Working Late 42

Chip brought in the Chinese take-out I'd ordered. We had been working nonstop for hours now, preparing for the board of trustees meeting the next day. It was almost seven and I was famished.

"Ms. Caulfield, they didn't have any duck sauce." He handed me an eggroll in a waxed paper sleeve.

"Oh well, we'll have to soldier on without it."

Chip was my new executive assistant and he was shaping up well, able to keep up with my grueling pace. This was not the first time he had worked late with me, but we had never had the office to ourselves. Even the cleaner had gone home.

As I dipped into the sweet and sour pork, I noticed his tie dangling into the General Tso's chicken carton and narrowly avoided choking on my mouthful.

"Chip," I laughed, "You're a mess."

I watched him as his handsome face took on the comical shape of surprise and embarrassment. His fashionable tie was dripping sauce, threatening his crisp white shirt. I leaned over and caught the tie in a napkin. His hands brushed mine as he took over the napkin and tie.

The contact sent unexpected ripples of excitement through my chest, startling me.

I had noticed his trim waist, broad shoulders and long legs when I hired him, but had only registered these features in passing. But now I studied him more closely. He was of an unusual coloring, with black hair and blue eyes, and his tan forearms hinted at a toned physique. As I watched, he loosened his tie and slipped it off.

I found myself wondering what he looked like under his dress shirt, then jerked my thoughts back in line. I had no business looking at him like that.

I focused on my food, trying to distract myself with maneuvering my chopsticks. When I looked up, I found Chip looking at me intently.

"You need to relax, Ms.Caulfield. Tomorrow's meeting is just a meeting. You're getting too tense about it."

It was true I was tense, my neck and back muscles knotted and aching.

"You're right. But it's hard, so much is riding on this presentation. If Henderson doesn't go for our pitch, it could mean-"

"No," Chip interrupted. "You need to relax, not think about Henderson. Forget him for a minute."

Relaxing went against my grain. I was a type A, always working, always striving to achieve my goals. Relaxing was something other people did. Chip must have seen this on my face.

"Before I started here, I was a massage therapist. It taught me how much more productive people are when they take time to destress. Here, let me help. Slip off those shoes. I'll give you a foot rub."

I hesitated. This was not inappropriate, per se. My last assistant, Angela, had occasionally massaged my temples when I developed migraines. But Angela was a middle-aged, maternal woman. Not a hot young man.

"C'mon," he coaxed. "It'll do you good."

I continued to waver.

"It's been a long day and I bet those shoes are uncomfortable."

I decided that if I got more pleasure than was professional, he didn't have to know. I could satisfy the rising itch when I got home, armed with a vibrator and a vivid imagination.

"Sure, Chip, that would be great."

He pulled over the ottoman I liked to put my feet up on when reading long reports. Seating himself, he picked up my right foot and let it rest on his knee.

"Those shoes are bad for your feet. Your tendons and joints become misaligned."

"Hmm... I know you're right, but it's part of the look."

He stroked the ball of my foot with his thumb and worked his way towards the heel. Boy, he was good at this. I closed my eyes and let my mind run free. I imagined his strong, warm hands roaming over my body, imagined how good his taut collarbone would feel under my tongue.

"See, your ankles get twisted." He adjusted my foot so that he could reach the ankle, continued his massage. I was deep in my fantasy of unzipping his trousers when he moved on to my calf.

"Then your muscles get knotted from the unnatural position of your feet."

"Mmm."

I had flashes of erotic positions flit through my mind as his hands touched me, and squirmed a little in my seat. I wanted to move a little to ease my tension with the feeling of the smooth flow of my silk panties over my shaven pussy, but my ankle was securely tucked against his side as he worked over the back of my calf. Chip had me immobilized in his grip.

"You're really tight in here," he said as he switched to the front of my leg, up by the knee. He gently pulled my leg onto his lap and rubbed my knee with the palms of his hands. "I'm warming the muscles now, loosening things up."

