Sex in the Office

"You can make love to me if you like, but you will have to do as I ask."

I agreed. She took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom and her king-sized bed. We lay side by side and kissed. The woman in that bed was a gentle, yielding, loving female. She lacked all artifice. What I saw was all there was. After some tender embracing she faced me and said, "There's something you must know about me. I don't enjoy vaginal sex. I have a problem. It's probably more psychological than physical. I must be stimulated by masturbation on my clit. It can take some time, but once I've come, I'll do anything for you."

That was why she had been reluctant to invite me into her bed at first. Whatever sex we might have accomplished in the archive store would only have satisfied me. I would have left there feeling guilty and unable to satisfy her. Now, she was giving her body to me, but under her rules. This was totally outside my experience. But I was game to give it a try.

It was no hardship to fondle and play around with such a beautiful, sexy body. But my challenge was to coax her to an orgasm. So I began by kissing her, fondling her breasts, and exploring all her gentle curves. Her body felt sublime to my touch and it aroused me but, at the back of my mind lurked a fear that I might fail to satisfy her.

She was showing signs of arousal, though, and for a few minutes she took over the foreplay and forced me onto my back so that she could play with my balls and caress my cock between her abundant tits. I shifted my head between her legs and she moved to a soixante neuf position for some mutual tonguing of each others' organs.

"I want this," she murmured, make me come, please. Don't be like Charlie."

I pushed her onto her back and parted her thighs, questing for her clit. It was surprisingly large and prominent now, which was encouraging. I tongued it energetically, hoping for more reaction. She seemed aroused, but not as much as she had been in the office or at the archive store.

I moved on to more energetic manipulations of her clit with my fingers. I massaged her mound with the heel of my hand. She uttered 'aahs' and grunts and began to respond, with writhings and groans.

"That's good, harder, harder!"

I renewed my exertions, and she exhorted me to ever harder, almost brutal punishment of her clit. Whilst my hands coaxed her sex into life I focused my eyes on her bouncing tits, the better to keep my own arousal close to the boil. My hand started to ache and I was fearing that I might lose the use of it and yet fail, when at last her body showed signs of responding. Her body arched, then broke out into exaggerated thrashings around and moans of encouragement. It was fascinating to watch such a beautiful body slowly work its way towards a climax in such arduous fashion. Slowly, by degrees, her moans increased in volume and pitch.

"Ohmigod, yes, yes, it's coming, I'm coming, keep going, please, please, please!"

Then, as if a pressure valve had been released, her voice finally reached a crescendo. Her legs thrashed about underneath me as her torso jerked through a series of frenzied paroxysms of delight. She cried out with exultation at her orgasmic release and heaved a great, prolonged sigh of satisfaction. Her climax had been short but immensely powerful.

She lay, exhausted, in post-coital shock, staring up at me with a combination of relief and admiration. Despite my arms feeling the effects of my physical effort I was proud and elated at my achievement. In that moment I felt an immense bond with her.

I got the impression that full gratification was an unusual occurrence for her. After a while she stirred, and murmured with a slurred voice, "Sorry that I couldn't satisfy you." Then she fell asleep.

Her body lay motionless, bathed in the faint light through the door from the bedside lamp in the guest room opposite. Her skin looked silken smooth. Her limbs were strong and firm, her legs parted and displaying hints of her pussy delights. Surely she would not object to me waking her enough to fuck her? I stroked her unresponsive form but without success. She was already apparently deeply asleep. There was nothing for it; I would have to pleasure myself by getting off unashamedly on the sight of her shapely, upstanding breasts and astounding body. My copious sperm spattered her belly. She didn't stir even when I gently cleaned her midriff with a tissue.

Next morning, I awoke to being shaken. She had pulled the quilt off and was kneeling over me. Her breasts shook delightfully as she bounced excitedly on the mattress, like a child on Christmas morning. I reached up to caress them, but she leapt off me and hopped onto the floor.

"Come on sleepy head. It may be the weekend but I've got things to do."

We dressed and ate breakfast.

She smiled at me over her coffee cup. "Thank you for last night. Few men would take the trouble to satisfy me. Charlie least of all."

