Liaison at Work

As I enter your building, I check the seams on my stockings—straight. It's time for another liaison, but you're a bit in the dark on this one. You know I'm coming to your office, and you know the day, but you don't know exactly what's going to happen when I get there.

I exit the elevator on your floor and approach the receptionist, smiling and giving her my card as I ask for you, letting her know we had an appointment. She buzzes you, and instructs me to wait. Rather than sitting in what has to be an uncomfortable lobby chair, I stand at a window and look outside, enjoying the feeling of my damp panties: I'm already excited by what I'm about to do for you.

I hear you approach, and I look at you and smile as you introduce yourself and shake my hand. My pulse is throbbing—can't the receptionist see?—and I can feel my panties become ever more damp as we walk down the hall to your office. Once inside, you close and lock the door and simply—look at me. You do know one of the rules for today: No talking.

I've dressed as your powerful professional woman fantasy: Tight black pencil skirt and suit jacket, with a buttoned white shirt underneath, black stockings and black stilettos. But this isn't about my professional power today. Today I'm a different fantasy.

While you watch, I take my hair down out of its French twist tucked into a clip and shake it out. I remove my jacket while I watch the pulse pound in your throat and your cock harden inside your dress pants, and hang it on the back of the guest chair next to your desk. The chair has no arms, and it's going to be perfect for a number of the parts of this liaison.

I pull my shirt out of my skirt and unbutton it down just below my bra. You can see it's a push up with lace and tiny black bows, and my full, heavy breasts rest inside, jiggling with my movements. I arrange myself in the chair for you, pulling my knee length skirt up, up, up above my stockings, showing you what's in store.

Underneath my skirt, my little panties are black, and my stockings are gartered with tiny bows connecting the garters and the stockings. You can see the tops of my thighs now, and you watch as I spread my legs, completing my transformation into your whore making an office call.

I crook a finger, beckoning you silently toward me, and you come. I reach up and unzip your pants, bringing your hard cock out and towards my mouth. You instinctively thrust your hips toward me, but I hold you off: I have one more detail. I reach into the pocket of my skirt and bring out the dark red lipstick I have there, and while you look down at me, your cock inches from my lips, I coat my lips with red, preparing my mouth to take your cock. You breathe harder, knowing I've listened to those fantasies you've told me about.

When I'm finished, you watch your cock disappear into my mouth as I take the first gulp of your cock, my lips sliding down your shaft, down, all the way to the base. A little smudge of lipstick remains as I slide back up, and you focus on that: the visible mark I'm leaving on you. You start to run your fingers through my hair, but I pull back and shake my head at you. When I leave here, I'll walk out the trim and polished professional that came in.

Instead, your hands rest on my shoulders as I mouth-fuck your cock, up and down the shaft, sucking and licking, one hand on your balls, lightly squeezing and fondling. When I feel you swelling and throbbing, I ease up, knowing this is only one part of the fantasy.

I slide down again, my mouth at the base of your cock, and—when the head bumps the back of my throat—you jerk as blood rushes to your cock, and I hear you inhale sharply. But not yet, babyboy, I think—and slide you out of my mouth to hang there, hard and throbbing, dangling obscenely from the fly of your dress pants.

You watch, breathing hard, as I rise and walk to your couch. I turn and look you in the eyes as I lift my skirt even higher, reaching beneath to pull my panties down, past my knees and to the floor. You watch them go past the stockings and down my legs—my legs that you love—and watch my stilettos step out of them, leaving them lying on the floor. I sit at one end of the couch, draping myself across it, one foot on the floor, one high on the back, my skirt up around my waist, my shirt gaping with my breasts blooming out of the top of my bra, my stockings dark against the pale skin of my legs, my lips dark with the remaining smear of my whorish lipstick.

And you know I've done this for you: reached down inside myself to bring out the slut and whore inside me, set aside the professional, the proper lady, the outward decorous woman the rest of the world sees.

You come to me and when you would kiss me, I turn my head—lipstick smears on your cock are one thing, but not on your face. So you reach into my bra and pull my breast up, exposing the nipple for you to lick and suck. I let you play for a minute, and then I slide down into you, and you feel my hot, wet pussy make contact with your rock hard cock—and you know this liaison is making me just as excited as it's making you.

You grab the back of the sofa and hold yourself up, and I rock my hips up once, twice, three times; your cock slides into my pussy as if it belongs there. You begin to move now, fucking your whore as she opens for you in your office, and your cock bottoms out in my cunt. My pussy is throbbing, my hands on your hips as you thrust in and out, harder and harder. I bite my lip to stifle my moans and you grit your teeth with the effort to stay quiet. At this rate, neither of us will last long—we're too excited for that—and I squeeze your ass as you fuck me.

Your breathing gets harsher and harsher as you work your cock in and out of my pussy, and I feel myself start to shiver and shake with my oncoming orgasm. I look up at you, holding yourself so tight above me, and I break the rule and say—Cum—and, as if you were waiting for my permission, you thrust once more, harder than ever, and I feel your hot cum explode into me as you hold your cock deep inside, its deep throbbing setting off another orgasm for me. For several minutes we stay there, panting and still, and I don't feel you shrink or soften. I look up at you and you shake your head and grin at me, and I know what you're thinking—Still fucking rock hard, baby—and I shake my head and smile at you.

But it's time to get back to work, and you pull out from me, releasing a stream of cum to splash onto my pussy and thighs. You use my panties to wipe your cock and my pussy, and then pull them back onto me. The whore has to wear the cum-soaked panties out of the office.

I pull out makeup and a brush, and you watch as I put myself back together, returning to the professional woman who arrived less than an hour ago. I remove the red lipstick, twist and clip up the hair, tuck in the shirt and straighten the skirt. As I pull on my jacket, you come and take my face in your hands and kiss me—the kiss that turns me back into your lover from your whore—and I walk out to the elevator, knowing we'll play this one again...