The Office Games: The Business Trip Part 2

For Part 1 of the Business Trip, click here

My legs brushed together under my knee-length, gray pencil skirt as I walked to the podium to begin my portion of the presentation, ignoring the wetness between them. I blocked Jack’s eager gaze from my peripheral vision and focused on the notes in front of me. Forty-five minutes later I was done. I walked back to my seat and spent the remainder of the meeting doodling discreetly on my yellow legal pad, careful to avoid any and all eye contact with Jack.

We left as a group to go to happy hour, a reward to everyone for surviving the numerous dissertations. My high heels crunched softly across the parking lot’s warm asphalt as I made my way to Jack’s truck. He was my ride after all. Jack jogged across from one of the executive’s cars to open the door for me. I heard a long sigh as he shut the door.

In minutes we were at the restaurant. He and I sat far away from each other. We didn’t want the addition of alcohol to relax our guard and give us away. Cool citrus mingled with tequila and a hint of salt passed my lips as I sipped on my margarita. With a sigh, I began to relax. The details are boring and unimportant, so I won’t waste words on the idle work chat that followed for the next couple of hours. But eventually everyone stood, stretched and exited en mass.

Our return to the hotel took only ten minutes and I was in a happily buzzed state (after three margaritas, anyone would be) when we entered the lobby. Jack and I meandered through the large hotel and into the bar where he ordered a couple of drinks to go. Once we got to the room we had no intention of leaving.

Once past the door numbered 914 and after drinks and belongings had been set aside, we stood facing each other inches apart. My arms went up and around Jack’s neck while his dipped low behind my back, his large hands cupping my ass. Our lips met, but unlike the frantic, urgent kiss I expected, the mingling was slow, unhurried and sensual. I opened my mouth and let my tongue slide hesitantly into his, tasting the inside of his lips. His mouth parted and our tongues met, dancing as our breath combined.

Our lips didn’t separate as I began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it up and out of his trousers before pushing the starched fabric off his shoulders. Still kissing, he backed me towards the bed while I unfastened his belt for the second time that day. His hands roved my body and filled me with need. We broke apart, smiling. The wait had been so long.

With efficient movements I undressed and he followed suit, so that within moments we both were completely naked. Onto the bed we tumbled, legs and arms in a tangle of passion, hands touching everywhere. I wanted to touch all of him at once. His skin, warm and taunt over the muscles it covered, seemed to sing under my touch.

“I want you on top,” he said, rolling onto his back and pulling me toward his long body. His cock throbbed at attention.

“Not yet,” I whispered, wriggling down between his legs, so my nipples grazed his hair-covered thighs.

I took him into my mouth, feeling his already stiff member become even harder. This is what I wanted. I wanted him aching to be in me before I let it happen. My hands went up to his nipples, teasing them as I sucked. I drank in the sound of his moan. Swollen and wet with want, I felt my pussy throbbing.

I eased up his body, forcing myself to go slow, to savor the moment. Grasping his cock and pulling it away from his belly I pressed it between my hungry labia. Slick from my own juices, and so ready to be filled I rubbed against him, the flat of my hand keeping his rigid penis tight against me. And I came. Just a small one, but it was the beginning of the release.

While I was still pulsing from my first orgasm, I shifted and then positioned the head of his cock at my entrance and eased down on it. My walls clenched, claiming him. Jack’s hands rested on my hips and I fell forward, so my breasts hung in reach of his lips. Like one parched he sucked my nipples, sending darts of pleasure through my body that somehow converged at my greedy mound. On my hands and knees I hovered over him, pistoning rapidly up and down on his rod. Shameless in the hunt for my own pleasure, I felt another orgasm building. Rocking back on my heels, I pressed against Jack so that his cock repeatedly hit the back of my clitoris—that magic place known as the G-spot. One hand rapidly flicked my clit on the outside, and the other pinched a sensitive nipple. My pleasure receptors overloaded and I came with a cry, this time squirting on his cock.

I dismounted, stretched on my back and said smiling, “Jack darling, wow.”

But we were just getting started.

“You squirted!” he exclaimed.

I worried that he wouldn’t like it. Some men don’t.

“Yes,” I said blushing.

“I want to make you do that again! That was awesome!”

I grinned and opened my legs. He didn’t need another invitation. In his cock went, pleasuring me in a completely different way now that he was on top and controlling the pace. Stroke after stroke went deeper and deeper, bringing me closer and closer to the brink. I lifted my legs, giving his cock even greater purchase and his arms encircled me, pulling me tight against his body. I could hear myself panting right before I came, almost as if the body turning into a puddle on the bed belonged to someone else.

