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By *wayman OP Man
over a year ago
newcastle |
My taste for offices as venues for fun began a while ago.
1978 in fact.
I was young, working in a bank in central London, and it was the Christmas party. And I'd just begun seeing the sexiest woman in the office. Maria was eighteen, one year younger than me, Spanish, and unbearably sexy. Long legged, with raven-esque black hair and a smile that could stop the traffic on Oxford Street.
It wasn't the ideal relationship. She lived at home in Edgware. I shared a flat in a block in Notting Hill. Her parents were strict, and unforgiving. My flatmates were uncouth, and unwelcoming. We found it hard to make space to be ourselves.
Not that we didn't try. We had a good social life. We went to gigs, to clubs, to the cinemas. We spent hours in each other's company on Oxford Street, or in Kensington, looking at consumer goods our meagre salaries couldn't even approach.
We weren't naïve. We'd had sex in various places; Kensington Gardens, at night.
On a slam door train returning from a stilted dinner party with the branch accountant and his wife at their home in Beckenham.
Most adventurous, in the toilets of a cinema in Hendon.
Each time I'd felt as if I were pushing her, cajoling her to go to the limits of her morals. Not that she objected that strongly, but I wasn't sure if she was giving in because she wanted to, or because she cared enough for me to go further than she might otherwise go.
The Christmas party.
Drinks in the pub across the road at lunchtime, then, after the branch closed, drinks in the staff room in the basement. Colleagues milling round laughing, drinking warm beer or sweet German wine and babbling about where they were spending the holidays. Maria, leaning on my arm, telling people she'd miss me while I stayed with my parents till the new year.
There was a certain amount of pairing off happening. Annie, the secretary, was rumoured to be in the stationery cupboard with the securities clerk. I was interested in where people might have gone because I wanted Maria.
I'd wanted her all day; she'd come to work, as often, in a barely acceptable outfit of short fitted black skirt, thick black tights and a thin woollen turtle necked jumper. By the time the party started she'd swapped the woollen tights for fishnet stockings that I'd bought for her at a small shop in Kensington Church Street. Her flat loafers had gone to be replaced by black stiletto heeled pointy toed shoes that she'd found on Camden Market one Sunday morning. She called it her post punk look; according to her 1978 was the year punk died and 1979 would see more glamorous women like her making a comeback. I didn't care as long as she made her comeback with me. When she dressed like that she radiated sexiness to me; desire was the only word in my vocabulary to describe how I felt about her..
But the stationery cupboard, much fabled centre of Christmas party liaisons, was locked. Perhaps it was true about Annie.
Paul, the standing orders clerk, was being sick in the men's toilet, and the women's toilet was a temporary conversation venue as the record player in the staff room was turned up too loud for the taste of some.
I wasn't that easily put off. I had plenty of incentives. Maria was quite eager for some privacy too. She didn't protest, or even blush, when I ushered her into the manager's office. The vertical blinds were turned to block the window, the door into the banking hall closed. There was just enough light filtering through the blinds to make it possible to see each other as we started to kiss. She was, in my opinion then, the best kisser ever. Tentative, gentle, her mouth only gradually opening to admit my tongue, her arms tightening around me as she did so. Then the more intense kissing, my hand under her sweater at her waist, resting on warm skin, her groin pushing back at me as I tried to use my pelvis to make clear how hard she made me.
It didn't take long for her to allow me to push her back against the desk, then lift her slightly so that her bottom was resting on the edge of the desk. Once she was there it was easy to stand between her legs, to persuade her skirt to rise up to allow me access to her pussy. Easy too to pull her panties aside, to stroke her clit with my finger, even to plant a kiss there in defiance of her embarrassment. We'd talked about it, her shyness at being licked compared to her willingness to take me in her mouth. I thought it was a kind of alternative contraception on her part, keeping me away from her pussy and temptation. She said she just enjoyed it...
Bending over her on the desk, kissing her, feeling her groin rise up to meet mine, I realised with joy that was all the more delightful for being unexpected that this was a night when sex was more than just a blowjob. I had condoms with me; what wise 19 year old didn't? The process of getting her panties off and a condom on seemed to be one long fumble on my part, but it happened, and suddenly I was nudging my rubber clad erection against her pussy. I had to put my hands under her buttocks and lift her up slightly to get myself into her, shushing her as she moaned at the pressure from me. I waited before thrusting too hard; I remembered only too well that she'd complained previously at my being too urgent. So I waited; I pushed her jumper up, and freed her breasts from the cotton and lace cups of her bra. I'd been fascinated by her nipples the first time I'd seen them, brown thimbles that responded to every touch of finger or tongue. Now I made a meal of them, nibbling and pulling at them, amazed still at how the skin of her breast stretched with them until she groaned and dragged my head back down to her ribs again..
