Turning Over a New Paige

Paige seemed a friendly-enough business woman, but those who best knew she had dark side. She was also blindly ambitious with a formidable temper. She could be arrogant, overbearing, willful and conceited. Perhaps it was inevitable that this headstrong woman should one day encounter a determined man, one who would feel the need to adjust her attitude -- over his lap.

The word "Stormy" came to me now, the moment I saw her. It was the nickname her over-indulgent parents had bestowed on their pretty but obstinate little girl. Unlike many childhood nicknames, this one had stuck. And it didn't take me long to find out why, when that normally smooth brow wrinkled with annoyance, as it did now, it was clear that storm clouds were brewing.

And so the moment I picked Paige up, I saw that it was going to be one of those nights -- the kind that were becoming all too frequent. One look at the hard look in those dark eyes, those lips tightly-drawn in that slight downturn and I knew -- she was in one of her bitchy moods. Still, in spite of her petulant expression, I couldn't help admiring those classical good looks. Even with the storm clouds darkening her brow, Ms Paige Royce remained a very pretty girl indeed!

I always felt that it was that wholesome, All-American-Girl quality that she relied on to make her career. It wasn't that the girl wouldn't have been a business success had she been a plainer girl. She was bright, competent, and highly ambitious. And she certainly could be charming, even affectionate -- as I well knew. Yet it was her beauty that magically opened doors for her, that caused men's heads to turn to follow her crisp, confident stride, and women to glance up in envy as the tall girl with the long auburn hair strode past their desks in her trim suit and high heels.

Paige strode by like a fashion model sashaying down the runway, with that gliding, confident stride; aloof, expressionless, those high cheekbones defining the angular plains of a broad, Nordic face. Her mouth was generous with wide, precisely etched lips. And she had the most expressive dark eyes--feline eyes. She knew how to use those eyes -- a way of looking at you with those eyes that could instantly convince you that you, and you alone, was the only man in the world. I had also seen her use those eyes to devastating effect: taking the measure of people, sizing them up like a cat deciding whether the offering before her deserved her attention, or simply merited an indifferent shrug, before she stalked off in haughty disdain.

Just like every man saw her (I'm sure), I instantly began undressing her with my eyes, intrigued by the promise of that stately figure under those neatly tailored clothes, disarmed by those engaging eyes, and that confident, ready smile. I was helpless. Soon I found myself making frequent visits to the 27th floor, just to catch a glimpse of the pretty girl, going out of my way to meet her, as if by chance. We would exchange a few words. She laughed easily, seemed bright and friendly; and was not totally uninterested in me. She knew who I was of course; knew my position in the company.

And so I started asking about her. It soon became obvious that there was another side to this outwardly pleasant girl with the too-ready smile. The people who knew her best, those who worked with her admitted that she could be charming, but they also spoke of the dark side: moody and mercurial, temperamental, overwhelmingly self-centered, and often ruthless. Dan had once described her as a "bitch on wheels," and several knowing heads had nodded in grim agreement.

I was warned to be careful. But by now I was captivated, and clearly in no mood for dire warnings. I could take care of myself, and besides, there was something about the challenge of this proud beauty with the slightly bemused smile, something that fascinated me. Perhaps she was simply misunderstood, her natural ambition being seen by her colleagues as a threat. Perhaps, once away from the office, she would let herself be her true self -- a warm, receptive woman, that I was sure was in there somewhere. With these and similar assurances to myself, I encouraged myself and, with a mental 'damn the torpedoes,' charged blindly on.

But on nights like this I had the nagging feeling that it had all been a terrible mistake. Those were my thoughts now as I studied her elegant face in the soft light over our candle-lit table. Since we had left directly from work, Paige still wore her business suit: an expensive outfit of soft wool; a wide pleated skirt with matching tailored jacket. The severity of the dark tweed was softened by the cream-colored silkiness of a decidedly feminine blouse, the top two buttons of which she had left casually undone. Her burnished red hair, usually long and straight, had been gathered up in a neat chignon, increasing her neat, business-like appearance, although by this time of day, a few wispy strands had managed to escape. We talked in hushed whispers and occasionally, when she leaned closer to me, I would feel a stir created by the subtle fragrance she wore; a whiff of which could send me tingling with excitement.

