The Lather of Sexuality

In this week’s episode of “Soap!” Jack is going out with Amanda. They’re off to see the new raunchy show in town where there is much nudity and serious amounts of erotica. Amanda is rather looking forward to a bit of full frontal. Apparently the lead actor has a rather deliciously large cock. Jack, of course, is looking forward to a bit of fanny. He’s read the reviews and if you sit close enough to the stage, you apparently see the depths of her inner labia as the actress spreads her legs.
Jack is going out with Amanda tonight but he’s not fucking her. He’s not going to fuck her tonight He hasn’t ever fucked her. Nor does he have a particular desire to fuck her though he might fuck her in the future.

Jack is fucking Annie.
Annie, dear Annie, who happily swallowed his cock earlier in the day as though she hadn’t eaten for days; Annie who thinks that if she could get that in her mouth thrice daily she would easily lose the stone or two that she wants to shed. Okay, perhaps thrice daily is a little on the conservative side. Perhaps breakfast, lunch, dinner and the snacks in between. Yum yum!

Before going out with Amanda this evening Jack fucked Annie rather nicely. She was lying on his bed, suggesting clothes that he could wear for the theatre tonight. She liked doing that. She liked the fact that he trusted her judgment, sometimes against his own ideas of how and what to wear. She liked him dressing up for other women. She liked to support him to look as good as he could. She wanted other women to want him; to look at him and imagine what it would be like to be blessed with his large cock in their pussies. She wanted him to feel good and confident, and in reiterating that he was looking rather gorgeous she hoped he was further excited by the potential of the evening ahead.

So she lay on the bed, not expecting a seeing to but as he joined her and revealed his hard on, she couldn’t stop herself instantly sliding down the bed and opening her mouth to devour his erection.
She consumed it with a great deal of relish, opening her throat to make room for him, gobbling further and further down until her nose was deeply imbedded in his balls. Up and down she travelled, sometimes gagging on the extent of what was in her mouth, sometimes managing to refrain from this reflex.
Gagging once more, she could feel the ejaculation desperately trying to escape from her cunt, and without even feeling her wetness, Jack knew she was ready for a gush too.
So they fucked hard and watched each other wank before cumming together in a rush of eager exhilaration.

Jack is fucking Annie and Amanda is fucking Jack’s best mate, Richard.
Amanda loves to fuck Richard. She loves the games that they play. She likes to dress up in her very best kinky gear, not too kinky, just a basque with a quick emergency opening and a laced front that he can undo. Amanda likes her toys too. She likes to get Richard to insert a dildo, rubbing her up until she cums. Once she has had her first regular squirt, he whips the vibrator out and stuffs her full with his cock.

Amanda has a desire. She wants to watch Richard fucking another woman. She’s not sure why she wants to do this but she has a wish to be a voyeur. Porn is great and she and Richard enjoy watching some hard core stuff that he researches eagerly in anticipation for sharing with her. Richard is happy to go along with this fantasy, if only they could find someone to play their game.

Annie has a desire too. She wants someone to watch her being fucked. She actually wants someone to watch her and Jack having an extremely energised and horny sex session. She wants whoever is watching to be hugely turned on to the extent that they need to masturbate whilst Jack and her are warming each other up to climax.

Jack mentioned Annie’s desire to Richard as he was explaining to his friend how Amanda wanted to be a voyeur. Perhaps Annie would like to be fucked by me, suggested Richard. Perhaps she would consider being fucked by Richard so that Amanda could fulfil her fantasy of being a secret voyeur.
Jack told Richard that he would put this suggestion to Annie.

Annie agreed, with some stipulations. Annie would do this as long as Jack was present, as long as Jack was content to see his lover being fucked by his best friend. Annie was and is happy to oblige if it means that Amanda can fulfil her fantasy. She thinks it is extremely important for sexual women to be able to express themselves sexually in whatever way they choose. Annie thinks that sexual women are pretty exciting beings.

Richard is happy with this arrangement too. He’s heard from Jack how spunky Annie is and he wonders if she will be as juicy for him. Amanda is also delighted at the prospect of fulfilling this dream. She is going to hide somewhere so that she can view this spectacle, taking a toy or two with her so that she can slide them into her pussy as she wanks off at her lover fucking another woman.

