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Names (at least my co-worker’s) have been changed to mask her true identity.
I’d had, to put it mildly, “the hots” for a female co-worker for several years. I would be really, really keen on her for a concentrated period, usually as a result of working closely, then we’d drift apart again, only for the pattern to repeat over and over across our years of working together.
The first time I set eyes on my new colleague, I was literally stunned — at 33, she looked far too beautiful and professional to work at the same place I’d known and tolerated for eight years already. No way she would last.
But, despite many people’s doubts, she became one of the most successful project managers within the small company and we ended up working together on most of the high-profile projects. It wasn’t until she’d been there maybe five years when she started making sure I was involved in the majority of her projects — virtually all of them. She also became my best friend.
We didn’t travel much initially — we had people in the field who dealt specifically with sales and people in the field who dealt specifically with installations. I was occasionally called-up to do some serious schmoozing and once-in-a-while troubleshooting in the field. My friendly PM (let’s call her Cindy) was rarely asked to travel at that point and couldn’t really do so anyway, with two children at home and a husband who traveled a lot for a different company. And I mean a LOT — virtually every week he’d be away somewhere, returning home only on weekends.
As I already mentioned, my feelings for Cindy would run hot and cold. Sometimes I felt I was falling in love with her, other times she was the perfect asexual friend, other times all I wanted to do was explore what I suspected was her neglected body (with her acquiescence, of course). The whole time, I demonstrated nothing but respect for her, no matter my inner turmoil.
Cindy has a nice figure, maybe a little skinnier than my idea of perfection, but her smile more than made up for any perceived shortcomings. One flash of that smile with those eyes and men would do anything for her. She rarely flirted in any other way, but she knew how to get things done by voluntary delegation.
Around 2004 or so, we both started traveling a little more, although not necessarily on the same projects. Inevitably, we found ourselves in Markham, a northern suburb of Toronto, on the same two days. I was there for one client, she for another. We weren’t even in the same hotels as the first choice (the Radisson on Hwy 7) was full when she tried to book (I got in, ok, ahead of her). We each had a fairly fruitful (separate) day on day 1 and decided to have breakfast together the next morning (at my hotel), then I would drive us both to the office and from there we’d go downtown in a single car for dinner that evening.
We met in the restaurant of the Radisson, had breakfast and piled all our stuff into my rental, from where I drove us both into our Markham office. We then proceeded to work our separate mornings, until Cindy tracked me down at lunchtime and asked if I’d like sandwich or anything (I was pretty much in meetings the whole day). I was very happy to have her bring me something back, at which point she held out her hand, expecting something.
“You can expense it, you know? You don’t need my money right now, do you?” I asked, puzzled.
“The car keys, please? Remember you drove?”
Duh me, of course. So I handed her over the keys, a little embarrassed and hoping not many other people realized we’d ridden in together (gossip travels fast, whether justified or not, within a small company). Cindy departed and returned a while later with lunch, my car keys being returned inside the brown bag. Great!
The afternoon passed quickly and before I knew it, the office was emptying out and Cindy came down to the fourth floor to find me. “Are you ready?” she asked, fidgeting in anticipation of a nice dinner with maybe some wine.
I was more than ready and always happy to spend time alone with her. I was entering another of those “I think I’m falling in love with her” periods and was very well aware of this. I suspect she was aware of it too — she’s exceptionally perceptive but rarely lets on.
We drove down town and I parked under the Saint Lawrence Market, not far off the Gardiner Expressway. Hopefully that would make it much easier to get back ON the expressway — I had a knack of not finding optimal ways out of the downtown area. It was a streak I intended to break this evening.
So we walked in search of a restaurant to our liking, quite some distance west on Front Street, then turned around and headed back east when we couldn’t see anything which struck our fancy. As we were (re-)passing Church Street (with Toronto’s equivalent of NY’s Flatiron building), I glanced down to my right and noticed a subtle sign “Papillion” — French for butterfly. It looked like a typical, country-style French restaurant canlı bahis şirketleri from the outside and the menu looked traditional and authentic enough. We decided to give it a try, particularly as we’d been walking for about a half hour. We were hungry!
