The Boathouse

She was just someone I met at a party. It was one of those mundane things I went to, because I had to network. Actually, it was more of a business meeting with cocktails. From the moment I arrived, it seemed, I was itching to leave, until I spotted her.

I had never seen her before. From the moment I saw her, sitting on an ottoman in the large parlor at my employer's home, I could not take my eyes from her for longer than it took to make the person speaking to me think I was actually listening to what was being said. In fact, I have no idea what the older gent, obviously a little drunk and very preoccupied with himself and his position in the company, said at all. She was wearing a conservative business suit.

Dark blue jacket and skirt with a white blouse. Her matching blue stockings led down to spiked, yet still fairly conservative, blue heels. The skirt, as she sat upon that ottoman, sipping white wine from a crystal glass, rode up a bit on her luscious thighs.

I stood there mutely, as I nodded in what I hoped were all the right places in the old guy's monologue, and watched her. She was looking up at the CEO of our company, and smiling as he spoke to her; before he moved on to greet others. It was then that our eyes met across that spacious room.

Her eyes almost made my knees weak. I was embarrassed to be caught staring, but I could not avert my eyes from her gaze. She smiled, as she lifted her glass to her full, red lips. Her uncommonly light blue eyes danced, as she obviously knew she had an admirer across the room. As she brought the glass to her lips, she appeared to wink at me. I suppose I flushed red, because she smiled wickedly. The woman was a born tease, I thought. That idea made me want her even more.

Just then, someone spoke to her, and her head turned. Her auburn, shoulder-length hair tossed a bit. I almost gasped. I was young then. It was half a lifetime ago, yet I was not so young that I was a novice in matters between men and women.

She was toying with me. I knew it. She was about ten years older than me, and likely the wife of one of the division heads. She was probably just a thirty-something soccer mom enjoying the attentions of a testosterone-filled, junior executive who was watching her every move from across a crowded room. Or, she may have been an executive herself, I surmised, perhaps from one of the branches upstate. In any event, the woman enthralled me.

As I was mulling just who this woman might have been, one of my friends nudged my arm and handed me a fresh Heineken. He said something about the party being a lot like a trip to a proctologist.

I could only shake my head and laugh. When I turned back, I saw that she was gone. The ottoman was now vacant. To me, the vacant ottoman was a void. I found myself hoping she would return.

I glanced about the room, but she was not to be found. When she did not return for several minutes, I decided to go outside for a smoke. I slipped out onto the patio, as another smoker slipped past me back into the parlor. Outside, it was quiet. The patio was quite large and beyond it, steps led to a path down to a boathouse on the lake. I took a seat on a bench facing the boathouse and enjoyed the respite from the din of a multitude of shoptalk and poorly chosen music.

I usually smoke only when I drink, which happens only occasionally. I had, in fact, opened the pack of cigarettes some weeks before. The cigarette was good and stale as a result. After a couple of drags, I crushed it out on the bottom of my shoe, and tossed it in a small trashcan nearby.

"Nasty habit, huh?" The voice was feminine and self-assured. It had a lilt to it that was exotic and exciting without any effort to be either. In an instant, without looking over my shoulder to see from whom the voice came, I knew with absolute assuredness that it came from her.

"Yes, it sure is. I'm glad I only smoke when I'm drinking," I replied. I sat still. I wanted so badly to turn to her. To once again see her smile, but I was afraid I was only imagining it was her. Perhaps, I feared, it is only one of my co-workers who, like me, had stepped out more to avoid the boredom of the gathering within the home of our CEO. Perhaps, like me, she had only come to avoid saying the wrong thing, which would forever prevent her upward mobility.

I heard the click of heels behind me. They came close slowly. Finally, my intense need to look into those striking blue eyes, to see what they looked like in the light of a full moon reflected off the lake, overcame my fears that it was not her.

I turned to look up at her. At that exact moment, I caught the scent of her perfume. It was light, yet sensual. It became her and, indeed, it was her. There she stood less than a foot from me, the object of my attentions for the past hour.