Jack needs to be involved too. That is Annie’s absolute condition in playing this game but Amanda wants to be hidden. Jack would really like to see Amanda wanking as she watches Richard and Annie getting it on. Perhaps Jack could hide behind a screen so that Annie could see him but Amanda couldn’t. Amanda would know that Jack was there and would know that he was watching her wank but she would remain unseen to Richard and Annie, thus still pretending that she was the single voyeur.

Jack and Annie and Richard and Amanda need to meet up and have a discussion about this; not too much planning but just to ensure that they are all comfortable with one another and everyone knows that they have an opportunity at any time to change their mind.

Annie thinks that this could be fun as long as everyone can get an equal amount of enjoyment and sexual stimulation out of it. Her ideal would be if she could fuck Jack immediately after fucking Richard and that Amanda and Richard would be prepared to watch, and Jack would be prepared to be watched for that matter. Then she would like to watch Amanda and Richard fucking.
And who knows what else might emerge? Maybe Jack would like to fuck Amanda with Richard and Annie watching. Maybe this could have some longevity, this little arrangement between four consenting adults who are all expressively sexual and comfortable with one another.

In this week’s episode of “Soap!”, Jack and Amanda are at the theatre. Jack is more turned on than he expected. The actress is rather tasty and he is desperate to see her pussy. Amanda is also very turned on. She is estimating the size of the actor’s cock.

Meanwhile, Annie is home alone. She is amusing herself by working her way through squirters on YouPorn. Richard is working and he is wondering how Jack and Annie are getting on.

As the actor undresses, Amanda can feel the tension of suppressed sexual expression rising. He’s standing on the stage in a pair of boxers and the actress is sitting behind him ready to drag his pants down to reveal his dick. Amanda places her hand in her groin and pushes hard on her clitoris.
Jack is concentrating on the actress. She has already removed her bra to reveal a fabulous pair of tits. His erection clambered quickly into life as the actress took her breasts in her hand and tried to kiss her own nipples.

Amanda waits and is not disappointed in what she sees. His cock is fucking enormous and despite himself, the actor is clearly turned on. He’s got a fucking stiffy.
She doesn’t want to fuck Jack right now but she’d desperate to feel a cock, pretending that she is reaching out to the stage. She places her other hand on Jack’s thigh.
Jack already has his hand covering his dick, not out of protection but out of necessity to feel his sexuality as he responds to this goddess on the stage.
He accepts Amanda’s hand on his thigh but doesn’t want it to go further. He just places his hand over hers as she squeezes his thigh at the moment that the actor and actress simulate sex.

Jack won’t fuck Amanda now despite a need to do something with his erection. It’s not Annie that he is worried about. It’s Richard. Annie knows that it is a possibility that he will fuck Amanda. She may need it. He may too. Jack won’t stop himself from fucking Amanda because of Annie. He doesn’t need to. It’s Richard that he doesn’t want to upset.

Should that be a concern to Annie, that Jack is more worried about upsetting his best friend than his lover? Not at all. Annie and Jack have already discussed this. As far as she is concerned, this demonstrates a distinct trust and honesty between them. They have considered this and Annie, for all her potential envy, recognises that Jack is a sexual person who needs to express his sexuality without fear of ridiculous repercussions from her.
Jack hasn’t had that discussion with Richard. He doesn’t know how Richard might feel if he fucked Amanda. Until that has been decided, as far as he is concerned, Amanda is not for fucking.

Annie wants to hear all about it though, if Jack fucks Amanda, if Jack fucks anyone. She really does want him to fuck someone. Ideally she wants to see him fuck someone with her present. Ideally some more, she wants to see him fuck someone and then she can join in so that she can fuck the woman too. Annie loves to hear about Jack’s fantasies and about his previous sexual relationships and encounters. She adores his sexuality. Why on earth should she deny it? Why do people deny their partners’ previous life or current life as a sexual being.

In this week’s episode of “Soap!” the play is over but the other play, the real play is only just beginning.

..........................................................................................................

It’s not “Soap!”. It’s not fiction. This is potentially real life.
This is the possibility for four sexual people who are sensible and honest enough to accept and do something about their sexuality. This is the real life of people who can distinguish between a fuck and making love, knowing that you can have wonderful love making on one day and horny recreational sex with others the next.
There is no reason on earth why the two cannot work simultaneously. There is no reason why one lover cannot tell their lover about other sexual thoughts and encounters they have had.
There is every reason why two people can have an absolute and intimate relationship without the need for ownership or exclusivity. There is every reason why four people can have a bloody good time exploring their sexual boundaries and the sexuality of others.
Wouldn’t life be less complicated rather than more so with this sort of honesty between consenting adults?