“God, I love fucking you,” Jack said as he continued to slide in and out of my body in a slow, steady rhythm.

The animal inside of me was clawing at the surface. Jack’s careful, sensual approach only served to feed the frenzy. Through half-closed eyes I watched him watch me, knowing my full breasts were swinging in time to his pace like a metronome. His kiss stirred me out of my almost hypnotic state.

“I need to touch you,” I said, motioning for him to pullout and lay down.

“Not on your back. Roll over.”

With him face down, I straddled his upper thighs and began massaging his neck, shoulders and back. My arm rolled up and down his spine, releasing tension. But the sight of him lying like that, it broke something loose deep inside of me. My baser nature took over and I did something I have never done before. With a growl I leaned over, pressing my breasts against his back, and ground my cunt hard against his ass. For that’s what it was at that point. No longer was my center of womanhood delicate folds of petal-like flesh. But instead a hungry, greedy, famished, animalistic cunt… hell bent on feeding.

My breath came in short, gasping pants as I pounded harder and harder against his firm ass. He moaned and lifted toward me. And I went crashing over the edge. I came with a stifled scream that wheezed past my teeth as I came and gushed over his tight, white buttocks.

“Oh my god. That was incredible,” he said, still face down. “You came on my ass. I felt you. Your liquid went in my asshole.”

I couldn’t speak yet. Jack rolled over and sat up. I was perched on my knees, hands resting on either side of me for balance.

“No woman has ever done that to me,” he marveled.

I found my words.

“I’ve never done that. Or anything close. Ever.”

We paused at point, taking a sip of our neglected drinks. As I gulped down the not-so-frosty-anymore beverage, I glanced at the clock. We had been naked and pleasuring each other for almost two hours. I didn’t know at the time that we hadn’t even reached our halfway point yet.

To be continued…

Your Siren

I want to be your Siren, irresistible as the ones in legends old. Hear my song and turn to me, heart full of questions and desire. Fight the urge if you must, but then embrace the succumbing. Unlike the tales told in Greek mythology, I don’t desire your demise. I won’t have you wrecked and ruined on the cliffs below. Yes, I want to tempt you. I ache for you to dispense with caution and fall under my spell. Because here, with your head on my breast, you will find what you’ve been seeking.

Armitage_Siren

I Take Pictures

In the soft, mid-morning light, while listening to the rain fall off the eves, giving my dormant roses a drink, I stretch and twist, finding the pleasing angles. It’s hazy, the light, filtering through my curtains. It bathes my body in a flattering glow.

Click. Click. Click.

I take off my shirt. The lacy bra underneath lifts my creamy breasts. I imagine his lips kissing my collar bone and working lower. Delving between the mounds, drinking in my scent.

Click. Click. Click.

Will he like what he sees? Will he ache to be near me? Will his cock fill with longing? Will he want to be against my flesh as much as I want to be against his?

Click. Click. Click.

I remove my bra. Supine on the bed I arch toward the light, fully exposed. Nipples harden as the anticipation builds and the cold air teases. Oh for his mouth to warm them. What would I give to feel his breath, ragged with desire, release across my skin.

Click. Click. Click.

I am pleased with the images, these glimpses of me, these two-dimential representations of my shape, my passion. And I hope he will be as well. I long to share them. With you. But I will refrain. These must stay in the private collection.

Click.

Binding My Breasts

In the summer of 1993 I read a book none of you will have heard of, so I won’t elaborate on the author or the title. But the heroine of the story has remained in my head for years.

About three quarters into the plot, the action had built and, due to a series of tragedies, she decided to pose as a boy and join the Revolutionary War effort. And for her it was simple. Cut the hair. Bind the breasts. Put on pants.

Of course in the end she was found out by her one true love, which made it even more romantic.

I fantasized about that. The idea of transforming so completely. The idea of being a boy, while being a girl.

I rummaged in my parents medicine cabinet for some ancient ace bandages and then stood naked in front of my full length closet holding them. Around and around I wrapped the three inch elastic fabric, binding my already size C cups tighter and tighter.

When I finished I could barely breathe. And though I had bound them as tight as I physically could, the telling curve of a blooming figure still showed.

Disappointed, I slipped on jeans and a loose plaid shirt that had been my grandfather’s in the 1950s. My hair went up and under a hat, and I stepped close to the mirror, hoping what I saw could pass for a boy.

