Impact 06: of Annunciation

I can't imagine talking to Keith that way.

"This whole concept was bullshit," Kathy spits. "It's self-inflicted - why'd he tell them we could do this?"

"Is someone there with you?" Claire whispers.

"Mm," I whimper.

I am naked standing in front of the toilet with my fingers jammed in my twat listening to a bitchfest.

'I'm going to get caught,' I think in cold terror.

My whole body is shaking. They are right in front of the stalls. I can see slivers of them in the mirror through the gap around the stall door.

"Have you stopped Sarah?" Claire's voice is low and conspiratorial. "I want my fingers pushing deeper into you."

Kathy is entering the stall one down from me. She and Jen are still talking, venting about some guy they work with. I listen as Kathy adjusts her clothes and lowers herself onto the toilet. The last person I want to find me in this position is fucking dead-eyed Kathy. I am having trouble breathing, I am so scared.

'I'm going to get fired,' I think, not knowing what to do.

"Let me hear your breath as my fingers stoke you," Claire whispers. I exhale a slow shaking breath into the phone. My fingers start moving again. My legs feel weak.

"The concept was always too complicated," Kathy complains. Her voice is awful, nasal, and coarse. I can hear the rush of her urine. "Needlessly! Am I right?"

I try to tune her out. My fingers are moving faster now. I can hear my own breath through the phone. My legs are shaking. Afraid they might give out, I carefully lean my head against the corner of the stall for support. I am so close but so afraid I might fall.

"Kathy, I'll speak to Keith again and see if his team can spare some time to help us out, but I'm not making promises."

'Jen is such a wimp,' I marvel, even as I worry she and Kathy will hear me jilling. The wet noises my fingers are making sound like sloppy thunder in the closed confines of my stall.

"Listen to you, you're so close already," Claire husks. Her voice is breaking and bouncing slightly, I can almost feel her bed shaking. "I am close too, Sarah, but I'm not going to cum until I hear you."

My mouth is open and I watch as a thin stream of drool slips off my outstretched tongue and drips onto the tiles at my feet.

'Oh God, I'm going to scream...' I think as my mind goes white.

"Fucking good luck with those nerds," Kathy barks as she batters her toilet paper roll and wipes herself. "What a bunch of divas."

"Cum for me mon amour," Claire pleads in my ear, her voice deep and full of longing.

I can't help but picture Kathy's piss wet pussy hair and pale fat ass, but it makes no difference.

I cum.

"ah!" It's loud enough to be heard, loud enough that Claire responds with a long moan of relief, but thankfully Kathy is banging open her stall and Jen is running the tap.

Claire's moans sound almost sing-song. I want to laugh and tell her how wonderful she is, but even if I could, I can't. My orgasm is neverending. Cum is filling my hand.

"Sarah, oh my beautiful Sarah, je veux ta belle bouche, je veux que tu me lèches," she gushes softly.

"I asked that little bitch whatsherface to help out on the PowerPoint so Keith wrote that email to all departments, saying they 'weren't Photoshop'! Seriously, what assholes."

My ass is clenching painfully as I climax. My eyes are watering and I'm biting down viciously on my lip - desperate not to cry out.

"I remember that email Kathy and you're right, that was nerd-diva assholery, but Keith was also under a deadline, so... whatever."

"Whatever my ass. Seriously, Jen, it was extra, and onl-."

The door slams and they're gone. I'm bent over, my elbows braced on my knees, my panties stretched between my ankles, cum dripping down my leg.

"Oh Jesus Claire," I moan as I fall back and land hard on the toilet seat. "God Almighty!"

"You are my bold Young Sarah."

"I could have been caught," I gasp.

"But you did it anyway. I think my Young Sarah enjoys an audience. Did part of you want them to hear you cumming... or was that just for me?"

I remember the beautiful thin Asian girl watching me over Claire's shoulder, smiling at me while her friends watched me grind my bare pussy against Claire's thigh. Claire had fucked me infront of those girls, bared my ass to them. The smiling girl had stared into my eyes and swung her hips seductively as I called out and came. She had gotten off on it. I picture her masturbating later that night, her long body stretched out in the dark, stifling her cries, afraid to wake her friends, to be caught.

