I grew up in a strict, religious, cold family environment in a small town in the Midwest, and I didn't begin to question my place in it till my late teens. The first step in the process was losing my religious faith, which began when I started reading the Bible closely. The second was losing my virginity, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, to my one and only boyfriend. A selfish, immature fellow whom I soon lost interest in.
I enrolled for a year at a technical college far enough away from home to get me clear of my straight-laced family. I lived in a dormitory residence and made a few friends. I even got laid a couple of times just for the experience. Nothing serious developed.
Before my twentieth birthday I made it to the big city, where I landed a job, much to my amazement, as a personal assistant cum secretary to a rather dishy business executive who worked out of a fifteenth floor office in a downtown high-rise. My qualifications weren't the greatest and for weeks I wondered why was hired. Then one day Mr. Holt told me the reason.
"Because you're beautiful," he said. "I hired you because I like being around young, attractive women. And you're the most stunningly gorgeous young lady I've ever come across."
I blushed, of course, and half expected a pass to follow up this admission. By then I wouldn't have minded, because I'd developed quite a crush on handsome Mr. Holt. But none came. He was always so respectful, so reserved. It was all part of his sweet, even-tempered nature.
And it turned out the job was relatively easy. I took care of e-mails and fairly simple paper work, ran errands, fielded phone calls. Much of this Mr. Holt could have dealt with himself, but he could afford to pay me to help out and, as he said, he liked having me around.
I occupied a small reception area outside his office and the weeks went by with very few visitors. Most of the time we were alone in that section of the fifteenth floor and I enjoyed the quiet, relaxed aura of the place, especially in the late afternoons and early evenings. For our days started late and went long. Over time I got to learn the main reason for this.
Mr. Holt was in his mid-forties, and had two sons who had already left home to start careers of their own. But he was married to a woman a few years older than himself, I learned, and she had many medical issues. She was also not a very easy woman to get along with. I never met her, but on the few occasions when she called on the phone she was very abrupt and rude to me. She never even bothered to ask my name. She demanded to know why her husband didn't answer his own phone. After talking to her I thought I knew the answer to that. And I understood why Mr. Holt liked to work into the evening and put off going home.
He never talked about his troubled home life except for giving me the general outline of the situation. But one detail he did let slip was that he and his wife slept in separate bedrooms and had done so for the last five years. Was it any wonder he looked so sad sometimes, though he was always ready to smile at me when I entered the room.
We would sometimes go out for dinner after our long days and he would rarely talk about himself, preferring to ask me about my own life, my interests, my past, my future plans. He was amazed that I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't tell him of course that I already had quite a crush on someone. Someone who was sitting right across the table from me.
Things might have gone along in this manner for ages but for what happened on my birthday. I came back from some errand to find an expensive bouquet of flowers on my desk along with the sweetest note, telling me what a difference my presence had made in his life the past few months.
I strode into his office, welcomed as usual by the warmest smile, and as he stood up I moved around his desk and gave him a hug. Which lasted and lasted and lasted.
When we finally looked at each other a kiss was inevitable. A kiss which lasted and lasted and lasted. Till we were hungrily tonguing each other and I could feel his hands reaching down to clutch at my ass. I could also feel a solid bulge at his crotch as he hugged me to him.
"Such a stunning ass," he muttered as our kiss finally broke off. "Have you any idea how long I've lusted after your gorgeous, incredible ass?"
I couldn't answer. I was too excited. I was breathless. And I had no resistance, only a joyful thrill as I felt his hands on my hips, gently raising my skirt higher and higher.
When it was up around my waist he gently lifted me onto his desk and eased me onto my back. Then he was urging my legs apart and stroking his hands up and down the material of my stockings. His head dipped down and he began licking my crotch through my panties.
I was already wet. I'm sure my underpants showed tell-tale signs of pussy juice. But they were soon much wetter, as he continued to lick and kiss my cunt through the material.
And all the time his hands were stroking up and down my inner thighs, making soft rasping sounds against my stockings.
"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" I mumbled. I could feel an orgasm building already, and he hadn't even gotten my panties off!
Eventually he did raise his head, though I sensed he didn't want to. He was so hungry for me! It was as if he hadn't had any sex in years, which may well have been the case.
He hooked his fingers into the waist-band of my underpants and hauled them down. I closed my legs and in seconds I was naked from the waist down but for my stockings. His head dipped back down between my legs and he began to lick my outer labia, scraping his tongue up one side and down the other. Then his tongue went lower, to the center of things, and he started licking between the pulpy lips in long, slow, languorous strokes.
"Sweet fuck! Sweet fuck!" I panted. I was writhing on the desk, and I heard papers and writing materials falling to the floor.
Then he touched my clit, gently at first, with the tip of his tongue, and a surge of rapture went through me. It felt so good! No one had ever done this to me before. None of the so-called studs I'd had previously, and I could count them on one hand, had taken the time or the trouble to do this to me, so intent were they on their own pleasure. And now I was in heaven, floating on a cloud of joy as the orgasm grew and grew inside me.
He began to work on my clit in earnest, flicking it with his tongue this way and that. He pressed it down harshly, then backed off, barely touching it with the tip of his tongue. He teased me and played with me, pushing me ever closer to a shattering climax.
"Beautiful, beautiful cunt," he gasped at one point, before dipping back down. His fingers gently pried open my outer labia till I'm sure I was gaping inches wide.
I began moaning. I was somewhere beyond speech. I was writhing and wriggling so hard I'm amazed he could stay with me. But he did. He didn't let up. He kept working my clit till I thought I would burst. And eventually I did. Waves of intense pleasure rolled through me and in the throes of my climax I began to spurt great gouts of pussy juice all over his face! Jet after jet of the stuff spurted out, and what didn't hit him in the face shot halfway across the room! What an orgasm! What a fucking thrill! I seemed to be almost peeing on him, so much juice shot free! And all the while the most intense, mind-blowing pleasure ripping through me. I couldn't believe such rapture was possible. And it seemed to go on and on and on. I wanted it to! I never wanted it to end!
But eventually of course it faded. The pleasure subsided. And my thighs and belly and pussy too, I'm sure, were left to twitch and ripple with after-shocks. With his mouth and tongue still locked to my cunt, licking, slurping, cleaning up my spasming twat.