But it was useless. I pushed the closet door shut and flopped across my pastel covered twin bed. I started to sigh, but the bandages kept me from inhaling enough to release my exasperation.

So I sat up and took off the shirt. And slowly unbound my breasts. Free as last, I ran my hands over them, noticing the strange patterns left by the fabric. I could breathe again.

All of Me

I heard this for the first time today and it spoke to me deeply. On so many levels. Instead of elaborating on how and why it impacted me, I’m just going to share. And let you guess. And let you be touched as well.

LYRICS:
What would I do without your smart mouth
Drawing me in, and you kicking me out
Got my head spinning, no kidding, I can’t pin you down
What’s going on in that beautiful mind
I’m on your magical mystery ride
And I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, but I’ll be alright[Bridge:]
My head’s under water
But I’m breathing fine
You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind

[Chorus:]
‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
‘Cause I give you all, all of me
And you give me all, all of you, oh

[Verse 2:]
How many times do I have to tell you
Even when you’re crying you’re beautiful too
The world is beating you down, I’m around through every mood
You’re my downfall, you’re my muse
My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues
I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing, in my head for you

[Bridge:]
My head’s under water
But I’m breathing fine
You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind

[Chorus:]
‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
‘Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all, all of you, oh

Give me all of you
Cards on the table, we’re both showing hearts
Risking it all, though it’s hard

[Chorus:]
‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
‘Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you

I give you all, all of me
And you give me all, all of you, oh

Sorting Thoughts

He gets attention from other women when I’m not available. And often I’m not. You don’t get to the level I’m at by simply knowing the difference between a tulip and a tuberose. It takes drive, effort, long hours—the proverbial blood, sweat and tears.

And who am I to complain? I do the same thing. Sometimes from men who are legally bound to others. I suppose I should be thankful to his women, for filling in the gaps when I don’t have the time or energy. And most of the time I am. It’s when he laps it up like a happy puppy—lavishing innocent enough wags in reply to their praise and pats—that I get bothered.

I just have to figure out why I get bothered. “You’re the most important to me,” he says, “No one else matters.”  Hearing that helps. And to give him credit, he tells me this knowing he won’t hear it in return.

The funny thing is, I pushed him to do it, to seek out other company. Part of it was my perverse way of testing him, to see how much I really mattered. I did a very good job of being an undesirable, unavailable, selfish brat on my end just to make the test that much more challenging. Test is the wrong word. It implies pass/fail. I think this was more of an experiment.

Well, the man did as I suggested. He diversified his interests, theoretically minimizing the risks for both of us.

But I’m still bothered. It’s like a yo-yo effect. One afternoon I may feel incredibly close to him, so much so that I would swear I’ve never been more real with another person. And then later, when he’s open and honest about what’s going on with other women, I’m jerked away, so fast I almost have whiplash.

This of course is my fault. He wanted to commit to me. And for me to commit to him. For us to be bound to each other by promises and agreements. But I can’t do that. The thought makes me feel strangled.

So I suppose, in the end, my choice is between being a bit bothered or feeling collared, chained and choked. Why can I not feel free to love inside of a commitment? I don’t know. It’s like having my wings clipped. And compared to that, the nagging I-really-don’t-like-this twinge I get on occasion is no big deal.

Thoughts Sorted.

tuberose-london-1

New York State of Mind

I haven’t been since I was a kid. But the city is calling. Yes. The City. The romantic in me has pegged February 13th as my departure date, giving me all of Valentine’s day and the day after to soak up the sites, tastes and sounds. But it’s such a cliche. And yet… will that stop me?

I don’t know.

I just know I’m getting the itch. The itch to be alone while surrounded by people, at home and comfortable as just another face among the masses.

But if you do see me, feel free to smile.

Four Men in One Day

“I’m going to try to get an early flight in,” Nathan texted me. I didn’t expect him to arrive until Saturday, so this was an unexpected surprise.

“Great! Any particular reason?” I texted back.

“I want you,” was the short reply. That was enough kindle my fire. And it wasn’t even 8:00 in the morning yet.

I leaned back in my seat during my commute to work, arching my back against the supple leather. The need inside me was rising. Once there, I sashayed into the office, swinging my hips more than usual. The red and black wrap dress I wore swirled around my thighs. It was going to be a long day.

Around noon my phone chimed. It was a writer friend of mine (with whom I’ve shared some lusty thoughts) asking about my weekend plans.

