Hello,
My name is jessica and I write for my own pleasure. i wanted to share with those who may have some constructive criticism to share. I've really enjoyed reading here for a long time.
Puuurhaps I can help out as well somehow.
here's my story. If I should place this somewhere, please let me know.
thanks
jess
Margaret rarely wore underclothes.
Not because she was expecting anything, merely because
she hated the feel of clothes and the less the better. Her
skirt wrapped round to the right and was met at her slim waist
by a cashmere black cardigan. Braless, her tits were spectacular.
I'd describe it as getting tiny glimpses of fireworks
displays when she'd bend forward.
I worked beside her for a year. On some days she'd confide
her evenings' activities in such detail that I would
find myself in the farthest stall, in the farthest bathroom
on another floor, frantically agitating the very place
where I imagined Margarets tongue. I came at the thought
of being the nights conquest in the scenario that she described.
Her long brunette tresses were pulled back loosely at her
nape. Thinking many times as I had before, that , at 6pm,
when the employees had left, I would simply come up behind
her, and kiss the indent on the side of her neck bared to me
daily to drive me insane. The woman tortured me with every
movement, every whiff of perfume and certainly with the
crossing and uncrossing of legs where I longed to place
my lips.
<br>
A woman can take only so much. The split in her skirt was agape
under the desk conveniently four feet from mine. I could
see clear to the top of her tan and taut thigh. I struggled
with the same paperwork over and over as rivulets emerged
and fell from my labia.
<br>
Tonight was it. I could take no more. I'm sure she is
teasing me on purpose. I must take that chance. If all I get
is that kiss on the nape of her young neck, so be it. A slap
after would be a reward. Fired? From here? The place is a
disaster and I'd be grateful. So I plot. I plan. I wore
the right perfume, the thong that drives my husband wild,
the satiny blouse that loves my breasts. All for her. Please
Margaret.
Please notice and come forward so I don't make a fool
of myself.
<br>
As I woke from the thought, there at the end of a manilla file
folder, was her lovely hand. Long fingers, brown nails,
beautiful arm. "uh, Oh I'm sorry I was daydreaming."
(Could i be any more obtuse?) She said no problem. Just something
I forgot to hand you today.
<br>
"Margaret"
"yes"?
"That story you told me of your date Friday. I can't
stop thinking about it. I think you're having better
sex than me. I'm jealous."
"Oh Jess, I bet you get plenty of the good stuff on your
own." "Good Stuff." I stood up and said it again . "Good
Stuff". (Put up or shut up I always heard)
"The good stuff, Margaret, has been teasing me from
beneath your skirt for a month." I looked her dead
serious in the eye so there would be no laugh and dodge. She
stared back. Hours passed as the clock's second hand
ticked maybe 3 times.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." SWALLOW
My knees trembled. My mouth went dry. There. I said it. Margaret
rose from behind her desk to lean on top of it facing me.
Her high heels moved farther apart to shoulder width, and
her wrap skirt fell open to the knee. She looked up with her
head bent down. Her eyes flashed at me and she licked her
lips. "There's nothing under here that you couldn't
have."
The words bounced off my clit and i thought "calm down
-calm down, she's teasing you. Stay still. Don't
rise. Don't rise".... drip... drip.. my kegel
muscles forcing fluid onto my office chair. I looked back
without blinking. I saw her hand in slow motion. It went
for the bow, grabbed a string and YES, yes. she pulled it
across her abdomen and the black fabric fell to the floor.
Her legs, like brown slim skyscrapers, met at the most lovely
triangle of neatly trimmed hair. She was standing there,
in pearls and a blouse and that was it save for those heels.
One of us must move. It must be my turn. what to say what to
say wah-"Oh Margaret, you've dropped something."
A smile stretched against her white teeth and I rose from
my chair. Her hands still supported her against her desk.
I was a mere inch away from that spot i'd stared at over
and over again. I whispered. "There's this thing
i've been meaning to do"
She half giggled, half moaned. I lowered my head to her tilted
lithe shoulder and with the tiniest tip of my tongue, I kissed
the hollow beside her trachea and held myself there taking
in the scent and feel. My hand fell to her waist and I felt
the skin of her hip under it. It shocked me like an electric
chair and my nipples got painfully hard.
If it would have ended there, I would have been happy to sit
across from her for the rest of my career, with that kiss
sustaining wetcunted office- bathroom torture scenes
to come.
Luckily,
It did not.