He expertly massaged all around the kneecap then started on the sides of my knees. This was more than a foot rub, but he was being professional and detached, so I let him continue. What he didn't know about my thoughts wouldn't hurt him.

I was disappointed when he shifted, seemingly ready to stop. But no, he was adjusting his position to better work on the tendons and muscles behind my knee and above the knee crease. I drifted off under his expert touch. My entire leg lay across his lap and my skirt had ridden up. I had intense images fleeting through my mind. I burned hot between my legs, longing to touch myself, touch him.

"OK, other foot." He eased my right leg off his lap and gestured for my left foot.

This brought me back to the reality of the situation, getting a friendly massage, not ravishing my executive assistant. I let him put my foot on his knee again. He went through the same routine with my left foot, starting on the sole of my foot, then the ankle, up the calf to my knee.

I was no longer drifting on fantasies, acutely aware of every stroke and caress as if he had a direct connection to my clitoris. He shifted my leg for better access to my knee and my pussy lips shifted too. It was exquisite torture.

When he began on the back of my thigh, he asked, "Is this good?"

I didn't trust myself to speak normally so I made an affirmative noise.

"Your hamstrings and quadriceps are tight too. You don't relax enough, Ms. Caulfield."

He switched to massaging the top of my thigh. My skirt had ridden up more. If it rode up much further, the tops of my stockings would show. Chip had now moved up the outside of my thigh, over my skirt, and did something wonderful with the whole muscle group. I couldn't help it, I sighed.

"That's right, you need to loosen up. I bet your adductor muscles could use some attention." He shifted my leg again and said, "Let's start down here. These are your hamstrings." He was massaging the back of my thigh, palm on the inner thigh and fingers curling around. When he moved his hand up my skirt, I didn't stop him. He now placed the flat of his hand against my inner thigh and massaged the muscle there. The tips of his fingers slid up beyond the lacey top of my stocking as he worked his way up. I quivered inside.

I was about to object when he said, "This is your adductor group. You're remarkably tense here." I found I couldn't stop him. His hand worked higher and higher, still expertly manipulating my muscles in a way that showed he had indeed been trained.

When his hand slid above my stocking, he said, "Good, it's easier without anything in the way." He worked some more in silence. If he went much further, he'd touch my panties, which I was sure were sopping wet by now. I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do.

He had been an entirely professional massage therapist until now, and I anticipated him finishing and removing his hands from my flesh, my aching, quivering flesh that longed for more.

Instead his fingertips brushed the crotch of my panties.

"Ms. Caulfield, I think you're holding tension here, too." He rubbed gently against my panties, the lightest touch. He looked into my eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm very tense."

He smiled at me. "Let me take care of that for you. Just relax."

The sexual tension had tightened me up despite his massage, but now I relaxed into it, let everything go, let him take charge.

He grasped my ankle and bent my leg so that he could kiss the inside of my thigh, just above the knee. It felt as if there was nothing else in the world but his mouth and my body. I closed my eyes and focused on the gentle movement of his lips, slippery against my stockings, his hot breath. Each kiss, each flick of his tongue brought him closer to my clitoris, which was pulsing with the beat of my heart. A braided cord of excitement drew a line between my pussy and the heat building in my stomach.

I yielded to his gentle pressure as he spread my legs. He just barely touched my panties as his kisses led him deeper between my legs. Each touch pushed me higher and when he reached the bare skin of my thigh I let out a deep moan. His fingers continued lightly stroking the crotch of my panties. I was beginning to pant.

My skirt was pushed up around my waist now. With achingly slow movements, Chip's hand made its way up my outer thigh and hip until he reached the string waist of my silk bikinis. His other hand joined. I helped him pull my panties off. The wet fabric clung to my smooth lips. I was dripping wet. The cool air on my overheated pussy made me cry out and spread my legs wider. I wanted to be touched there. I wanted to be filled. But Chip continued his light kisses up my thigh. I writhed and cried out. I couldn't stand the slow progress of his mouth, but he wouldn't relent.

