1,001 Nights: Day 01bysensualwriter©
Friday morning flew past, the daily routine an invisible blur streaming around Sara as she contemplated the single thing on her mind: today is Day One.
Her plan, her scheme, her strategy... she didn't know what to call it, but it began today. She felt almost fearful when she awoke this morning, filled with anticipation and apprehension. She hadn't slept well, had tossed and turned all night, waking every couple hours, once going to the bathroom, once getting a drink, mostly lying naked beneath her sheets staring at the ceiling. One thousand and one nights of sex, she had thought over and over, and it starts tomorrow.
Now it was tomorrow, it was Day One, and she was so preoccupied with the idea that couldn't concentrate on anything at work. She had almost called in sick when the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't calm themselves. She thought again about leaving early, claiming she wasn't feeling well and heading home, but what would she do? Sit home and feel just as nervous as I do now, she thought. Is it nerves, or is it excitement? I haven't felt like this since... since... I don't know if I've ever felt like this. She was filled with tension, but strangely stimulated, as if the anxiety somehow heightened the sense of arousal she felt every time she thought about it.
She stared at the wall opposite her desk, her mind skating from topic to topic like a water bug skimming the surface of a pond. The door was shut and the mini-blinds were closed on the window that usually allowed her a view of the hall. A painting hung next to the window, an impressionist print she had loved when she picked it out, in the depths of which she usually found a sense of serenity. Today she didn't even see the canvas. What if I don't find someone tonight? What if my plan falls through on the first day? Should I risk waiting until I hit the bars tonight?
She thought about it and decided that she was too keyed up, too eager to start her project to wait until tonight. The fear of having her plan compromised forced her to action like a gun to her head. She knew she couldn't take any chances; once set in motion, her plan would develop a momentum of its' own, but she would need to kick start it. I need to start now. But where, and with whom?
She began mentally cataloging the men in her office. Ben in sales – hopelessly devoted to his fat wife. Carl in Engineering – too much like a father. Shaun in shipping – there was no way he could it to himself. Mick, in quality control, the tall shy one...yes! Shy was what she needed. Maybe Mick would fit the bill. Or better yet, Andy upstairs in accounting; he might be geeky, but he fell all over himself whenever she needed anything. Andy could keep a secret. Andy had always helped her, had gone out of his way for her on countless occasions.
Well, Andy, she thought, today the nice guy gets his.
Sara hung up the phone and a smile stretched her lips. Some things were too easy. Andy had been so quick to agree to help her with her supply problem that she almost felt bad for duping him. It's not like he hasn't wanted me for years, she thought. He was going to help her verify some sort of discrepancy with an order of office supplies or something, she had already forgotten what she told him, and to do so they were meeting in the supply closet in ten minutes. She decided to check her makeup and hair before meeting Andy, and strode from her office with purpose towards the ladies room.
Ben approached her in the hall. He held a stack of pink order forms in one hand; his other hand held his cell phone to his ear. As soon as he saw her, he muttered a quick "hang on" into the phone and touched her arm to get her attention.
"Sara, we need to change these shipping dates you gave Turner & Company, it's going to totally screw up my BHI project." He stared at her, expecting a quick response.
Sara drew her arm out of his reach as she continued down the hall. "It'll have to wait, I'm right in the middle of something," she said over her shoulder.
She made it to the restroom, touched up her makeup and brushed her hair. She gave herself a long, appraising look in the mirror. She was beautiful, desirable and, as always, dressed to the tee. She considered her reflection, imaging how a stranger would see her.
Her image in the full length mirror was hazy through the unclean surface, but gave her a general idea of how she looked. She glanced down at her favorite black, strappy heels, turned her ankle to see how they emphasized the length of her tanned legs, which were bare to mid thigh, her tight, black skirt daringly short. The white blouse was tucked into the top of her skirt and covered by a tailored black blazer that hugged her tiny waistline. Her blouse was unbuttoned low, almost revealing the lacy black bra that pushed her breasts together and made them look larger, her cleavage more pronounced. A choker of black satin was wrapped tightly around her neck, a black opal dangling from it in the hollow of her neck. Her long blonde hair hung straight back, shining in the fluorescent lights.
