by Kari B. Wende
(02/04/09)

Relief washed over me like a cool shower on a humid day. I'd been waiting all morning, and the loud clack of heels on the marble floor was sweet Pavarotti to my ears.

I didn't even have to look up to know the sight I'd see. Impossibly long legs in black fishnets, round ass moulded in a skirt short but not tacky, slim waist proudly shown off in a tight designer blouse, pure white though the wearer was anything but.

She sauntered by my desk without so much as a glance. The assistant to the Editor-in-Chief had nothing to say to a lowly receptionist besides an occasional side comment about the temperamental weather. If you had asked me three months ago what I thought of small talk, I would have sneered and said it was a copout for boring people.

Then Ms Samantha Rae had stopped by Reception to remove her dripping rain coat on a grey, drizzly November morning. She commented on the rain in a low, breathy voice and I felt warm droplets moisten my pussy. She gathered her coat, smiled, and licked her lips before walking off. I wanted her pink tongue to lick me dry. Small talk had officially become the sexiest thing on earth.

Forty-five seconds: That's how long it took for her to walk past me every morning before turning the corner that led to the lifts and out of my sight. Forty-five seconds to ogle her calves and breathe in her fresh don't-you-just-want-to-eat-me scent. Today I caught myself licking my lips and crossing my legs tighter.

Fuck. I had to pull myself together.

"Jules?" a voice called in the distance. Patty, the other receptionist, whose own taste leaned toward the barely eighteen delivery boy. Her motto was The younger they come, the more eager they are to learn. I didn't get it at all.

"What?" I snapped. This was going to be a long day.

"Just a heads-up, no need to bite my head off," she said, genuinely puzzled at my agitated tone.

I smiled and apologised, saying the long week had taken its toll; I hoped she hadn't noticed the effect Samantha had on me. By the time I assimilated her warning, he was already bearing down on me -- Zack Fields, a lowly copy editor who'd decided as soon as I started working here that he was going to win me at all costs. He was cute in a teacherly kinda way, with the glasses and tie-less suit, and although I liked the daffodils he usually brought me, it was simply never going to happen. I just didn't know how to tell him: Zack, honey, I'm not looking for a relationship right now. Zack, honey, I really like you but I like girls even more. Zack, honey, fuck off.

He asked if I wanted to grab lunch later and I refused, as always. He started saying something else -- and then that scent hit me again. I thought I was hallucinating, but I glanced sideways and there she was, walking toward the door with Pete, her boss. An outside meeting with someone maybe. She nodded at something he said then turned and started walking toward me.

Zack faded into the background.

She was smiling at me; her lips were moving and I was nodding. Then she was gone and I was reeling. Zack said something and I said yes before excusing myself quickly.

In the bathroom I stared at myself in the mirror. My pupils were dilated and I was breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling in a way that made my blouse tighten across my boobs, clearly showing my erect nipples through the soft fabric.

What the hell had she said? Something about a delivery. Patty would know. I wet my fingers and touched them gently to my lips, moistening them and then licking every drop away with my eager tongue. I imagined the taste of her -- sweet honey or creamy custard? I wondered. Would she scream or was she the silent-but-very-responsive type?

Someone walked into the bathroom and I slipped into a stall to get away from curious looks. I closed the toilet lid and sat down, my palms involuntarily caressing my nipples. She would scream. She'd scream my name over until she forgot the name of every guy she'd ever been with. She'd ask me to kiss her and her little tongue would meet mine in an eager waltz. My hands moved slowly over my waist, going under my blouse and finding warm skin.

Beneath Samantha's brilliant white blouse would be alabaster skin, silk-smooth and soft to my touch. I undid my blouse buttons and unhooked the front clasp of my bra, rubbing my bare breasts roughly.

Her rosy nipples would rise for me, begging for my lips, and I would happily oblige. I lifted my skirt and spread my legs wide as I pushed down my panties, finding that the morning rain had already stained them. After a quick dip inside myself, I lifted my fingers to my mouth. Yes. Sweet custard exploded on my taste buds.

My fingers returned to rub my clit. Her skirt would unzip easily and she would lift her hips, allowing me to slide it off and reach for the top of her tights. My fingers would find her cosy, moist warmth and it would feel like coming home.

Prickles of heat danced over my skin and, as I moved my fingers faster, my hips rotated as I knew hers would. I found my breath coming in short gasps. The soft glow of my orgasm washed over me and I tried not to scream. I bit my lip and choked on her name.

