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I hadn’t heard from him in six months.
We met online when he asked me to edit stories that he had written for Literotica. Not really met, but e-mailed back and forth. He was twice my age, but that didn’t seem to inhibit him in the least. We loved to talk about music, art, our lifestyles, and sex. We restricted ourselves to communicating by e-mail and remained anonymous to each other. That was best. What a great six months it was. I have to admit that he turned me on with his stories and banter. I referred to him as my pen pal, Addicted, because of his Literotica pseudonym Addictedtonylon. He called me C, never knowing my first name. Eventually, the e-mails ceased; I think we both ran out of things to say.
He came to mind from time-to-time. I would occasionally reread the stories I had edited for him. I put him on my favorite authors list to keep track of his literary activities, but he never wrote again. On occasion, something would remind me of what we had talked about in our steamy exchanges. Recently, I had one of those days.
I was looking at the jewelry in Nordstrom and it caught my attention. A monogramed gold ring with an elaborately caligraphized “C” engraved on the face of the ring. He always started his e-mails with “Dear C.” He relished hearing about my uninhibited sexual attitudes and created a new persona, my private persona, that no one else knew existed. I still like to escape into the aura he created for me, at least in my imagination.
I have a boyfriend. We live together and I love him very much, but there is a tempestuous, defiant, and prurient aspect of my personality he has never seen. Addicted knew this. He said I had entered the magic zone when I was naughty, enticing him with my literary and e-mailed eroticism.
So I bought the ring. I did not put it on immediately. I didn’t know if I would ever wear it. If I did, will it reawaken my hidden personality once again?
About 10 days later, I was getting dressed for work. At the dressing table, I saw the clamshell box that contained the ring and opened it, deciding today was the day to wear it. I placed it on my fourth finger on my right hand, after removing the commonplace gold band I usually wore. I stood at my dresser for a few minutes, but felt no different. I went to my closet to choose my dress for the day. All the dresses I usually wore seemed mundane- I did not want to feel that today. At the back of the closet was a dress I had not worn recently. In fact, I had worn it only once. It wasn’t exceptionally stylish, but it was sexy. A drop waist knit, flared at the bottom, and short, hemmed well above my knees, showing off my legs to perfection. Perhaps too short for work, I had thought the last time I wore it.
Most co-workers in the office would be at a convention today. It would only be me, and my administrative assistant managing the phone. I pulled out the dress, put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror. I did look good. I took out a pair of coffee shaded pantyhose. Addicted would be proud. He loved nylons on women, especially darker tones. I added my red high heels with a tiny strap around the ankle. They were definitely “fuck me” shoes with 3 ½ inch heels. Knowing again that Addicted would approve, I set off to work.
Intentionally, I stopped at the coffee shop and sipped my chai tea as I read the paper, causing a delay of 15 minutes later than my usual arrival time of 8:30 a.m. I was wearing a raincoat, which completely overwrapped my dress, but my legs and heels were evident. I walked into the office, my administrative assistant, Will, was at his desk.
“Hello Will, I think it’s just you and me today. Everyone else is at the convention downtown,” I said as I greeted him.
Now Will was nice enough, just about my age. He kept a picture of his wife on his desk. She is a trophy wife. She is tall and blonde, with high cheekbones, beautiful breasts and a perfect figure. I met her once or twice at company events, very aloof. I know Will needed to work a second job to provide for her clothing, spa, and gym memberships. In his drawer was another picture that I peeked at one day when he opened the drawer as I was staring over his shoulder. She was posed in a tight leotard, shiny nylons and leg warmers, all of which emphasized the perfection of her body. Did he use that picture for self-gratification, a substitute for the lack of physical interaction?
Marrying a trophy wife has its pluses, but also its minuses. I don’t think Will gets much sex. He is always lingering in my office, gazing at my figure, staring at my breasts. While I don’t encourage him, I am flattered that he finds me attractive.
So today, Will gets what he has wanted. Oh no, he won’t touch me, but I will give him a taste of candy, so to speak. I went and sat at my desk. “Will, please go downstairs and get me an herbal tea?”
He paused not a moment, anxious to do my bidding. As he left, I looked down at the monogrammed ring and planned istanbul escort out what I would do to this boy-toy.