She graced me with a radiant smile. Her eyes did glow in the light of the moon. So enraptured by her was I, I almost could not respond when she asked, in that lilting voice, "Mind if I join you?"

"Oh—wha? Oh yes, please do," I stammered like an idiot. All the time, I was trying to look nonchalant. I felt a stirring at my crotch, as she sat down beside me. She was so close to me, we were almost touching. I found myself sincerely hoping that the darkness concealed my growing bulge. It certainly would not do to have this woman think I was some kind of pervert, I thought. Of course, the more I willed it to deflate, the larger and harder it got. I just hoped there would not be a reason I might have to stand.

While I am generally very proud of my nine inches of thick, throbbing manhood in intimate moments, I did not think it should be introduced to this lady, who just might be well up the corporate food chain. I could only imagine the Monday morning conversation in the boardroom about the "associate with the erection at Mr. Voss' party." To be safe, I dropped my hands to my lap, to cover the evidence of my arousal.

"By the way, my name is Diane Chase. I work in the Framington branch." Diane extended her hand. I shifted uncomfortably, as I lifted my hand from its concealment duty and took hers. She shook my hand firmly, yet there was something—something that I could not help but notice—more than just a business introduction there.

"Nice to meet you," I replied with a shy smile, "I am James Tilton, I work in—"

"Corporate. I know." Her eyes once more danced in the moonlight, as she smiled before a tiny sip of white wine. Then, leaning close and whispering, causing my cock to jump a little, she offered, "I asked around about you."

"Um, you did?" Now I was a little speechless.

"Certainly. A lady has to know who that handsome young man staring at her is." She laughed softly, her hand alit on my thigh, just above my knee. She either squeezed it slightly or I imagined it, but her hand landed there and remained.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Chase. I didn't realize I was staring," I lied. In order to accept my guilt and dilute the lie, I offered, "I'm sorry if I did, though. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Her hand moved upwards. Her fingertips brushed my hand just above the hard-on it was hiding. The single-minded being it was, it stirred beneath my hand in mute protest at being so obscured.

"Believe me, you needn't be apologetic," she said, her voice betraying a huskiness I knew I did not imagine. "You might have made me a little uncomfortable, but only in the best of ways." Her voice wafted into me just as her scent had. It filled me with need and desire. I wanted to pull her to me. I wanted to take her. "And please, call me Diane. Calling me Ms. Chase makes me feel like I'm robbing the cradle."

I couldn't help but smile sheepishly. "Okay---Diane." The phrase "robbing the cradle" spun in my mind a moment. I wondered if this could possibly go where I thought, or at least hoped, it might be headed. Summoning a boldness that one has in youth, I slowly moved my hand from under hers. The result was that her soft, delicate left hand dropped squarely upon the ridge of hardness at covered only by trousers and boxers.

I sat breathlessly awaiting her response. It was quick and to the point. It was a squeeze punctuated by a soft, wistful sigh that caused her lovely lips to part ever so slightly. "Oh, my," she said, her face flushed. "That feels nice, doesn't it?"

I said nothing. I just kept my gaze firmly on her lips. Even with her hand massaging my cock through my trousers, I was still incapable of moving the scant few inches to her lips. I wanted to touch mine to them so badly I ached. Diane's hand moved slowly up and down the length of it. Her eyes widened, as she understood just how big it was and how hard. In a quiet, intense voice I could barely hear, she said, "I hope this is meant for me."

It was that moment when my courage, bolstered by her soft voice and firm squeezes, returned to normal. I slipped my arms around her and pulled her close to me. My lips met hers. My tongue invaded past her plump lips and into her mouth. Our tongues met. Diane welcomed my tongue. Her breath grew labored, as her hand pressed hard to my bulge. Her kiss and touch betrayed a hunger that seemed to have been repressed for a very, very long time.

Finally, breaking the kiss with a last, firm squeeze at my manhood, Diane panted out two words, "Boathouse." Then, as if I was too slow to move, even though I was already on my feet, she said with a tone that was forceful and demanding, "Now, James, I need that in me—NOW!"

