Sex in the Office

Her bra-encased breasts looked magnificent from above in the faint light from the windows. Her panties lay in her lap where I had deposited them. I had promised to return them from whence I had taken them. I picked them up in my right hand and slipped my hand down between her waist band and her belly. Again, she breathed in, to slacken the tightness of the waistband. When she breathed out, my hand was trapped between her skirt front and her groin. Her breathing increased in intensity as she felt my fisted knuckles resting on her pubes with her panties balled up inside it.

"It's dark," I whispered, "I have to find my way by touch."

I felt her body rise. She was lifting her bottom off the seat and sliding slightly forward once more on her chair. It slackened the tightness of her waist band sufficiently for my fingers to probe their way over her curly pubic hair and down into the valley between her legs. In the dark, with only my sense of touch to inform me, my imagination painted a second picture in my mind of her parted legs and her exposed pussy, lifting to welcome my questing fingers between the folds of her pussy wings. My forefinger slipped down over her protruding clitoris, and into the seeming moist canyon. Her juices welcomed it. I knew it had to end there although my cock cried out for gratification.

I retracted my finger and moved my hand back to retrieve her panties from the chair seat and deposit them between her thighs. I withdrew my hand from under her waistband. She grabbed it and sniffed my finger, then sucked it to find any trace of her pussy moisture. We both knew that our office encounter had been a huge risk and had gone as far as it could in the circumstances, but her final act served to indicate that she had enjoyed it, and it left open further possibilities for later.

As I stood upright, she murmured with a breathy tone, "I can't bear to be left like this."

I kissed her on the cheek and said, "There's no one to hear your moan. Goodnight"

~*~*~

Over the coming days we neither of us referred to that encounter in the dark, but Shelley gave me many meaningful stares whenever she though no one else was looking. She was communicating something, but I wasn't sure whether it was annoyance e at the liberty I had taken, despite her provocation, or something else. Then one day, she announced that she had to examine some documents in a lock-up store on the edge of town. She asked if I would accompany her, "...in case of incidents with youths playing truant from school." She knew the location so I assumed that she had good reason to be concerned.

"There are no facilities there," she advised, "so we should take advantage of the ones here before we go."

As I drove, she made the cryptic comment, "it's a pity I didn't think to bring my badminton shorts. It would have made it so much easier."

When we arrived at the lock-up I realised what she had meant about it being safer accompanied. The building was an exceptionally large, brick built former mower workshop and garage on the edge of a park. Some youths were truanting from school, and were kicking a ball about on the grass nearby. I felt intimidated by their mere proximity. I understood then why Shelley had asked for a companion.

The workshop was large, clean, and dry, and had been re-purposed as an archive store. It was now fitted out with three island racks of shelving down the centre, with further shelving against the two long walls above worktops, which served as reading tables. Opaque glass panes let in the light from the end opposite the doors. It was surprisingly clean inside, so was evidently damp and water-proofed. The files Shelley wanted to examine were on a high shelf on one wall. I volunteered to climb up onto the worktop to retrieve the boxes. Shelley over-ruled me.

"No, I'll go...old man. I know what I'm looking for." There were probably just three years between us, but given her past comments about male chauvinism, I let her do the climbing. Besides, I could admire the view...

Age was clearly not a constraint, so she must have had some other motive: women's lib? With some embarrassment at her insistence, I helped her step onto a chair then up onto the worktop, her tight skirt impeded her movements considerably, begging the question why she had volunteered to clamber up. Her skirt rose up her thighs as she stretched her limbs. She was showing off quite a lot of her slim, elegant legs. Standing so close to her tight skirt and with her legs at my eye level, the situation was causing space problems in the confinement of my trousers. I began to doubt that she really needed to consult those files.

She towered above me, and made a great play of tugging her ruched-up skirt back down to her knees. She had her back to me. Her bottom was level with my face. What I had once thought her unflattering office attire was assuming a new dimension of eroticism at that point, particularly since I had now seen the minimally covered, shapely bottom it concealed.

The box she sought was on an upper shelf, and she had to stretch up to reach it. I offered assistance again.

"Be careful there. Can I support you?"