“Nathan is trying to get here early,” I replied.

“Oh! Are you on edge?” he asked, knowing about our relationship.

“Yes. A lot. I need my bones jumped badly right now.”

“Don’t tell me that… no wait. Keep telling me that,” he said.

And what followed from him got me completely twisted up.

____________________________________________________________________

“I wish I worked closer to you,” he wrote, “I’d take you out for a quickie several times a week. I’d stroke my cock while I watched you undress for me. Then I’d come over and turn you around, caress your hair and softly kiss your neck while pressing my erection into the small of your back. And then I’d play with your nipples to see if I could get a reaction. And then I’d put my knee between your legs to spread them a little. And then my hand might venture down to graze your pussy to check the situation.”

“Oh my gosh. You’re making me start to ache,” I replied.

“I want your orgasm. I want to feel you. That’s what I would whisper. And then I would turn you around. Facing me. And then I would kneel.”

“Go on…”

“And my hand would feel your pussy, spread the lips a little. I would have you on display for my eyes. And then I would begin licking that fabulous pussy of yours. Because I had never done it before, I would begin licking and exploring with my tongue and fingers very gently.”

“You devil. You are trying to make me come.”

“I want to see how long you can stand on your own. Not long. Because I would be able to feel it coming.”

“I would need something to hold on to.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t allow that. You could only grab my head. And I would taste as your buildup started to commence its rage. Bracing for the torrent. Your legs would open wider and your head would be thrown back. And I would be pressing harder with my mouth and tongue. And my thumb would be pressing your clit. And you would stop moaning and start to beg me. And then I’d lift you up and carry you to the bed. That’s what I’d do baby. You would be on the bed with your arms above your head and your legs spread and knees bent. And I would go back down on you because that’s what I want to do to you right now. I want to taste you. I want to feel you. I want to feel the quake of your orgasm on my face. I want to feel you come again and again and again. And then I want to drag you and stand you up beside the bed. Then I want to push your back and head down while holding your hands above your head in a vice grip with my hands. And then I would enter you from behind. Slowly.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Would something like that work for you?”

“It would more than work.”

“Too bad I don’t live nearby.”

“No kidding. Now you have me completely on edge. And it’s too busy a day and the walls are too thin for me to close my door and do anything about it. Besides. I don’t want to get myself off after that. I want someone else to do it for me. Damn you.”

____________________________________________________________________

Ten minutes later Jack walked in with a serious question about a serious project. My mind was mush. I looked up at him. I saw his eyes widen as he read the lust in my own. Hell, I was so turned on I probably smelled like sex. My gaze lowered to his chest, then his belt, then his crotch. His trousers twitched, then tented.

“Jack you have a call on zero,” rang the page through the office.

“May I take it in here?” he asked me.

“Certainly,” I said, moving my chair over as he walked around my desk and behind me.

Jack took his call, allowing his erection to graze my shoulder as he answered questions on a project. I quivered and shifted so he could see down the front of my V-necked dress. He pressed against me harder. When he hung up the phone, he walked back around my desk and stood in front of me, his hands in his pockets, pulling the fabric tight, showcasing the hard cock inside. He grinned. I grinned. Both of us knew there was nothing we could do about the raging lust in the air, nothing we could even say. He adjusted himself so it wasn’t as noticeable while my tongue licked my upper lip. He walked out while I sat there, unable to think of anything except a good, hard fuck. At least Nathan will be in town tonight to take care of me, I thought.

____________________________________________________________________

Around 3:00 my phone chimed with a text from Nathan, “I’m not going to make it after all. All the flights were full.”

My pussy wept. And then began to scheme. I paced my office. Desperate. I picked up my phone.

“What time do you get home,” I texted Lover, still pacing.

“3:30”

“Can I come over? I need fucking. Badly,” I wrote.

“Sure, but I have to leave at 4:30.”

“Shit. I can’t be there before 4:40.”

“I have an early date. Let me see if I can move it back.”

“Or I can come over after your date,” I texted, ignoring the total wrongness of the situation.

“That’ll work.” he replied,  “It should be over around 7:30. I’ll let you know. Don’t flake out on me. I want you bad.”

I sat down and let out a sigh. The promise of relief was nigh.

____________________________________________________________________

Lover called as soon as his date ended, letting me know when he’d be home. Then he called again to make sure I was on the way. The need in his voice matched the ache in my loins.

I backed into his driveway at 8:37. Almost 12 hours exactly from the time Nathan’s text had keyed me up. Nathan. The man I really wanted. The man who wasn’t there.