I'm watching my legs quiver, trying hard to catch my breath. The terror is retreating from my breast. In its wake is a warm post-coital glow, but also something decidedly hotter. My panties are at my ankles, I step out of them, leaving them on the tile floor.

"I can go again..." I whisper.

"Did you fall asleep?" Ben asked. He and Keith were eating pizza, Keith pushed a pile of napkins and a ginger ale my way.

"No," I told him, glancing at Keith and picking up a slice. "I just needed to stretch my legs - but got trapped in the ladies room. I overheard Jen and Kathy from Style, they think we're nerd-diva assholes and that I'm a bitch, but need us to bail them out. So yeah, they're going to email you."

Keith looks gob-smacked. His computer pings with a new email and Ben bursts out laughing.

Tuesday and Wednesday nights kept us all at work super late. Keith pretended to be annoyed with Ben and me, that we weren't leaving, but I could tell he was proud.

We ate from the cafeteria or got takeout all week. Eating together two to three meals a day - Ben was a fan of "Second Dinner", and it caught on. Our little office started smelling like a boys locker room but by 10 pm on Wednesday we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Ben ran out and got us beers while Keith did yoga in a meeting room.

After our phone sex Claire had reverted to sharing links to funny videos and other playful, if impersonal, fare. I played along, happy for the contact but unsure of what it meant. My phone vibrated and I saw there was a text from Claire. It was a picture of a garbage can upside down inside a gigantic hole in the middle of her street. I texted her a selfie of the dark circles under my eyes.

Zut alors! You're still at work?!

I know. The teams we're working with in London and Kabul keep sending changes - it's maddening.

Oh, my poor Sarah. This week has been so hard.

How about you, how was your day?

I met Carl Andre. For a man who threw his wife out a window, he was très charmant.

Wait, what?

Another time. What about you, are you almost done?

No, an hour or two more. But we are in good shape. Keith told them no more changes after midnight, so he thinks we'll only have one or two major changes tomorrow. LOL - I'm in hell.

This is too much! Tomorrow night you put Afghanistan to bed then you take a car to me and I put you to bed.

No, I don't know what time it will be. I don't want to keep you up.

No. I miss my Young Sarah. When you are done tomorrow you will come here and have a proper dinner.

I thought about telling her no, but I felt a thrill of joy seeing that she missed me, because I missed her terribly and was so afraid she didn't feel the same. A guilty part of me was thinking about the thrill of making her cum again - an even guiltier part of me squirmed at the thought of her ordering me to lick her pussy. But I was also thinking about the laughter and adventures of meeting Lou Reed, of dancing, of talking together on the grass with her head in my lap... of all of it. And most of all, I liked the idea of curling up with her, off sleeping in her bed.

I miss you too, and a proper dinner sounds wonderful. I'll get away as early as I can!

"Hello beautiful!" she says, greeting me at the door. Her expression turning to concern at the sight of me. "Oh Sarah, you look like you're about to fall over, come in."

"I fell asleep in the car," I whine. One of the perks of working late is we get sent home in Black Cars. I live so close to work I've never had enough time to fall asleep on the way home. Claire bustles around while I take off my jacket and boots, then comes back to give me a beautiful glass of red wine.

"Come on, working girl!" Claire says as she hands me a glass of red wine that's so dark it almost looks like crude oil. The bowl of the glass is enormous and exceedingly thin - a soap bubble with a stem.

"I don't think that means what you think it means," I mutter, palming the bowl of my glass - too nervous to hold it the way Claire does, by pinching the "foot" of the glass as if it were a key.

"Yes, yes," she hushes, leading me to the bathroom where she has lit a candle and already drawn a bath.

"It's hot," she tells me. "It will make a new woman out of you, and there's no rush because the food won't be ready for another 30 minutes."

We had been texting today, but her replies had all been cryptic, teasing me about "hanging out" and whether we should order pizza or Chinese, but the whole apartment smells amazing, and there's a bud vase with a rose at the foot of the tub...

"Oh Claire, this is lovely, but I told you not to go to any trouble," I say looking around her bathroom, the candle, the steamed up mirrors and flower, the pile of fluffy towels waiting for me. "I didn't-"

"No! No trouble," she assures me, with a wide smile. I get a quick peck on the lips before she leaves me to my soak.