But if her scent was seductive, her brow was still...well... stormy; eyes, sullen; manner, cold and unapproachable. She had had a bad day and, as was often the case when things went wrong at work, she began complaining about men, how they were such pigs, so insensitive, firing yet another salvo in the what was becoming an ever more frequent battle between the sexes. This sort of thing was becoming more common with her of late, and the more stridently feminist, anti-male she became, the more I felt my patience wearing thin.

It was only a matter of time till the trouble started. I don't remember the reason for the flare up, only that Paige seemed especially irritable, as if intent on picking a fight. We exchanged a few sharp words, hissed whispers in the quiet restaurant. Then she withdrew into the frigid silence of a sulking little girl. It was one of her less endearing qualities. By the time the dessert arrived we were barely speaking to each other.

The icy silence continued on the ride back to her place with each of us wrapped in our own righteous indignation. My first impulse was simply to see her home, turn around and walk out the door; good riddance. But then, once we were at her place, something held me back. I had a sudden desire not to let it send like this. We had had too many nights that ended in anger. Tonight I was determined we would get something settled between us, even if I had to force the simmering confrontation.

Back in her apartment, I made it obvious that I intended to stay a while, as we had originally planned before the evening had been de-railed. Quite deliberately, I took off my jacket and loosened my tie. Paige, aloof and indifferent, had slipped off her heels, discarded her jacket, and still without a word, swept past me into the kitchen. I assumed that she was going to make the drinks. It was obvious that neither of us seemed quite ready to call the whole evening off, although the tension was palpable by now.

I collapsed onto the sofa, lit a cigarette, and sprawled back, content to wait. In a moment she was back, a drink in each hand. Mine was set down on a coffeetable in front of me as, ignoring the couch, Paige crossed the room to take a seat opposite mine; the coffetable -- a symbolic barrier between us. She sat in a large comfortable chair, crossing her long legs, indifferent to the skirt that rode up to reveal several enticing inches of nyloned thigh. Staring moodily into her drink, the girl seemed lost in thought, one leg swinging mechanically. For the longest time neither of us spoke.

I knew that if the ice was going to be broken, I'd have to take the first step. And so I made some appeasing sounds, careful to put a note of sincerity into my voice. At the right moment I apologized, and offered to make up, extending a hand and beckoning her over. She paused as if to consider, then nodded, smiled a little crooked grin, and padded over on stockinged feet to stand beside me. Her smile broadened as she reached down to touch my face, extending a single finger to trace a line down my cheek and chin. I looked up into those gold-flecked eyes, softening now as she was beginning to mellow out. And I returned her smile with my own. Then I reached for her hand, bringing it to my lips, to kiss the soft fleshy palm.

Tightening my grip on her hand, I tugged gently, insistently, coaxing her down to me. She acquiesced, with lingering reluctance, letting herself be drawn down to sit in my lap, swinging her legs across mine as she settled onto my thighs. I brought an arm around her waist, while I placed my other hand up on her leg, slipping it just under the hem of the skirt, not too far up, easing it a few inches just above the knee, simply letting it rest there on the top of her silken thigh, feeling her moist warmth through the slick nylon of her pantyhose, while we exchanged the sort of sorry words that lovers use.

In a few minutes we ran out of words. Mellowing a little, Paige bent down to forgive me. Grudgingly, she imparted a brief kiss. And when our lips met, and I kissed her back, long and hard. Her lips yielded and soon we were locked in an open mouthed kiss. My hand came, my fingers in her hair, holding her in place as my tongue made a bold sally. I took advantage of that long kiss to slide my hand further up her leg, burrowing up under the soft folds of her wool skirt, to savor the satiny smoothness of a firmly contoured thigh.

We were both panting a little as the kiss trailed off. Now warm and cuddly Paige snuggled closer, resting her head dreamily against my shoulder. I saw her fine lashes flutter down as she gave herself up to my pleasuring hand which was busy exploring the secret warmth under her skirt. I looked down to watch as my wrist slid back the fabric, uncovering the full length of those mouth-watering thighs.

