She smiled playfully and, crooking her finger at me said, “Come with me.”
I followed her into the store room. It was dark, crowded, disorganized. Only the boss used it so I didn’t know what she’d want to show me in here. By the time we reached the second set of shelves, I realized she’d unbuttoned her top because — there it was — dangling from her fingertips.
She lay it over an ancient computer monitor and kept walking. Next, her skirt was loosening. (Pity, that, I love her tight skirts.) And then she was stepping out of it.
Somehow, it was only then that I realized that this goddess was standing before me wearing naught but a thong, her shiny black heels, and a smile.
She spared us both from what was bound to be a mile of awkward sputterings and silences on my part by raising a finger to her lips, “Shhhhh.”
Gracefully, she lowered herself into a chair and then, like the magnificent wanton that I know now her to be, she spread her legs and said, “I’ve been fantasizing about your tongue. About your lips. I want to feel them on my pussy. I want to feel them latched onto my clit as I cum.”
She began to stroke herself lightly. “I want to fuck. your. face. Would you like that? Would you like to taste me?” Her hand dipped between her folds and came out glistening. She seductively raised them to her mouth and closed her eyes as she tasted herself.
Slowly opening her eyes once more she whispered, “Your turn.”