Romantic, Sexy Erotica
"Office Girl" a Vanilla Sex Story by Jaye Raymee
I watch your breath rise and fall as you sleep, content in my arms. Moonlight plays across your black hair, your full lips, your bare breasts, and the soft light gives your beautifully pale body the look of a sleeping Madonna from a renaissance painting. Or, perhaps, given our evening’s activities, a more apt comparison would be an exhausted Mary Magdalene before she joined Christ and gave up her trade.
How many times have I watched you from across the room? A dozen? A hundred? How many times have I felt your gaze on me and turned to see you quickly look away, hiding a blush? How many times have I imagined us doing everything we just did, and how many times did I wonder, “Does she imagine it as well?”
I think the first time I noticed you was when you brought the coffee tray into the partners’ meeting because the other office girl was out sick. You came in that morning all bustling with efficiency and organization, set up the coffee tray on the side table, arranged cups, poured and passed as needed and then stepped back out. But not before I noticed a small smile playing across your lips, as if you knew this was all a bit of a joke and the notion of our small firm having a Quarterly Management Review meeting was fairly silly. There are only three partners and two junior partners (me and Jack, but Jack’s a bit of a stuffed shirt). I noticed the smile, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t look at your hair, your skin, and take notice of your legs in those boots as well.
After that day, I seemed to see you more and more. You were at the copier when I needed to use it, or covering the front desk when I used the front entrance instead of the back, or grabbing a cup of coffee right as I was heading for a refill. Soon, we started chatting. I told you about my recent trip to Africa; you told me about your crazy sister. And yet, you were always a little reserved, a little quieter than the rest of the staff, as if you had a bit more to think about than which club you’d be going to come Friday night or which boy you’d be going home with. Even though we talked, we never played like I do with most of the staff. With you, conversations seemed a little more real, a little deeper, as if we had a shared connection that went farther than the few months we’d known each other.
The first time I saw you blush was when we passed each other in the hall by the filing cabinets and I made a comment about the weather, and how cold it was getting outside. As I said it, I noticed that you were blushing, and I quickly saw the reason for your embarrassment—clearly you had just been outside and clearly it was quite cold. Through the thin green silk of your blouse, your nipples had stiffened and stood out proudly in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. Of course, you noticed me noticing, and that made it even more awkward. But, you do have a pretty blush.
After that day, every time I looked at you, I seemed to see another detail about you. The small scar along one eyebrow, how carefully manicured your hands were, and even the different way you wore your hair. Of course, I kept thinking about your breasts, about what they would feel like through the silk of your shirt, or the satin and lace of a brassiere. You must have felt the heat in my looks, because you would blush every time you caught my eye.
And then I think you started looking at me too. You commented on my ties, admired my cufflinks, and then gave yourself away as paying perhaps too much attention by suggesting that a particular tie would go better with a shirt I had worn several weeks before. Nothing but a little harmless office flirtation. Something a stodgy firm like ours needs to keep the workday interesting.
But I have to be honest: I never expected things to go this way, to be here, watching you sleep. To be spending the evening the way we have, anticipating the things to come.
I came by the office on a Saturday night because I wanted to drop off some clothing donations a client had given me for one of our charity drives. I had planned to run in and drop the bags off, then leave again. When I walked in, talking loudly into my mobile, I’m not sure which of us was the most surprised, you or me. The lights were mostly turned off, so I hadn’t realized anybody was in the office. You were at your desk in front of the computer, and I didn’t see you until you gave a startled yelp that, of course made me jump, and swear too.
You were there to finish putting together some reports for another meeting on Monday. Although why you had nothing better to do on a weekend was beyond me, and I certainly admired the dedication. You offered to help me bring in the last bags from my car, and stood up from behind the desk.
You were wearing the same green silk shirt that you had on that day I had made you blush, and, together with the short black skirt and black boots you looked the best I had ever seen you. Even though the lights were dim, I could see that you had on perfect make-up and your hair was loose and falling around your shoulders. After we brought the last bags in, I suggested that we have a toast to working on a Saturday. I always have a bottle of something in my desk, and we broke it out of hiding as we passed by on the way to the unused back office to drop off the clothing.
Just as we were about to drop the bags, we both froze at a sound. Somebody else was coming in! Not that it would be a big deal for us to be there, but to be in the dark, with a bottle of rum would be very tricky to explain. By some unspoken agreement, we quietly dashed into the back office and softly closed the door. Giggling, you took the bottle from me and as I put down the bags of clothes you unscrewed it and raised it to your lips. That office is the only one that locks from the inside, and I slowly pushed the button to lock out whoever had stepped into the main lobby.