The “soap” continues..... or does it?

Still Life

“Are you sure?” she asked him furtively.

“They’ll be fine.” he responded with a chuckle. “They really are absolutely tame, and have had plenty of experience!”

So she reconsidered her initial response and agreed to come along to the home.

Janie had posed before for the local art college, and that is where Ben had met her. He had been lecturing in the evenings, and had decided that his class of fairly able students were ready for the real thing. They had drawn exquisite images of all forms of still life, carefully etching the cellulite skins of the oranges and the variant veins of the bananas. They had mastered the art of drawing intricate and accurate curves of various sporting balls, so it was now time to progress to the beauty and delights of the natural form, both men and women.

It seemed stupid really, but he had no idea where and how he was going to approach someone to model for him. He had considered popping into a local phone booth and detaching one of the copious call cards, but he really wasn’t sure how he was going to handle a sex professional, and it wasn’t what was going to excite him either.

He thought of asking some of the students themselves, but it seemed slightly sinister. How would they feel about being approached? Who would he choose? Well, he could certainly think of a few candidates, like Gemma. God, she had great tits, well what he had seen of them. They were full and hard, and when he bent down beside her to review her work, he allowed his eyes to delve down her cleavage, her two breasts so complete, clutching one another, creating a crevice that he longed to reach out and touch. Yes, Gemma would be a good model. He’d often imagined what her nipples looked like. He knew from his own observations that they were likely to be strong and protruding; they frequently stood erect as she concentrated on her art form. Were they deep brown with speckles of terracotta spots or were they lurid fuchsia with a kiss of red at the nipple opening? His cock trembled at the memory.

And who was going to be the male model? He couldn’t really see Dave agreeing to disrobe, and again from what he had seen, there didn’t seem too much to draw even if he did. Flaccidity was all he had noticed on that one! As for Andy, well, he may have been a contender, but, to be honest, he didn’t really do anything for him, so what was the point?

No, he had to be professional about this, and work out some other way of identifying the models required.

Ben decided to ask a few colleagues who had more experience of such issues than he. An A4 paper was handed to him with email addresses and mobile phone numbers.

Luck was with him. Janie had been his first call and she was more than happy to come in the very next week, along with her business partner Marshall.

No major interviewing took place. They just arrived, bathrobes in hand, strolled into the class, strewing their rather sensational bodies over the two chairs on the apron of the stage and sat there, contentedly for two hours, still and stagnant in their open sexuality.

Ben tried to remain professional and detached, weaving his way around the room, glaring at the gorgeous bodies from the secondary view of his students’ masterpieces. Gemma, nipples standing hard against her white shirt (yes, they were definitely not pink!) was clearly revelling in this new experience. He wondered if he reached down between her thighs, whether there would be a trickle of excitement dribbling out of her. She had portrayed the rigidity of Marshall’s buttocks incredibly well. The smooth, athletic arse was clearly visible on her paper, gently rubbed round the curvature of the outer edges. Ben clambered to contain himself, trying to rid himself of a growing stiffy, surreptitiously shaking his leg to avoid it having contact with his hard-on.

Lydia, bless her, had coyly captured the pert form of Janie’s ample bosom, with her pan shaped nipples that flatly dominated her delightful shapes. Ben desperately wanted to sink his teeth into those nipples, right now, hungrily devouring them, tasting their gorgeousness.

And that was how he met them. And despite all the sexual fantasies that had ensued from that and subsequent evenings of modelling, he had never once betrayed his professionalism, steadfastly ignoring his growing desires.

That had been four months ago. In his day to day job, he had another group of students, incarcerated in the local mental institution. By day he was an art therapist working with some of the strangest minds in South London, in a setting that reeked of disused aestheticism. But the joy and spirit that sprung to life from these poor frazzled beings, as they took up their media tools, was truly inspiring.

He had decided to ask Janie to come along, not to be unveiled in all her naked divinity, but just to sit there, fully clothed, with different facial expressions so that the inmates could explore a range of feelings and emotions through the study of this perfect little specimen.