"Do you know what causes your problem?"

"My specialist calls it anorgasmia. She thinks it's psychological. I blame Charlie. He was my first. We drifted into marriage before I realised what a pig he was. I let another man pick me up in a hotel bar. He was hung like you, but he couldn't make me orgasm. Even my own masturbation takes endless effort. So your trojan effort last night was a dream fulfilled."

"Is you condition curable?"

"Who knows? I would have to solve my psychological problems first, and I'm not even sure what is their source, now."

I took my leave of her. We kissed, but it felt empty. I was frustrated. I hadn't got full satisfaction, the sort that comes from mutual bliss, but I had at least given her a rare memory to savour and cherish.

~*~*~

I was now working in London in an elegant backwater of large, sedate 18^th century town houses. The building was an Institution headquarters and had a magnificent library with an upper gallery reached by an iron staircase. Working in there one day inspired me. I had chanced on a discovery in a back street record shop, which had set me thinking. I called Shelley and suggested we meet. She responded enthusiastically.

"Sure. I owe you one. Why don't I take you to lunch on Saturday?"

"Lunch? The car is out of commission. Why not meet up in London? At least it will get you out of the house."

"OK," she consented, "I feel adventurous, and the change will do me good. We can explore."

There was no hint of sensual overtones in her voice. My plan might yet be frustrated. Lunch might literally mean just that.

"OK, let's meet at Charing Cross, under the clock," I suggested.

She arrived mid-morning, smiling and barely recognisable. She had put on some weight since I last saw her, and it suited her very well. Her natural charms were more obvious now. She was wearing a grey, patterned sweater over snug fitting jeans, tucked into tall brown boots. She looked delectable, quite unlike the acerbic office colleague of old.

"About that lunch," I said, "can we postpone it until later. I'd like to show you something."

She smiled. "OK, I'm putty in your hands. But I need a drink first and to talk; then you can show me whatever you have in mind."

It was clear that we were going to have to take this at her pace. I sensed that she was looking for Dutch courage although I didn't know why. She didn't feel at ease on my arm as we walked to a traditional pub in a side street in the business sector, which was almost deserted, it being Saturday and City workers being at home for the weekend. But the conversation soon flowed, with alcohol having its calming effect in her belly. She soon became very touchy feely; just what I had hoped. We had a sandwich to kill the hunger pangs and to soak up some of the alcohol. Then I took her back to the building where I worked, for which I had a key. I had often stopped in there at weekends when up in town, to do some work or just to fix myself a drink. Nobody except me usually worked weekends so I expected to have the building to myself.

Today, I had a more ambitious plan. We headed first to my office, where I had something to pick up. I had already hidden the surprise for Shelley the previous evening before going home.

Shelley loved the historic, listed building and its characteristically wide, staircase, sweeping upwards from the grandiose lobby in a grand arc. She was eager to explore every inch of the edifice. Our company was somewhat relaxed about security so most of the offices were left unlocked. She roamed around at will, admiring the plasterwork and feature fireplaces, now no longer functional and bearing home to displays of dried flowers in artful arrangements in their hearths. I left the surprise until last.

Her eyes widened with astonishment when she saw the library. It had plenty of architectural features to wow any ardent fans of 18^th Century design. It had probably initially been a ballroom with double height, ornate ceiling and tall windows on the street side. An iron gallery had been installed later, which encircled the walls and across the windows. It was accessed by an iron staircase at one end of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls between the windows.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked.

"Is this the surprise?" she responded.

"Partly. The clue to the actual surprise is up there in the gallery. It's for you, but it comes with one condition."

"What is it?"

I did not want to tell her, yet. I had found a rare vinyl of Big Brother's Cheap thrills LP. She had always wanted that record but never been able to find it. I had stumbled across it in a backstreet rare records shop. It was that which had reminded me of her. I was now about to play a game with her.

She looked up, her eyes scanning the gallery. "Is it up there? Where?"

"You'll find a card which discloses its location, amongst the books upstairs. It's filed under a particular letter you are going to have to guess.

