Surprise is what keeps things fresh; interesting; exhilarating. An unexpected gesture or selfless act of love and appreciation not only goes a long way towards earning Karma points, it ultimately makes those close to you feel more special.
That was how I felt about the previous night. I was still glowing, the tingling in my abdomen regularly surfacing and swirling over my body, surging down between my legs then back up every time I thought about the way he touched me. Oh that tongue of his; long, quick and flexible, somehow knowing when and where all the right spots were to amplify my excitement.
I longed for him to do it all again. From the deliberate, hours-long build up, through the endlessly increasing peaks of arousal, insistently edging me towards the crescendo; _my_ crescendo; that overwhelming sensation when my brain struggles to process everything being asked of it, all paths become one and, all of a sudden, nothing else matters, as Hetfield might sing.
Adam's touches did all that, and more. I was a teenager again when I was with him, but with the considerable benefit of experience that allowed me to appreciate the vast distinction between the arousal from his loving caresses and those evoked by the inexpert fumblings of an eager prom date, all the while conjuring the same, fresh, impetuous innocence that youth brings to the equation. I wanted him to sweep me and my spirit on another journey of passionate awareness; to allow me to discover thoughts and feelings that eighteen months of togetherness and a lifetime of searching had only just begun to reveal. I had a lot of catching up to do and intended to make the most of it.
My clitoris throbbed beneath its pink shelter as I recalled the way he flicked his tongue either side, then slowly, tantalisingly traced the digits 0 to 9 in sequence over and around my tender pearl. The variety in those strokes alone had me groaning his name while I twitched beneath him. He offered to carry on -- said that he was well versed in hexadecimal, should I so desire. Such a geek! How could I resist A through F on my jumping clit?
Flushing at the memories, I ached to touch myself. Just a little, to tide me over until he arrived home and we could play some more. Did that make what I was about to do any less honourable; selfish even? Doing it not only for his benefit but because I would ultimately gain? Possibly. But I couldn't help myself. I reasoned it was his fault after all -- he drove me to such distraction -- and tried to focus on the task at hand.
It was Friday and I'd snuck home a little early from work, bored of the umpteen meetings and circular conversations. As was becoming typical, my heart just wasn't in it because my mind was elsewhere. Fifteen hours earlier, to be precise. While my boss' presentation droned on I had drifted back to the mind-blowing orgasm that Adam had wrung from my body the night before.
Truthfully, 'orgasm' did it a disservice. It was more a series of them, each more potent than the last; the culmination of an evening of blissful, ever increasing sensations that ripped through my body as I lay there hot, wet and panting helplessly beneath him.
It had started with him cooking me a fine chicken and black bean stir fry, washed down with a medium bodied Shiraz, then drawing me a hot, deep bubble bath. He'd dotted tea light candles around the bathroom and switched off the light, letting the flames dance and flicker long shadows against the tiles and pastel blue walls.
After inviting me into the small, humid sanctuary he had slowly undressed me, item by item, gently kissing each piece of flesh as it was uncovered, taking his sweet time to expose and touch every curve with his soft lips. It was as if he was memorising each nuance of my willowy shape, charting and cataloguing me for later recall. Had there been a subsequent test he'd have aced it for sure. Even my slightly overindulged tummy -- the part of me of which I am least fond -- received its fair share of attention.
But his breathy caresses and tender kisses were only half the equation. The treat was when he would regularly look up at me from his current place of focus, eyes brimming with adoration as he worshipped my body. To be treasured -- wanted -- like that; to see the hunger in his eyes yet restraint in his actions, made my heart gallop.
By the time it was the turn of my panties to slide down my shapely legs and form a figure eight on the floor I was beginning to moisten at the anticipation of him kissing my voluptuous bottom and shaved lips with the same devotion as the rest of my body.