So, in the make-shift studio, Janie sat there, gurning away, pulling her face into idiotic poses, chucking her head back in gleeful laughter, drawing her eyes down to bashfully glare at the clients as they sat in awe of the wondrous creature sitting in front of them.

So here they were in a tawdry setting, the defunct wallpaper and flaky paint dissolving in front of them as the flakes painted.

Janie sat. She had always seen this as an income generation sideline, and had easily managed to separate her sexual excitement from the fact that she posed infront of strangers in total nudity. Little did those budding artists know that once she had posed, particularly for the evening students of Ben’s, she always scrambled down the corridor to the toilets, firmly pushing three outstretched fingers deep into her pussy until she surged with delight from the liquid release that never failed to occur.

Here she was, sitting her fully clothed and still had that bruise-like sensation growing inside her, raising her clit without any tactile stimulation. Maybe posing per se just turned her on. Or maybe it had something to do with noticing, yet again, how Ben’s shaft climbed and thrust itself towards the zip of his trousers, visibly pushing at the gold metal so that the lip of cloth covering it, leapt forward, and then declined, ready for its next erection.

How many times had she seen his cock rise in his trousers as he walked around his room, taking deeper strides to rid himself of this unnecessary stiffness?

The flakes had finished. It was time for tea. Janie needed to go to the loo. She asked Ben for directions. He’d have to take her there. Not a good idea to wander round here unaccompanied just in case.

Through the labyrinth of dull and dormant doorways, traversing the linear corridors, Ben pointed towards the door to the ladies loo. They must have walked for two minutes and hadn’t passed a soul.

Janie looked at her companion. She leant against the door of the toilet and raised her hands to her cheek. Ben searched her face for a flicker, a sign of what she was thinking. He continued his gaze as he watched her eyes wander down to his waistline, and beyond, landing on his now protruding cock, and he watched her pupils dilate and her lips sliver with the gentle stroking of her tongue. She stared at his growing state of arousal and then, without warning or averting her gaze, she pulled her skirt up, revealing black, lacy thongs that fit snugly round her beautiful, angular and shapely pussy. With her shoulders arched against the flaky wall, she rocked her legs back and forth, shooting her hand down her knickers, bypassing her bush of pubes. With a single press on the erect knob of her clit, she emitted a projectile gush of a cat spraying her territory. The force of her cum soaked his hidden balls, and he felt the warmth of her sexy juices dribble down his trousers.

Still standing there, she removed her skirt and turned to face the wall, hands arched above her shoulders. He was faced with the full and beautiful view of perfect arse, hardly clothed in the thin line of lacy cloth. His cock was dancing with excitement, begging to be released from the tightness of his own thongs.

She slid her hands down the wall, until she was bending before him. With one hand released, she slid her thongs away from her sopping wet hole to reveal a mass of red, flapping skin that screamed out for filling.

“Fuck me, here!” she breathed through her second wave of orgasm that seemed to be coming without any action.

Ben hesitated for a split second, and then reached out, urgently clasping his cock as he tugged on his underwear, and forcefully pushed his ample appendage deep inside her self-lubricated cunt. She leant down further so that he could feel himself gliding deeper and deeper into her excited body. The pools of cum that were springing out of her was something that he had never experienced. They rocked back and forth in a puddle of fuck juices that continued to pour out of her. He shoved hard and strong, pushing his body nearer and nearer, listening to her screams of delight. He wanted to cum but didn’t want to break this moment by asking inopportune, practical questions. He bit himself on his arm as he held onto the impending orgasm, pushing it out of his mind as he slowed his thrusts, leaving his cock alive and rigid within her.

She pushed herself towards the wall, freeing his cock from her cunt. Splashing down to her knees, amongst the juiciness that she had recently emitted, she took his cock deep into her throat, twisting her tongue around his shaft, munching on his pinnacle, sliding his foreskin to and fro, mimicking the feeling that he had experienced within her pussy. She brought her lips to his helmet, and then dived quickly down to bury her nose in his pubic hair, taking his cock as far as it could go.

Ben was unable to control his orgasm. He spunked eagerly and without reservation into her throat and she groaned with delight at tasting his creamy juices sliding down within her.

The sound of pattering feet, worked their way along the corridor. Muted steps became clearer. Ben reached down and picked up her skirt. She grabbed his unclad cock and banged open the door of the toilet. Locking the door behind them, Janie, looked up at Ben’s smiling face, alive at the sexiness of what had just happened. She wrapped her arms around him, kissed his cheek and worked her way to the side of his face, whispering in his ears, “Fuck me again!”.

