By the time I returned to work on Monday morning I was no less confused. The way I had treated Simon was unforgivable but every time I thought about it I felt a new sexual charge. This was only made worse, or better, depending on your point of view, as I avoided his calls for the next couple of days.
A number of people were aware that we had left the party together, and there was some light hearted gossip, but it took second place to the big talking point of the night which was the treatment meted out to Rob.
There was even some suggestion that things had gone too far and that there would be some disciplinary action but I suspected not. Rob was hardly going to lodge a formal complaint and most of the middle managers had been there laughing along with the rest of us.
It was on the Wednesday that Simon finally caught up with me. I was standing at the coffee machine when he came up behind me and spoke close to my ear. "Good morning."
I almost spilt my coffee and was further taken by surprise when I saw his appearance. He had had his hair cut shorter and restyled and he was not wearing glasses. "Contacts?" "Yes, I thought I'd give them another try. I normally only wear them for sport." "It's a nice look. It suits you."
He looked a little coy. "That's kind...look...I was hoping...are you free this evening?" I was tempted to say no but he was so earnest that I did not have the heart. "Nothing I can't get out of." "Great! Will you let me take you to dinner? I'll book a table...say eight o'clock?" "I'll look forward to it."
I was surprised to find that I meant it. I certainly did not want to get involved in any sort of relationship but I thought that I could help to bring him out of himself and to give him more confidence. Judging by the new look I was already having an effect.
We both worked late and, not wishing to add fuel to the fire, we left separately to meet up at the restaurant. It was a lively Italian in the centre of town and I was pleased to see that he had not chosen somewhere ostentatious.
He was easy company and had a wide range of interests outside of work. After a nice meal and a couple of glasses of wine I had pretty much decided that I would take mercy on him and let him take me to bed.
I insisted on splitting the bill and then we took a taxi back to my flat. He looked like the cat that got the cream until I told him that he could not stay the night. I did not want him living some romantic idyll; for me it was just the fun of a little down and dirty sex.
In the taxi he tried to kiss me but I forestalled him. Instead, I rubbed him through his trousers and then laughed as he tried to hide his condition whilst paying the fare,
Once inside he surprised me by offering to make coffee. I felt sure that he would want to go straight to the bedroom, and I was more than ready, but I decided to let him set the pace. I told him where to find everything and then slouched on the sofa to wait.
He came back into the room with two steaming mugs and set them on the coffee table. I expected him to sit down next to me but, instead, he sat on the floor with his back propped by the sofa.
I was a little disconcerted by his behaviour, and also a little frustrated, but he sat for a moment or two idly sipping his coffee. I began to wonder if, in having told him he could not stay, he had construed this as meaning that sex was off the agenda altogether.
I was definitely in need, and I was about to give him some encouragement, when he turned around. He acted so quickly that he took me unawares and, in retrospect I guess he had found it to hard to summon up the courage.
In a single movement he lifted my skirt and began to kiss my inner thigh. There was no subtlety just a frenzied urgency. He kissed quickly and repeatedly and then, like a man possessed, he buried his face in my sex.
He gave a loud groan before licking at me roughly through my panties. Of itself, his crude technique did nothing for me but his apparent hunger was arousing beyond measure.
He sucked loudly as if he had stumbled upon an oasis and forced my legs wider to gain greater access. I was startled by the transformation. Whereas before he had seemed reluctant, perhaps even squeamish, he now showed an astonishing willingness.
I felt myself oozing but he strained every drop through the fine satin mesh. This continued for a few moments and, whilst he may have been blissfully absorbed, I needed something more.
I do not know how or why the idea came to me but it somehow seemed in keeping. I took hold of his head and with not a little difficulty I eased him away from me. "Lie down."
He looked unsure but he finally lay down with his posture suggesting that he expected me to join him. He was, therefore, a little bemused when I rose from the sofa and stood up over him.
I stepped forward so that my feet were either side of my head and then looked down at him. With studied deliberation I unfastened my skirt and let it fall to cover his face. His ragged breathing caused it to billow slightly until I finally kicked it to one side.
He was transfixed, staring at my panties made sodden by his attentions. I allowed him to look for a few seconds and then I slipped my hands inside the waistband.
Flexing my fingers I drew the sheer material tight against my sex which was clearly delineated. As a young girl I was worried about my pudenda. It seemed to me overly prominent, so much so that I feared that it would be obvious through my clothing, but as years past, and I became more and more familiar with myself, I came to see it as beautiful. I retain a light growth of blonde curls and I love to graze them with my fingernails as a prelude to bring myself to orgasm.
Now, I slowly slid my panties down my legs. For a second or two I held them taut between my ankles, stretching them across his face, and he began to breathe deeply. I indulged him for a moment before I stepped out of them and I was pleased to hear him groan quietly as my sex was finally revealed.