On an impulse, she reached up under her skirt and pulled her black panties off, down over her shoes, then tucked them into her purse. She smoothed her skirt back into place, and tried to imagine what she would look like to Andy, how he would see her, if he would be daring enough to risk the encounter she planned. You're hot, she told herself as she glanced in the mirror one last time. There's no way he'll be able to resist.
Sara beat Andy to the supply closet, a room too small to be used for anything else. One wall was concealed by blue industrial shelving piled high with office supplies. Boxes of pens, highlighters, pencils, and markers stacked neatly next to mountains of notepads, manila folders, pre-printed order forms overflowing from their boxes, letterhead in neat blue wrap, and a small stock of nearly everything anyone in an office would ever need. A few spare office chairs were pushed into one corner, one straight-backed chair stacked upside down atop another, and a couple filing cabinets were shoved sideways against the wall.
Sara took one straight chair and pushed it next to the door; later she could jam it under the doorknob. Only a few people had keys, but at least it would prevent them from interrupting anything. She pulled a box of pens from the shelf, wondering what she was going to say to even get Andy past the doorway. Did I say pens, or paper? She couldn't remember the bad excuse she had given Andy, and her mind raced through possible opening lines.
The door opened and she flinched, startled, turning her head like the crack of a whip to see who was there. It was Andy in his starched white shirt and black slacks, a red tie cinched tight around his neck with a perfect knot. He strode directly to where Sara was standing, and set a clipboard on the shelf as the door swung shut behind him.
"What's the problem with the last order?" he asked, all business.
"Well, Andy, it's like this," Sara said, moving past him towards the door. She picked up the chair and wedge it tight under the doorknob, effectively blocking the door for anyone outside. She turned back towards him, looking him directly in the eyes. "I lured you here under false pretenses."
"You what?" He moved towards her. "Is something wrong?"
Sara said nothing. She moved close to Andy, closer than she would normally stand to anyone in the office, close enough to make him hesitate.
"What is it?" A note of concern, charming in its' naiveté, touched his voice.
The compassionate look on his face stabbed guilt into the pit of her stomach like biting down on hard candy with an undiscovered cavity; a sudden pang of shame and remorse grew within her at the thought of deceiving and using him. She had to push forward, move past it.
"Andy," she began, placing her hand on his chest, "I need to tell you something." She'd never actually tried to seduce someone, and her guilty conscience was making it difficult. Things had just happened naturally; usually existing feelings, alcohol or other mitigating circumstances created a moment, the pause in conversation, the long look into each others' eyes that led to a kiss then beyond. Trying to make it happen felt forced, wrong, as if it were a game or a contest.
Andy took a step back, moving in a stilting manner as if he were having difficulty mastering his limbs. Sara moved with him, keeping her hand on his chest, her face close to his.
"I need your help." She spoke inches from his face, her mouth close to his as if she was about to kiss him.
Andy was at a loss for words. He tried to step back again, but his foot hit the shelf behind him. Sara took the opportunity to close the distance between them. She moved right up to him, the edge of her jacket brushing against his shirt, so close now that she imagined she could feel his body heat rising off of him.
She leaned in close and whispered directly in his ear, "I need you, Andy." Her lips brushed his earlobe and his body trembled.
"We can't..." He placed his hand on her shoulders as if to push her away, but he had no strength to do so.
Sara pressed herself against him and felt his erection through his pants; the intensity of it pressing against her aroused her. He was holding his breath, his entire body rigid. She kissed his earlobe, then his neck, the smell of aftershave strong on his smooth skin. She moved again so that she was staring directly into his eyes, her mouth inches from his, his breath warm against her face. Her hands moved down his torso, over his ribcage, then his stomach. I'm actually seducing him, she thought. She couldn't believe how easy it was. One hand circled behind him, moving across his back, holding him tightly to her; the other hand slid down over his pants, pressing against his erection, rubbing between their bodies.