Could his cock bounce back so quickly? He doubted it but as he cast his eyes downwards he saw that this body had a mind very firmly of its own, and seeing the vivid V shape of her silky black cunt, that he had viewed so frequently, and denied himself so often, he had no alternative. His cock aroused, his mind deeply set on fucking this gorgeous woman, he gladly obliged, looking longingly into her eyes, fixated on the sensual wonder of what he was experiencing.

They lay together in bed that night, having fucked each other senseless for five hours. How they got home, how they kept their hands off each other in the taxi, who knows.

But there was more excitement to come, more energetic love-making, more fucking sensational pussy eating and cock teasing.

And all because the flakes liked to paint!

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.

Embellished Meetings: A Scene Setter

Embellished Meetings: Scene setting.

She dashed out of the car and crossed the busy street; late again. How was it that she always mistimed the journey even though she knew she could not get there in twenty minutes flat, despite her determination to speed to the best of her car’s capability, forgetting of course, that it is not possible in this implausibly stationary city?

The tardiness was not going to deter her enlivened spirits. The day was bright. The sun was incredibly powerful and the summer holidays were but a few small hours away.
This was the last meeting that she would have before she could pack her bags and disappear in a week’s time, and she was thoroughly looking forward to a fortnight of sunshine (told you it was embellished!).

She ran along the street, crossing the road towards the river and skipped into the building as she watched the water rippling its way downstream, aiming to escape to the open seas, just as she was about to do.
The usual tedious crowd were not going to diminish her joie de vivre either. She was determined that this would be a focused and swift meeting and thankfully, as chair, she had the ability to control the conversations and keep things as orderly as possible.

With a natural and unrestrained smile on her face, she breezed into the meeting room, exclaiming profuse apologies for the ten minute delay and cheerfully placed her belongings on the table.
The smile remained, fixated and bordering on inane and she maintained this for fear of giving herself away. Her eyes twinkled and fleeted across the boardroom, pretending to flow around the entire room, yet firmly maintaining the newcomer in her sphere of vision.
Continuing to settle herself in, she arranged the glass of water and composed herself, trying again to ensure that her body language was not revealing the fascination she felt for this stranger that stood out so spectacularly amongst the usual suspects.

Introductions were done and she still didn’t manage to catch his name, so mesmerised was she by this weird, unfamiliar and indescribable fluttering in her stomach.
The inane grin remained and she professionally and logically pursued the purpose of the moment; to conduct the meeting quickly, carefully and take her leave as soon as was convenient and politic to do so.
But of course, the cronies wanted to talk. They wanted to strategise and meander around, justifying the enormous time and expense of sitting all day discussing and debating rather than getting any real actions to take place. They wanted to summarise and reflect, which is all very well if there is anything of any worth to reflect upon.

And the newcomer simply sat; his eyes focussed downwards as though he was disinterested in this office politics, as though he was indifferent to the entire proceedings.

She controlled the meeting, ignoring the mutterings of her inner wishes, and attempted to conclude the discussions once more. Another meeting was suggested, another meeting at the earliest opportunity. Next week, just before she was due to go on holiday.
Damn her bloody sense of duty. She’d have to attend. She had the most important contacts and the vital information.
Reluctantly, she agreed and a venue was discussed, stating for all to know that she was interrupting her holiday for the greater good.
Finally, the stranger raised his head and nonchalantly stated that his office in the city was available on the suggested date, and looking directly at her with glistening eyes and a solid stare, informed her that some people worked without the need for immediate vacations.
He then raised a smile that seeped into her and she wondered why. Smiling back, she acknowledged the virtue of the vocational and agreed that his office should be the place to conclude this meeting.

Collecting her belongings together, she relieved herself from her plastic seat and made her way towards the door. Brushing passed her as she said her goodbyes; he simply walked by, grinned and said, “Well chaired!”
And he was gone.

Of course you know all about him don’t you, said one of the cronies. A woman like you should tread very carefully there.
What on earth was that supposed to mean?
She walked towards the car slightly unsettled by the newcomer, his stare, his eyes and the comments from this colleague.
How could she know his “history”? She’d never set eyes on him before, and quite frankly, she wasn’t interested in knowing anything about his life. All she was interested in was why she was feeling so entranced by what had just happened. What indeed had happened? It was hardly a momentous meeting. He’d barely raised his head out of his papers and when he did, he had spoken so softly in such a non-committal way that she wasn’t really convinced that he was remotely interested in this area of work.