There was no denying it: I adored being licked. Always had. Once I'd learned the touches that mattered during my early years of self discovery I often visualized being licked "down there" as we used to call it at school. Ever since I'd read a story about cunnilingus in a copy of Hustler found in my dad's bedside drawer it had fascinated me to imagine what it would be like; though it wasn't until many years later that I had the pleasure of finding out for real. When someone was totally into me, twinkling eyes gazing up at me from above my velvety furrow, and I could see my taste driving them to their own sexual precipice as I neared mine, it made me feel Godly; omnipotent; exceptional; like I was an incredibly rare piece of art, admired and treated for the raw inner beauty I represented instead of simply judged by my slightly quirky, unconventional exterior.
What made it all the more extraordinary with Adam was the fact he couldn't seem to ever have enough. He was utterly insatiable; said if I could sneak him under my desk at work he'd sit there all day so every time I felt the urge all I'd have to do for oral relief would be to spread my legs. Imagine that! Typing into a spreadsheet or on the phone to a customer while my own personal sex slave ravaged my little jewel and puffy lips. I'd be drenching the chair, my thighs and his face with my come in no time, as I writhed beneath his masterful caresses, stifling screams of ecstasy for fear of being caught.
The combination of heat, energy and danger made it a breathtaking fantasy, and as I stood in the flickering candlelight, naked and radiant before him, I shivered at the thoughts, preparing myself for his delightful intrusion to my most revered parts.
Instead he had topped the bath up with hot and simply helped me step in, the crackling suds dutifully parting then clinging to me as I lowered myself into the water.
Questions over why he had skipped my centrepiece evaporated when he began to sponge me, delicately washing each corner of my body -- including the entrance to my then slippery pussy -- with the same slowness as the earlier kisses. He squeezed the sponge out over my jutting breasts and we shared smiles watching tributaries of warm water roll effortlessly in all directions on their return journey to the bath. My pale pink nipples rose in appreciation, perched atop my large areolas like tiny marshmallows in espresso cups.
The sponge squeaked as each arm was treated to its own soap and rinse before gliding towards my thigh. I raised one leg out of the water so he could pay attention to my calf. He leisurely washed it and moved to my foot, then massaged my sole and instep, finishing by drawing each toe into his hot mouth, running his tongue over them, between them, making me squirm while sucking and nibbling every digit. He didn't even seem to notice the bubble beard he gained in the process. It felt divine and I just tipped my head back, sank further into the hot water and let him do likewise to the other leg; my mind already racing at what was to come.
As I recalled the events of the previous evening I had found myself becoming more turned on. The dampness forming in my crotch was infinitely more appealing than my boss gesticulating at his Powerpoint slides -- a presentation that seemed far from conclusion, and even farther from my attention. The urge to touch myself was invading my thoughts -- taking over -- but I couldn't very well do it in the meeting room with five witnesses.
I surprised myself with the notion. It was such a dirty thought to be having and I nonchalantly surveyed the surroundings to talk myself out of it. The room lights were low to minimise glare on the projected images. Directly across the oval wood-effect table was Old Bob, more lines than War & Peace, slouched and wearing a glazed expression through his bifocals. Clustered at the stubby end of the table, Mark and Tony -- the departmental comic relief -- appeared barely more attentive, preferring to exchange knowing grins while playing Buzzword Bingo. I was the sole occupant of this side, save for Kelly -- my boss' secretary -- sitting close to Gerry at the head of the table. She was daubed in her default attire: the wrong foundation, thick make-up, false spider lashes, and wearing an ill-fitting blouse that often rode high enough to reveal the tramp stamp etched on her sacrum. Made her popular around the office; and every organisation needed a bike. She also appeared to be doodling on her notepad while Gerry talked forecasts, growth and industry trends.
Everyone in their own worlds, and none with line of sight. Perhaps I could pull this off after all? It was still risky, but just possible.
Was it worth it? I couldn't shake the stirrings inside. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel this way at the most inopportune moments? Did I need counselling? Did I need to exercise more self control, or was I perfectly normal? Was it acceptable to allow my thoughts and urges to govern me? What if I lost control one day? Were there limits to how far I'd go?
Turning these thoughts over and over in my head, eyes focusing on everything and nothing at once, my attention was gradually drawn to my pen lying on the desk. I fleetingly wished I could slide it into my pussy; its cold, metal surface probing my insides just enough to tease. Slowly back and forth, in and out, the extra breadth of the clip wonderfully fulfilling at the end of each gentle stroke. It immediately thrilled me to consider being so brazen and my skin tingled. Perhaps just a little touch was all I needed; a tiny feel to take the pressure off until I could get home and deliver the full attention my body craved. Surely I could manage that undetected? Maybe setting such stringent boundaries was a way to keep myself in check.