With a hint of theatricality I bent my knees and lowered myself to straddle his head. The temptation to seal him in and to let him use his tongue was almost overwhelming but, guided by some hitherto unrecognized instinct, I held myself just a few inches above him.
"Do you like it?" I ran a single finger along the fringes of my inner lips and could not suppress a shiver of pleasure. It felt as if we had both been brought to this moment, as though to fulfil some mutual destiny.
I pressed gently and his eyes widened as the folds of my labia flowed around my finger in a familiar embrace. I have always loved to pleasure myself, I have almost made it an art form, and to have him as a captive spectator, watching me perform, acted like a drug.
In the quiet of the room my finger made a soft sucking sound as I made myself wetter and it took all of my self discipline to stop myself from going too quickly.
His face was a little redder now and he was no longer breathing through his nose but that was no surprise. I could smell the richness of my own scent which seemed unaccustomedly thick in the air. I suddenly felt an irrational sense of resentment and I looked at him with a glint of anger. "Close your mouth." He did as I asked but I could see that he was trying to keep his breathing as shallow as possible. I responded by relaxing my legs and letting my weight bear down on his sternum.
He now had to work had to breathe and he drew air noisily through his nostrils but I had not finished with him yet. I reached for my discarded skirt and then draped the heavy material over my lap plunging him into darkness. For the next few minutes I lazily fingered my sex and smiled as I imagined his discomfort. I would never have considered myself in any way sadistic but knowing that he was getting hotter by the minute, and that the only air that he could breathe was moistly impregnated with my essence, took me to new heights of arousal.
He reached a point where he had no choice but to defy me and to start breathing through his mouth again but as he did so I rose up over his face once more. I now used two fingers on my sex until I was literally dripping. I wanted to make sure that he enjoyed the benefit but the way that he squirmed suggested that it was not altogether to his liking.
The skirt slid off of my lap to reveal his resentful expression but I was insensitive to his feelings. I centred my livid sex over his mouth. "Lick me."
I thought, for a fleeting moment, that he was not going to cooperate but then I felt the shy touch of his tongue. It probed hesitantly at the mess of sodden curls until he found a way through and then he began a tentative exploration.
His technique displayed a curious naivety and then I realized. "Have you ever done this before?"
Between my legs he looked startled and there was no need for an answer. It seemed incredible that he had come so far in life without ever having the pleasure of going down on a woman, and I almost felt guilty that I had introduced him to it in this manner, but this new turn of events only gave an added frisson.
I lifted fractionally and started to coach him. "Lick my lips, nice long strokes..." He obeyed quickly. Now that his secret was out he seemed eager to please. He ran his tongue along the fringes of my prominent labia with a touching delicacy and I let him continue for some minutes before I issued my next instruction.
"Carry on, a little harder." I gave a little shiver as he did as I asked and I felt my labia clinging wetly to his tongue. He now had to use more effort but his reward was the stronger taste to be found within and it was curious to see his reaction. His eyes suggested that, at first, he found it a little tart, but, as he found his rhythm once more he began to swallow willingly.
I closed my thighs a little more tightly to his head to signal my pleasure but I needed more. "A little higher...find my clitoris." In fairness to him he did reasonably well. He used the tip of his tongue to seek out the firm bud but was unsure when he encountered the fleshy collar. I could have made it easier for him, it would have only taken a tiny pressure from my fingers to free it altogether, but I knew, with certainty, that there would be further lessons.
He looked a little petulant when I told him to close his mouth once more but seeing his face, sheened with a mixture of my juices and his own perspiration, had given me an idea.
I shifted forward and rested a little more heavily on his face then, when I was ready, I put my hands flat on the floor in front of me to take some of my weight. I started with gentle movements, little more than a rocking motion, but then I tensed my well toned thighs and began to push with my hips.
To begin with he felt little discomfort, it seemed to him that I was teasing his mouth, but, as I gained momentum, I started to ride up over the whole of his face. The slippery contours made for an uneven pressure but, once again, it was more the thought of what I was doing than the thing itself.
I slowly gained speed and I could feel beads of perspiration prickling my brow. I kept my arms still and thrust with my pelvis. My climax seemed tantalizingly out of reach and I had to move ever faster. I swore under my breath with the effort and, at the finish, I was pounding myself down on his face but then, with one final gasping effort, I found release and I slumped my whole weight on him as the flood gates opened.
It took me some minutes to recover myself and even then it took an effort to get back to my feet. As I did so he began to gasp for breath like a drowning man breaking the surface and his face had an unnatural colour but I noticed that his trousers were tented by a powerful erection.
I thanked him and he looked almost childishly pleased but less so when, yet again, I pleaded exhaustion and asked him if he would mind if we called it a day. Yes, it was a cruel thing to do but I knew now that he was mine to mould and I sensed that it was it was important to assert my authority.
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