It was while I was bent forward, head at her breast, making exploratory movements of my groin to rock my erection inside her, that he came into the room. The branch manager, Mr Lavender. Not a man given to shows of emotion; he cultivated a fair but distant approach to young staff; you might not speak to him from one three monthly appraisal to the next. But he was standing there, his back to his office door, watching me make love to my girlfriend on his desk.
Shit.
Maria had her eyes closed, She did that, when we made love. She'd close her eyes, and wrap herself all the more tightly around me with her legs and arms. She was doing it now, and I could feel my cock forcing its way into her pussy as she gripped me with her thighs. And all the time my eyes were locked on Mr Lavender's. He in turn was looking from me to Maria. I'd tried to disengage when I first saw him, and had left her breasts on show. I was expecting him to be angry, but he was staring at her breasts, then at her thighs, then at her breasts again. He didn't move, but he seemed with the intensity of his gaze to be urging me to carry on, so, tentatively, I did.
I was embarassed. No surprise in that. I was scared too. Scared of what Mr Lavender would say, initially, then scared of what Maria would say if she found out I'd let him watch. Once Mr Lavender started to rub himself, his hand hovering over his groin, I knew we had not a lot to fear there.
But Maria?
Maria I was worried about. It was wonderful sex we were having, with her rising to meet me as I pushed into her, and the elastic responses of her internal muscles massaging and holding my erection each time I moved. But if she opened her eyes? I had an idea I could make it alright if only she came, if only she was so excited she closed her eyes even tighter. I pushed deeper into her, hooked my arms under her knees and brought her legs upwards, bending her so her pelvis was inclined to make more room for me. She looked fantastic, her hair spread round her head, eyes screwed up into tight twists of lines and eyelashes, her mouth open as she panted for breath.
It couldn't last of course, and didn't. She gave a preliminary shudder, shook, and had a small orgasm. I had to stop moving as her pussy spasmed around me. Her eyes opened to their normal size as she looked up at me, and then widened. I followed her eyes. Mr Lavender wasn't just watching. He had his cock out, was stroking its erectness. Time never truly stands still, but the pause until he spoke was significant.
"Does she suck cock?" Not will she, or would she, but does she.
She did. She'd sucked mine in a bus shelter, on the back seat of a bus and at the back of a local sports ground. But always when we thought we couldn't be seen. Always after I'd persuaded her that it was ok. And now she was half naked, my erection resting inside her as Mr Lavender bore down on her, his erection bobbing as he walked.
He didn't seek out her mouth straight away. He pulled Maria's jumper over her head, unfastened her bra, and busied himself with her breasts. He pulled at her nipples, harder than I would have done, turning them in his fingers. I started to fuck her again, and was surprised by how much she gave herself up. No resistance, no efforts to persuade me to stop, her legs as wide as I wanted. She made a little moan as Lavender pulled at her tits again, and took his cock in her hand, as if she could placate him. It worked for a moment, as she bent her head sideways and managed to get her tongue and lips to the exposed end of his cock, but it was an awkward twisted position. So he moved to sit on the leather sofa, and beckoned Maria over.
She knew what to do. Instinct, experience eor fantasy fulfilled, I didn't know. She knelt in front of him and started to suck him, her hands caressing and directing his hardon to her mouth. I knelt behind her, rubbed my cock against her, and entered her more easily than I ever remembered. She was wetter than I could have imagined. Mr Lavender was vocal, more vocal than I would have dared.
'Fuck her, she wants it. You love cock don't you Maria...' She didn't answer, but she didn't protest either. I put my hands on her hips to pull her onto my cock, banging at her; each time her head moved away he grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth back onto his erection. Each action provoked a gasp from her. She muttered that she was coming, not once, or twice, but every time she rocked back and fore. It felt like her pussy was convulsing, febrile jerks from her muscles that battered me inside her.
I couldn't last long, and neither did he. Tears prickled at my eyes with the intensity of my come spurting inside the condom. I panted and gasped, and tried not to be dislodged. Mr Lavender was more callous. He'd probably seen more porn movies than me back then. He pulled her head back by the hair, held his cock against her cheek, and allowed his come to spurt over her face.
He wanted us to go to a hotel with him. Maria declined; she couldn't explain to her parents. I travelled on the Northern Line to Edgware with her, not wanting her to think I'd abandoned her. While we travelled, in one end of an empty carriage, she changed from her stockings back to tights, replaced her makeup, put her loafers back on. On the station, before I crossed the platform back to the southbound side she kissed me full on the mouth. I put my mouth by her ear to whisper a seasonal message, and she hissed at me.
"If you want to stay my boyfriend, make sure I get fucked like that regularly." She squeezed my instantaneous hardon with her hand, smiled at me, and was gone. I only had my imagination for company on the journey back down the Northern Line; it was very good company. |