She frowned. "Tell me more."

"I'll give you a hint, but it will cost you."

"What?"

"All of your clothes."

She had been shifting from one foot to the other, impatiently. Now, she froze, uncertain that she could have heard me aright. When my meaning permeated through her veil of disbelief, her eyes widened with shock. Her hands instinctively went to protect her breasts. Her expression was a mixture of awe of her surroundings and consternation about what I was asking of her. But I had in mind how she had reacted on those two previous occasions to the thrill of a risk.

Her mouth slowly broke out in a smile. She peered around her, as if checking for spies watching us. Her fears rationalised and subdued, she turned back to me with a mischievous grin.

My motive had been to get her naked, then to have an opportunity to voyeur her body whilst she searched for her surprise. I know, I'm a perve, but that's what excites me.

"You're on!"

I should add at this point that she had dressed for relatively cool weather. Her clothes hugged her body. The building was unheated. She would feel the cold, or perhaps exhilaration if and when she removed them. She moved to the foot of the spiral staircase and sat down on the second step to unzip her boots. She was in no hurry to oblige me. She knew that the tension of her taking her time to undress would heighten my excitement.

She glanced up at me with a mischievous smile, but it turned to a look of horror. I was filming her on my compact super-8 movie camera.

"You didn't mention that," she complained.

"Well, you said that you owed me. This seems like a good way to repay me, in a way I can enjoy, over and over again."

I was glad now that we'd been delayed by the trip to the pub and got lubricated, because I could see it now, loosening her inhibitions. Her initial frown softened, then morphed into a sheepish smile.

"OK, but it mustn't be seen by anyone else; promise?"

"I promise."

She removed the boots, then slowly and sensuously stood up and turned to the side to show me her curves and bust under the tight grey, patterned sweater and hip-hugging jeans. She knew how good she looked, and was now playing up to the camera with a 'come hither' look of desire on her face. She was back to her mood in the archive store when she had wanted to tease me. I hoped that she meant it now as well. She had a close-fitting top under the sweater but no bra. I hadn't noticed that teasing detail. That fact was apparent though as soon as she removed the sweater and her swollen nipples pressed out against the thin, pink cotton top. Next to come off were the jeans, which took her some effort and wiggling to force them down off her hips. Her thighs looked shapelier than before, her whole body sexier with her few, added pounds. Her hipster panties emphasised her narrow waist above her more generous hips. She had morphed from a slim woman to a youthful MILF.

She paused, reduced to her top and panties, to tease me and the camera. Her fingers played across the outline of her prominent nipples as she gyrated her hips. She turned her back to me, looking at the camera over her shoulder, and undid her rear bra strap. The cups fell away from her luscious tits. They bounced fulsomely as she turned and leant slightly forwards, gently shaking her shoulders. They were larger and less firm than before, but blissfully all the better for the additional swing it gave them. Watching them dangle tantalisingly and sway from side to side as she shimmied her body sent a shiver through my middle.

That only left her panties. She turned to face the stairs and mounted two steps before sliding them down her legs and bending away from the camera to slip them off her ankles. She looked most stunning and attractive without her clothes, and she knew it.

"See what you did for me," she said. "I've never done that for anyone else." She was no longer the shy woman of years before, but brimming now with self-confidence. "Before we go any further," she added, "I insist you strip off too."

That wasn't in the script, but I could hardly complain. It also left little doubt that there would be a pay-off for me later. She waited for me to undress then pick up my camera, then she turned back to mount the iron steps, slowly and deliberately, her hips tilting from one side to the other as she climbed. Her back was arched and her bottom deliberately pushed out for greatest effect. The sight of her unadorned curves was making my hand tremble as I tried to keep the camera steady.

She paused and knelt down on the penultimate step from the top, leaning on her elbows on the landing ahead of her. Shuffling her knees apart, she presented her bottom to me and opened up her pussy to my camera. There was enough natural light in the atrium space to pick up the highlights that moisture droplets made as they eased out of her vagina, like liquid diamonds in the gloom. I went up a few steps and zoomed in for a close-up, and she did not complain, until she felt my engorged cock attempt to push its way between her labial folds.

