Syb&b

I was offered an interview for a job and I leapt at the chance. The fact that the job (and interview) was in a different city made me hesitate for a moment, but only a moment. This job suited me as though it had been designed for me and I wasn't going to miss the chance.

I booked a flight and, being rather impecunious, I managed to get a cheap overnight stay at a SkyB&B. I wasn't currently unemployed, but rather under-employed, with my pay likewise being under-paid.

I arrived the next evening and caught an Uber ride to the address where I was staying. The owners, a charming young couple, admitted me and showed me the room. I thanked them and settled down to review what I knew about the company that was interviewing me, wanting to be able to supply answers when asked about the place. I finally went to bed and nodded off.

I woke reasonably early next morning but couldn't be bothered getting up right away. After a while I heard noises indicating that my hosts were up and about so I also got up and dressed.

As soon as I left the room I met my host. He simply nodded and continued on his way, racing out the front door on his way, I presumed, to work. Hearing his car drive off added evidence of that.

Entering the kitchen I met my hostess.

"Good morning," I said, ever polite. "Vicky, isn't it?"

"That's right," she said. "I was just about to make myself an omelette for breakfast. Would you like one?"

"Yes. Thank you." Better than a bit of dry toast that some places would try to fob you off with.

Vicky whipped up the eggs for the omelettes and poured the resultant mess into an omelette maker. She closed the lid and turned it on.

"If you like omelettes you should get one of these," she told me. "No worrying about the right temperature or having to flip them over. Just pour in the mixture and close the lid and sit back and wait."

I was sitting back and waiting and admiring the view. Vicky was a petite young woman with a very nice figure, a pretty face, and a really decent head of hair.

She also had a damned fine bosom. This I could say from personal observation. She was wearing pyjamas, still, and they were quite adequate garments for wearing around the house. I suspected that they were made of silk, as they clung to her figure in a most loving manner.

I also suspected that Vicky hadn't realised that a certain button had popped open. Not the top one, but the next one down, probably put under pressure by her breasts. The result of this was that when she moved around or bent forward slightly I had a perfect view of a very shapely breast, gleaming white with a nice pink tip. Being a gentleman and not wanting to embarrass her I didn't mention this.

Neither did I mention that when she sat down at the table to have her omelette the next button down also popped, leaving her top gaping. I just quietly enjoyed the display and contemplated things.

What was I contemplating, you ask? Surely it's obvious. Firstly I was contemplating as fine a set of breasts as it's been my pleasure to observe. The other thing I was contemplating was more esoteric. Namely, did Vicky really not know that her buttons were undone or was she deliberately teasing me?

She was all smiles, chatting away happily, asking me why I was in town and just making general small talk. She also used her hands extensively when she talked, waving them around, and her breasts shivered and shook and lightly bounced as she gesticulated.

We both finished eating at the same time and Vicky rose to move the plates over to the sink. I also rose as it was now my time to leave.

"I thank you for your hospitality," I said. "There's just one little thing before I go."

That was all the warning she got before I reached over and flicked open the top button, and the two sides of her pyjama top just fell away. A delightful sight to be sure. Vicky apparently didn't find it quite so delightful as she gave a little squeal and tried to close her top. I say tried because I was just a little faster, catching her wrists and holding her arms apart.

"Am I to take it you didn't know that your buttons were undone, letting me admire these beauties all through breakfast?" I asked. To emphasise which beauties I was talking about I released her wrists and brushed me hands lightly over her breasts.

"Don't you touch me," she quickly exclaimed. "I most certainly did not know."

"Um, I hate to call you a liar but if you didn't know why were your nipples so prominently aroused? Just curious."

This time I lightly flicked one of those erect nipples.

"It's the silk of my pyjamas," she said with some haste. "The material rubbing against them has that affect at times."

"Mm," I said, nodding judiciously. "I can see how silk rubbing against them can have that affect. Um, the point is, with your buttons open your pyjamas weren't rubbing against your nipples. The only thing touching them was my eyes."

It was interesting to note that after that first quick attempt to cover-up again she'd just left her breasts on display. Surely it would be more natural to pull the sides into position in a display of maidenly modesty.

"You've had your breakfast. I think it's time for you to go," she stated, looking me firmly in the eye.

"You're right, and a most enjoyable breakfast it was," I said agreeably. "I will take my leave and thank you for your hospitality. First. . ."