She looked over her shoulder at me, then she almost subtly pushed out her bottom and arched her back. Almost: her intention was clear. My brain went into park, and my cock took control of proceedings. My palms also took on a life of their own and placed themselves gingerly against her hips, as if to steady her. I waited for her reaction. I could feel through my hands her hips temporarily freezing, then beginning to quiver. It was as if we had fast-forwarded from the tactile encounter in the office gloom, to an even more erotically charged part two. There was no doubt between us of what was going on here.

She was playing a game, and she gave no indication that she was conscious of my touch on her hips. Only her body told me of her heightened awareness. She pushed up on her tip toes to reach the box. She pulled the box half-way off the high shelf then paused. My hands clamped her legs, as if to reassure her that she would not fall or overbalance. Her body seemed to relax then, and she sank back onto her heels. I raised my arms to take the box from her. She declined my assistance and turned sideways and bent at the knees to lower it to the worktop beside her. Her skirt once again tightened around her hips and bottom, and the lower hem was automatically pulled up to her thighs. She squatted sideways on to me with her arms in front of her, resting on the box. I was staring close-up, next to her right breast under her stretched blouse. My eyes swept appreciatively along her side and her hip. The curve of her bottom piqued my interest exquisitely in her body. She was teasing me for all she was worth with a close-up view of her body at face level, and in daylight.

Then she stood up and turned to face the wall again. Whether or not it was deliberate, she appeared to stumble. The game was playing out according to her rules. My hands again shot up, perhaps predictably, to her hips to steady her. She gave a short thanks mixed in with a stifled chuckle. It was almost as if she had predicted how I would react and was congratulating herself in so effectively ensnaring me. With her back to me, my hands slid down her sides to her lower legs, where I paused them. She had offered me her body and my hands were signalling acceptance. There could be no doubt where this was leading; the only question was how, and how far? She looked at her footing, as if preparing to step down from the worktop. Her stance looked unsteady, but I think she was milking it. She pinched her tight skirt as if to signify that it was restricting her.

"Would you mind?" she asked. I didn't know what she was actually asking me to do. So I assumed that I had free licence to decide for myself.

She probably assumed that I would either slide my hands up the sides of her skirt again, or possibly up the sides of her legs underneath. But I was bolder than that. I unzipped the back of her skirt. It exposed the creased material of her blouse where it had been tucked into her waistband. She stood motionless, whether in surprise or in two minds how to react, I could not be sure. Wasn't she supposed to be dictating the course of events?

She did not complain. After a short pause, she pushed her bottom out backwards and straightened her back, expectantly. She had accepted my move, like in a game of chess, of move and counter-move. We were now definitely on the same page. I tugged at the skirt and it slid down off her hips with little resistance. She stepped out of it, in full control of her posture this time. I waited, staring at her bare legs and her panty-clad bottom, exposed below the hem of her blouse, inches from my face.

She turned and stared at me. What was she expecting of me? I had a choice: A (attend to her) or B (attend to me). I chose B and undid my belt and unzipped my trousers. I lowered it and my underpants to free my cock. Better, I reasoned, to even up the odds for her. She could have no objection to my even-handedness.

She looked down at me with growing interest, but still did not move. I placed my hands deliberately on the sides of her panties and waited for her reaction. She gasped, turned her face to the wall, as if feigning shock, then slowly pushed out her bottom to arch her back. I slowly tugged down her panties. The gorgeous, round, under cheeks of her naked bottom peeped out below her blouse, inches from my face. She stepped out of the panties.

With her back to the wall, the hem of the blouse lifted as she undid its buttons from the bottom, intentionally exposing her waist and bottom in full to my gaze. Having unbuttoned the blouse she tipped her head back and pushed her arms out behind her dramatically. The blouse slipped from her arms and seemed to float down, until snagged on my horizontal, pulsating cock. She unsnapped her bra and dropped her arms again. The straps slipped off her arms. I gazed up now in admiration at her beautifully lean and totally naked body. I stepped backwards to get a better view. She turned her head to stare at me, and as if to enhance my appraisal, she put her hands on her waist and shifted her feet apart. She shimmied her hips. Her perfectly shaped bottom twerked before my eyes, jerking one way then the other in a mesmeric movement which had only one intent. Shelley was seducing me with her bottom. Well, the point of seduction had long passed, as long ago as when she had allowed me to remove her skirt. I removed her blouse from its meaty hook, my throbbing cock. She gasped at its reveal and jerked her bottom.

