Non-hostile Takeover

Timothy pulled his cock out of my pussy and we lay coiled around one another, panting and sweating, almost one hour since we had started. I had never imagined I could last that long with a man. But my lover has proved to be a marathon fucker every time we met.

I am a serious woman; married for seven years to the first man I ever loved. In time our lovemaking had become little more than functional, and after the children were born, a rare event sparked by him every single time. He would touch my breasts for a bit, kiss me fleetingly before I would feel his thick pole against my thigh. Within no time he would climb atop my body, having pulled my legs apart and thrust himself into my pussy. Thank God I have always gotten wet at a moment's notice otherwise he would have been hurting me. I learnt not to expect much and instead derive pleasure from running movies of my own making through my mind so that I could get some pleasure from the monotonous pumping that seemed to be his only expertise.

I would imagine a man I admired was touching me up, pinching my nipples or kissing me. I got wet on the instant. As my husband progressed, I would picture this other man, who could be a workmate, or someone I met recently and liked, doing naughty things to me. I felt his warm mouth on my tits, driving me higher and higher. As my husband inserted his thick cock into my vagina, the other man would be sucking my clit and inserting his invading tongue. When I cried out my husband no doubt thought he was being very expert, while in fact I was feeling my other lover's tongue in my pussy. When my movie reached the point when my lover stuck his fingers inside, I would come, screaming as if a sharp knife had pierced me. My noises and the increased juices in my cunt would inflame the thrusting husband so that within three or so thrusts he too would come, stiffening like a corpse.

"Knock, knock". I looked up from my desk to see Grace at the door. Her face was twisted as if in anguish.

"Come in!"

She sort of shuffled her feet as she approached my desk.

"Good evening!" she spoke in a shy voice that was at odds with the intensity of feeling betrayed by the look in her eyes.

"Good evening," I responded wondering what could have brought this quiet woman to my office. Grace was head of the documentation section. She came to us from college, having grown up and gone to school in her home area, a village in the coastal region some 700km from the city. She didn't even seem to have gone to the nearest town, Mombasa, during all her time there. She had apparently finished her schooling and come to college in the city. She always seemed uncomfortable around her male colleagues, even though she already had two children with her husband, who was said to be from the same district as herself. Her awkwardness with the opposite gender made me wonder if it had been an arranged marriage, something I was told was still quite common among people of the Giriama tribe.

"I have a problem," she began. "There is a man whose actions I do not understand, one of our customers."

'Does she still have unrealistic expectations of men,' I thought, 'as if she expects people in the city to behave like those of the village she came from? I wonder what her time in college was like, with all those hot-blooded young men?'

I waited for her to continue, a sympathetic look, or at least what I hoped was one, on my face.

"There is a very tall man who comes here quite often to research but his treatment of us female staff is very bad. I think you should tell him we are not happy with his behaviour."

"Who is that? I asked, even though I had a vague suspicion of whom she was talking about.

"He signs his name as Timothy." I was now sure she was talking about one of our senior members who had been with us since before the library had moved from the small wooden building where it had been ever since its establishment in the colonial era. "Whenever he comes in he greets everybody in an overfamiliar manner as if we were his subordinates and he the boss. I particularly detest how he looks at me all over as if I were his possession."

"That is shameful!" I tried to sound sympathetic. "Has anyone else complained?"

"Madam, you know us women have a sixth sense about these things. Last week he embarrassed me horribly within sight of another colleague. He handed me a white envelope looking like it contained a card. Sarah, sitting at the customer care desk saw this action. I am sure she felt like me that he had now gone too far. I could only leave it on top of the desk without touching it. Later in the afternoon, Carol came to speak to me and saw it. She asked me if I had found a new admirer, though I could tell she was using that mocking tone to hide her own horror at such a thing. Madam, you really must put a stop to this. He seems hell-bent on tainting all of us!"

I could hardly believe that she had made such a long speech! By now tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. Despite everything, I first had to deal with her distress.