The meal was delicious (I don’t even remember what we had) and we accompanied it with first one and then a second bottle of Bordeaux. It all went down very easily and before we realized it, we were finished and it was after 10pm. I settled up and we headed the two blocks back to where we’d parked. At least that part was easy! I don’t even recall what we chatted about, but I know Cindy was a little looser than usual, more animated and touching on topics she’d normally feel too inhibited to broach (including those of a sexual nature). Little did I know JUST how uninhibited she was about to get…
We paid for the parking and I swung out of the Saint Lawrence building, made a couple turns and ended up heading east, parallel to the expressway but with no available ramp to access it. And the street we were on was getting more poorly-lit and pedestrians had become nonexistent. The businesses turned from retail establishments to unidentifiable standalones with chain-link fences and big gates. Cindy grew quiet “where are we going? Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked, a little worriedly.
I honestly don’t know what made me do this (I guess the wine had gotten to me a little, too), but I started to make up a story for her: “I’m looking for an appropriately-secluded clearing, a little back from street or any other lights, where we can stop and we can get out of the car.”
I could feel her eyes on me, questioning but waiting for me to continue.
After a brief pause, I did: “then I’m going to ask you to lean against the car with your hands, while I undo your pants and pull them down to your ankles.”
No negative reaction from Cindy — this was more promising than I had hoped-for. So I continued, licking my dry lips…
“Then I’m going to do the same with your underwear — I’m going to pull it down and it will join your pants around your ankles. Your entire pelvic region will be exposed to the warm, night air — and me.”
So far, so good. She wasn’t complaining — seemed to be all ears, in fact.
“Then I’m going to lean in and kiss the small of your back, and a few inches either side, along your waistline. Your skin feels warm to me and I love the light smacking sound of my kisses on your private flesh. I’ve waited so long for this… then I move my mouth back to the top of your tailbone and extend my tongue…”
At which point CINDY went on “trailing it down my butt-crack, slowly teasing over my asshole and onto my…” Then she stopped, apparently unsure how to refer to the next part of her private anatomy.
And that’s when I saw the ramp on the left for the Gardiner Expressway. DAMN! I briefly considered driving right past it, but who knows where we might end up if I did that — I’d prefer to get back onto a brightly-lit road with other drivers.
“Sorry!” I said — “I need to concentrate for a bit, we’re headed back onto the expressway” and so a silence ensured from both of us while I negotiated the fairly heavy traffic, all the way back up to Markham. It was likely only fifteen minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime of silence and portent. What would happen when I dropped her off at her car? What would happen the next day? Had we crossed some unspoken (actually, SPOKEN, in this case!) barrier from which there was no light-hearted return? I had shared my desire to explore Cindy with my tongue, while she had encouraged me!
I pulled into the parking lot of the Radisson and, not knowing where Cindy had parked that morning, asked her where her car was.
“Oh, don’t bother — I can walk to it — just park wherever you can”, she replied. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to let her walk to it alone — and I was pretty sure I’d get a nice goodnight hug out of the deal, at a minimum. It HAD been an extremely pleasant and arousing evening, no two ways about it — at least for me.
I pulled into a spot around two thirds of the way back from the front of the fairly-full lot and unlocked the trunk so we could both get our laptop cases (and Cindy’s purse) out.
“So where’s your car?” I asked again. Cindy looked across three cars to our left “right there!” she pointed, with a gleeful smile. I escorted her the twenty feet or so to her rental, wherein she fished her keys out of her purse and opened her trunk, dropping in her laptop bag and closing it firmly after her.
She turned to me, placing her purse on the closed trunk lid. I let my laptop bag slide off my shoulder, gently onto the ground between my legs and the rear of Cindy’s car, where it flopped quietly onto its side. The air was electric between us. I reached out first, opening my arms just below shoulder height on Cindy. She stepped forward into my pending embrace, wrapping her own arms around canlı kaçak iddaa me, just above my own shoulders. Our heads moved toward one another, each sliding to the left as our faces touched, in an intimate, close hug. She smelled heavenly, despite a day in the office and a couple hours or so in a restaurant. There was a residual, mild floral scent from either soap of laundry detergent, coupled with a slightly muskier scent emanating from her neck below her ear. I breathed deeply, very deeply, as held her upper body firmly against me. I don’t think she was expecting quite such a strong hug, as she seemed to startle a little and released her hold on my neck, stepping back slightly.