I unbutton my blouse and take a sip of the wine, it's delicious.

My muscles ache. It's almost 11. Keith sent me home. The three of us had been troubleshooting the code. But I wasn't really needed. Keith wasn't either, but neither of us wanted to abandon Ben. Finally, Keith told me to call it a night.

"One of us needs to be frosty tomorrow," Ben had told me when I balked. "Go home Sarah."

But here I am in Claire's bathroom instead, trying very hard not to feel guilty. Or maybe feeling like Ishould feel guilty? The truth is, standing naked over the steaming tub in the half light, my body is already unwinding and the frantic pressure of the day is beginning to recede. I feel wonderful.

I can hear her banging around the kitchen as I strip down and climb into the tub. And she's right, the temperature is perfect - almost too hot, but not.

"Are you good?" Claire asks through the cracked door, her voice a singsong whisper.

"Perfect," I tell her, grimacing happily. She watches me lower myself into the scented water, then, satisfied, her smiling face disappears. I listen to the soft padding as she hurries back to the kitchen.

I feel my back and neck unwinding, my arms and legs going soft. The whirring of my mind is slowing. Sinking until just my nose and knees are above water, I take long deep breaths.

Looking down at myself in her enormous porcelain tub, my knees to one side, my submerged nipples swollen and pink, I feel transformed. I touch my breasts, enjoying their mass. I gently pinch my nipples, knowing how much Claire loves them. Spreading my knees I smooth my fingertips over my belly and sex. I play there, just enjoying how silky and hairless my lips are.

As tired as I had been when I got home last night, knowing I would be here tonight had electrified me. I'd stayed up past one, taking the time to shave, working slowly, with great care not to irritate the fragile skin. Then I'd checked and double checked, smoothing slippery suds over my denuded sex in search of any imperfections. I kept at it until I was sure I missed nothing, and until I couldn't stop touching myself. I had imagined kneeling over Claire's face, knees spreading wide, lowering myself while she watched my fingers, my open sex; dripping onto her lips and chin. I came calling her name.

My touching is becoming decidedly less playful. I force my fingers to stop moving and pull my hand away. Looking down at myself in the half light, I try and catch my breath. My breasts rise and fall, my excitement pushing my nipples out of the water. They are swollen and look almost purple. I try to calm my breath, calm myself.

Stretched out in her tub, my body looks beautiful to me in a way it never has before. I am sexy for the first time in my life.

Just last weekend I actually did kneel in this tub, but I was at Claire's feet, eating her out. I should have felt base and ugly then, with my ass sticking out and my big boobs bouncing against Clair's thighs while I licked and sucked her cunt.

I hated when Danny would watch me suck him off, hiding my face behind my hair or closing my eyes so I didn't have to see him watching me. I felt disgusting and crude sucking his dick. I hated the sounds I made. I didn't want him to think of me that way; whorish.

Eating pussy was, if anything, more crude, the noises just as animal and lewd, but I'd been kneeling at her feet. I was washed in her beauty. But it was more than that, I had seen myself through her eyes. I knew I was beautiful because she told me so no. At that moment I wanted to be watched. I wanted to be seen that way, the way Claire saw me: squeezing her ass, eating her pussy, with her standing above me in all her glory calling out and cumming in my mouth. I was gorgeous.

She had stood me up and bathed me under the shower with her. The intimacy of holding her by her hips, our breasts and bellies touching, her fingers in my hair massaging shampoo into my scalp, smiling at each other and laughing like girls.

I'm masturbating again, have to again, force myself to stop.

'Have I ever felt this beautiful?' I muse. 'Have I ever been this sexy - this sexual?'

Claire is playing a relaxing mix** of mostly French songs and unaccompanied piano, all made better by her voice, singing and humming along, the sound of her bustling in the kitchen, opening the oven, closing the refrigerator, stacking plates, gathering flatware.

'Have I ever felt this safe? Has anyone ever cared for me this way?' I wonder. I try to remember the last time anyone cooked a meal for me... maybe Kwasi? That would have been back before he moved out to live with Darcy... over three years ago.