I reached out and gave her pyjama bottoms a firm downwards tug. I do like silk. Unlike some materials it doesn't cling but, given the right impetus, slides smoothly over whatever it covers. Her pyjamas just slithered down her legs, pooling at her feet, proving that she didn't wear panties under her pyjamas and that her shaving wasn't just her mons, as her legs looked to be just as smooth.

I know for a fact that her mons was incredibly smooth for my hand slipped over it and between her legs, cupping her vulva and feeling the heat and moisture emanating from it. I very reluctantly withdrew my hand before Vicky had a chance to tell me to.

From the look on her face I wasn't sure that she would have told me to move my hand - not and mean it anyway. She was blushing but she also looked excited.

"Vicky," I said, keeping my voice nice and gentle, "why don't you lean back against the table?"

I also unzipped as I was suggesting that. Her blush deepened at the suggestion and she swallowed.

"You do know I'm a married woman?" she said, waving her rings at me.

"Yes, and that's a consolation to me," I admitted. "It means you know exactly what I want to do to you and you'll know how to respond when I do it."

"But my husband. . ." she began, and I broke in.

"Is irrelevant. He's not here and I am and you can see I'm ready to go."

By that time my trousers were pushed down and my erection was on full display, and she was watching it. Sort of the way you'd watch a snake, wondering if it was going to strike.

"And if I say no and tell you to leave?"

"In that situation I'd have to leave but I'd be so uptight that I'd probably make a total mess of my interview, totally ruining any chance of getting the job. When you consider it, it's really an act of charity to help me get ready for the interview."

"Of all the specious argument. . ." she said with a bit of a gasp.

"I know. Ridiculous, but a man will say anything at a time like this. Come on. Lean back against the table."

I place a hand on her tummy and pressed, very lightly. As light as the touch was it was enough to have her move back against the table, finishing up leaning back against it, her hands going behind her to serve as a prop.

My hand once more glided over her mons, seeking her treasure. A gentle probe and it seemed to me that any foreplay would be a waste of time. I suspected that her actions over breakfast had been all the foreplay she required.

I eased per lips apart, adjusting the position of my cock so it was pressing lightly against her, and let her lips close around me. I leant back just a little, giving her a clear view of what was happening, and she was certainly watching.

I just held myself there for a moment, wanting to see if she'd panic and cry off, but it didn't happen. What did happen was that she got tired of waiting and started pressing against me. With that sort of a hint I proceeded to proceed, driving firmly into her.

I was right about one thing -- Vicky certainly knew how to respond. I was in my happy place, thrusting into her with great vigour, and she was responding, pushing just as hard to meet me. She also continued to watch as my cock plunged in and out of her body, apparently finding it fascinating.

My hands came up to capture her breasts and that seemed to signal the next phase of the action. She'd shaken one leg free from her pyjamas and now her legs came up and wrapped around my waist, holding me tight and helping to pull me deeper into her with each thrust.

I'd like to point out that I did remember that she was married and my hands on her breasts were gentle, teasing and tantalising but not bruising. She was pressing her breasts harder against my hands that I was groping them.

I kept thrusting into her, not going full out yet, just working on her, building up her arousal. I was hoping that I'd be able to tell when she was getting near to a climax, but timing that can be a bit iffy.

She'd been remarkably silent while we were going. When she started to make some funny little sounds as I drove in I took that as the signal that said it was time to get a move on. I picked up the pace and she responded, keeping up with me but now she was a lot noisier. And I mean a lot.

She squealed and gasped and urged me onwards, demanding I go faster, harder, deeper. I felt like pointing out that I was only human and could only do so much but what the hell? I simply pounded into her, trying to give her what she wanted, and thoroughly enjoying the effort.

The way she was carrying on at the end there I sort of assumed that she'd scream her fool head off when she climaxed, but it wasn't to be. She actually fell silent, simply shuddering and shaking, and accepting what I gave her as I relaxed and let my own climax take place.

"Right," she said afterwards. "I'm going to go and get cleaned up. I assume that you'll be gone by the time I'm done."

I inclined my head in acceptance of my marching orders and she marched off to the bathroom and I headed out to catch an Uber to my destination.

I didn't think about Vicky as I went on my way. Well, except as a very pleasant memory. However, she was recalled very vividly to mind when I was checking my credit card statement. The SkyB&B account was fifty more than what had been quoted. I promptly rang SkyB&B asking for an explanation.

"That charge, sir, is marked as a cleaning up cost. We're told that you'll know exactly what that meant."

I knew alright. I'd been taken to the cleaners.