I’m sitting in a conference room in my office, legs crossed hard. Someone’s talking about a proposal of some sort, but I’m not focusing on the words; only the sounds, listening for my name. I know that my chest is red and blotchy when I reach for the pendant hanging between my breasts. My skin is hot and I’m a little dizzy.

“Rachel?” someone says for what might be the third or fourth time.

I smile and raise my eyebrows, “Yes?”

A room full of men wearing suits and blank stairs in front of me.

“I’ve prepared a couple of ideas here,” struggling to open a folder, my boss crosses the room quickly, snatches it out of my hands, and announces they’ll look it over before mercifully dismissing us.

I’m hoping, desperately, that the ladies room is empty. I need it to be empty. I hit the door with my hip and see one stall occupied. The large one is open. It’ll have to do.

I secure the latch and sit on the small bench beside the toilet. As I spread my knees apart, I can feel the heat being stifled behind dampened under garments. I look at the message again:

“only 1 finger, external. 10 minutes”

I dip my right index finger into pooling saliva just past my lips, rolling it around on my tongue. I’ve got 4 minutes. The other woman is still in the stall and – with few options open to me – I pull my dress from the top down, yanking off my bralette. I ball it up and bite down hard, then apply my wet finger tip to my bulging clitoris.

It only takes a moment before a jolt rips through my body, almost painful. My vagina clenches tightly and I nearly give myself a black eye when I bring my knee up to my face, writhing. The pleasure gets the best of me and a sharp yelp escapes from deep within.

I’m wound up like a pretzel on the bench when the woman in the other stall flushes and approaches my door, “You alright in there?”

I can’t speak. I can’t make a sound. My throat is seized up and any noise I make will surely give up what I’m doing in here.

I hear footsteps heading toward the door and then the click of the handle as she leaves.

I sprawl güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri out and grab my phone, furiously typing, “44 seconds to spare”

Her response comes immediately, “good girl”

I wash my hands thoroughly and return to my desk.

Stacy pops her head around my cube as I get settled back in, “Rachel, Christopher’s on the line for you,”

I jump, “Jesus, you scared me,”

She laughs and points to the blinking phone, making kissy noises before leaving.

I smooth down my dress and take a breath before I answer, “Hey, babe.”

“Hey, you,” he sounds excited.

“Uhh, what’s up?”

“Well, I know I said I had plans tonight, but I miss you and I decided to blow them off. How would you feel about a home-cooked meal tonight and some serious Netflixing. We’ve got shows to catch up on”

As he’s talking, she texts again. “tonight. the lakeview apartment. i’ve got a treat for my good girl. be there at 7 sharp.”

“Rach? You there?”

“Chris, sorry. My boss just popped in and asked if I can stay late.”

“Are you gonna?”

I feel guilty. For innumerable reasons. Mostly because I haven’t seen Chris in over a week. And then there’s the lying. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I promise that this weekend we’ll catch up on everything.”

I can almost hear the smile curl across his face, “Evvverything?”


“Alright. Wear that blue dress I like so much. I want to peel you out of it and keep you in my bed all weekend,” his voice almost a growl.

“I’ll wear the blue dress. I promise. I have to get going. Text me later?”

“Will do… love you.”


I’m glad I’m meeting her at the Lakeview apartment. It’s close to my own, so I can run home and freshen up before I meet her. She wants me at 7 sharp. I’ve arrived 17 minutes early, so I sit down on a bench down the street from her place.

“i said 7” she texts.

She sees me and I can feel the red crawling up my chest to my cheeks.

“but that’s my favorite dress. come güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri up.”

My legs are jello as I walk the sidewalk to her place. Before I can hit the button, she’s buzzing the door.

I approach the door to her unit and there’s a note taped to the door.

“Step back and take off your dress. You’ll wait there until 7.”

I look around – I can hear talking in the apartment next to hers. A deep breath, and I take the straps of my dress off of my shoulders. Thank fuck I’m wearing underwear. My dress moves below my hips and crumples at my feet.

It’s 6:53p.

I stand there, mentally preparing an excuse if a neighbor opens their door.

At 6:58p, the lock clicks and she opens her door. She’s standing behind it and I can’t see her until I step inside. The lighting is dim and I can smell red wine. Her place is pristine, as usual. Her appearance is even better, also as usual.

Her hair that usually hangs to the small of her back – dyed grey/blue – is in a chignon. She’s wearing a silkly kimono and one of her impossibly long, slender legs is peaking through the opening in the front. Her skin is an olive tone that I’ve never seen before – perfect and always seemingly glowing.

She is slender and 5’11 – just an inch taller than I am. The smell of her is disarming – fresh, always clean.

She holds her hand out, “dress.”

I hand her the garment and she smirks. “Is that a new set?” she eyes my bra and underwear.

I swallow hard and nod.

Her voice deepens and she steps toward me, closing the door, “where did you get it? Target?”

In the real world, underwear from Target is an acceptable practice. Here, it’s plebeian.

“Would you like to see mine?” she runs her fingertip from my hip bone to the front center clasp of my Target bra. Her finger slips behind the fabric and I can feel her nail brush past my nipple which hardens instantly.

“Yes,” barely makes its way from my vocal chords.

She gets even closer, moving her lips so close to mine that if either one of us moves even slightly, güvenilir bahis şirketleri they’ll touch. And I want to. I want to take her gorgeous, swollen lower lip into my mouth and take the red wine from it.

Instead, all I can muster is a slightly less pathetic, “Yes.”

She playfully pulls at the ribbon holding her robe closed and then places it in my hand.

I roll the soft fabric between my fingers for a moment before letting my hand fall back to my side, undoing the bow she’d fashioned. The material covering her chest falls open. There’s nothing underneath but the most exquisite pair of tits I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’d watched a LOT of porn before I met her.

Lower, I can see teal elastic spanning the width of her petite hips. She uses two fingers and her thumb to grip my jaw and pushes my head back. Her lips are on my neck and I’m stuck feeling awkward about what to do with my hands and like I might collapse into a puddle of my own arousal.

Her hands are soft and her tongue is heaven. She sucks my ear lobe between her lips and holds it with her teeth, “When will these nerves subside?” she murmurs against me.

I moan with the vibrations of her voice on my neck and she stops abruptly, “Put your hands on me,” she commands.

Like a teenage boy, my thumbs find her nipples and fumble, embarrassingly about.

She stops me, “Go sit on the couch.”

I mentally admonish my sad attempts at intimacy and sit down on her sofa. It’s huge and deep and I sink in, my stomach folding out a bit. I try to sit up straight when she walks over with two rather full glasses of wine.

She puts a glass to my lips, “Sip”

I oblige.

“Good girl,” she sets the glasses down, “do you remember when I said I have a treat for you?”

I can feel the wine in my stomach, warm, “Yes,” I put on a hand on her thigh, trying to recover from my rather clumsy pawing moments earlier.

She pulls a device from her pocket. It looks like a silver bullet attached to a chord with a control pad attached, “I want to see how far we can get you tonight.”

She’s moving quickly now, or perhaps I’m slowing down from the wine. My Target underwear are on the floor now, legs pliable at the touch of her hand. She pushes the silver pellet inside and I feel it naturally work its way up.

Her grey eyes meet mine and she clicks on the device.

… to be continued



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