My name is jessica and I write for my own pleasure. i wanted to share with those who may have some constructive criticism to share. I've really enjoyed reading here for a long time.
Puuurhaps I can help out as well somehow.
here's my story. If I should place this somewhere, please let me know.
thanks
jess
Margaret rarely wore underclothes.
Not because she was expecting anything, merely because
she hated the feel of clothes and the less the better. Her
skirt wrapped round to the right and was met at her slim waist
by a cashmere black cardigan. Braless, her tits were spectacular.
I'd describe it as getting tiny glimpses of fireworks
displays when she'd bend forward.
I worked beside her for a year. On some days she'd confide
her evenings' activities in such detail that I would
find myself in the farthest stall, in the farthest bathroom
on another floor, frantically agitating the very place
where I imagined Margarets tongue. I came at the thought
of being the nights conquest in the scenario that she described.
Her long brunette tresses were pulled back loosely at her
nape. Thinking many times as I had before, that , at 6pm,
when the employees had left, I would simply come up behind
her, and kiss the indent on the side of her neck bared to me
daily to drive me insane. The woman tortured me with every
movement, every whiff of perfume and certainly with the
crossing and uncrossing of legs where I longed to place
my lips.
<br>
A woman can take only so much. The split in her skirt was agape
under the desk conveniently four feet from mine. I could
see clear to the top of her tan and taut thigh. I struggled
with the same paperwork over and over as rivulets emerged
and fell from my labia.
<br>
Tonight was it. I could take no more. I'm sure she is
teasing me on purpose. I must take that chance. If all I get
is that kiss on the nape of her young neck, so be it. A slap
after would be a reward. Fired? From here? The place is a
disaster and I'd be grateful. So I plot. I plan. I wore
the right perfume, the thong that drives my husband wild,
the satiny blouse that loves my breasts. All for her. Please
Margaret.
Please notice and come forward so I don't make a fool
of myself.
<br>
As I woke from the thought, there at the end of a manilla file
folder, was her lovely hand. Long fingers, brown nails,
beautiful arm. "uh, Oh I'm sorry I was daydreaming."
(Could i be any more obtuse?) She said no problem. Just something
I forgot to hand you today.
<br>
"Margaret"
"yes"?
"That story you told me of your date Friday. I can't
stop thinking about it. I think you're having better
sex than me. I'm jealous."
"Oh Jess, I bet you get plenty of the good stuff on your
own." "Good Stuff." I stood up and said it again . "Good
Stuff". (Put up or shut up I always heard)
"The good stuff, Margaret, has been teasing me from
beneath your skirt for a month." I looked her dead
serious in the eye so there would be no laugh and dodge. She
stared back. Hours passed as the clock's second hand
ticked maybe 3 times.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." SWALLOW
My knees trembled. My mouth went dry. There. I said it. Margaret
rose from behind her desk to lean on top of it facing me.
Her high heels moved farther apart to shoulder width, and
her wrap skirt fell open to the knee. She looked up with her
head bent down. Her eyes flashed at me and she licked her
lips. "There's nothing under here that you couldn't
have."
The words bounced off my clit and i thought "calm down
-calm down, she's teasing you. Stay still. Don't
rise. Don't rise".... drip... drip.. my kegel
muscles forcing fluid onto my office chair. I looked back
without blinking. I saw her hand in slow motion. It went
for the bow, grabbed a string and YES, yes. she pulled it
across her abdomen and the black fabric fell to the floor.
Her legs, like brown slim skyscrapers, met at the most lovely
triangle of neatly trimmed hair. She was standing there,
in pearls and a blouse and that was it save for those heels.
One of us must move. It must be my turn. what to say what to
say wah-"Oh Margaret, you've dropped something."
A smile stretched against her white teeth and I rose from
my chair. Her hands still supported her against her desk.
I was a mere inch away from that spot i'd stared at over
and over again. I whispered. "There's this thing
i've been meaning to do"
She half giggled, half moaned. I lowered my head to her tilted
lithe shoulder and with the tiniest tip of my tongue, I kissed
the hollow beside her trachea and held myself there taking
in the scent and feel. My hand fell to her waist and I felt
the skin of her hip under it. It shocked me like an electric
chair and my nipples got painfully hard.
If it would have ended there, I would have been happy to sit
across from her for the rest of my career, with that kiss
sustaining wetcunted office- bathroom torture scenes
to come.
Luckily,
It did not.
