Angel of Joy

I pulled away, "Jane?" I looked at her.

She looked up from me, surprised, "Yes." Her face was wet, she was panting.

"I want you to cum for me, like before. I want to feel you on my face."

As if in answer she plunged her face back into my pussy, sticking her tongue in me, moaning loudly, uncontrollably and when I had my face again between her legs she forced herself against me, riding my face bringing her self closer and closer to the same orgasm that was building in me.

It wasn't so wet this time but because I was there, I was able to have it all, all that flooded from her and all that remained on her legs and pussy. I don't know why it mean so much to me, but it did.

When we discussed it later I said I thought it was because, well, it was her, and I wanted all of her. She thought it may have been something far more primordial. But it didn't matter why, it just mattered that we had finally connected in a way that left no doubt in our minds. We were made for each other.

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We went to work together on Monday. Rode up the elevator together. When she got out at the floor before mine, she turned, kissed me on the lips, squeezed my hand and said, "Have a wonderful day, Angel." Then she smiled at the others in the elevator and left.

I don't know what they saw when they stared at me. But I know what I was feeling.

I was an angel of joy. I was Jane Carter's Angel of Joy.