Then she moved forward, back into the hug, this time also moving her pelvis toward mine, pressing the whole length of her legs and torso against my legs and torso.
Basically a full-body hug, something I had NEVER received from Cindy before. She even shimmied her hips a little as she pressed against me. I was startled into inaction — I simply did not know how to react — except to enjoy it.
Before releasing me, she took a second to whisper into my right ear “can we go up to your room and maybe continue from where we were …er … Interrupted earlier … by that nasty ramp?”
I don’t know how I avoided starting to shake. She was offering me a chance to continue our earlier verbal liaison — like phone sex or net sex, except using true conversation, in the same room. I’d be insane to turn her down — not only was she a beautiful woman, I was pretty sure I was falling in love with her again and really — we were only going to talk — where was the harm?
I dipped down and picked up my laptop bag, while Cindy slung her purse over her shoulder, as we walked at a painfully-artificial pace toward the hotel lobby. Through the double doors, over to the elevator bank on the right. There was one waiting for us, door already open. We ducked inside before anyone else who may know us could see us — the bar sounded fairly loud and this was the hotel of choice for visitors to our company headquarters.
I pressed seven and the doors seemed to take forever to close. Finally, we were on our way up to my room. That was probably one of the more awkward thirty-second periods in my life — I just didn’t know what to do — make small-talk, stare at the floor, at the walls, at the increasing floor-indicator number? I was only too happy and very relieved when we arrived at seven and the doors opened. I told Cindy “732”, pointing down the hallway to our right. I let the lady lead (to be honest, I almost always let Cindy walk a few paces in front of me when we were anywhere, for the simple reason she has an absolutely awesome butt — it’s truly a joy to watch in motion, like a well-sculpted and coordinated work of kinetic art, with just the ideal amount of jiggle in her cheeks).
She stopped outside room 732 and I dipped my keycard in the slot. A buzz, a click and we were in. I quickly moved over to the head of the one queen bed and turned on the bedside light — a nice low level of illumination. Cindy let the door close behind her and sized-up the room, before placing her purse on the corner of the desk, kicking off her shoes and kneeling on the end of the bed, facing the headboard.
I must have looked like a fool, standing there, blocking most of the light, with my mouth half-open. It didn’t seem to bother Cindy, as she extended one arm toward me, curling her forefinger in a “come here” motion, wordlessly and silent. I brought my head close to hers and she whispered to me, in a hesitant, raspy under-tone “aren’t you going to pick up where we left off? Don’t we have to make a couple moves to get back to that state?” as she undid the button and zipper on her pants, sliding back a little to place her feet back on the floor, allowing me to stand behind her and help her pants down to her ankles, for real this time.
And, just like in our imaginations before, her panties followed immediately afterward, Cindy taking care to kick her pants and underwear fully off her legs, across to under the window. My heart stopped, I swear it. Time had no meaning for me anymore. This was my nirvana, standing there, my face inches from Cindy’s absolutely adorable bottom, my nose twitching like a rabbit’s. I could smell her. There was no doubt she was aroused. Pheromones were rife within the room. I breathed deeply once, twice, then remembered to exhale too. Cindy’s musky aroma (combination of her privates, I guessed) filled my senses. I don’t know how I even kept my balance, other than by reaching out place one hand, fingers fully extended, on each of Cindy’s perfect butt-cheeks. Ok, I may say “perfect”, but they could have been a little larger, as is my usual preference. But they were sure close enough to perfection for me.
I contracted my finger muscles a little, curving the ends of my fingers into Cindy’s soft flesh. Just the right amount of “give”, with a satisfying firmness underneath canlı kaçak bahis and a delectable wobble when I re-straightened my outstretched fingers. I kissed the lower part of her spine, then along her waist a few inches in either direction, before returning to the small of her back, then down to the top of her tailbone, just as I had described in the car, earlier.