That sent a spasm of pleasure shooting down my shaft and moistened the tip of my cock with pre-cum.

She continued to watch me over her shoulder, as I removed my tie and shirt. When I, too, was naked the absurdity of the location suddenly struck me. We were in an archive store with an unfastened door, with truant schoolboys playing football nearby. The risk of discovery was high, the potential consequences catastrophic for our careers. But it was too late to supress my hyper-pressurised libido; the startling sight of Shelley's magnificent body was overwhelming. My cock demanded gratification.

Shelley dropped to her knees, facing the wall. Her legs overhung the worktop edge. She looked at me over her shoulder again, then tipped her head backwards and arched her back. There is something arousing about a perfectly sculped female back narrowing to slim hips and flaring out gently to curved hips and a flawless bottom. But when that body offered its taut bottom for closer examination powerful spasms of arousal pulsed out in all directions from my belly.

I lowered my head to her exposed pussy between her rear cheeks. Two brown angel wings flanked her vulva, which was moist, puffy and infinitely desirable. She was breathing heavily again. I noted a pulsing at her puckered anal entrance. Heat radiated from the blood coursing through her sex organ. My forefinger tentatively explored her pussy opening, and her body tensed. She moaned with pleasure and desire. I pushed my nose between her cheeks and stretched my tongue, in search of her clit. Her loins exuded a delightfully pungent aroma of perfume and arousal which made my cock twitch involuntarily. She had prepared herself for this potentiality before leaving the office with scents in all the right places.

She pushed up her bottom to improve my angle of access. Her rigid nub popped out eagerly to garner all the oral attention my tongue would give it. I licked and fingered her labial wings and vaginal rim for several minutes with my weight resting on my elbows on the worktop and my hands massaging her thrillingly firm, natural tits. But my foreplay was merely delaying the main event. We were both inflamed with arousal and, I thought, primed for copulation.

I turned her onto her side and lifted her bodily off the worktop onto her feet. She faced me, leaning with the small of her back against the edge of the worktop; breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling dramatically. Her eyes were closing with the passion of arousal and her preparedness to welcome my engorged shaft into her loins. I sat on the chair and edged her feet apart with my feet. I pulled her towards me. Her legs automatically parted to straddle my thighs, and she placed her palms on my shoulders. She dropped her head so that her hair brushed against my face and her ends brushed my chest. She was staring at my upturned cock, preparatory to lowering her loins to impale herself. I felt it bounce with anticipation at being enwrapped by her vaginal passage. "It's huge," she whispered breathily in awe, "I can't fit all that in me."

The implicit comparison with Charlie emboldened me. If she was reticent about plunging onto such swollen tumescence I would have to thrust upwards forcefully with my hips. I could feel its bulbous head slipping between her labial lips and into the neck of her passage. Eddies of pleasure worked their way up my back to my neck. This is it, at last, I thought.

But suddenly, there was a loud bang and distant laughter. We froze.

It was unlikely that the youths outside could see us because the doors were pulled to, but they obviously remembered that we were in there, and they had probably decided in their boredom to switch their attention to us. The noise had been that of a football driven at pace against the doors. I pushed Shelley off me and dashed to the doors, to search for a latch or some means to hold them closed. There was nothing on the inside to turn, flip or hold onto. I turned to see how Shelley was reacting. She was hurriedly pulling up her skirt, her blouse already hanging open on her shoulders.

And so our first full-on sexual encounter ended prematurely, technically unconsummated and with barely an exchange of juices.

~*~*~

My arms trembled from my realisation of what we had almost done, as I drove us back to the office. That was the second time I had taken a risk, in a situation where it was unlikely to have borne fruit.

"Thank you for that wonderful experience," I said.