She drove away, winding the windows of the car right down so that she could be smothered by the freshness of the summer breeze, and the other thoughts in her mind could swiftly float out in the opposite direction.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The city was hot. When the city is like this, there is no escape from it. The buildings monopolise and crouch over you, robbing you of air, whereas in the winter months they create a passage way for violent, biting winds to sever the hairs from your neck.
People were milling around all over the city, darting into the anonymous offices, dashing to the perplexingly omnipresent corporate coffee houses that had bred in every orifice during the last few years.

She found the office with ease and walked into what could only be described as a perfect haven in this madness of the mundane. Care had been taken to consider the people who used this building; their needs, their enjoyment, their belonging. A sense of positivity, of warmth, of thought oozed out from every plant and every artefact. Someone cared. Someone had created this oasis and their very essence was embodied in the fabric of the building and its furnishings. Their very self was evident in the manoeuvrings of the clients and employees alike. Somebody cared.

She’d found out the newcomer’s name once she had arrived back at her office to say goodbye before she ventured off to her holiday destination. One of her colleagues had visited the City Dweller in these enlightened environs but she hadn’t asked about him. There was no need, no desire.
She’d dismissed the fluttering stomach and the irrational fascination as pre holiday excitement. That was all it was.

Until he smiled at her once more.

There was genuine warmth in his greeting, and she was shocked at how much that meant to her. You’re one of us, he said, still smiling, as she recognised the familiar accent of her childhood.
I thought I had taken the burr out. I thought it had died from twenty years away.
Not to one who lives there, lived there he said, again, smiling with every distinct feature on his face. Dialect and intonation are your giveaways.

The meeting surpassed expectations both in time and resourcefulness. Conclusions were swift. Agreements made and it was soon time to depart, and really set about that fortnight’s holiday.
Enjoy the break, he said. He too was taking some leave but later in the month. We all need down-time and a place to simply be.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Some would say that her indulgent imagination was her nemesis. Some would argue that she drifted all too readily into a fantasy world that was far removed from reality and that her fondness for the fabricated was senseless. But she liked living there. She always had done.
Her childhood was written into the stones that formed her imaginary castles, her adolescence was reinforced with great escapes to the unknown territory of dark lovers in far off places, her classroom thoughts drifted into expanding real situations into absurd and exciting possibilities that were never, ever going to happen. Throughout her adult she had slipped into her wild imaginings whenever she felt the need. It was these thoughts that excited her more than reality. It was these indulgences that made her want to touch herself. It was these unreal happenings that made her cum.

She’d had many positive relationships with many pleasant blokes but the really horny, downright sexual, the totally liberating and sensual pleasures, well these had mainly come from the unreal.
She’d had sex in a terraced swimming pool with a hefty, blond, blue eyed lover, who didn’t give a damn if anyone was watching them. He had to fuck her there and then, and the invited guests simply smiled. She’d transferred herself into a known film or book, playing out the sexually explicit parts, and if they weren’t there, she’d make them up, embellishing the story, just as she was doing now.
For on that holiday, she had a few joyous cums thinking about the stranger and his suggestive smile.

But it was fantasy. It really was, and she left her thoughts behind as she packed her suitcase and returned to the City.

He fucked her rather well though.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Months passed, nearly three months in fact, and the stranger did not enter her head. She passed the office a few times, and smiled at the memory of her fantasising during the summer months. But the howling wind as it rushed through the gulley’s, void of warmth, brought her back to reality.

And talking of back to reality, she returned on a wet November day, with Christmas looming ever nearer, to the offices by the river for another meeting with the cronies that had gathered there on that hot summer’s day.
He’d missed the previous meeting and she had no expectation of him being there, and as she approached the room she felt at ease, indifferent to his presence.
She walked in, early for once, and set about convening the meeting. A few last minute arrivals and they would start in due course.

He walked into the room and grabbed a coffee from the machine. She approached him, asking for a document that had appealed to her, wondering if she could have a copy. He suggested that she should call in to his work and grab it from a colleague, maybe after this very meeting. He informed her that he would have to leave the meeting early as he had another appointment that could not be missed.
And as they took their drinks to the table, they sat down next to one another and got on with the task in hand.
Matter of fact; no fantasy, no musings and thoughts of kinky encounters, and that was fine.