I weighed the options in my mind, deciding if it was worth the risk and, if so, the best way to do it. Thoughts, positions, possibilities and penalties all flashed through my head. If anything, the act of openly considering the choices made me hornier, my body relentlessly screaming yes until my mind eventually caved in surrender, offering a sketchy plan as a consolation.
The course was set.
Stretching somewhat theatrically, I hunkered down in my seat while still pretending to be interested in my boss' monologue. The act of sliding pushed my navy suit skirt up my legs so it was caught on the upper third of my thighs. Good enough. I dropped one hand to my lap and let the other twiddle the pen on the desk in plain sight to take any focus off.
My heartbeat quickened and the blood thudded past my temples as I contemplated the lewdness of self exploration in such close quarters. It was plain wrong on so many levels, but the depravity of the act and -- perhaps moreso -- my willingness to entertain it despite the consequences, filled me with nervous energy.
Surreptitiously, my out-of-sight hand crept millimetre by millimetre to the hem of my skirt, brushing my exposed thigh -- no stockings or hold-ups today for a change. The excitement in me mounted as I very slowly dragged my hand back, bunching the remaining material beneath my palm, spreading my legs under the table to aid its northward movement. I glanced down my body. Anyone paying close attention couldn't fail to spot my nipples, proud and straining against the fabric of my blouse, trying to puncture the man-made fibres in a bid to be noticed; enticing hands and fingers to squeeze and roll the ample flesh; seeking a warm mouth to close over the tips, and a tongue to swirl and lash at the sensitive nubs as my arousal grew.
I imagined Adam sitting out of sight between my legs, watching my skirt edge higher, revealing progressively more of my lean thighs to his greedy stare; his focus unwavering, zeroing in on the emerging expanse of white cotton that separated my ever growing desire to be touched from his willingness to please. As my legs parted further, the thought of him longing to dive forward and lap me through the thin material countered my rising apprehension at exposing myself in this manner. I was conflicted and tense, yet unequivocally excited. My mouth was dry; the same way it had been when he first went down on me; sampling, touching, flicking, exhaling hot breaths among my light patch of fur and delicate petals that both tickled and energised my body, a tell-tale wetness forming within. His magnificent tongue and the full lips of my -- these days bare -- pussy had become firm acquaintances from the outset of our relationship and I never grew tired of the way he knew my sex the way a Jazz musician knows how to jam with his band.
I inched the skirt higher.
The game was nearly over when my fingers grazed my panties and I flinched, sending my pen skidding across the table. I froze and tried to avoid eye contact, as if my colleagues would be able to tell what I was doing through my guilty expression. Gerry stopped talking momentarily; Old Bob merely seemed startled -- I probably woke him -- and rolled the pen back. I smiled apologetically at nobody in particular and Gerry continued.
The damp spot between my parted legs was evident to me and I hoped there would be no odour escaping into the room to give my arousal away. Kelly for sure was close enough to smell me if that was the case, and getting one over on me was the sort of thing in which she'd revel. I pushed the thoughts from my mind and waited until I was satisfied that I had gotten away with the unexpected touch.
Though discretion was paramount, the desire to relieve myself was intense. I concentrated on gingerly sliding my panties aside -- wriggling slightly to assist their travel -- revealing direct access to my drooling sex. The cool air from the conditioner in the room against my exposed, shaved slit made my body shudder and I opened my mouth a fraction, drawing in a soft breath. I flicked my eyes to each member of the room; no visible signs of detection yet, thank goodness. But I needed to be careful: one wrong move and I'd be in big trouble. I couldn't recall the clause in the contract that stated masturbation in the office was a dismissible offence, but I was sure it would be covered by some blanket legalese such as 'inappropriate conduct'. Again I paused long enough to make sure nobody was paying attention and to once more weigh up the odds of being caught: this was my last chance to back out.