Andys' hands were still on her shoulders, their eyes locked together, not a word spoken between them as his resistance flagged, then faltered altogether. His hands move around her body, embracing her, exploring her curves, his lips pressed against hers, their tongues entwined as he gave himself wholly to the moment. Sara felt heat rise in her as his hands roamed over her ass, grasping, caressing, and she lifted one leg and rubbed herself against him, trying to mount him right there on the shelf, desire taking over, no longer tense from the attempt at seduction now that they were getting into it.
She pulled back from him, one hand still pressed to his pants, and smiled as enticingly as she could. The heat of the moment filled her. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she grabbed his tie and pulled him across the room towards her, spun him around and pushed him back towards a chair. He sat down hard, unexpectedly, his eyes wide, surprised. She felt a strange excitement grow as she controlled the situation, as if she had power over his every move.
She bent down smoothly before he could rise and began to unbuckle his belt. He stared down at her, a mixture of yearning and awe in his eyes. Her hands worked quickly, the button on his slacks was undone, the zipper pulled down. She reached inside his underwear and felt him warm and hard and ready, which only made her more excited. She pulled out his cock; it sprang forth and stood at attention. It wasn't huge or very impressive, curving to one side and looking oddly discolored, but at that moment it was enough to set her pulse racing. She leaned her face close to his erect penis and looked up at him, their eyes locking.
"One time," she whispered. She hovered above his cock, one hand wrapped around its' base, the other rubbing his thigh, her lips close, eyes locked on his. "Can you handle just once, Andy?" She felt a need to clarify. He was so kind she was afraid he'd misinterpret this as the beginnings of a relationship.
"Yes." His response was barely audible, his breathing rapid and irregular.
"No strings." Her voice was soft as she slowly ran her hand up, then back down his length. "Can you handle that," again she stroked his cock, slow and purposefully, "or should we stop?"
"Don't stop." His eyes were filled with lust, entreating her to keep going.
She smiled at him, then moved closer to his cock, her breath warm on his head, teasing with her hand, then finally wrapping her lips firmly around him. He was hot and tasted almost salty in her mouth and she slid up and down, her tongue circling his head, adding more sensation. She bobbed her head up and down in his lap, sucking his shaft in and out of her mouth as she moved. His hands touched the sides of her head, gripped tight in her hair and pulled her down onto him, forcing her up and down faster, hips bucking to meet her mouth, his movements harsh and insistent.
She pulled away; she wanted control of this encounter, not him. His hands tugged lightly to return her mouth to his penis, but she drew back. Her hand moved up and down, keeping him excited, her own excitement growing at the power she held over him. Every second she controlled the situation, she felt herself grow wetter, more aroused.
Sara stood, straddling Andy on the chair. With the fingers of one hand still wrapped around him, she moved down toward him, guiding him, sliding his head over her lips, pressing the tip of his cock against her swollen clitoris, moving it in small circles that shivered ecstasy throughout her. Finally, she moved him back to her entrance and lowered herself onto him, felt him slide slowly inside, just a bit, just parting her lips, then his head was inside. He suddenly grasped her waist with both hands and pulled her down hard, stretching her, forcing himself inside. She gasped, feeling him stiff and hot within her. She stayed pressed tightly against him, his cock buried inside her. His hands gripped her ass trying to push her back up off of him so he could pound into her again.
She didn't rise up off of him; she was in charge. Instead she pulled his hands off of her, bent his arms up over his head, slight resistance giving way as he caved to her will, and pinned them to the top of the chair. Holding him down, she began to slowly move her hips forward and back, keeping him deep inside her, feeling his rigidity pressing against her inner recesses, close to the secret spot at the top of her vaginal wall that only her vibrator seemed capable of finding. She moved back and forth, not allowing any movement up and down, only pushing to and fro, the sensation rippling through her entire body from deep within, spreading through her nervous system like electricity. He tried to thrust into her deeper, to pull out so he could drive himself into her with more force, but she had him pinned to the chair, purposely limiting his movements, his hips restrained enough that all his gyrations barely moved him in or out.