The meeting was running smoothly. Discussions were to the point and she sat back, composed and assured that it did not need her interference or manipulation.
She picked up her pen to take note of a particularly important reference, and in the slightest of seconds, the merest movement, a miniscule moment of intimate touch had taken place.
She stared fixatedly at the paper in front of her, unable to move her hand away from the very spot where their little fingers had accidentally meshed for that incredibly short instance. She felt the redness rushing through her face and she was rigid with numbness, unable to look forward, unwilling to move her head towards the culprit yet simultaneously completely aware that he too was mirroring her thoughts and motions. Although their fingers had long since parted, the scolding sensitivity of the contact was still there, not painful yet paralysing, and a stillness had transcended.

The motley crew jabbered away but for that split second, there was nobody in the room other than these two people, this man and this woman who had just felt one another’s skin for the first time.
Still silent, still sensitised, still motionless, she was suddenly increasingly aware of the proximity – to his legs, his hands, his breath.
Without looking down, she felt his presence. Without any more touches, she felt his awareness of her thoughts and she didn’t know what to do.
She wasn’t panicked, she was just immensely aware that something had happened in the mere mishap of those colliding fingers.

On auto-manoeuvre, she gradually replaced her pen and slid her hand onto her thigh, trying to compose the irrationality of her imagination. Without looking, she knew he was mirroring her actions and then, with a determined force, he reached over and smothered her hand with his, crunching in into a fist, enveloping this cluster with his palm and squeezing it knowingly.
He moved away from this clutch and gracefully swept his hand across her thigh to resettle in his own lap, and still they stared at the papers in front of them.

In a daze, she continued about her task. She was chairing a meeting for goodness sake, and she emerged from this shock to ask a significant question that gave the impression her concentration had not been deterred.
He moved his hands and collected his papers together, writing a simple note as he rose from his chair.
“I have to go”, he whispered as he left his seat, leaving the small scrap of paper in front of her.

She smiled and thanked him for coming and returned to the meeting, unable to look at the note, unable to do anything other than work through the remainder of the agenda.
Again, on auto pilot she concluded the meeting, and imitated his last motion, collecting her papers together and taking her leave.

“Come to the office, straight away”.

That was what the note said. And there was absolutely no question as to whether this was feasible or indeed as to whether she would.
The magnetism of that miniscule moment had already paved the way for an immediate encounter, whatever shape it took.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Glad you could make it over……. I want you to meet someone”.
Meet someone, she thought. Was that why I dropped everything to wander over here?

“And I have that paper you were interested in. I hope you will find it useful”.

A bizarre meeting ensued with almost complete detachment from the previous encounter when a surge of energy had surrounded and engulfed them. Could he really have been oblivious to what had happened? Had she actually imagined his hand stretched out across her fist?

Professional business ensued, and with the third party present, they continued in a classic work mode that had hardly been present an hour or so ago.
On completion of the suddenly arranged meeting, he suggested a walk to the nearest coffee bar, and in a bewildered sense of dumbfoundedness, she obliged.
More small talk occurred, but with a greater sense of meaning. They wittered on, talking like people who have just met do; finding commonalities, asking knowing but not pervasive questions of one another.
He paid for the coffee and got up from his seat. There was determination in its conclusiveness. He needed to get back to work.
She still had the unasked question protruding from her mouth, but he was not giving cause for her to spit it out.
She was going to disappear not knowing whether her stupid imagination had spilled into a real setting. Perhaps she really had imagined everything.

At the exit, she turned away to walk back to her office. The rain was intermittently splattering them as they talked some more for a few minutes before the rain finally put paid to the encounter.
Bizarrely, her unease at the inconclusiveness of this meeting had disappeared, and she was happy to turn away.

In doing so, he gently caught her elbow and brought her closer to him, near enough to kiss her on the cheek but a mile or so away from doing just that.

With his other hand, he reached into his pocket, and gave her his card. She moved away and glanced at the small note in front of her. Quickly, he retracted it, taking a pen from his inner pocket and scrawling another number on the back of the card.

“ My home number….. safer than the office ones……. Phone me……….tonight”.

She looked up at him, as he replaced his hand on her inviting elbow. Again, he pulled her slightly towards him.

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