After a few minutes I straightened myself up and returned to my desk. Zack was gone but he'd left a note. Pick you up at seven. What the fuck?

"You said you'd go with him to that house party tonight," Patty said. "He was like a kid on Christmas morning. What made you change your mind after all these months?"

Being too horny? Early senility? Damned if I knew. Now I had a date with Clark Kent's brother and an evening jam-packed with bad jokes from his bingo-playing friends. Great. Just fucking great.

At six-thirty that evening I finally decided to go for the Red One -- my sexiest dress. This was probably the one time I was going to (mistakenly or otherwise) go out with Zack, so might as well give him something to look at. The dress had a plunging halter neck which gave my cleavage ample airtime, and its bare-back design was my favourite look. My legs were draped in the long, silky fabric. I didn't want to give it all away at once.

He was on time and I was pleasantly surprised at how well he cleaned up. Maybe Zack could be my consolation prize. Maybe. Then again maybe not. I was desperate for custard, not his salty cream. In the taxi I discovered a new-found prowess for small talk. This winter is colder than last. I love my work and no, I don't know who Pete is sleeping with.

Zack volunteered the latest gossip. "Everyone says he's banging Samantha. For God's sake, have you seen her? I certainly would."

My heart sank, but Zack never seemed to notice. Really? She was fucking that arrogant, thrice married nutcase? To be fair, he was rich and sexy, to those who had a taste for older guys, but she could do much better. So much better. Suddenly I wanted to go home and curl up in a ball, but Zack announced that we'd arrived.

The house was in the affluent part of town and once inside I was glad I'd chosen to go as the sexy siren. Most of the magazine staff were there and from the looks on their faces they were as surprised as I was that I was there. Typical upstairs/downstairs scenario. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and downed it in one. I needed all the help I could get. I found a corner while Zack said something about food and vanished. I scanned the crowd, my eyes looking for that mane of dark hair I loved so much. Instead I saw Pete sitting further across the room, two girls I recognised as interns hanging onto his every word.

I observed his sure smile and noted that, even with a suit, it was easy to see he worked out. I smiled to myself as I acknowledged that I would fuck him too. Oh yeah. Why the hell not? I managed to grab another glass and had almost given up hope that she was there -- but then Pete looked up and smiled at someone, holding out his hand.

There she was, her shoulder-less dress outlining her perfect body. She took his hand and bent to whisper something in his ear. It was easy to see that Zack's comments earlier weren't that far off the mark. Pete got up and followed her to the French doors on the other side of the expansive living space. They left the party. No one seemed to notice.

A few minutes later, I realised that I was opening the French doors, peering outside for a sign of them. Convincing myself that I wasn't turning into a slimy stalker, I exited the party, taking the half-full champagne bottle with me. If they caught me following them, I'd pretend to be blind drunk.

I took a few swigs from the bottle, walking carefully down the poorly lit garden steps until I came to the large back garden. What the hell, maybe pretence wouldn't be necessary. I took a few more swigs. It was the weekend and this was a party, wasn't it?

I followed the path until I thought I was lost. Then I heard Pete's boisterous laugh and followed it further down. There were lights behind the bushes and finally I saw the swimming pool, its underwater lights casting a gentle glow onto the lounge chairs and illuminating two figures in the far corner.

My body went rigid at what I knew I would see, but that didn't stop me wanting to see it.

His big hands roamed wildly like he was discovering a new landscape. Her lips on his accepted their hardness instead of longing for softer ones. My softer lips, so much more gentle. I vaguely wondered if they would see me, in the dark as I was, and mostly obscured by bushes. I wasn't sure if I cared anymore. I felt numb. Transfixed.

His lips seemed to be everywhere at once, on her long neck and flawless shoulders, her arms and then on her beautiful breasts. They were little globes of perfection, capped with rosy nipples -- with rings through them! I never saw that coming. Nipple piercings? My doll was full of surprises.

She whimpered and tossed her head. A deep ache settled between my legs and I wanted to weep. I had to hand it to Pete though: he was thorough with her breasts. Who wouldn't want to linger there?

Before he could go further she pushed him into the lounge chair and teased his shirt open, giving his nipples due attention before opening his pants and giving his cock a breather. It wasn't as impressive as I'd expected, his cock, but it never was with arrogant, over-achieving men. The tension eased from my shoulders. I never even knew I'd been anxious that he would be too much for me to lure her away.

