Embellishment Moving Forward

Embellishment Part Two

She calmly walked away, though the stirrings within her were reminiscent of her most adventurous escapades into Fantasyland.
As she traipsed her way along through the dull and dismal streets, her mind was racing ahead of her, thinking about what had just happened and wondering about what she should now do.

She looked down at the card that had been so delightfully placed in her hand.
For crying out loud, what in God’s name did it say? Was it a number one or a number seven? If the writing was so ambiguous, did he really want her to call, or was he just teasing her, tempting her, willing her to do something off the wall, out of the ordinary?

Did he genuinely want to fuck her?

When she woke that morning, nothing could have been further from her mind.
She could not deny that she had felt an instant attraction to this stranger. She could not deny that the short, subsequent visit to his office in the summer had not tempted her further, and she now vividly recalled the holiday musings when she had slipped into a gloriously embellished story of lust and passion and seriously long sessions of love-making.
But that was her fantasy, not his!

Had he too fantasised about her? Had he too thought about running his hands over her pert breasts, carefully sliding his fingers across the buttons of her blouse, surreptitiously undoing them one by one, whilst he stared at her with the fullness of his sensual gaze? Had he too thought about a walk along a dimly lit street where his hand would wander down her back, grabbing onto her arse, thrusting himself against her, so that she too could feel the extent of his desire? Had he too thought about moving his hand to the front of her skirt, tracing her inner thigh from her knee to the line of her panties, stroking his fingers over the indentations of her unshaven pussy?
Had he imagined her willingness to slide his fingers into her panties and into her cunt, where he would instantly feel the juiciness of her desire? Had he imagined her almost desperate need to hold his balls in her hand as she smothered him with urgent kisses?

He can’t have done, and neither had she since that fortnight in the summer warmth. Yet here she was, reliving every detail and wondering whether that magnetic, electrical force that had been so intriguing and acute when their fingers had collided had been so intense because they had both subconsciously been expecting it. They had both been fantasising and the memories of those beautiful imaginations had flooded back at the mere whisper of that touch.

She returned her gaze to the scribbled number in her hand. She was doing it again; embellishing reality. There was no story here. There was nothing to be pursued. She’d misheard him. She’d been talking about her deadline and all he had done was wish her luck. But then again, surely she was more discerning than that. Surely she wasn’t daft enough to mistake the word “luck” for “fuck”! The thought of such an error was school boy humour; ridiculous.
And even if she had misheard, how could she then try and explain the urgency of the tug on her elbow, and the sincerity in that stare that so clearly suggested the necessity of intimacy?

She walked back to the office and threw herself dramatically into the aforementioned deadline piece of work, hardly pausing to breathe let alone consider the quandary that she had in front of her.
She slipped away from the office in the later hours of the evening, arriving home too late to take any forceful action in the pursuit of this situation.

She’d sleep on it.

Only of course, sleep was far from her mind as she unclipped her bra and removed her pants. She delved under the pillow for her nightshirt but as she did so, she paused. Sitting on her bed, she straddled her legs and looked down at the mass of hair between her thighs. She raised her hand from where it was resting and stroked the silky threads of pubic hair in a downward direction, finding the indent that invited wandering hands towards her clitoris. She held her forefinger forcefully against the button and with some strength, rolled her finger from left to right over her hood.
Her other hand emerged from the pillow and clasped a sizeable handful of tit, and she longingly circled the circumference of her nipple, gently gliding towards its peak.
Aroused and stimulated, anticipating more, she lay down on the bed, widened the angle of her legs and allowed her fingers to run from the hood that she had been rubbing to thrust her labia apart. She was unsurprised to feel the moisture that was sticking itself to her fingers as they manoeuvred around inside.
She delved further in, and curved her finger right around, as though she was searching for her hood again, only from within.
A sudden surge of sensitivity shocked her, and she quickly pulled her fingers away, waiting for her body to resettle. Then she turned on her tummy, stuffed the pillow between her legs and humped away till her clit was successfully stimulated and she felt that beautiful tingle submerge her into her very favourite fulfilled state.

She lay there for a minute or two, naturally seeing him holding her elbow as her cum took over, and once her orgasm had subsided, she flopped onto the pillow and slumped into post cum divinity.

As ever, after a short while, her need for the toilet levitated her from her naughtiness and through her swollen pussy, she relieved herself, wondering why she always needed to pee so soon after having an orgasm – such was her naivety, such was her best sexual experiences being of the mind rather than the physical.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

A month passed. She needed to talk to him about the joint piece of work that their companies were working on but it wasn’t vital. Before Christmas, she decided a friendly seasonal greetings was called for, and she tentatively fingered the keys of her phone, recalling the private office number that he had given her.