Cindy shimmied her hips; I’m not sure if it was in impatience or excitement. But the wobble this action set off in her bottom was exquisite — I loved to watch her cheeks jiggle in unison, the presence of my hands not doing a whole lot to impact the motion.
My reverie was broken by Cindy asking “well? What comes next?”
I’m sure I must have had a huge smile on my face as I used my hands to lightly pull her wonderful cheeks apart, just enough to expose the groove of her butt crack and her super-private rear hole, nestled at the lower end. I leant forward once more, extended my tongue and started to drag it down the middle of Cindy’s butt crack, making sure to press firmly the whole way down, slowly and firmly does it. This is not a natural direction in which to lick, so it felt a little peculiar to me as the tip of my tongue kept losing contact every inch or so. I never even made it to her sweet little asshole before I decided to try a different tack.
Moving my hands down a little and extending my thumbs, I was able to encourage Cindy to bend over a little more as I gently tugged the lips of her labia apart, just enough to raise the musky smell in my nose by quite a few degrees. She was quite, quite wet! I extended my tongue and probed at the front of her mons, where her labia started, just above (at this angle) where I hoped to find her clit in a short while.
I swept my tongue up the slit at the middle of her mons, pushing her outer labia to each side as I made firm contact with her inner, usually-protected, flesh. All the way up to the entrance to her front passage. Feeling the hole opening ahead of my tongue, I tried to thrust the tip inside her passage, to be met with what I can only describe as a deluge of her private secretions — her “secret sauce” I had fantasized about over and over and over again, so many times. This was intimacy to the extreme and even as my senses were assaulted by Cindy’s privates and their products, I was having a rapture-like experience of my own. All my senses were heightened — touch, taste, hearing, sight (even in the gloom of the room) and smell. I was inundated with sensory overload and soaking it up. Literally, in some cases.
I swept my tongue up the length of her slit again. And again. And again. Repeatedly, each time starting just a teeny bit further down, getting nearer and nearer to Cindy’s neglected clit. Then I actually made contact with its protective hood, pressing firmly upon it with my tongue. Cindy moaned the most beautiful sound I had ever heard from her mouth “Mmmmmm…yyyyyyeeeeeeeeesssssssssss…”
Now I was dedicated working lower down, Cindy scooched her knees up onto the bed, widened her legs and little more and presented her slightly upturned privates to me at an even more advantageous angle. I was able to slide the first two fingers of my right hand up the length of her slit and curve them into her front passage, easily moving into the tight, wet warmth she offered. They slipped in very easily indeed, all the way to the base of my fingers, whereupon I started to explore inside her with my fingertips, curling and extending, seeking the secret set of ridges every women has, just over her public bone.
I redoubled my tonging efforts around her clitoral hood, urging her sensitive pearl to come out for some special attention of its own. I could tell I was doing something right, because the combination of my two activities was pushing Cindy to make higher and higher-pitched and less and less coherent noises from her mouth, her throat, her lungs. She must have been very, very close to coming, as all it took was one additional finger (my little finger) from my right hand to curl over her taint and apply the slightest of pressures to her rear entrance, her sweet, enticing asshole, as it winked at me.
I didn’t even manage to get the tip fully in before Cindy shuddered, convulsed and clamped down really hard on the two fingers embedded in her front passage. Her vaginal walls tightened and compressed my fingers with a surprising degree of intensity, spasming one, two, three and a fourth time as I continued to press into her, withdrawing my tongue but following her with my fingers as her knees gave out and she collapsed, flat, face-down on the bed, breathing hard and irregularly.
As her body started to relax and her breathing became calmer and shallower, I pushed her legs apart a little and eased my two fingers from her still-twitching vagina. There was a substantial amount of viscous fluid on them, particularly between them. It smelled wonderful as I smeared them across my lips, sucking them into my mouth and tasted Cindy’s ambrosia until it was no more.
This day had turned out a million times better than I ever could have hoped — and — looking at the clock, it wasn’t quite midnight and Cindy was passed-out, naked from the waist down, on my bed.
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