There were no raised eyebrows or disapproving stares. Not even faint glimmers of recognition or disgusted, averted eyes.
I was in the clear.
My pussy ached and every atom in my body chanted yes, yes, yes in unison.
Now or never.
Extending my middle finger I brought it to my horny opening, dragging it first across my moist lips then gently dipping it inside my velvety folds. I withdrew it wet, and the cooler air began to dry it quickly. Before that occurred I ran the digit up to the hood of my clitoris and flicked across it once. My eyes closed and mouth opened a little as a thousand sensors lit up simultaneously within my body. Then I remembered where I was and snapped my eyes open again, furtively checking the other occupants for suspicion.
So back went my finger, diving delicately beneath my outer lips then returning, glistening wet, before running up and over my sensitive knot of pink flesh. Again my body responded by rapidly distributing pleasure signals up and down my spine. Hormones mixed and circulated to my extremities, warming me. The need for absolute caution jarred with my growing desire to drive two fingers inside my yearning body and draw rough circles around my slavish nub until I came hard. It was asking a lot of myself to remain quiet and discreet while I repeatedly dipped a finger into my centre, slid it out past my sticky labia and brushed it over the surface of my gradually protruding clit, feeling it respond and swell beneath my touches as I tugged to control the reins of the wild horses trying to stampede through me.
The feelings my actions triggered sent me whirling back to the bathroom the previous evening...
Wrapping me in a big fluffy bath sheet as the water spiralled away, Adam had gently patted me dry and let me wrap my long, dark hair in another towel before leading me to the bedroom, which was also candlelit and tranquil. I surrendered to his guidance, with little idea what he might do to me. That didn't stop my imagination running amok at wild thoughts of him penetrating my soft wetness, filling me completely with his thick, contoured shaft and grinding my clit hard against us at the deepest part of each thrust in the way he knows will drive us both towards simultaneous climax. I was virtually panting with anticipation and desire at the mere thoughts alone, which was as much a testament to Adam's understanding of my needs as the manner in which we were in tune with one another.
As it happened, my imagination didn't come anywhere near the intensity of his actions. He just laid me down on our bed, unwrapped me as if I was the sweetest Christmas gift he'd ever seen, then kissed his way tenderly from my jaw, around my supple breasts and quivering nipples, over my tummy and down past the two-inch wide runway of pubic hair that led to my shaved slit. He parted my creamy thighs and encouraged me to flop my legs apart while he lay in the gap, staring directly at my silky wet petals, open and inviting. The twinkle in his eyes told me what I already knew but never tired of having reaffirmed: he wanted me and it was his treat. He dived in. From there he had spent what must have been nearly fifty earth-shattering minutes with his face buried in my pussy, although I lost track of time the moment he began.
To please me was what he loved more than anything in the world; and it showed. His tongue had danced, nibbled, kissed and licked every square millimetre of my sex, inside and out. My clit felt like it would burst at any moment as he resolutely and lovingly brought me to the brink of orgasm time and again with his talented tongue, then backed off to tease me before attacking again. Every so often he'd push me over the edge and my body would quake in the throes of climax, making me grip the bed sheets, arch my back, pant loudly into the room and thrust my core hard up into his welcoming face.
Each time, sparks crackled through me. Connections in my brain were made and broken faster than I could comprehend. Parts of my body I didn't know had nerve endings prickled with heat and signalled their gratitude, adding to the flood of come that coated Adam's eager face and probing tongue.
As my head spun and insides twined and untwined with each spasm, a kaleidoscope of colour snaked across my vision: thoughts and images merged into a Technicolor landscape too complex to discern. Shapes pirouetted to my body's ballet as the unrelenting drumming of blood coursed through it, heating me from the inside, transferring that heat into the wetness tumbling towards Adam.
Ultimately my hormones released me from their grasp and I would gradually lower myself to the sheets. While the internal flames reduced to cinders and the images skipped off to the periphery of my senses, the blurry, soft reality of the room returned, along with the sensation of Adam's gentle lapping at my sensitive centre. But before the embers had a chance to extinguish completely he'd stoke my fires to elevate me higher still and ignite my senses again.