Finally she raised herself up until he almost slid out of her, then back down, slowly at first, then picking up the pace. She kept his hands pinned to the chair behind his head as his hips tried to increase the strength of the thrusts, but atop him, she was in command. She bounced on his lap faster, slamming onto his cock, getting closer and closer, her inner walls clenching him inside her, squeezing her pleasure from him, coming closer to climax as she rode him fervently.
She felt him tense up, his fingers clutching at her forearms almost violently, and she was sure he was going to come soon. She rose up off of him, felt him slide out, her hands immediately moving to his cock, now slick with her fluids. Inside she was electrified, sensations rolled through her uninhibited. She felt herself clenching at the emptiness within her; she had come so close to orgasm. She stroked him vigorously, wanting him to come, watching the tip of his penis for the sudden eruption that she expected.
He came silently, the same silence they had maintained during the entire session, his face contorted in an expression that could have been pain. Small spurts of semen jetted out, the first burst out almost straight at her face, just missing her, the next squirting onto the floor, one hit his own knee, the rest dribbled onto his pants or dripped down onto her hand. She slowed her hand until he seemed relaxed and then removed it. All she could smell was cum and her own musk.
Sara stood slowly and looked down at Andy, his body slumped in the chair, reason returning to him. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction, wonder, shock, and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hoped disappointment didn't show on her face as clearly as contentment showed on his. She had hoped to reach orgasm; she had been close, but didn't quite make it before he exploded. She tingled inside; she wanted it again, yearned for her release, but couldn't bring herself to prolong this already perilous interlude.
She grabbed a box of tissue from the shelf and ripped it open, wiping her hands off with a wad she then discarded on the floor. She pulled another wad of tissue from the box and wiped at her inner thighs, then between her legs, her scent heavy in the air as she tossed that tissue on the floor as well. She glanced down at herself, made sure that everything was as clean as she could get it, smoothed her skirt down, adjusted her blazer and moved towards the door.
Andy was wiping himself off when Sara pulled the chair away from the door. His head jerked up to see her hand on the doorknob. He zipped himself up as fast as he could, buckling his belt as Sara turned the knob. He bent down to pick up her discarded tissues, wanting no evidence left behind as she opened the door. He looked up, afraid someone would be in the hall listening through the door, or waiting for him outside. As she walked out of the storage room, she turned to look back at Andy, his eyes wide, something approaching terror on his face at the prospect of being caught.
"Can you get me the actual quantities before the end of the day?" Sara asked.
"Yeah, uh... yeah, sure. By the end of the day." Andy was flustered. He had obviously been totally unprepared for the entire episode.
"Great! Thanks a lot, Andy. You really came through for me." Sara winked at him, then let the door close behind her before she could see his reaction and headed directly to the ladies room.
Back in her office, arousal and guilt warred within Sara and she settled into her chair, leaning back behind the large oaken desk. She stared at the ceiling, head back, arms splayed out to her sides. She had come so close to orgasm, but felt completely unsatisfied. Her reaction to his persistent attempts to have power over her had caught her by surprise; the excitement of controlling the entire encounter was unexpected. She thought about what specifically had made her so excited.
Was it that I was in control? No, that wasn't really it, because I wasn't actually in total control. He took me, pulled me down, impaled me on him. That more than anything had excited her. Maybe it was the vision of him submissive to her desires, maybe it was imagining herself in his position. That had excited her. She thought back to how she had originally imagined the episode playing out.
She had imagined him coming into the supply room, seeing her leaning against the shelf and moving right up behind her, his hands instantly upon her, exploring, caressing, running over her body. She pictured his hands on her breasts, fingers unbuttoning her jacket, moving up under her shirt, rubbing her hardening nipples though the thin material of her bra. She felt his erection pressing against her from behind, grinding into her, his need so apparent, evidence of his desire urgent. She could feel his hands yanking her skirt up, his entire length driving inside her from behind, larger in her fantasy than in reality. There was no foreplay, no warning, his weight and the force of his thrusts pinning her to the shelf as he took her.