This is a lightly fictionalized account of a real encounter. Tracey, you were one heck of a girl...
*
Tracey was a very naughty girl. We'd met at work. It started out with flirting in the coffee room, and that led to flirting over email. Tracey was a little shy at first - at 28, she was a little younger than me - but our exchanges slowly got hotter and hotter. And then I asked about fantasies. Fantasies about me, she asked? If you have them, I wrote back. Yes, she replied. But what should she write? What words should she use? I told her that she should use whatever words she felt comfortable with. It turned out that she was comfortable with naughty words. And that she had some naughty ideas for us.
She fantasized about "fucking" in the woods. She wanted to be naked outside. Her big breasts bare, and hanging free, her pussy wet. To be on her knees before me. To unzip my fly, open my belt, pull down my jeans. I was getting hard reading this email at my desk, thinking about those fabulous tits that I'd been imagining over the last weeks. Tracey wore tight sweaters, and I swear that sometimes I could see her nipples hardening when we were talking...
"I'll take your cock between my lips," she wrote, "Flick the tip with my tongue, slide my mouth over the shaft. I want to look up and see you looking down at me, your engorged cock sliding between my lips, my big breasts bouncing in time to the movements of my head." I had to take care that no one was reading over my shoulder, or could see my increasingly urgent erection. She knew that she'd like the taste of my cock, knew that she'd like taking my cum in her mouth, on her face, on her breasts.
Her fantasy finished with me cumming in her greedy mouth, streaks of cum dangling from her chin, dripping on her nipples. And she signed off asking what I'd do for her.
It was Friday afternoon, and I had started to type a reply, which saw me in between her spread legs, my tongue darting over her rapidly moistening pussy, when the tone sounded to indicate that I had a new message. And my cock stiffened some more when I saw it was from Tracey, and was entitled "In preparation...". I clicked to read it.
"I got so wet just now", she wrote, "writing to you, that I just had to come. I went into the restroom and rubbed my clit, while imagining that it was you down there, licking, licking, licking. I put my fingers in my cunt, and frigged myself. I tried to hold back a while, so I could enjoy the sensation, and then slid a finger in my ass."
Shit!
"I had to bite on my arm to stifle my moans. Imagining your tongue there! Was that naughty? I came all over my hand. And then, when I opened the cubicle door, Cindy from accounts was there, and she gave me the funniest look."
Cindy from accounts was a statuesque blonde, and the only woman in the office who could possibly have rivaled Tracey's tits for sheer scale. And this would have been a comparison I'd have been glad to make, but right then, I was more focused on another detail from Tracey's mail - imagining my tongue there! Tracey was a sexy, large breasted, round-assed woman, who was writing me dirty emails in which she detailed the ways she wanted to fuck me. All this was good, but if she was into rimming too...
My reply took shape quickly. There would be no question of my neglecting to moisten her pussy lips with my tongue and slide some urgent fingers between them, but I hadn't originally intended to mention my desire to turn her over onto her belly, part those fleshly buttocks, and run my flickering tongue over her other hole. Now, emboldened, I developed this theme extensively, imagining the subtle musk of her asshole, the darting forays of my mobile tongue, my circular motions, the tensing I would feel around the first finger, as her ass started to open... I told her that she'd been very naughty in the restroom, and that Cindy from accounts probably felt left out. And that next time she should leave the cubicle door ajar.
Her reply was short and to the point. She'd expect me at nine o'clock tonight, and that I shouldn't dress for dinner!
---
I arrived at nine sharp, a bottle of wine under my arm, and a rock hard, anticipatory erection in my pants. Tracey lived on the second floor apartment of a converted house a couple of blocks from the ocean. I climbed the wooden staircase, and knocked at her door. After a brief pause, it opened, and there she was, in front of me, the office pant suit replaced by a floating robe affair which, while not flattering to her generous curves, added to the dreamlike quality of this rendez-vous.
She darted up on tiptoes to plant a brief kiss on my lips, and then took me by the hand and led me inside. Low lighting, subtle furnishings, wine glasses and soft, trippy electronic music, suggested a sophisticated evening ahead of us. The large pink dildo, lying on one of the sofa cushions pointed to more interesting activities.
"Oh! I hope you don't mind," said Tracey in mock embarrassment, "I got a little impatient for you to arrive!" Then she started to blush for real, "On my god, I can't believe I'm talking to you like this! Or those emails. You're a naughty man. You've been leading me on, these last weeks. It started out as fun, but somewhere along the way... How did you get me to write those things?" She bade me sit down and then sat close beside me, "It was so sexy, writing it all down!"
"It was really hot," I said, "I started to get an erection every time I saw I'd gotten mail. I didn't go as far as you though, in seeking relief!"
"Oh shit," she said, smiling broadly at me, her hand moving, seemingly spontaneously to my thigh, "I've never done anything like that before. Not at the office. But when I was there, in that bathroom stall, with my panties round my ankles, rubbing my clit, I've never felt so horny. It was so difficult not to scream out!"
"And did you really," I asked, blushing in turn, "put your finger..."