He stepped into my office with the cup of tea, and sat on the sofa at the corner my office. Turning to him, I crossed my legs, permitting him an eyeful of me. I could see his wandering eyes. I asked how his wife was, perhaps a cruel taunt in retrospect.
“She has left for a few days. There is a new spa and she wanted to rejuvenate her body.” Will said, remorse was not evident in his voice.
“Thanks for bringing me the cup of tea, but there is one other thing I need done. They didn’t empty my trash basket last night when they cleaned my office, and it is so full. Could you take it down to the bin at the end of the hall and empty it?”
With that, I pushed my chair somewhat aside, but my dangling leg still remained in the way of any entry to the underside of the desk. Will made his way over and got on his knees. He took his time staring at my ankle, including the little strap that secured my shoe. He could not resist a lingering look at my calf and thigh, clad in the smooth, slightly shiny nylon.
“Can you get by me?” I asked him in a coquettish tone. I uncrossed my legs, spread them slightly, positioning that dark tunnel between my thighs right at his eye level. His eyes stared longingly, before I turned slightly and he regained his composure.
He retrieved the trash basket and pulled it out. As he stood up, the bulge in his pants and his discomfort was a clear sign that the ruse was a success. As soon as he returned the trash basket, he excused himself. I knew he was headed for the men’s room for some self-inflicted relief. I waited for several minutes, and then I headed towards the adjoining women’s restroom. Perfect timing, he walked out adjusting his belt buckle.
“I hope those contortions under my desk didn’t make you too stiff,” I commented.
He could not help but smile, as if he knew he was being played with, and returned to his desk. I returned to mine and made many phone calls, trying to maintain a semblance of productivity.
After lunch, I had to play with him a little more. “Will, please come in here,” I said, in a commanding tone.
He stood aside my desk. As he did, I eyed the cup of soda sitting on the corner. When he was not looking, I pushed the cup off the side of the desk, splashing droplets of cola onto my lower legs, red shoes, and floor tiles. Being the obedient boy he was, he immediately looked for something to remedy the mess.
There was a box of tissues on my desk. “Will, this is the only thing I have to clean this up. Will you help me?” I asked him. “I’m such a klutz.”
Once he saw the box of tissues, he got down on his knees. I handed him the first tissue which of course, was immediately saturated. He had started with the floors, and I proceeded to feed him one tissue after another, holding each with two fingers highlighted by my red acrylic fingernails. I started to imagine him completely nude, recollecting that Addicted appreciated CFNM fantasies.
“Oh, it looks like it spilled on my shoes and stockings.” I said as I unbuckled a small strap to remove my shoes. I had painted my toenails with a similar crimson red nail polish and wiggled my toes in front of his face. I took one of the tissues and started to wipe the droplets of cola off my stockinged legs as he completed his task on the floor. It made that distinctive swish of a nylon stocking that can drive certain men wild with desire. I then lifted my leg, putting the sole of my nylon covered foot within inches of his face.
“Are there any droplets on my foot?” I asked him.
“I see several, do you want me to dab them with my tissue?” Will inquired. I knew he would much rather lick them off, but he would not get that chance.
He finished with my left foot, and I lifted my right foot in front of his face, even closer this time. I could see him follow my ankle to my calf up to my thigh with his eyes. My dress had ridden up, so once I saw he had full appreciation of the view I had given him, I rearranged my dress to a more modest repose.
I couldn’t resist one more tease. I leaned over and whispered in his ear with a breathy voice, “I know if I had done this at home, my boyfriend would tell me I needed to be punished for my mistake.” It was apparently too much for Will to fathom, as he lowered his head to the floor and I heard a deep sigh.
“I have to get back to my work,” Will said, almost apologetically. He didn’t wait for an answer, but arose, left my office, and shut door behind him. I saw him once again make his way towards the men’s room. As I sat back in my chair, I realized how much I relished teasing this man, but thought further temptation may be crossing the line. I took off the ring and put it in its box. I thought to myself, Addicted, your powers are amazing.