I walked up the three shallow steps to Lover’s door and knocked.

“It’s open,” he yelled from somewhere deep inside.

I turned the knob and pushed. It wasn’t. I knocked again. His footsteps pounded through the house as he ran to the door and swung it open wide.

“Hey,” he said smiling, his brown eyes twinkling above his full winter beard.

“Hey,” I said smiling back.

Two quick paces and I landed in his arms. The kiss… oh the kiss. He devoured my lips like a drowning man, pulling me tight against him. My fingers raked through the back of his head, rumpling his thick brown hair.

“I need a drink,” he said, breaking away and walking over to his makeshift bar.

I followed, my hands tracing the muscles under his fleece jacket. As he poured, I reached around his waist from behind and unbuckled his belt and then unbuttoned his jeans. He got the hint and poured faster. We shared a sip of his whisky and coke on ice.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, “You do need fucking.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, while tugging at his clothes. He was naked in seconds, his masterpiece of a long, hard cock finally on display. Still dressed, I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth, sucking the giant helmeted head. My greedy tongue flicked around the end as I looked up at him with hungry eyes.

“Someday I’m gonna film that,” he said, “Damn. You have no idea how hot you are to watch.”

The corner of my mouth turned up in a smile while I continued bathing his cock with my saliva. He tasted so good.

“You gotta stop,” he said, pulling away, “or you aren’t gonna get yours.”

I stopped. And stood. Quickly I unbuttoned, stepped out of my jeans and shed my jacket while he rummaged in his dresser for condoms. (Safe sex people… just sayin’)

“Hurry baby,” I choked, walking around to stand against his antique iron bed. I had reached frenzy level. Perched on the edge I spread my legs as he stepped between them, his cock in hand. The hard tip brushed against me and I ground into it. Taking the cue, he began to rub the head against the shaft of my clit. I moaned and spread my legs further. He stroked against me harder and faster. My feet came off the floor as he scooted beneath me, the back of my legs resting on the top of his thighs. It felt like my entire body was being supported by his cock, which he was rubbing against me almost as fast as my vibrator. I grabbed the bed and came, squirting as I did so.

“There it is,” he said, not stopping the pleasure.

I came again. And again. And again. On the fourth wave he slipped inside while simultaneously lifting my legs so that my ankles framed his face. Finally. Finally my channel was being filled as it had been aching to be all day. He crashed against me with the fierceness of a rutting bear. Deep. Hard. To the point of hurt. He reached inside my tank top and pulled out my breasts, so they spilled over, bouncing hard with each thrust. Still he pounded me.

“Water,” I finally cried, “I need water.”

We broke apart for hydration. And kisses. Long, luscious kisses. Even now my lips feel bruised from them.

On his bed we began again, this time both of us completely naked. My heavy breasts fell on his hips bones, framing his cock as I took him into my mouth. My right hand ran up his stomach to his chest and then to his shoulders, arms and down to his hand. Balanced on my knees, with his hard shaft between my lips, both my hands began slowly, firmly massaging his body. I touched every inch of him, from ankles to wrists. I could feel the passion rising in him as the writhed beneath me, arching to each touch.

“Oh my god, Marian!” He exclaimed, “I’m 33 years old and I’ve never experienced that.”

Lover pulled my face off his cock and up to his own, breathing in my exhales and biting my lips while his strong hands gripped my shoulders.

“I need inside you again,” he growled.

This time he entered me from behind, in almost exactly the same way my writer friend had described earlier in the day. Except he didn’t grab my wrists. Instead he wrapped his arms around me, grasping my breasts and pulling me to him, his chest tight against my back. I shuddered in pleasure, the frenzy finally fading, limp from the wealth of orgasms I had experienced.

Later, as I nestled in his arms I asked him, “Do all the girls you fuck come like this? This many times?”

He looked sheepish and said, “Well… no. Not exactly.”

“I don’t see how they help it,” I marveled, “If you treat them like this.”

“Well,” he looked away, “That’s sorta it.”

I frowned, puzzling out what he was trying to say. Or not say.

“Really it’s just you and this one other girl I sometimes see that do,” he said.

I was quite, waiting for him to explain.

“You and her, you’re the ones who care about me the most.”

“Oh,” I said, getting it at last, “You don’t try as hard with the other ones.”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted.

I tenderly stroked his face and kissed his cheek, “I love you in my own weird way, you know,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” he smiled, “That’s why I fuck you like I do.”