It was mesmerising, watching how her lips enveloped his already swollen dick, puckering as her cheeks depressed and she sucked hard. Her tongue moved deftly, like I imagined it would on a tasty ice-cream cone. The bright pink gently outlining the purple head, then every vein until she pressed down with her hand, forcing it to lie on his chiseled stomach as she paid attention to his balls.

I felt the moist between my legs soak my panties and I heard Pete groan, his hands guiding her head as she took him all in, again and again. He wasn't going to last long -- and for that matter, neither was I. I wanted to move but couldn't. I wanted to see her naked although I knew the sight of him fucking her would be agony. But her sweet, red lips, cherry-ripe and so tactful at pleasure: They were hypnotising me.

I watched as fountains of Pete coated her mouth and then I got the shock of my life. If I'd blinked I would have missed it, but for a second, from the corner of her eye, Samantha glanced my way.

I retreated fully behind the bushes, my heart pounding as I debated whether I'd seen what I thought I'd seen. Did she know I was watching? I decided to look again just to make sure, but she was lying on top of a now sated Pete, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

I took off my shoes and ran back to the party, finding Zack and excusing myself on the grounds of an imaginary headache.

At home I lay in the bath for what seemed like hours. Had she known all along that I was watching? Did she know how I felt about her? We'd never even spoken, but sometimes I wondered if I was failing to hide my growing admiration. I smiled at the knowledge that she knew, that she'd put on a show for my benefit and that maybe she'd been walking past my desk with deliberation, knowing the whole time that my eyes were on her. For the first time in ages I couldn't wait for Monday.

When Monday did arrive, disappointment sat all morning in my throat like a pregnant frog. I didn't get so much as a look -- no small talk, nothing. By noon I was convinced that I had imagined that glance the night before, put too much faith it in, built all my emotions around it and now my badly constructed house of great expectations had come crushing down on me.

Every sound of heels on marble brought my head up sharply -- Patty even asked if I was okay. No, I wasn't. I was too in love and was now the clear favourite for the Fool-of-the-Year award.

Samantha glided past me at lunch time, out the doors and back an hour later, face like flint and shoulders square. By three o'clock I thought I was going to go insane. Fuck it. I decided to go to the gym in the company basement to run away from my agony.

I changed and hit the treadmill, running until my legs hurt and the sound of my heartbeat filled my head, erasing all thoughts of Samantha. After, in changing room I took off my clothes, glad for the silence at this time in the afternoon. I hit the shower and let the hot water wash away every last drop of sweat. Maybe tonight I would sleep and not see her face.

A long while later I heard the shower in the next stall being turned on and I decided it was time to leave. I threw the towel over my shoulder, liking the steam on my wet skin as I walked to my locker, past the occupied stall.

I glanced absently at the occupant. My feet were suddenly filled with lead as I stared at long dark hair, wet, and clinging to alabaster skin that shimmered with unruly water droplets. There was a distinct possibility that I was conjuring her up, but either way, I found myself unable to move. I was staring, mouth open like a child looking through the window of a pastry shop. I knew she could turn at any moment and see me, but I didn't care. I was memorising the curve of her buttocks, the contours of her thighs. My breath came in gasps.

When she finally turned and saw me, I couldn't have stopped myself if I had tried.

I walked toward her and ran my finger down her chest to her bejewelled nipple, waiting for her to recoil from me in disgust. I could take that. At least I wasn't trying to hide my desire. I could live with rejection; it was the not-knowing that was crushing.

When she lifted her hand to my face and caressed my cheek, I knew I was lost. Her cherry lips were softer than I imagined, ripe figs in middle summer. I nibbled and sucked, licking the water off them as the shower streamed over us both. Her hands were in my hair, on my back and my ass, pressing me against her silky smoothness, her nipple rings gently biting my skin. I wanted to touch everything at once, taste it all: the groove of her neck, her lovely cleavage, her right breast and then her left, her toned stomach and deep belly-button.

Somehow she was on the floor, legs open for me, clit swollen and cunt weeping for my tongue. I realised then how wrong I had been. It was both -- creamy custard and sweet honey dew. She moaned, and I did too. Nothing had ever tasted this good on my tongue. I ate her like she was my last meal, and when she came I wanted to do it all over again. Before I could her tongue found me somehow. She was drinking me in, making me scream, making me convulse so hard I thought I would pass out.

We lay there for a while afterward, not caring who saw us, the water washing away the juices of our love. I felt like I could lie there in her arms for the rest of forever.

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