She grunted a false half laugh. I glanced at her sharply, fearing an adverse reaction. She was pensively stroking her breasts through her blouse. She was OK about it, and still filled with arousal. She didn't reply, and I can only assume that she was fantasising about how out second close encounter might have ended more satisfactorily. She went directly to the ladies on arrival back at the office, to put on her underwear and straighten her hair.

Nothing more was said that day, or later, about our almost, clandestine coupling. Far from our potential affair blossoming, it seemed that we had lost our appetite for mixing work with pleasure. The moment and opportunity for progression of our nascent affair had passed.

For some time afterwards, I frequently recalled her appearance in those tight, slight shorts, and that taut bottom pointing at me from the edge of the archive worktop.

But a repeat performance wasn't to be. I left the organisation soon after that, and started a job in Central London. I kept in touch with Shelley, but our potential affair appeared to have cooled.

My wife moved out, leaving me with our son. To give my wife her due, though, she took him every other weekend to the flat she shared with her new beau. So I was often at a loose end and thinking of Shelley. From initially appearing to be a plain-looking woman, she had transformed in my mind into a vamp with a perfect body, but an elusive personality I could not quite comprehend.

She moved to another job soon after as well, some distance away in the countryside. When I phoned her, she sounded different, distant and somehow diffident. Her mood seemed like depression and I tried to coax her to talk about it. She wouldn't.

Eventually, despite her protestations, I insisted on driving down to see her at her new house. Armed with a car boot full of spirits and mixers, I inveigled her to relax and go with the flow. That was when the reason for her disinterest was revealed.

"I'm suffering from depression. It's taken me quite some time to realise it. I'm stuck here alone, in a village where I don't know anyone, ten miles from where I work.

"I got my job under false pretences. They never asked me specifically about my qualifications, but I implied that I was qualified. They assumed it anyway. They discovered the truth eventually -- because I wasn't claiming for my professional fees like my colleagues. Now, the atmosphere at work is a bit awkward."

"Still, you can do the job. Surely they are satisfied with your work?"

"That isn't enough. I'm not one of them; I haven't subscribed to join their club."

"Is that why I haven't heard from you?"

She nodded. "I remember our discussions about why you were my boss -- because of your qualifications. I thought I could blag a job without them. But you were right. I thought you'd say that you told me so."

She looked abjectly miserable. I realised that my feelings for here were primarily sexual, but at that moment I felt only compassion for her self-induced plight.

"There's nothing to be done about it. You must decide what to do to resolve the situation. In the meantime, I'm here to cheer you up. Let's commiserate together and drown your sorrows in gin."

She got merry and temporarily forgot her plight. We cooked a meal together and settled down to watch mindless television. When it was finally time to take my leave, I stood up.

"I should go. You need a good night's sleep,"

"Don't you think maybe you've drunk too much? You should stay and sleep it off - in the guest room."

Shelley's body language suggested that she wasn't keen to share her bed, although she did not explain why. I accepted the offer of her spare bed with good grace. She insisted that I use the bathroom first, so I washed myself and cleaned my teeth, then sat naked on the edge of the bed in the guest room, imagining her preparing her body for sleep. I wasn't sure what I had hoped to get from her that day, but there was no doubt at that moment that I was disappointed at how it had ended.

I heard her soft footsteps pass my door on her way to her room. I sat on the bed with the bedside light on, thinking, going over Shelley's predicament and pondering whether there was any way that I could help her. About fifteen minutes later, the door to the guest room swung slowly open.

Shelley stood there, naked, in the door way, her body looking all the more alluring for the shadows the subdued bedside lamp cast on her breasts and curves. She looked sexier than ever.

"I sleep with my door open. I saw your light on and couldn't sleep. Nor can you. Would you come and lie with me?"

What did that mean? Did she want physical comforting, or perhaps something more? My heart suddenly pounded. It was the first time I had been able to appreciate her full naked body at a distance. The woman whom I had once thought plain looking, was a stunner. Without her glasses, her face was pretty, but her body was astonishing. She had indeed perfect natural breasts, the only woman I have been able to say that about. They were large, round, surprisingly firm, with a natural cleavage and prominent nipples. Her bottom I knew quite well from close range. But her belly and hips were a revelation when viewed as part of the whole package. How could such a body be so well hidden by her work clothes?