A scenario manifests. A scenario disassembles. I participate intensively for the duration.
“What was the name of your hometown?” I gasped trying to divert and delay. Annie was looking at me with her startling blue eyes which peered out from under her ratted blacker than black hair. Cut short with a single curl for a side burn on either side of her rouged cheeks, she seemed to me to be the last of the mods from the U.K. music invasion of the sixties. No doubt, in her day she screamed for John, Paul, George, and Ringo . Now it was the late nineteen seventies and she smiled at me and said what sounded like, "I'm from Kaddiff." in that accent that always made my nineteen year old cock stiffer than it usually was. She was the poshest woman I had ever met. Or at least that is how I felt as she was giving me a hand job in the warehouse office where we both worked. She was one of my many supervisors, so what’s a fella to do. The way her tits with the ski slope swoop from the bra-less seventies came to a point of reserved English ecstasy and bounced as she went about her handy work were a sight to behold. Actions that pulled apart buttons on flimsy fabric giving me a down shirt display. The visual had me smitten and bitten. Her lacy finger-less glove magic was bringing me off fast. Just like this little kitten liked it when working my dick with her mittens. Not to mention, I would last a little longer when she mounted me after business hours. These were the best work breaks ever.
Ellen Joy had opened my eyes. I was called on to "assist" our freelance artist more than a few sweltering afternoons that summer. Random mornings I would be summoned to Sheldon's office and instructed to take this part of inventory or that piece of artwork to our "Company Bohemian" as Shelton liked to quip.
Fade to Black
The room was in a state. Curtains were hanging half off the rods that had been able to defend their mounted state, while the fallen curtain rods were strewn about like so many corpses of failed liaisons. The rising sun highlighted the dust Lynn and I had stirred up in streaming shafts of warm dawns early light. Lynn, on her knees, naked, supporting herself on arms resting upon the apartment radiator. Breathing heavily with intermittent post climax low silken murmurs.
I suppose as I knelt between Lynn’s spread eagle legs with cum still dripping from my dick and glistening on her backside in the low light I should have thought about getting out of there. Lynn was spent and I was going limp. The night, the booze, the woman had taken their toll on me. But her form below me was such a treat for the eyes. How her hair tapered to a point at the back of her neck. In this light her hair was a definitive strawberry blond. Her freckled back tapered to her trim waist and even collapsed on the floor her butt was small but rounded to a hump made for humping.
After working me over orally Lynn grasps my wrists and pulls my butt off the couch and on to the floor. My cock is fully erect and soaking from Lynn's mouth but she being a flexible and lithe minx leans back on her arms giving me an astounding view of her small rounded breasts. Planting her feet flat on either side of my ribs on the couch base behind me she slowly begins to pendulum her shaved gash up and down the underside of my shaft making both dick and slit slick and slippery.
We repair to the couch, yet neither one of us starts reaching for our clothing. Perhaps a little naked discussion between the two of us might just do the trick. Lynn is fearless, or mighty crafty because she says she is making us a second night cap and makes sure she saunters her little ass in my full view. Maybe my eyes being glued to her behind has not been as stealthy as I told myself. Her slender torso has just enough womanly curve, but still slender enough where my ultimate goal for the evening is shimmering in the low light, even with Lynn walking straight and proud while adding just enough hip shimmy to attract any predator with two eyes in front.
It was time for my brain to start justifying what my body was craving. Past transgressions were prime. Like when Jim knew how much I wanted Hillary from the office. I restrained my approach to Hillary; us being colleagues and all at the agency. But at the company Christmas party, a time notorious for office indiscretions, Jim swooped in and took her home that night knowing full well I had designs to do the same. He who hesitates....yada yada yada. Not that he rubbed it in afterwards, but Jim was always one to share conquests and he told just enough to taunt me sufficiently. But he was dating Lynn at the time, though not living together at that point. Maybe Hillary would never have had anything to do with me. Maybe she would. But the evil monkey in me did cry “payback” for wounds imagined or real.
Jim and I had flown in first thing that morning from Los Angeles. Since we came into Chicago that meant we did not get to the editing house until early afternoon. The editors had received the rushes first thing in the morning so by the time we arrived materials had been synced and were ready to screen. We watched, added our two cents and then left the editors to do their thing. We met up with Jim's girlfriend Lynn. We had both known her for years. I was on my own these days after the destruction of my own eleven year relationship with my career. Lynn and Jim were a newer item with Lynn still tolerating the vagaries of having a significant other in the advertising business.