Que Sera Sera

I'm sitting on my desk; we are the last ones in the office. It's gotten late, the building is empty and poorly lit, the only source of light coming from my desktop and a lamp at the other side of the room. I put the finishing touches in the Word document I have open in front of me while we're chatting, in what we pretend to be a carefree manner. You're standing behind me, your hands resting on the top of my chair; you pretend to be reading what I'm writing. A lot of pretending is going on here but we're not fooling anyone, certainly not ourselves. The tension has been palpable for months now, the air fills with electricity every time you enter the room, I've come to count the hours by the times I see you coming in and out, smiling a friendly smile –but your eyes are hungry and I know they match my own.

Tonight there is a smell of inevitable in the air. Trying to keep my emotions, my physical reactions to you in check all this time, has taken its toll. I know I can no longer control myself.

Need to finish this report before I leave but your presence intoxicates me. I cannot see you as my eyes are glued in the desktop screen but I can feel your every move. Every fiber of my being is conscious of even the breaths you take. Then your hand moves a little. It's still on the back of the chair but now it touches one of my locks. You caress my hair and a tingling sensation spreads on my body making my groins ache. Humidity starts to pool between my legs and I regret my decision to wear a thong today.

I can't keep from letting out a small moan and that's all you need to reassure you that I'm not going to stop you, slap you, get offended and storm out of the room... You now know I want this as badly as you do.

My eyes are getting heavy as if I had sweet wine in a hot July day, I can't seem to be able to keep them open. I'm now even more conscious to your presence, as if I'm tied with invisible, silk strings to you, my body can't help reacting to your every move and the erotic aura you transmit. I lean back to the chair allowing you to keep caressing my hair. It's long, well past my shoulder-blades and you stroke it with slow sensual moves. Then your hand moves to my neck, cupping the back of my head and slowly massaging it. Another moan escapes me, louder this time. Your other hand starts caressing my shoulder and my arm. You only use your fingertips and that makes it more exciting somehow...

The Word document is left there open, forgotten, the censor is blinking, trying to remind me that I need to keep writing but I'm way gone by now. My hands are loose on the keyboard; I stopped pretending to write the moment you first touched me.

The light-headedness produced by your magic touch makes me feel like I'm floating. I can hear my heart beating faster and faster but it seems as if time has slowed down. In a move that surprises even me, I pull the last remnants of my strength and get off the chair. You take a step back; you must be thinking that I've changed my mind, that I'm going to storm out anyway, embarrassed of what I allowed to happen. Instead I put my hands on your chest and grab your button-down shirt. I use the leverage to pull you closer and for a minute there we both stay still –stillness that is full of suppressed motion. Neither can move back now but for milliseconds that seem to last aeons, neither takes a step forward either.

I then lean, ever so slowly, like carefully approaching a wild animal. I'm not afraid although my heart beats like a drum by now, but I want to savour the moment, expand it to infinity. Your breath is caught, your stillness perfect, your body tense. The top two buttons of your shirt are left open, you never wear a tie. I approach that cleft on your neck, the one that's resting between your collarbones. I'm so close my nose is nearly touching your skin. I take a deep breath and your smell fills me, there is not way I'm backing out of this now. As I release my breath, the hot air coming out of my mouth touches your skin and you shudder. Your left arm circles my waist while the other one tangles my hair, gently grabbing it and you pull me closer. Now our bodies are flush, my forehead reaches your chin, and I can feel your cock, hard, pressing against my stomach. I lift my face and tentatively lick your chin cleft, the stubble there rough against my tongue, excite me further. I trail light kisses on your neck while you tremble, your desire more evident than ever, your nose in my hair, you seem to enjoy the way I smell as much as I do you.

The hand that's on my waist starts trailing down. It reaches the hem of my flowing chiffon skirt and crawls underneath. You cup my ass, caressing it, enjoying the bare feel of my exposed cheeks before you move your hand to the edges of my thong. You groan as you realise that the skin there is bare, no trace of hair anywhere. A long finger enters me and I now rest my weight on you, my legs to weak to hold me up.