Finally he made his way to my slit. I gasped in anticipation of the touch of his tongue on my clitoris, but discovered instead that he planned to tease me more. He licked and sucked at my outer lips. I thrust my pelvis forward, but he did not answer my desires.

I ached with longing, I needed to cum. I had never wanted a man so much. When he withdrew his head from between my legs I begged him, "Please."

"The night has just begun," he said with a wicked smile.

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. He was as muscular and well-formed as I had imagined. I reached out to stroke his smooth skin and hard muscles. He leaned in to kiss me and I tasted myself on his tongue. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer as our kiss went on and on. My bare sex pressed against the bulge in his trousers and I squirmed against him. I tried to unbutton his pants, but he pushed my hands away.

Trailing his agonizing kisses down my neck, he untucked my blouse and ran his hands up my torso. I quickly unbuttoned my blouse, eager for his hands and mouth to touch my erect nipples, but again my desires were frustrated. He traced the edges of my bra with his fingertips as he licked and sucked at my neck. I had crammed my pussy against the erection trapped in his pants and rubbed myself against him, in the hopes of some kind of relief.

When he unhooked my bra I thought he would relent, but no, he continued his teasing, letting his fingertips trail across my skin, coming near to my nipples but never touching them. He nuzzled in my cleavage and after an eternity, he finally fastened his lips on one of my nipples. He rapidly flicked my nipple with his tongue, and then just barely scraped his teeth against it. I cried out my pleasure.

"You like that, do you?" he asked.

I groaned in agreement.

He returned his attention to my breasts, satisfying my hunger for his touch. He was sending me higher and higher. I thought it would be impossible to contain so much pleasure without an orgasm, but it continued, wave after wave. My cries filled the office.

His hands were back on my spread legs, massaging my inner thighs as his mouth explored my nipples. He worked his way up my legs, and his thumbs found my outer lips, gently spread them. Then, finally, finally, he grazed my clit with his fingertips. An animal sound escaped me.

I was now perched on the very edge of my office chair, Chip kneeling in front of me. His fingers were exploring, and then he inserted one finger. My moans encouraged him and he added another finger, slippery with my wetness. He glided his fingers in and out, dexterously rotating until he hit my g-spot. I cried out, the unbearable pleasure ambushing me.

"That's the spot?" he asked, rubbing again.

I made a strangled sound and nodded, unable to speak.

My consciousness narrowed down to the only thing in my universe, this ecstasy, ready to ride the wave of orgasm that was rising, rising—

And he stopped. He withdrew his fingers and stroked my outer lips.

It left me gasping and shuddering and burning. I had to cum. I had to. I squirmed and rubbed myself against him. When he leaned in to kiss me, I captured him in a thrusting duel of tongues.

Our kiss seemed to last forever. I poured all my passion and need into it, devouring him. Finally he yielded and began a rhythmic stroking of my clit with his thumb, and his fingers slipped in, once more finding my sweet spot.

Suddenly his tongue joined, soft and silky on my clit. It pushed me over and my orgasm went on and on, body pulled tight around a super-heated core. At last it ended, leaving me covered in sweat, panting, weak.

He only let me recover for a moment. Eyes closed, I felt something touching me, rubbing against my inner lips. I looked down and saw his cock poised to enter. I wrapped my legs around him and drew him in. Like my fantasy, he slid in, slow and deep and hard. My body started to spasm, squeezing his member. His girth and my wetness and the incredible friction seemed to take over my universe.

He moved slowly, withdrawing almost all the way before sliding in. Each long slow stroke stoked a rising fire in my belly. Sensing my heat, he thrust more quickly. The feeling was rising again, each wave of pleasure bringing me higher until all was obliterated as I came again.

When the wave let me go, I fell back into time and found Chip pounding into me.

"Yes," I urged him. With a huge groan he dumped his load deep inside me.

We slowly came back to reality. Chip withdrew with a wet sound and a dribble of liquid. He kissed my damp neck and murmured, "Feeling better, Ms. Caulfield?"

I laughed weakly and said, "You can call me Hillary."