The ring was left on my dresser after that, as I thought about the situation escort bayan with Will. A month later, I was to attend a business conclave, a retreat of sorts to brainstorm new ideas. I was looking forward to this meeting. It was to take place at downtown hotel. This was an opportunity to network with some of the leaders in the business.
I awoke, showered, and walked out into the bedroom. I put the ring on my finger and positioned the C on the ring face. I stared at it, feeling some vague premonition that this was going to be an interesting day, somehow. It did not take long.
I started to get dressed, opening my lingerie drawer to find suitable panties and a bra. As I fumbled through the drawer, in the back was my pair of crotchless panties. The last time I wore them was during an e-mail challenge from Addicted. I had told him I had never masturbated at work. In response, he recorded an audio story, luring me to undertake the naughty deed in my office after listening to his audio. I had worn the crotchless panties that day, anticipating that I might actually do what he had commanded me to do, masturbate to orgasm at work.
Was I feeling the effects of the ring? I put the panties on, just a large enough opening to allow access to my pussy, and found the matching demi-bra. I completed my outfit with the business suit, gray in color, and matching heels. The skirt buttoned up the front, so I left the lowest button undone. No nylons today. My legs were nicely tanned, and I had shaved them last night. I had also tidied up my pussy, keeping it strictly hairless, smooth to the touch.
We gathered in a large conference room with a long executive table. At one end, there was a podium, projector, and screen. There were name cards of the 40 participants, mine having been placed at the opposite end of the table. I looked at the program. The third speaker was Ryan. I had met him previously, and noted he would speak later today. When I had seen him the last time, he reminded me of Michael Vegas, the porn star. He had sandy hair, nicely styled, slightly curly, a solid jaw, and a body that could not be more perfect.
Ryan arrived at 11, and walked into the room. As he passed behind me, I felt his hand touch my right shoulder as he bent down and whispered in my ear, “It’s good to see you again, Chloe.” That stimulated a tingling twinge of excitement between my legs. He had not changed even slightly since I had last seen him, and immediately brought to mind those porn scenes of Michael Vegas voraciously performing oral sex on the screen.
He began his talk, standing at the podium. As I stared at him, I thought why can’t I just climb under the podium, pull out his cock and lick it while he gives his presentation? No one would know. I could feel myself getting damp below. I recalled the crotchless panties that I had put on this morning. Reaching down underneath the table cloth, I unbuttoned one of the buttons in the front of my dress, allowing access to my pussy.
Chloe, don’t do it. You’re meeting with other professionals. What if you brought on an orgasm? You can’t hide an orgasm, you know that. Despite the voice in my head, I reached down between my legs, feeling the opening in my panties, and took two fingers to spread apart my pussy lips, being careful not to touch my clitoris.
Oh, Ryan, why don’t you just crawl under this table? I imagined him on all fours, stalking his prey like a feral cat, prowling the length of the table until he reached the opposite end, and take that tongue of yours to my pussy. I imagined, there he was, while giving his presentation, his face in my pussy, on all fours, underneath the table, the words muffled as he devoured my cunt with that Vegas-like abandon.
What could I do to calm myself down? In front of me was a glass with ice water. The room was now darkened for the presentation. As I reached into the cup, the ring was on my finger, the engraved C staring back at me. Chloe, what is wrong with you? I reached in my water glass with my hand, took one of the smaller cubes, reached under the table, and started to rub the cold smooth ice cube between my lips. This must to be the antidote to direct my attention to the matter at hand.
As Ryan spoke, he would frequently divert his eyes directly at me as if knew I was playing with myself, knowing the arousal he was causing in me. I had my head supported on my left hand, staring amorously at that man, my right hand positioned in my lap, twiddling with my clit using the ice cube. The ice was not enough to subdue my ardor. It had melted and I could feel the cold water trickle between the cheeks of my buttocks. More melted ice might reveal a puddle of dampness when I stood up.
I’m sure I can control it, I reassured myself, that is, if it does happen. I reached down with my two fingers and first inserted them into my pussy, with a very subtle in and out motion, remaining outwardly still, imagining his cock doing likewise. The wetness was overwhelming. escort istanbul I moved my fingers to my clitoris. The room was very dark. With me solo at the end of the table, a tablecloth overlying my lap, I rationalized to myself. No one will know, as long as I do not make a sound, this room is so dark.