We hurried to the boathouse. Diane was pulling at my hand, as we made our way down the steps to a small, wooden landing. Thankfully, the door was unlocked. As I entered, she was on me. Her lips pressed hard to mine, her hands fumbling with my belt, and then my trousers.

She could not seem to negotiate the closure on my slacks, and cursed breathlessly. I reached down, a smile forming on my lips, which were still pressed to hers. As I easily accomplished the task and unzipped my trousers, she said in a wry tone, "Don't say it, smart ass."

We laughed together in the darkness, as I kicked the door shut behind me. Her hand slipped underneath the elastic of my boxers and clasped my cock. The head was already soaked with precum as her hand slipped around it. "Oh, fuck, it feels so good in my hand, hon."

My hands worked at her skirt, bringing it up to her waist. There was no time to completely disrobe, as our needs overcame reason. I found that her stockings reached to her thighs, above that, was a thong of uncommonly thin material. With a hard swipe of my hand, the thong was in tatters.

"Oh, fuck, yes," she gasped. "Rip them off me." Diane pushed my boxers down to my knees, and I gripped her ass firmly with both hands and lifted her and turned to place her back against the wall. There, I was able to hold her with one hand. She was so light. Her long, lithe legs wrapped around my waist, as I rubbed my cock up and down her slit. It was already quite damp, and I lowered her slowly onto my cockhead.

"Oh, my god," she whispered, biting at the side of my neck, her arms tight around my neck. "It's going to hurt so good, isn't it, James? Split me open with that big, thick dick of yours."

Instead of easing her down, I pressed her hard down onto it, as my hips pushed upwards. She screamed in both pain and pleasure, as her cunt descended all the way to the base of my pulsing, blood-engorged prick. As I started to pull back in order to thrust once again, she whispered, "Wait."

Her lips mouth covered mine before I could reply. I felt her move her hips back and forth. The walls of her tight fuckhole undulated around my thickly veined cock.

"I just want to enjoy the fullness for a minute," she finally said, her voice almost whimpering. I held her there. I stood locked in place, so that she could enjoy my cock in any way she wished. Her movements on it were alternately subtle and fervent. Her breathing increased. It was all I could do to remain still. I was indeed fairly proud of my restraint, for as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out Diane's face. The face I had thought merely beautiful moments before had taken on the glow of an angel. My heart skipped a beat upon the vision. Heaven must feel like this, I found myself musing.

Her head tilted back and then to the side. My mouth found her throat, as she bared it to me. As my teeth brushed her flesh, I felt Diane tense, her breath was coming in short pants. Her hips rolled and her cunt quivered hungrily around my cock. I felt the wash of her orgasm flow out from round my cock and onto my balls. I held her tightly, whispering to her how wonderful she felt inside---how wonderful she felt cumming around me and on me.

Catching her breath and bringing her lips to mine, she paused before saying, "Now, baby, fuck me now."

I needed no further urging, my cock began to pummel her, as I spun with her and placed her back on a table. I could hear tools and other items being knocked asunder, as I pushed my thick cock in and out of her soaked pussy. I pounded her cunt with a force I did not know I had. I was feral in my lust. My hands held her hips in place, as if I was afraid she might attempt escape under my barrage of hips and balls and cockflesh.

Her hands reached to my stomach and played at my flesh. Long, red nails scraped at my skin. Her hips lifted in time with my heated thrusts into her welcoming cunt. Her fingers slipped between us and toyed with the base of my cock, as I fucked her furiously.

I looked down into her eyes. Diane's looked back into mine with the same need I felt. We said nothing amid the wet, sloshing clamor of our fucking. For moments, I was lost there, as her eyes peered deeply into my soul. Then, I heard her squeal, as she squirmed at my cock. Her second orgasm was just as intense as her first. I could feel the spray on my flesh, and it was that which sent me over the precipice.

I slammed hard into her with a loud, growling grunt. I could easily swear that I had never cum so hard or with such volume in my life. As I pumped load after load into her quaking pussy, Diane pulled herself to me. She kissed my chest through my shirt and then lifted her face to mine. As her cunt milked me dry, we kissed deeply, our souls touching.