Yet again, there was genuine delight in his tone as he expressed the surprise of hearing from her. They talked for some twenty minutes in the most pleasant of tones. He listened to her stories of deadlines and politics. He told her of his Christmas shopping process and she laughed at the similarity to her own frenzied last minute rush. The ease and flow of the conversation reiterated every thought that she had conjured up in her frequent fantasies about this man. There was something instinctive about their interaction; still relative strangers yet some indescribable bond, something unsaid, something that even without the eye contact, even without the accidental brushings was most apparent.

More holiday time, more erotic fantasies, more waiting.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

“For goodness sake, phone me tonight, I need to fuck you!”

How fucking stupid had she been, on every level. If she had misheard, then why had he looked at her in that way? He’d clearly meant what he had said, and she had chosen to be coy, to be bashful in spite of the fact that she had wanted this man more than she could describe.
Why the hell hadn’t she phoned him? What had stopped her, prevented her other than her utter disbelief that this gorgeous man could possibly be attracted to her?
What would she have lost by phoning him when he actually wanted her to do so? Even if he had changed his mind, she didn’t know him. Her life would not have been damaged by the inevitable rejection.

And now, she was here, about to meet him once more, knowing that she had missed an opportunity, thinking that by now he was sure to have found someone else to fuck.

To simply ignore the fact that he had been honest enough to convey his desire was unforgivable, and now, she wanted him so badly, and second chances such as these just don’t happen. The man had his pride, damn it.

She came out of the shower and slid the towel over her damp body. She walked towards the mirror and glanced down at her nakedness. Her hands followed the natural contours of her curves and she levelled herself, hands on hips, unable to avert her stare from the bushy cunt in front of her. A slight moisture, distinct from the remnants of shower water, was stirring within her but there was no time to meander in that direction.
She wrapped the bra around her waist and connected the eye holes together. Twisting her bra around, she pulled the black silk over her tits, and moulded them into their home for the day. She then slid her thumb down her cleavage and smiled.
A black vest followed and the lacy crème top was buttoned above. The trousers were replaced in the cupboard and the long, black skirt was removed. She placed the skirt alongside her as she moved towards the new packet of barely black stockings.
Carefully she unwrapped these delicate garments, and slipped them over her toes, gradually allowing them to engulf her calves and knee and thighs.
The elasticity clung to her left leg and she repeated the sensuous act on her right one, finally lifting the skirt from its resting place and stepping into it.
Clad in black boots and a long crème cardigan, she set off for the meeting.

There was no sign of him. The meeting needed to start. She’d carefully placed herself at the back of the room, deliberately ensuring that she sat far away from the place where the hands had collided.

The meeting began.

The door opened and in walked her colleague, the one who had told her that he “had history”.

The disappointment was insurmountable.

She continued to open the meeting, explaining that the agenda needed to be adhered to as there was plenty to discuss. Her colleague was grabbing a coffee and was walking towards the empty seat next to hers, when he opened the door and darted in front of her to edge his way towards the vacant chair.
Vacant chair was a good description.
All rationality had vacated this particular chair as she shifted some papers to allow him some space. He sat down, acknowledging her gaze and she proceeded as she was directed to do.

There was no accidental brushing of fingers, or hands. There was no need, for as he placed himself on his seat, he edged a little closer; close enough for their parallel knees to sidle together. He dropped his hand to his side and carefully laid it in her lap, and squeezed her knee with a telling sign that all was well, all would be fine.

He stared intently at her. He allowed others to see his admiration. She engaged in this obvious flirtation, though such an overt action was not required.

The meeting ended and they were nearly alone, at the back of the room, unable to talk, unable to move, willing people to leave the room.
He tugged on her skirt and pulled it towards her seat, revealing the black stockings that had clearly been warn in anticipation.
He dramatically pressed his hand on the rim and thrust his thumb below, sharply and sensitively stroking her upper thigh.

Alone at last, he rose and moved towards the door, his hand firmly gripping hers insisting that she follow his pace.
The thick door was shut and he leant against it, still not speaking, still not looking at her until he was sure that he could in the way that he wanted to.

He pulled her towards him and he firmly clasped her buttocks, feeling around her hips, moving his hand over and over her arse, pulling her closer. He moved his hand around towards his cock, lifting it in its aroused state to the centre of his trouser, behind the rigidly closed zip, so that she could feel the full benefit of its hardness as he asked her to push her clit towards him.

They kissed as he found the entrance to her body, riding his hand up her shirt towards the silky bra, snapping its sides away from the dark nipples beneath. He pulled at her vest until he had sight of her voluptuous tits and he moved his tongue expertly towards their erection.

He grabbed her hand and guided it into his pocket so that she could feel his cock through the thinnest of material. The moistness of his helmet was seeping through and her own wetness increased at the mere thought that he too was as wet and lubricated as she.

“I told you I wanted to fuck you. I need to fuck you. Can’t you feel this? Can’t you feel what is happening here?”

He kissed her passionately, forcefully, energetically and suddenly stopped.
He held her by the shoulders and stared into her awaiting eyes.

“Phone me. No, don’t phone me. Just come”

And with that, he scribbled on yet another white card and placed it in her hand, grabbed the door handle and left.