very frustrated and --"

"How long has it been?" she asked, cutting me off.

"Excuse me," I said cautiously.

"How long has it been since you got laid?" she asked directly.

"Uh," I said hesitantly, "I don't know - a couple months?"

"Try seven years on for size," she said smiling, "My bell hasn't been rung in a long time."

I really had no idea what to say, but felt I should say something.

"You gotta be kidding," I said, "A woman with ... I mean, a woman that has ... a woman--"

"With big boobs?" she cut me off again, "A woman with big 'ole titties? These boobies ain't been touched in years - except by me and my doctor."

"That's hard to believe," I told her honestly, finding my gaze drawn to her chest.

"I ain't lying to you," she laughed again, "I'm a cranky old woman, who would want to touch 'em?"

I sure wouldn't mind, I thought, but was too afraid to say so. I just continued to stare dumbly. The silence was deafening.

"I mean really," Millie said abruptly, "Who wants to touch an old lady's boobs?"

My idiotic stare continued.

"You?" she asked suddenly, "Would you want to touch an old lady's boobies?"

I didn't know what to say. Actually I knew exactly what to say, but couldn't find my voice.

"Ah hah," Millie said almost cackling, "You do want to touch 'em. You want to touch these old titties, don't you?"

"Yes," I said meekly, finding my voice, "Yes, I do."

She stepped closer, her large stomach and breasts inches from me. I could feel her body heat.

"Go ahead," she said, "Touch 'em."

Slowly tentatively, I raised my hands and cupped her breasts. They were soft and much heavier than I expected. It was obvious her bra did a tremendous amount of supporting because its material felt very firm. Her sweater felt rough in my palms.

I kneaded her chest gently and was enjoying myself immensely. She pulled the sweater from her waistband and her intentions were obvious. I slid my hands under and palmed her bra directly. I could feel her stiff nipples through the thick bra cups. I let my thumbs roll over them repeatedly.

While I continued to rub, Millie pulled the sweater over her head and set it aside. Her bra looked old, not just in design but in actual usage. It was worn and had obviously seen the washing machine many times. Her large stomach looked surprisingly attractive to me. My hands drifted down and traced slow circles across her belly. It was firm and so smooth.

Millie reached behind and unclasped her bra. With a quick tug she pulled the material up and off her mammoth breasts. The motion caused them to lift into the air before dropping heavily onto her round belly and my hands. They flopped a bit before coming to a rest on both sides of her stomach.

I stared openly at her nude breasts. They were huge; larger and heavier at the ends -- more narrow and stretched closer to her chest. Her nipples were dark and stuck out like knobs on a drawer. My hands reached for them and cupped them from the outside; I pushed them together in the center of her chest.

They felt terrific. My wife had a nice chest, but nothing could have prepared me for how Millie's felt. They were so soft and incredibly smooth, but they weighed so much more than I was used to.

I jiggled them in my hands. I squeezed them playfully. I mashed them together. I lifted them up and pulled them out toward me. I pushed her stiff nipples back into her soft flesh and I let my hands slide over her smooth skin.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and, not saying a word, let me continue.

I'm not sure how long I played with Millie's tits like a teenager fondling his first pair, but I soon felt her pressing down on my shoulders, pulling my face toward her chest. I got the hint and dropped to my knees.

I immediately pulled a tit to my mouth, holding it like a jug of moonshine. My tongue darted around her stiff black nipple and I sucked on it greedily. I slurped one tit then the other with barely a second in between. I lapped at them like a thirsty dog and finally, taking one in each hand, I pulled both nipples into my mouth at the same time.

This got a reaction. Millie sighed contentedly and I pressed on.

Soon I found myself growling softly and smashing my face between her tits. I was rubbing them on my cheeks and chin. I was burying myself in her softness.

"Go, baby boy," she cooed, "Go on, do what you gotta do."

"What I gotta do," I told her, pulling my saliva-slick face from between her melons, "Is fuck you. That's what I gotta do."

I pulled her to the floor and pushed her onto her back. Her tits flopped crazily outward coming to a rest under her arms and on the floor!

I lifted her skirt, tossing the thin layers across her bare belly. She had on, as you would expect, a pair of grandma panties -- huge, ugly, once white cottons. I yanked them down, leaving them twisted on one ankle. Her bush was a tangled, hairy mess spreading across her lap and upper thighs. I palmed it and let my thumb explore her dark crease. It was warm, wet and slippery.

I wrestled my pants and briefs to my knees and my hard cock leaped out expectantly. I don't have the largest penis, but it looked impressive that night throbbing under the dim florescent lights.

"Oh, baby boy," Millie huffed, raising herself onto her elbows, "I ain't seen one of those in a long time."

"Here," I told her, changing my plan and crawling up toward her, "You can see it up close and personal."

Millie rolled onto her side, her tits pancaking, one on top of the other. I pressed my hard-on into her face and she smiled. I slid it across her cheeks, chin and lips. On the last pass she opened her mouth and pulled me in.

Slowly at first, with increasing speed, she sucked and licked my cock like it was an ice cream treat. She was "ooing" and "ahhing" and making loud slurping noises as she pulled me in deeper and deeper.

My hands found her flattened tits and my fingers flicked at her taut nipples. Her pace increased and I felt myself getting close.

"I'm going to come," I warned her, "And it has been a while."

She kept sucking and I exploded violently. Millie gagged at the force of my first spurt, but kept my cock in her mouth. I saw my semen spill out from between her lips as she sucked desperately.

She released my still semi-hard prick and used her fingers to push the wayward strands of my spunk back into her mouth.

"Oh," she sighed, "It has been so long."

Before I could react she was pressing me onto my back. My cock stood proudly, slick with Millie's spit and my cum.

"Relax, baby boy," she whispered as she began to straddle my legs and crotch, "Let Miss Millie take care of everything."

Her long skirt tented over my prone body, covering my legs and most of my chest as she lowered herself onto my manhood. It kept me from seeing my pale prick sink into her dark gash, but I wasn't too disappointed. Her weight dropped on me and she literally engulfed my dick in an instant. I groaned in pleasure.

Millie leaned forward and began to rock up and down. Her tits danced and slapped at my face wildly. I clambered for them and tried to suck them as she bounced on my lap. Faster and faster she rose and fell while I lifted my ass off the floor to deepen the thrusts.

She started moaning loudly with each plunge and I knew she must be getting close. I redoubled my attention to her tits and pushed my cock into her as forcefully as I could.

Millie came with a massive shudder, almost as if her heart had stopped for a second -- maybe it had. She howled in delight and threw herself onto my chest. With her full weight pressing down on me, I came a second time -- this time in her tight hole. We both moaned as I shot into her again and again not wanting it to stop, but needing it to because I couldn't breathe.

She rolled off me and we laid there next to each other panting.

Climbing to our feet we got dressed without a word. I enjoyed watching her work her breasts back into that gigantic bra. She opted against putting her panties back on and her skirt was wet and spotted. Her hair was mussed crazily and she tried to hand brush it flat with little success.

I had to say something.

"Uh, thank you," I coughed, "That was ... you were ... you are ..."

"Anytime, baby boy," she smiled, "You got your stapler and you got laid. Not bad."

"Not bad at all," I agreed stepping forward. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her passionately. My tongue dug into her mouth and I could taste my own spunk. I pulled out but kept her face in my hands.

"We're not done," I told her, "You will not have to wait another seven years."

"I hope not," she replied with a grin.