by Joshua James Madison
(03/07/06)
We don't have much time, but that's okay.
Everyone else is at lunch. Only Alicia and I remain. She's wearing a skirt today, and I know what that means. So an hour ago, when the rest of the department asked if I wanted to join them at the diner across the street, the lie about bringing my lunch and eating at my desk came easily to my lips.
They'll be back soon, though. Like I said, we don't have much time.
The attraction between us was immediate, from the day she hired me six months ago. There were glances that lasted a second too long. Lingering touches, her hand on my shoulder at first; then, when I got bolder, mine on her back. We'd pass a tad too closely in the hallway, brushing up against each other when we didn't have to. Before long we were flirting outright. But only when we were alone. In the presence of the rest of the team, she was the consummate boss, professional, playing no favorites, giving no indication that, as she would tell me later, she wrote me blisteringly erotic e-mails, then deleted them before pushing "send." And then rushed to the ladies room to make herself come.
Two months ago we attended a conference. The budget allowed for two people to travel, and so Alicia chose me to join her. After a few drinks in the hotel bar on the first night, we headed up to our respective rooms. I figured I'd fantasize about her, jerk off, and then go to sleep. But on the elevator ride up, our fingertips brushed against each other, and instantaneously the inevitable lust exploded in each of us. We spent the rest of the conference in her room, ordering room service, watching porn, and fucking in every way imaginable.
Since then we've pleasured each other, sometimes fleetingly, sometimes languorously, whenever we can. It is, by necessity, discreet. The sex is amazing, in large part because of our mutual attraction to each other, but also, I think, because it is so damn illicit. She's an extraordinarily sexy 43, a good 12 years older than I, a gap that thrills me carnally to no end, much to her puzzlement. She's my boss. She's a divorced mother of two. She is, hands-down, the best lay I've ever had.
When Alicia wears a skirt, showing those smooth, lithe legs, I know what it means. It means she wants to provide easy access. It means she was aroused when she awoke that morning and resisted the overwhelming urge to masturbate in the shower. It means she wants a more personal orgasm than the shower head can provide.
And so, 10 minutes after the department has left for lunch, I walk into her office. I'm starting to get hard already. I know we don't have much time, and I've already decided what I'm going to do.
"Lock the door," she says quietly, and I comply, knowing it is the last order she will give before returning to her role as supervisor.
I walk to her. We kiss, long, hard, wet. Tongues probing, teeth clicking against each other. She has already, I notice, unbuttoned her blouse to her waist, and I work my hands down to the front clasp of her bra, undo the hook, feel her breasts ease into my palms. My hands linger there, as I enjoy the sensation of her hardening nipples, before sliding up her sides, up her arms, to her shoulders. I apply gentle pressure, forcing her into her chair.
I drop wordlessly to my knees.
On the floor her panties sit, discarded, on top of the shoes she has removed.
I bring my face to the magical place where her legs join. The intoxicating aroma of arousal sends blood racing to my cock.
Gently at first, I worship her pussy with long, slow laps up and down her lips. Her wetness coats my face. The first of many deep sighs escapes her lungs. Even as I eat her out, I look up at her. Alicia's eyes are closed, her mouth halfway open. She bites her lip. One hand is in my hair, the other firmly kneading her breast.
Next my tongue comes into play, snaking out to find her clit, hard and waiting. I flick it for a while, then close my lips over it and suck on it. This continues for many minutes. My hardness strains against my trousers. I can feel the precum dampening my boxers. How desperate I am to unzip, free myself, and stroke. But no. This one isn't for me. I restrain myself, and redouble my efforts on her cunt, which is now flooding my face.
I have my hands under her ass, cupping it, the better to lift her cunt to my face. When she starts to moan and squirm against me even harder, I know she's close. I slide a hand up her torso, find her breast, cup it firmly, rub my thumb roughly over the engorged nipple, pinch it. At the same time I plunge my tongue into her cunt, fucking her with it, hard, until finally the orgasm bursts inside of her and she cries out and bucks wildly against my mouth.
When she comes down off the high, she is breathing hard. Her face is flushed, her hair unkempt, her clothes disheveled. She looks like a woman who's just had a shattering orgasm. I've never seen a sexier sight.
I stand and kiss her. The kiss is tender, but as Alicia tastes herself on me, the kiss deepens, and soon tenderness is forgotten and the ferocity of earlier returns. All I want is to slide myself into her. But I don't -- I can't. Our time is up. In mere minutes we will return to our professional relationship. Until the next time we're alone, when, as our routine dictates, it is she who will service me. Alicia is nothing if not a fair boss.
