I’m back

It was his hand. That first time in the meeting when it lingered just too long on mine as I handed him the computer mouse. His fingers brushing mine. It sent an electric shiver through me. Deep inside me. But that sort of thing just wasn’t proper. It was the kind of thing you were supposed to shrug off. And I did. But there was an ache where that shiver had gone through me.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about Brock when you first looked at him. He was tall, I suppose. He wore glasses and his brown hair was always styled very nicely. He had a little extra around the waist too. But Brock and I had been friendly around the office for some time. He was always the perfect gentleman. 

When we worked together on a particular task for any length of time I’d find myself having dreams about him. Dreams that we were working. Then dreams that we’d be in bed together, nothing sexual. Then eventually dreams that were sexual. Dreams that would wake me up in the middle of the night with flushed cheeks, my clitoris stiff, my lips down there swollen and aching, and my thighs were warm from my wetness . . . 

When I’d see him at work the next day I was filled with a sense of awkwardness, but one only I knew. It wasn’t my fault what my subconscious did when I was out cold for the night. Right? But I’d eye him up on those days. Evaluating if the reality of Brock would live up to what my subconscious dreamt. 

We were friendly as I’ve said. Then that one day when he handed me the mouse. That touch. That lingering. That sense of maybe something more? It was a business trip that tipped the scales. Atlanta. We’d traveled before, but usually in larger groups. This time it would just be Brock and me. And you could feel it. The build-up was . . . different. We knew we’d be alone, well not really alone, but close enough. Years of friendly banter and dare I say, flirting? Would pay off, or not. This would be the moment. 

I don’t know if you’ve been to the Atlanta airport before or not, but there is a train that will take you from one concourse to the next. Once we landed Brock and I climbed on the train will all the rest of everyone in the airport. We were pressed tightly. I was in front of him. It was forced body contact. It wasn’t the most ideal of circumstances but it was great to feel him against me. I had my back to him. And yes, I pressed my butt against him a little more than was required by the tightness. By concourse B, I felt a hardness there. Yes, it was a definite hardness. Brock’s shaft was resting right between my cheeks if there hadn’t been multiple layers of clothes. But was he pushing back? I rotated my hips just ever so slightly, to hint that I knew what was going on back there. But enough to be shrugged off as complete innocence. 

We arrived at the hotel and went off to our separate rooms. I couldn’t help but think about the train ride. I was wondering how I could ever focus on this trip with all this lust building up inside of me. I was also wondering if Brock was feeling the same way. Was I delusional? 

I had just finished putting away my things when there was a knock at my door. I looked through the peephole and there was Brock. I flushed instantly. Why was he here? I opened the door and smiled. He asked if he could come in. He had some questions before our meeting tomorrow. I, of course, said he could. My hotel room was sparse as all hotel rooms are so he sat on the corner of the bed. 

I realized then with horror that I had taken off my bra the first thing when I came in the room and there it sat on the bed! Not only that, but my boobs freely moved beneath my shirt. The sudden shock of this, of course, made my nipples hard as rocks. It was a vicious response. I was betrayed by my own biology! Brock noticed too. He did that thing guys do when they’re looking at your boobs but are trying not to look at your boobs. At least he had the grace to try and not look at them.

We talked. Well, Brock talked and I nodded like a moron to whatever he was saying. As he talked I grew less ashamed. I uncrossed my arms from in front of my chest and moved them to my hips. I grew even braver and pushed out my chest a bit. It made my heart pound and I could feel the telltale flush in my cheeks that previously had been reserved only for “Dream Brock”. My full  CC’s were on display as it were. Brock had a difficult time avoiding them. At one point, he even apologized. 

“For what?” I asked, pretending to be as innocent as I could.

“I didn’t mean to stare.” He was blushing. 

“What if . . . “ I bit my lip as my mind raced with what I was about to say, “What if I meant for you to stare?”

“What?” 

“I, um,” I swallowed hard, “I wanted you to stare,” I said softly. 

“You did?” He asked. I nodded a reply. “Well, may I stare some more?” He asked with more confidence than I expected. 

“You may.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. This was way more than flirting this was beyond flirting. I stood up tall and pushed my chest out. I was wearing a button-up shirt and I flexed my shoulders so that the fabric strained at the buttons. My nipples were clearly visible beneath the light blue fabric. 

Brock stared. And stared. His hands folded in his lap. “Brock, may I stare?” I asked. He knew what he meant. He was covering an erection with his hands. He leaned back on his elbows on the bed and there was the outline of a raging erection in his khaki pants. 

“Show it to me.” I must have lost my mind. It was as though I was hearing the voice of someone else. Not my own. He didn’t break eye contact with me as he unzipped his trousers. He reached his hand and fumbled around and like a detective from an old movie pulling out a revolver from his trenchcoat, Brock took out his raging hard cock. It stood at attention, throbbing with each of his heartbeats. I could see a bead of pre-cum gathering at his tip. 

I was actually, literally salivating. I didn’t know what to do next. I was like a dog who actually caught the car it was chasing. I didn’t know what to do with it once I caught it. The voice that was coming from inside me spoke again:

“Stroke for me, Brock.” Slowly, Brock took his penis in his hand and began to work it up and down. “That’s not hard enough,” the voice that was me said. He worked it faster and faster. I walked over to the bed, unbuttoning my shirt as I went. Button by button. I exposed my slightly freckled skin and the single emerald pendant I wore around my neck. My cleavage plunged deeper and deeper. The soft, smooth, white skin of my breasts that were never exposed to hardly anyone was now laid bare. He stroked faster and faster and began to make tiny moaning sounds. I reached the bottom of the buttons and pulled the shirt back like curtains and off my shoulders. I was standing topless before him. 

I leaned down and put my hands on the bed. My breasts hung freely. I hovered over his legs, positioning myself over his furiously pumping hand. The hanging pendant of my emerald touched the glistening pink tip of his cock. It was then that he exploded all over my chest. I felt the hot spurts of his cum land upwards on my chest. The scent of his cum filled the air with that earthy smell that was so different from guy to guy. Brock jerked and spasmed as thick white rivers flowed down the side of his penis, making a mess of his trousers. I was sure that he had not wanted to do that so soon. 

I took my hands and grabbed his deflating manhood with both of them I made a few gentle strokes my self as I straddled his legs. I cupped some of his semen in my fingers and ran it over my breasts. I spread it like lotion over my tits. It felt cold already. The stickiness of it was foreign and exciting. I ran little circles over my erect nipples. My emerald was coated in it. When I was done, the madness that had possessed me over the last few minutes took over again. I put my fingers in my mouth and licked them clean. He tasted salty and sweet. Not unlike mushrooms. It was delicious. I moaned for him.

And that my dear readers is where I leave you for now. I’m back . . . .