Suddenly it's like something snaps in you. You enter one more finger in my tight, wet pussy, and I can feel a growl vibrating in your chest and throat. It turns me on even more, this animalistic lust, even though I didn't think that was possible. If there is such a thing as dying from lust-overdose, I'm surely not surviving the night.

I cap your hardness over your trousers, search the shape with my fingers like a blind person, memorizing the way it feels, the way I see it on my mind. I cannot take it any longer; I unzip you and enter my hand in your pants. I expect to find more cloth, briefs or boxers covering you, but I realise you've gone commando. I look up, my eyebrows raised and you seem to understand the silent question.

"I never wear underwear".

It is my turn to growl as I hold your cock in my fist and start pumping it. All this time I've been lusting after you, you never wore underwear. The thought makes me even wetter and now my juices start to pour down the inside of my thigh, your fingers still in me, stroking in a frenzy. We kiss, your tongue demanding against my own, but I put my lips around it and suck it the way I'd like to suck another part of your body.

I pump, you stroke and we're both close to cumming but I need to feel you in me. You seem to think the same as your hand leaves my hot cunt –I can't hold back a whimper in the loss of your fingers in me- but before I have time to protest, you've pushed your pants further down, now they are around your ankles, and you lift me up, holding my ass with both hands as you impale me on you, the fabric of my skirt all around us, creating more friction on my swollen clit.

Your cock is filling me, your strokes bring me closer to the edge but you're still wearing your shirt and I need to feel your skin, lick the sheen of sweat that covers you, suck your nipples in my mouth as you fuck me harder and harder, pumping me effortlessly on your cock, as if I weigh nothing at all.

I start unbuttoning your shirt but your frantic movements and my lust make my hands unstable.

"Tear it open," you say through your teeth and I know you're holding back your orgasm. "I have another one in my office, just tear it open". I don't need to be told twice, I pull it and the buttons go flying over the room, your wide chest and flat stomach now bare for me to worship.

My legs go around your waist, the penetration getting deeper as I touch you everywhere and you keep pounding me over your cock. Your lips lock with my own again and I can barely breath but who needs air anyway?

Your fingers dig more forcefully in my ass-cheeks, I know I'll be bruised tomorrow but I don't care, I can feel you are close to cumming and I'm about to explode too.

"Cum on me baby," you whisper, "cum on my cock". Your words are exactly what I need as my orgasm hits me hard and I cry out. The orgasmic waves are still rolling when you pump me hard once, twice, three times and then you lift me up so that your cock can leave my pussy. The head of your pulsating cock touches my clit as it releases streams of sperm on me and the inside of my skirt that still covers both of us; a second orgasm hits me on the spot. I cry out again and hold your shoulders tight, riding my orgasm, careful not to burry my nails in you although I'd love nothing more than to scratch you right now, marking you as mine.

We stay like that for a minute or two, trying to catch our breath. Then you carefully place me on the desk, my ass near its edge and you start spreading tender kisses on my cheeks, my forehead, my closed eyes. I touch your forearms, I love the way they feel under my hands, strong and masculine.

Then you look at the clock on the wall and a curse escapes your lips. We were so enthralled with each other we didn't realise how late it was. You look at me apologetically but I know, you don't have to explain. I go to the ladies' room to clean up and you follow me –no one is around to protest about you cleaning your cock in the wrong restroom. We both look each other through the mirrors as we clean ourselves, our gaze intense.

As we leave the building you catch my hand and you lightly squeeze it. "Tomorrow?" you ask.

"Tomorrow," I reply and I know nothing is going to be the same for me again. Ever. Yet I can't find myself regretting it.

You look around to make sure no one is watching and you steal a kiss. I smile to you before I turn left, to catch the train that will take me home. You go the other direction, to get your parked car. As I near the entrance of the subway, you drive past me. You slow down and wave. I stand for a minute at the top of the stairs as I watch you leave and go back to your wife.

I know I should feel a weight on my chest, a foreboding of impending doom; instead I feel strangely light. I start to hum "Part-time lovers" as I get down the stairs, two at a time.

Que sera, sera.