I took my index finger and started to make small circles around my clitoris, avoiding its most sensitive spot. Then occasionally, my finger would graze across that forbidden nubbin of ecstasy. Each time I touched it, my deep breathing was interrupted with a small gasp. It felt so good, as I imagined Ryan fucking me. Increasingly, I concentrated my finger on my clit. Surreptitiously, I avoided any vigorous moves but nonetheless, it happened.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, distorting my visage if anyone was looking. An orgasm. A big orgasm. A really big orgasm. I tensed all my muscles, squeezing my whole body, silently dissipating the energy from the eruption of pleasure.
I had not noticed the talk was over and the lights had come on. My eyes were tightly closed, my body contorted as I remained cognizant that undue motion could draw attention to my predicament. It lasted 15, 20, maybe 30 seconds, then I felt the enormous relief as my orgasm was held in control, the sexual tension draining from my body as if an overflowing dam had unexpectedly broken.
I am sure Ryan knew. As he looked at me, my eyes now halfway closed, I was sitting somewhat slumped in my seat. The shutters of my body had likely been obvious to him. He asked, “Did you have a question, Chloe?” I looked directly in his eyes, matching his gaze with my sultry, spent habitus. I saw him smile briefly; he had obviously had a similar effect on other women in his life. He knew, I know he knew, but I didn’t care. I had done it; I had to tell Addicted I had masturbated at work, no, at a meeting, in public. I know he will appreciate that.
The ring was now a friend, but to be used in only the most provocative occasions. One of these was soon to follow. My boyfriend was going to be away for the week on business. I would be left alone, relying solely on Skype and my vibrator to keep me company. He was to return on Friday, and while typically one might expect him to be tired, the opposite is true. He is a sexual animal after travel and absence. His birthday was upcoming, and I had to concoct something very special.
On Tuesday night, I still had not thought of an appropriate celebration when he returned in a few days. We had talked on the phone, and I clearly heard from the conversation he was expecting raw, crass sex the night he returned. I wanted it to be a spectacular celebration, an event he never anticipated. I thought about the ring, maybe it would help me conjure up an event for him. I looked for it on my dresser, but it wasn’t where I had left it. I always put my jewelry in my jewelry box, and I searched through the items several times, but it was gone. In the laundry bag were the clothes I had worn for the last several days. I searched through each pocket to see if I had inadvertently taken it off. OMG, I hope I didn’t lose it, I can’t see where I might have.
But then I remembered. I was washing my hands after they were contaminated with toner dust. I had taken of the ring, wiped it off, and put it in my purse. I ran out of the kitchen, opened my purse, searched through the bottom with my hand and found the item. This ring has a strange influence on me, I thought. I was a believer in its powers. It seemed to eradicate that last semblance of sexual inhibition. I put the ring on and kept it on all night as I slept, awaiting the image of a fantasy like no other.
The next morning, when I went to work, an idea struck like an electric shock to my brain, a spark to my pleasure center. I had admitted to Addicted my desire to be bound with Shabari rope, an ancient oriental practice. I should have time to arrange what I needed before Friday evening. I went on the internet, searching for a practitioner of the art. I made a few phone calls, obtained a reference or two, and talked to an Oriental gentleman, Mr. Ling, over the phone. Later that same day, I met with him to make final arrangements. He told me I had nothing to worry about, as the practice had been ongoing for centuries. He showed me pictures of the women he had bound. I was taken aback by the beauty of the women in their confining ropes. My desire for this was intense as I left.
I arrived home slightly early from work on Friday, around 3 p.m. My boyfriend’s flight should have already taken off. I had to check on his flight to make sure that it had departed on time. It did. In the meantime, I took a leisurely bath with scented bubbles, making sure my pubic region was smooth as a baby’s bottom. I cleansed myself especially well, and then applied a thick layer of a red acrylic polish to my toes and fingers. I used a dark eye shadow, and applied black mascara to highlight my eyes.
At 4:15, I checked the computer and the flight had left as intended. As I had not heard from him that he was delayed, I was able to calculate his arrival time quite precisely. I called Mr. Ling and told him the project was a go.
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