For “A”

Perhaps I should explain. This is a real life, up to the minute account involving real people who, through many reasons, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal lives if too many details were to be made public. I am sure you, the reader, will forgive the lack of names or accurate location details. Those that know me well will probably recognise certain aspects and possibly add two and two together. I will have to deal with that, if and when the time comes. My reputation, although important to me, is somewhat less of a consideration than ‘A’s’ is to both of us.

“A” is a very beautiful woman who is not from this country. She is employed by the same organisation as I am. Her role is as my superior’s Personal Assistant and as such, means we interact almost on a daily basis. “A” is forty and is seven years into her second marriage, I have a feeling that all is not well in that department, but it is something we have not discussed too deeply. She has lived in England as long as her marriage. ‘A’ only talks about parts of her life outside of work and work related topics. She keeps the rest private and under lock and key. I can understand that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Poland and with the upbringing she has had in a strict family, sharing some information is not a natural condition and I wouldn’t pry.

She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided smile that lights up her face and crinkles the corners of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a tendency to wear clothing that hints at the delights beneath, showing just enough cleavage to attract the eye, but not be less than tasteful. Some of her dresses are quite short and can show flashes of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her hairstyle is not flattering. If I were really being unkind, I would say that it looks as if a myopic gardener, being many different lengths, had cut it. Who am I to discuss or comment on the fashion of hair? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.

“A” has hazel coloured eyes that are large and expressive. They convey her moods by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel when she is aroused or troubled. Her mouth has this lilt to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the fitness suite and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in great shape. She already had the right building blocks from which to work, the regime has just polished off the edges to a delightfully visual treat.

“A” is very much my junior in the organisation and years. My role as a senior manager often involves calling on her services as minute taker in meetings so, we see each other often and have always shared a laugh. Joking can be a little difficult where her language, although extremely good, does not necessarily translate the nuances of humour. I should add, I have my own sense of humour and repartee that many don’t get, so she can be forgiven.

It was over a cup of coffee that we found some common ground. I told her that I now had several stories published, but would not tell her where to find them. I wouldn’t want her to think I am some kind of pervert, writing erotica in my dotage. I am sixty-one, writing came late to me and I have tried to make up for lost time since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my stories, putting it on a memory stick so she could read it at her leisure. “The Office” is a piece I wrote about a year ago, is humorous, but also tells the tale of a young man in an office environment, full of women who are street smart. A graphical deion of his sexual encounter is part of the story, but is not the whole piece, so is less than pornographic and I am rather more comfortable in having people read that than some of my other pieces.

I have been married for more than forty years. I admit to not having been entirely faithful… well actually, I have grasped almost every opportunity that has come my way. For whatever reason, and not from openly seeking alternatives to my marriage, I have had rather more than my fair share of alternative partners. Some of them have been one off affairs, but also some very much more intense liaisons that involved rather too much emotion for comfort. I love women. I love the feel, touch and smell of them. A good body excites me as does intelligence, wit and sensitivity. If freckles and green eyes are also in the mix, then I am completely blown away.

From this humble beginning of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one form or another, began the basis of what follows. “A” enjoyed the story and discovered a side to me that very few people know about.’ Intriguing’ was her deion and from there on, a fantasy was crafted that involved us, in our current situation. ‘A’ has to take some credit in the content of the fantasy, her input helped to make it what it is.

I have to say in closing this introduction, that “A” is a very sexual person. Just below the surface of a well-maintained carapace beats the heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your heart out and feed it back to you in small amounts, just enough to keep your hopes and dreams alive. The trick is getting under that protective shield and then discovering just how deep you have been drawn in. It is frightening how quickly and totally you can be pulled into a funnel web with few options for escape.

The insidious thing is, the deeper you become embroiled, the less you care. Just do not stop the ride to get off.

Fantasy.

It is early evening, perhaps six thirty, when the building is much quieter. Only a few people are left. Evening classes had started. It was a time that I knew we would not be disturbed.

The lock on my office door was engaged. The lights were turned down by the dimmer switch on the wall and the blinds are pulled down to the, floor at the floor to ceiling windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my office, a small space in this huge building. Alone at last and this was the moment that we have both desired and thought about. At last, we are about to consummate our collaboration and what we have been heading towards over these few short weeks.

You stood in the centre of the room with your hands clasped behind your back, as you had been instructed. I had told you to remove your tights, but to leave your shoes on. Other than these items, you are fully dressed. But, even with the layers of clothing, you probably felt rather more vulnerable than you might have before. You are not used to being instructed when it comes to sex. Neither of us really knew what to expect of each other and perhaps it was the not knowing that added to the thrill. We could only hope that this union would be mutually pleasing.

I study you while I sit in my chair. Quietly appraising your body and thinking you would look amazing naked. Not for the first time, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine shape. My steady gaze was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of activity, perhaps a slight impatience that was keeping you marginally off balance. Although we both knew what the immediate future held, the deliberate slowness I was adopting, was making you feel more and more nervous, giving you time to think, to worry that this might not be such a good idea. Was this the right thing to be doing? Was it too dangerous? It was a delicious dilemma that was transparently etched across your features and I was enjoying your discomfort.

At last, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my chair and crossed the room, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your hands behind your back and that they are to stay there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your compliance because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then friends, before becoming embroiled in this crazy prelude to this current situation, I was not sure that you would be compliant and, in fact, you have already stated you were not normally submissive.

You tremble. I do not know if it is nerves or fear or excitement or a combination of all of those emotions, rolled into a knot of tension. I do know that you will respond all the more while your senses are running at this feverish pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to relax and take my time and delight in the effect every continuation has on you.