I curved my fingers to fit that lush thigh, dipping between her loosely parted legs, feeling my way toward the heat of her inner core. Her hot breath on my ear sent a shiver through me. And when my fingertips first touched her sex through the thin layers of damp nylon, she abruptly shot up with a sharp gasp. Her long lean body arched up and back, stretching like a big cat as I pressed the pad of single a fingertip into that moist yielding softness.

Now I settled into lightly stroking Paige's pussy through the slick nylon. Turning to nuzzle her long neck, my lips teased through the fine silky tendrils left below the upswept chignon, nibbling at the tempting flesh with light, fluttery kisses, as all the while, I kept up the slow dreamy caress of her pantied vulva, my own heat rising, my prick hardening in my pants. Paige heaved a long sigh of deep satisfaction, and as I blindly pressed two fingers along her hidden labia, she came out with a whimper, a plaintive little whine that escaped her tightly-pressed lips as I slowly stroked and rubbed along the ridge of those fleshy lips.

I let her luxuriate in the warmth of sensual pleasure my slow hand was generating, till I felt all the stiffness melt away, the nylon strip between her legs moistening with her juices. Then I decided the time was right to try my next move. My two stiff fingers were making tiny, lazy circles around her shrouded clit, causing her to squirm in rising agitation, when I whispered my opening gambit.

"Paige?" I murmured.

"Hummmm?" she hummed dreamily, her neck craning back in sensual pleasure.

My fingertips never stopped the lazy circles they were making between her legs. The layers of nylon were definitely damp; loosely-splayed thighs stirred indolently. I took a breath and plunged onward.

"You seem awfully tense tonight. Why don't you let me give you a little massage? Here, lay down." I coaxed, simultaneously shifting back deeper into the couch so I could ease her down across my legs.

She slouched halfway down, coming to rest propped up on one elbow, eyeing me through narrowed eyes, a bemused expression on her lips.

"Turn over, Darling," I breathed, gently nudging her shoulder.

For a moment she just looked up at me. She seemed to pause to consider the offer, while I held my breath. Then, without a word, she slowly turned her shoulder and lowered herself down to drape her long form across my knees, and there she lay, warm and languid.

I contemplated that long lean, deliciously feminine body stretched out so nicely across my lap, loose legs angling down till her nyloned toes touched the deep pile rug. I could feel the warmth of her breasts burning into my thighs as she shifted to get more comfortable before finally setting into place, one solid hip pressed firmly against my rigid erection.

I laid a flattened hand on the hollow of her lower back, just above the waistband of the skirt, and slowly moved it up the silken blouse to a point between her shoulder blades, and beginning a slow, languid massage that soon had the laid-out woman purred in bubbling contentment.

Now I ran my flattened hand down her length, on top of her clothes, past the hem of the skirt, and briefly onto her right leg, before deftly slipping it up under the skirt and reversing the trip, skimming the skirt upward with the back of my hand, baring her the feminine contours -- those lovely, smoothly tapering lengths that I loved to make love to. The backs of her nylon-encased legs shimmered with a golden sheen in the table lamp's muted light.

By now my tunneling hand had the tented skirt well up on her thighs, but further progress was impeded because the front of the skirt had become wedged between her legs and my lap. To finish the job, I had to shift her inert body, tugging simultaneously to pull the twisted cloth out from beneath her, freeing the crumpled skirt so I could yank it up the rest of the way up to her waist. With a little effort, and only passive cooperation from the limp girl, I was able to hike her skirt up, uncovering her nylon-sheathed bottom. With her skirt rucked up around her waist, I was greeted by the enticing sight of a pair of low-cut apricot panties, the taut curves of the bulging seat clearly visible through the honeyed mesh of snugly fitted pantyhose.

Electrified with a wild surge of excitement, I reached out and curved my hands to fit them to Paige's satiny behind. There was no protest as I freely felt her up, savoring the slick smoothness, gently squeezing, testing the outer softness till it yielded to the inner firmness of that deeply solid rearend. I let my fingertips skate up and over and down the high rounded contours, while the girl in my lap, letting out a deep sigh, couldn't help wriggling in sensual delight.

With trembling hands I reached for the waistband of the pantyhose, desperately eager to uncover the lovely cheeks of Paige Royce's upturned bottom. It took a little struggling, with the increasingly excited girl cooperating more eagerly now, wiggling her hips as I worked the clingy nylon down her flanks and over the rounded ass. She was becoming aroused, and that made things easier. At last I bent my knees raising her hips a little so I could reach up under her and yank them down in front. I left the twisted nylon in place midway down her tempting thighs and turned my attention to the sheer shiny underpants hugging those delectable twin curves.

