The Literary Courtesan

An erotic salon where my pen will stroke your senses.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Office Politics

a snippet of memory

He paid the check. They got into his car, and she asked him to take her someplace she’d never been before. He took her to his house. Introduced her to his dogs. Drove her on some back street on Queen Anne. The whole time, she wanted to reach over and kiss him. It was killing her. She wanted to slide over and straddle him. Was he that oblivious?

He said he was driving her back to her car, and she must have sighed because he asked her what was wrong. And she told him. She told him she thought there was sexual tension and didn’t he feel it too? Yes. He said. He did. And technically, he was a free man because he was no longer in a relationship, but she was married. And she didn’t care. And she remembered, she remembers it now even years later, that he parked the car. And he asked her if she liked to kiss. “Yes.” She said. And he kissed her. Jesus. He kissed her and it was like no other kiss, ever. His lips were soft, and his tongue played around in her mouth as if he was making love to her. He was making love to her, and the only parts of their bodies that were touching were their mouths. Her world was shifting, right there in that car, and she wanted to crawl inside him, feel his skin from inside him, wanted to feel what he was feeling right then. She could feel herself turning into liquid. She was dripping wet and she wanted to grab his hand, shove it up against her. She was not wearing a bra or panties, and she wanted nothing more than to lift the dress and fuck him right there. Wanton.

She tried to touch him. “uhuh” he said. As if he was scolding her. And then he went back to kissing her. They needed to talk, and he decided that making out on a downtown street wasn’t such a great idea, so he said they should go park somewhere else. She wasn’t sure where they wound up. They were still on a street somewhere, it was still light, but there they were still kissing. She remembered that at some point she took his finger into her mouth, began fellating it, sucking it in, stroking it with her tongue. “You’re giving my finger an erection,” he said. But he didn’t seem to mind. At another point, they were both in the driver’s seat, pushed back, and he had her breast in his mouth. They would laugh sometimes, because it would be too funny if they were to get caught being indecent in the car.

She doesn’t remember the exact sequence of events. There was a lot of touching, some discussion, some wrestling, testing of boundaries. It was like being teenagers. He had no-touch zones, and all she wanted to do was to touch the forbidden. She knew he was hard. She was as wet as she could remember being in a long, long time. She wanted him inside her. Wanted to feel him drive into her while she straddled him there in the driver’s seat. She didn’t care if the whole world watched.

At some point, they decided to drive back to the offices. She went to the bathroom and laughed. He had marked her. There was a huge hickie on her breast, which was going to be difficult to hide from her husband, who was arriving in four days. But she didn’t care. She liked that he had marked her.

They were back in his office. It was dark, the door was closed, and she was standing before him. She put her hands on his belt and tugged at it. She figured she would keep going until he told her to stop, and she hadn’t heard a “no” yet. She unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped them, and reached her hand into his underwear. He was unbelievably hard and he was soaked with precome. She kneeled, began to kiss and lick at the head of him. He groaned. She could feel something give in him, maybe just a giving up of the resistance, and she loved this. She loved that after all these years, she was doing something to him that she was sure she had never done before with him. She took him into her mouth, sucking and stroking him simultaneously. She had a little mouth, and she wanted to get as much of him into her as she could, so she stroked up from his balls as she pushed down with her mouth. She could feel his knees begin to buckle. He must be enjoying this. But then he stopped her. He told her something about her deserving a bed, and he pushed her back on the folded futon in his office. He pushed up her dress, and then, Oh God, his mouth was on her cunt. Licking, Stroking, She could feel herself pressed up against him, could feel the orgasm beginning to build. She wanted him in everywhere. She wanted to be sucking him, too, to be stroking him, to be returning to him the sweet sensation of his mouth on her clitoris, awash in her fluids, which she could feel seeping into the futon below her.

And then. Damn it. There was a noise in the building and he stopped. Goddamn it. He stopped. Told her that they couldn’t continue, there were people in the building. That they had to go.