"I am sorry that this has happened to you. Coming to me is the most sensible thing you could have done. You resisted the urge to discuss the matter with the other women who are your friends. I too have seen the man here in the library and thank you for bringing his behaviour to my attention. Do you want me to talk to him about your concerns so that he does not repeat such an act?"

"That would get him off my back, Mrs Ngure. Thank you."

"I will call him into my office next time he comes in, and tell him of our concerns over his behaviour and ask him to keep it out of the library. Please go back to your work and leave it all in my hands."

I watched her leave while I pondered on the best way to approach the matter.

Two days later I heard his voice at the door of my office without any prior notice.

"Good morning Lillian! How was your weekend?"

"Come in! Yes it was good and restful. And how was yours?"

"Too short!" He had a way of coming up with some very unexpected responses. "I enjoyed Sunday very much, though."

I laughed lightly. "Ah, that must be why it seemed to pass too quickly, then."

We made a few remarks on the latest political situation before I plunged into the subject on my mind.

"Its a great thing you came in. I had something small to say to you. I know you like to appreciate the staff for service. But strictly speaking that is why we are here. So I appreciate what you do even more."

He remarked that he had really only done so during the festive season just past. I remembered that he had given me a large chocolate with words to the effect that it was but a token. As I looked at him, darkly handsome with round narrow spectacles, sitting in my visitors' chair a new thought struck me. What card did he give to Grace? What words did it contain?

"But there is a woman who came here to report that you had given her a card."

"Yes, I did," he said easily. "She had not been in when I brought gifts for the others." He seemed to accept it was the most ordinary thing in the world to give a woman a greeting card.

"Some people may attach a different meaning to an action like yours. Maybe Grace did not understand that appreciation can be offered without any hidden meanings. I have heard that coastal people have very different attitudes. But I have lived in other cities where people understand the value of appreciation."

"I commit to you that I will not say anything to her, because I know that can often make things worse instead."

"Yeah, just act normally," hoping that he had no further designs on her. Often when a man detects resistance in a woman it makes him even more determined to pursue her.

With that he wished me a good day, and I wished him happy reading. I felt a strange excitement as I watched him walk into the reading room. What is happening to me, I wondered?

Later that week as Lizarn, the acquisition section head was about to leave my office after a brief meeting, and who should be walking in but Timothy! He waved a greeting to both of us. I waved back, but Lizarn who was almost at the door called out, "Timothy, uhoro waku? ('how are you?', in his native tongue)."

He slowed his steps and she caught up with him and both went into the reading room talking animatedly. I wondered whether he had also given Lizarn a card. How did she respond?

I pulled myself up short. 'Am I jealous of him? Or my subordinate? This is insane!'

As he left the library that evening we bumped into each other. He took my hand and looked right into my pupils as he wished me a good evening. That look sent shock waves all through my system and as he walked away I must have followed him with my eyes, unconscious of my actions. It was as if I had woken from a trance when I at length pulled myself together. It left me confused as to where these strange emotions that had invaded me had come from. I had never felt anything like that with any man, except perhaps my husband when we were young and dating. That was more than seven years ago!

Over the next few weeks I did battle with my body and my stray thoughts each time he came in. During one visit he reminded me of an offer he had made of becoming a volunteer with us. I had received that email many months before, but as we were in the midst of moving into the new building, I did not see how we could use him. Perhaps if he had been a young man I could have put him to lifting the heavy cartons of books. I had forgotten all about his offer until that moment.

"Let me follow it up with head office, where such matters are decided," I promised. At the back of my mind was an upcoming seminar in the distant city of Kisumu. A frisson of excitement ran through me.

My fantasies started to include him during sex with my husband. For whatever reason when I imagined myself with Timothy, I came faster and the orgasm lasted longer. I could not tell why he would give me greater satisfaction than when I brought anybody else into my mental movies.

Every time he came into the library and I happened to be at my desk, he came in to say Hi, but this always took my mind back to the high-quality orgasm he had given me as I made love to my husband some nights before. Even when hubby was not in the mood for fucking I would entice him so that I could run my private theatre, imagining it was Timothy. As the date of the Kisumu seminar drew nearer, I fantasised more and more of Timothy and I in a hotel room.