I contemplated the mouth-watering sight: the thin hip-huggers that were stretched tight, straining to contain those plump, tightly-packed mounds. Trimmed in lace, a narrow strip banded her hips leaving bare the high fullness of her sleek haunches, while in the back the high-cut leg bands arched well up over her shapely behind, to expose the smiling undercurves and a generous portion of that beautiful womanly ass.

I brought a hand up to span that upturned bottom that sat so appealing in my lap, savoring the feel of those delectable mounds through the thin slickness of the silky nylon panties. Then I brought the other hand up, eager to re-arrange the taut seat of her underpants. Hooking my fingers inside the elastic leg bands at the crotch, I slid them up along her crack, guiding the twisted nylon strip into that narrow valley, so as to completely uncover those tempting cheeks. I curled my fingers around a handful of right cheek, pressing the silky strand into her narrow crack. Then, with both hands curved around her hips, I slipped my thumbs through the elastic waistband in back and tugged upward on the apricot panties, forcing the twisted gusset deeper into her cleft, and getting a guttural grunt from the girl who lay stretched over my lap. She just lay there, letting me arrange her panties into a thong without comment. Still not satisfied with the arrangements, I grabbed the back of the waistband and yanked up again, and again, until the narrow gusset was pulled up tight, a taut strip of twisted silk deeply embedded in the crack of her ass.

Paige seemed to be offering her body to me, content to let me have my way with her, soft and yielding, giving herself up to the pleasure she found in a man's adoring hands. Each extra tug brought nothing more than a tight grunt and a tiny jerk of the hips from the now surprisingly passive woman.

Admiring my handiwork, I let my hand rest on that superb, newly-bared bum, so round, so firm and smooth, so unspeakably perfect! I couldn't resist the mouth-watering temptation of Paige's naked bottom, and bending down planted a single kiss on the very crown of one cheek. Paige sighed in dreamy contentment; her hips twitched with growing eagerness, squirming involuntarily with simmering excitement.

Cupping her cheeks, I leisurely kneaded those pert mounds, my caressing hand admiring the twin curves, the perfect symmetry, luxuriating in the satiny smoothness of the high-domed butt, their deep division now accented by the thong I had formed in happily baring her butt. As I rubbed her rump, my girlfriend shifted with lusty impatience making little whimpers of desire.

An instant surge of arousal rocketed through me, stiffening my already hardened, arching prick. With my hands trembling with excitement, I reached for the elastic waistband and yanked hard, swiftly dragging the twisted underpants down her long haunches, till they were caught up in the half-masted pantyhose.

Now I studied Paige Royce's naked bottom: the twin domes, the dark,tight crack that led to the tuft of fine reddish pussyfur peeking out from between her loosely-parted thighs. Inserting a hand up between her legs, I nudged her further open, nosing my fingers through the fine thicket of silky pubic hair to finger her. At this intimate touch, Paige let out a groan, a long, breathy, shivering groan. I found her softly fleshed pussy, visited furtively, testing the girl's wetness, her heat, probing, fingering the wet slickness.

Now, with splayed hand I spanned that simply irresistible butt, palming those wobbly mounds, while Paige arched up, writhing and humming low in her throat, moaning with desires as she reveled in the deep pleasure of a loving masculine hand kneading her adorable bottom. I had her purring when I lifted my hand a few inches and brought it down, ever so lightly, patting the stretched-out girl on the butt, testing the bouncy resiliency of that upturned ass, so smooth, so soft, and placed so perfectly under my hand.

Carefully, I brought my other hand up to gently place it on the small of her back, letting it rest there lightly before pressing down more firmly. I lifted my right hand directly over the unsuspecting target, hauled back, and whacked her pretty ass with s quick slap.

SMACK!

Taken by surprise the girl let out a sharp "YEEE...Ouch!"

Her head jacked straight up while her body stiffened, legs shooting up in shocked reflex. Before she could recover, I struck again, delivering two glancing slaps which sent her fleshy cheeks wobbling in most delightful way.