'And we weren't...' I catch myself, the memory of how small my hand looked holding his long thick cock in my hand; how hot it had felt. I shake off the memory and the dread.

"How are you going in there?" she calls out. "Do you need anything?"

"Nooo," I moan happily, and laugh. "I'm starting to prune..."

"Dinner is ready whenever you are."

'I didn't even think to offer Claire help," I realize with a pang of shame.

"I'm ready!" I call, as I lift myself out of the bath, the song that's playing is the one she was singing after the night at Puerta Roja. I wrap myself in the towel and stand at the bathroom door, "Claire? What is this song?" I ask.

"It's a song for lovers; comparisons and completions," she tells me. Hearing me moving around she calls, "the robe is hanging on the back of the door!"

"What do you mean 'completions'? Like a breakup?" I ask. Pushing the door back I find her toweling robe. It's impossibly white and thick, very much like a robe I imagine you'd find at a five star hotel. It's big enough for a man, but luxuriously soft and plush.

"No, like telling someone how compatible you are. Think of Jerry Maguire 'you complete me' but then unlike Jerry actually telling them in all these comparisons how they complete you."

"Can I help?" I ask, padding barefoot into the living room wrapped in the world's softest robe, and holding my empty glass. "Tell me what to do."

"No, nothing," she says, waving me away from the kitchen. "Tonight is my turn to take care of you!"

"Well..." I start, wanting to argue, but she looks determined. "Then... will you tell me some of the words? I seriously only picked up something about guitars and bass, bouquets of flowers, Beauty & the Beast."

"Toi la guitare et moi le basse. Is saying you are the guitar to my bass" she confirms with approval, approaching me with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, she refills my glass and raises hers.

"Santé!"

Claire's hair is tucked behind her ears and she's not wearing makeup. Her ears stick out a little, but not too much. Just enough to be adorable. Her brow meanwhile is clear and smooth, the bones of her face are definite. Her jaw is delicate and effeminate, but her face has a masculine sharpness that her high cheekbones nicely subvert. But it is her enormous hazel eyes and full lips that soften her face, making her look almost child-like. Her neck is long and has a graceful curve. I think of sucking at her pulse as she stretched it for me.

"Santé!" I reply, feeling shy as we touch glasses. I tilt my face forward to drink, hiding my eyes beneath my brows, but looking up at her.

I watch her sip her wine and wonder at her, wonder at what we're doing. Part of me is afraid. I feel like I'm falling for Claire and I'm afraid I'm just an experiment for her, that any moment she'll cast me aside... or maybe I'm afraid she won't.

I think of how we laughed together over the boy with the erection as big as a Coke can. Of how turned on I'd gotten listening to her stories of all the "flags" she had captured, the Algerian and the Norwegians. I find myself imagining her in the arms of a man telling him how she once had a girl, telling him about ordering me to lick her pussy, of how eager I was to do it.

The image is both frightening and exciting. That I'm one of her conquests, a casual plaything - a flag - makes my belly hot. But the idea of her growing bored with me is almost sickening.

'The American,' I think glumly. "Her whore...'

"Where did you go?" she asks, giving me a suspicious look.

"Oh, no... I just-"

"Come," she says gently. Wrinkling her nose and smiling, she takes me by the hand and leads me to the sofa.

"T'es le bouquet je suis les fleurs. Means you are the bouquet and I'm the flowers," she continues. Her voice is so warm, her expression so kind. Watching her turn, the sickening fear begins to wane but the heat continues to build.

I admire her from behind; waifish. Her narrow rib cage and waist drawing down to the flair of her hips, her pert derrière, curving into her powerfully muscular thighs. I think of my dream, of kneeling behind her... of licking her ass.

I shiver just as she turns, she studies me, then presses me down to the sofa, her thick blonde hair, draping over her shoulders, flowing down and framing at her décolletage almost guiding my eyes. I know what lies below, that tanned complexion leading to her round breasts, her dark upturned nipples. I can't help but steal a glance.

"Tu es la Belle et moi la Bête," she continues, leaving me the bottle. "You are the Beauty & I'm the Beast."

Claire is all sleek curves and elegant lines. She is the true beauty. And as much as I love the attention she gives my big boobs and ass, I am clearly the beast.