The back office had a window that looked out over the hills behind the office, and there was moonlight streaming in. As you tilted the bottle and drank, I could see the curve of your neck in the warm light from the outside. I could see your throat move as you swallowed, and I watched your eyes close as the rum burned its way down your throat. That’s when it started.
After the flirting, the blushing, the glances across the office, it was the light of the moon on your skin that made me step to over to you, put one hand on your shoulder, and pull you in to me for a kiss. It was the soft night-time glow on your hair that made me put my other hand on the small of your back and hold you closer as the kiss grew more heated, your lips parting under mine, opening to me and sharing the last whisper of rum on your tongue. The moon shone on your pale shoulders as your shirt slipped down over your arms, and as you held my head to your chest the small sound you made as I moved my mouth down into the hot cleft between your breasts was the sound of moonbeams on silk.
I took a drink from the bottle and you took it back from me, drinking again yourself. I moved my lips across your breasts, teasing the skin just above the line of lace on your bra, feeling the smooth satin pulled taught against your nipples. Running my teeth across the cloth, I felt you stiffen slightly as your nipples swelled against my tongue. Then I knelt in front of you, kissing your stomach, moving my tongue into your navel and putting my hands on your hips to hold you steady as you quivered at the sensation. Your hand in my hair tightened as you pulled me in to you, and I could smell your perfume around me like a haze in the moonlight.
My hands moved to your legs, along your stockings and under your skirt. I was surprised that you wore garters and no underwear, and my fingers slipped under the straps of the garter belt to grasp your thighs, my thumbs stroking between your legs as I heard your breath coming faster above me.
You knelt down next to me, and put a finger to your lips, then to mine. We listened, and heard whoever else had come into the office leave again, the click of the front lock muffled but distinct. Again, the office was ours alone, and you put your hands to my face and, this time, you pulled me in for a kiss. One hand continued to hold me close, the other began unbuttoning my shirt.
As our lips connected, you slowly sank back, pulling me down onto you. In seconds, we were both lying down on the plush carpet and I could feel your breasts against the bare skin of my chest. I kissed your neck, the slope of your shoulders, and slipped the straps of your bra down to release your breasts fully to my mouth. Each time my teeth teased the tender skin of your nipples, I heard you gasp and I could feel a tremor go through your body.
I moved my lips down your body, your belly, along your hips under your skirt. Pushing the skirt up, I kissed the line of your garters along your thighs, and with a soft sigh you spread your legs to my probing mouth. Your legs trembled as I slowly moved my tongue along the sensitive skin of your inner leg, and when I slowed briefly your hands on my head pulled me into your sex and you opened your final secrets to me.
My tongue moved along your outer lips, your flesh tasted like moonlight on the ocean as I slowly moved to penetrate you deeper. My mouth opened you wide, and I moved one hand along your stockings, up the quivering skin of your inner thigh, and slowly entered you with two fingers as I continued to lick the entrance to your tunnel.
Your legs were bent on both sides of my head, your hands in my hair, your hips pushing up against me, driving my fingers deeper inside you. You were trembling all over now, and your juices drenched my hand as I stroked your inner flesh. My tongue found your throbbing button and as I slowly licked at it, I heard you let out a sharp groan, then another, higher pitched. I drew your clit into my mouth, sucking it while speeding up my stroking fingers. You moaned again, your hips pumping against me faster, your hands clenching in my hair and I could feel your nails against my scalp.
Untitled 2 by Samantha Wolov
Your clit was hot on my tongue, and I felt your sheath begin contracting around my fingers. Your back arching, you came against me with a sound like a muffled scream and your legs buckled and squeezed me tight against you, pressing me to yourself in an inescapable embrace.
When you collapsed to the rug, your breath was ragged and you moaned as I slipped my fingers from inside you and trailed them along your stomach and across your breasts. Somehow, your bra was entirely off and I moved up to kiss the warm undersides of your breasts, licking the sweat from there and from the hollow in your throat where the moonlight left a shadowed pool.
You raised your head to kiss me, eagerly moving your mouth against mine in spite of being out of breath. Your tongue danced against mine, and the taste of rum lingered, along with lipstick and your own intimate musk.
Finally, you pulled away, and in that unique way women have you slipped your skirt off and removed the garter belt in a few motions, showing your entire glorious body to the moonlight. The office was warm; the night was still young; and you snuggled in to my side with a sigh.
When I moved my hands to your breasts again, you took them in yours and said, sleepily, “You’ve worn me out for now. But we have all night…” Your breathing slowed, steadied, and you began to doze.
So here we are, you sleeping in my arms, the moonlight making a promise of your body for the hours to come. A promise I intend to make you keep.
Originally published January 2011