Deliberately provocative, I run the back of my index finger along your jaw line, caressing your skin, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck, tracing your jugular until it reaches the hollow of your collar bone. It is the first time I have touched you and I delight in the shiver the touch evinces. Your eyes are half closed, partially hiding your hazel eyes, as if there is too much light. I notice for the first time, that they change colour slightly, becoming slightly darker as your temperature rises.

Standing behind you once more, I pull down the zipper of your skirt and, when it has fallen to the floor, instruct you to step out of it so that I can pick it up and place it on a chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the waistband of your skirt, covers enough of your lower half that your modesty is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to keep you off balance. I want you nervous, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my sense of excitement and the feeling of expectation. The fact that we are in my office and vulnerable to a point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer danger of what we are about to do.

And then I tell you to lift your arms. You raise them above your head and shimmy a little to help the sleeves of the blouse slip over your shoulders. The blouse is placed with the skirt and your hands return to behind your back without me telling you. That pleases me.

I have long thought you would have a fabulous body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nothing more than your bra, briefs and shoes. You have a figure that seems to me to be made for love, neither too skinny nor over weight. Your workouts in the gymnasium are obviously doing you good, evident by the condition of your muscle tone. Your curves are proportional to your height and I feel privileged to have you at this moment, in my office and about to become my lover. You look fabulous, fit and glowingly healthy.

The need to touch your nakedness is almost overwhelming, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the last few weeks. It has been very difficult not to reach out and touch you, to keep my hands off of you where you have inflamed my desire and intrigued me. Perhaps I am enthralled and enmeshed in your allure.



But, somehow, I manage to resist the urge to strip you of your underwear. Instead, I run my hands from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your hips until my hands meet at your stomach. You shiver and goose bumps form on your skin. I have had to take a half step forward to be close enough to encircle your waist. It brings me into contact with your hands, still clasped behind your back. You can feel my hardness through the layers of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my hands, in unison, travel upwards until I have your breasts, one in each hand, weighing them and relishing the feel, even through the fabric of your bra, they feel fantastic. They are as perfect as I knew they would be and yield to my gentle massage. I kiss your neck, just below your ear and have my first taste of you and as the taste runs over my tongue, the smell of your perfume inflames my nose. The scent you are wearing is one I do not recognise, subtle, but it has the desired effect and increases my need for you.

My thumbs hook the shoulder straps of your bra and ease them off of your shoulders. I step back to allow me the space between us to unclasp the garment. It means the contact of your hands is broken and for a moment, I mourn the loss. I tell you to move your hands forward so that the bra can be removed completely. I put this with your skirt and blouse. You have put your hands back behind you. Once more, I step behind, renewing the contact of your hands on my hardness. My hands cup your naked breasts and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between thumb and forefinger. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your lips and I can feel your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am ready to take you. I do not want to rush things, needing to take it at a pace that allows for the savouring of each touch, each caress, to delight in each and commit it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my private thoughts.

My thumbs hook into the elasticated band of your briefs and ease them down, sliding the garment over your hips and down your legs. I tell you to step out of them and place them on top of your bra.

In a voice vibrating with mounting passion, I ask you to turn around and, for the first time, I see you in your nakedness. The sight is amazing, more than I could have envisaged and I physically have to resist the urge to lick my lips in anticipation. You are far more beautiful than my imagination could have conjured. You are perfection and I wonder how I could be so privileged to have you here in this moment of time.

I move to begin to undo the buttons of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a second I hesitate and then realise, I have been dominant in undressing you. Now it is your turn to take the initiative and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my arse sitting on the edge of my desk, my feet on the floor, legs spread so you can step closely to me.

Slowly, one by one, you undo each button and pull the shirttails from the waistband of my trousers. The front flaps open, revealing my almost hairless chest. You undo the cuffs, holding my hand, palm up and kissing each as the buttons are released.

Your hands rest against my chest for a moment, as if testing I am real. Then, with care and a soft touch, you ease the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. It needs me to stand, rising from the desk, so that you can remove and put the shirt to one side. You kneel at my feet and undo the laces of my shoes. You tell me to lift each foot so that you can ease each shoe off. As you are putting them to one side, I slip off my socks, using a trick I learned several years ago when I was unable to bend where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a crease crosses your brow. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my socks. Of all my apparel, my socks are something I feel less than happy about.

You step close and kiss my chest, nibbling at my nipples, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly tender. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your fingers manipulate and release my belt and unbutton the waistband of my trousers. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zipper down, brushing against my hardness. You release my nipple and kneel to pull my trousers completely down and then, tell me to step out of them. They join my shirt.

You kneel again and kiss my stomach. The touch of your lips is electric on my skin and I hardly notice that you are pulling my briefs down until my cock, in its arousal, springs free to point at you, hard and ready. I notice the moue of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my preferred condition.

One foot at a time, I step out of my briefs so that, they to, can join the pile of my clothes.

You reach toward me and take my hardness in your hand while your hazel eyes look at me steadily. We are now equals. Neither one of us has dominance and both as vulnerable as each other with the divesting of clothes.

Grasping your waist, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the edge of my desk. I kick the chair out of the way and tell you to part your legs. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving oral sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in mind that you said you might want to try with me. My intention is really nothing more than to imprint you totally, into my memory. I kneel on the floor and take in your musk. Your natural scent excites my nose, a deep breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that little further takes me. I savour your natural perfume and anticipate your taste. It is as enticing as I thought it would be.