"I'm not going to make it easy for you," she proclaimed, shifting her hips forward away from me, and ejecting my penis. She leapt up onto her feet and faced me on the gallery landing. I completed my climb of the stairs and leant in for a close-up of her magnificent tits as I moved round to her side.

"I'll make it easy for you, though," I promised. "It contains Big Brother and the Holding Company's biggest hit. The title is... I mimed a plucking motion on my chest and then a breaking gesture with my two hands.

She got it almost immediately. "Piece of my Heart! So that's a 'P'."

She ran along the landing, checking Authors' names. Her thigh muscles tensed as she moved, her mesmerising glutes stretched, and her breasts bounced hypnotically. She quickly realised that she was heading in the wrong direction and turned to scamper back the other way. Again, she knew how she was displaying her body, and the effect it would have on me. I have replayed the slow motion of her breasts as she swung round, over and over many times on my video since then. Her breasts mashed together, then swung to one side before pausing with inertia and crashing back the other way. She skipped her way past me, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of being naked and exposed in a this hitherto unknown and illicit location. She searched and found the card amongst the 'P's and read it out loud.

"It stands on the stairs just halfway down, withered and worn and old and brown..."

Her finger went to her bottom lip as she pondered that conundrum. I knew that she would remember the source of that quotation in time because we had once recited it together, once. The camera and I circled her, filming her tensed body as she searched her memory.

The frown on her face cleared. She had it: an old and non-functioning grandfather clock. She had admired it a few minutes before on a half landing on the main staircase in the foyer. She ushered me to go down the iron staircase to the bottom, then followed, skipping down gaily and causing maximum bounce of her breasts for the camera. Then she headed for the door to the reception lobby area and the sweeping grand staircase. There, halfway up was indeed a grandfather clock against the wall. Tucked behind it was the LP. She shrieked with delight when she set eyes on it . After a quick glance at the contents on the sleeve, she broke into song.

"Didn't I make you feel like you were the only man - yeah!

An' didn't I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can?

Honey, you know I did!

And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I've had enough,

But I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.

I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it, Take it!

Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!

(copyright Bert Berns & Jerry Ragovoy)

She altered the lyrics rather crudely, but I'll leave you guessing on that. She threw her heart and soul into her rendition, and her expressive, naked body gave me more than a cheap thrill, I can tell you. Her message was clear: a thank you for her satisfaction on our previous encounter.

She propped the LP carefully against the front of the clock and pulled me towards her. Her eyes were sparkling with unalloyed joy. It had to be due to more than the gift. I kept the camera rolling, holding onto it with one hand, although the image got very jerky for a few moments. She kissed me and pulled my body tightly against hers. It was cool, but felt wonderful pressed against my flesh. Her hand grasped my cock and woman-handled it tenderly. With my free hand, I caressed a breast and thanked all the deities for this moment of sublimely erotic pleasure. Her bottom also felt good in my free hand. But I was getting far too aroused for the task ahead of me. Could I hold out whilst I brought her to ecstasy once more?

I wound the strap of the camera around a nearby finial of the bannister. Now my hands would be free to enjoy this moment to the full without distractions, other than of Shelley's magnificent and willing body. The camera would record it for posterity.

She was waiting for me to give her my full attention, her hands on her hips and with one knee bent, swinging slowly from side to side. I reached out to tug on her hand, to pull her down onto the plush landing carpet. She shrieked with delight and pulled her hand free, and ran further up the stairs. Climbing those stairs with bouncing breasts must have been off-putting though because she didn't attain much speed. I caught her up before she reached the next landing and hauled her back down into camera range.

She was wriggling her hips and legs with defiance. I was certain that she wanted this as much as I did, but she was determined to make it difficult for me.

We struggled on the landing: me to hold her wrists, whilst she bucked her legs to try and topple me to the side. Then she relaxed. I sat back on my haunches to catch my breath. Her breasts heaved with her exertions. Then she pushed me away with the soles of her feet and leapt up to fling her arms around the great clock from the side, crying out playfully, "Protect me, grandfather!"