One day he said to me, "You must show me where one can have a decent lunch around here. I have so far only found very unpleasant food. That is why you have sometimes seen me with a lunchbox of sandwiches. Are you going away today before lunch?"

I had a lunchbox of my own but this was an invitation I had not the power to resist. "Do you know the Growers Cafe in Kilimo Plaza?"

"No," he answered, to my utter delight. I hoped my eagerness did not show like a lighthouse beacon.

Almost trembling, I offered, "I think you would like the homely dishes they make there."

"OK, may I knock on your door at say, 12:55?"

"That's fine," I managed.

A plan had been brewing in my mind. So as we sat at our table I broached it.

"I heard from Head Office earlier this week. They asked me to confirm that you have trained people in computer graphics."

He eyed me with some amusement. "Do you want to start a graphics training centre here?"

We laughed companionably. It struck me that I could be thus with an almost complete stranger, yet not any more with my own husband.

"I want to put you on a special assignment. We have a two-week workshop in Kisumu coming up next month. Could you be available to help my staff design some brochures to create awareness of library services in that city?"

Again he looked hard at me as if trying to gauge whether I was serious. "Oh, you mean the work will start here, Lillian? Who do I get to work with? You, I hope?"

'This man will drive me completely out of my mind,' I said to myself. 'I would love that, but that job is more the responsibility of my team members.'

"Of course!" I answered. "You will keep me in the loop always, and I am the authorising person. So we will see each other regularly. I am sorry you may not be able to do as much research."

He continued to eat silently for some moments, evidently thinking this over.

"You will also accompany my team to Kisumu in case we need you. I will get you clearance from the Ministry to travel with us in that county as we popularise the reading culture." I hoped to sweeten the pill.

He gave me a sunny smile. "You have no idea how much of my work I can get done on such a trip. There is no risk of my losing anything. In fact I should be bribing you to take me with you!"

'Crazy fellow!' I thought. 'No wonder he is a writer.'

The plane taxied to a stop next to the airport building. Timothy was in the seat across the aisle and two rows in front of mine. Just seeing his head would cause a tremor to run through me. We all filed to the doors and he took care not to use the one I did. None of the members of the team I was leading was to discover anything about him.

"Welcome to Kisumu City, Mrs Ngure!" the driver of the Library van greeted me joyously. I was already suffering from the heat of this Lake Victoria town and probably did not reply in like manner. Sweat was beginning to run down my back. "You are lucky today is not as hot as usual. In fact the cooler weather has arrived."

'Is this guy joking with me?' I posed to myself. I could not detect any difference in the cruel heat from my earlier visits here.

My hotel room was across from Timothy's so our meeting would always look accidental. In the weeks since he had started giving my department some of his time, I had been at great pains not to seem very familiar with him. He had been excellent in keeping up this façade of innocence, while we had gone out together on Saturday afternoons to entertainment spots in the outskirts. His very fresh way of looking at things had transformed how we saw our own work and the brochures had a light air about them, at odds with our usual fare. I was slightly nervous that Head Office would throw a fit, but it never came, and the Head of National Services authorised the designs with barely a murmur.

My private time with him was so refreshing because it was so different from any I would have had with my colleagues or seniors, did I dare go out with any of them. I would have felt unfaithful to my husband but with Timothy it never felt like that at all. On the second outing we chose a hotel room as our rendezvous. I encountered his unbelievable stamina for the first time. He kept going for more than twenty minutes which, at the time, I thought was plenty. I came twice, another new experience for me.

As we drove back to the city my body felt loose-limbed, covered in a strange new kind of exhaustion. That night lovemaking with my husband took a new turn. No longer did I need to imagine; I only needed to remember, which gave me such a powerful orgasm that I thought my hip joint had come off its socket!

The next day at church I could hardly keep my mind on anything, remembering the afternoon and the night. It started to feel as if Timothy had been responsible for both experiences. In a way he was.