The persistent bleating of the phone dragged me out of bed to answer it. It was shortly after nine in the morning and I had been looking forward to a long lazy day off. It was the office.
“Sorry to disturb you, Ben, but you know these quarterly returns?”
“Yes. I was in the office until ten o’clock finishing them. Anything wrong?”
“You forgot to sign them off.”
“You know how important they are. They’ve got to be on the boss’s desk by lunchtime at the latest. Can you come in?”
The autumn rain was battering on the window. The thought of struggling in to the office in this weather on my day off was too much.
“Can’t you send someone round here with them?”
“Well, OK. Just because it’s you, Ben. I wouldn’t do it for everybody.”
“Thanks, Ted. I owe you one.”
I hung up, went into the kitchen and set up the coffee machine for a big pot of my favourite filter coffee, then went into the bathroom to shave and shower. I towelled myself off, threw a bathrobe on and sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. I was just about to pour a second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.
I was expecting a courier with the documents, but when I opened the door, it was Sandra, the office junior, looking cold, bedraggled and miserable.
“You poor thing, come in. Look at you. You’re soaked. Didn’t you take a taxi?”
“Thanks, Mr Thomson. Yes, But I got the wrong house number. I’ve been walking around looking for it.”
I took her umbrella and wet coat and hung them up, then led her into the living room and sat her down on the sofa.
“Take off your wet shoes. I’ll get you a mug off hot coffee. It’s fresh. Sugar, milk?”
She nodded twice. I went into the kitchen to get the coffee. Poor Sandra. She was, I knew, seventeen, almost eighteen. A quiet little mouse. No one paid any attention to her. She was thin, had a shock of frizzy black hair that never held any style, big glasses. She never wore make up or fashionable clothes. She didn’t seem to have many friends. She lived with her parents who were quite strict, so she seldom went out with the other girls after work. I had a soft spot for her. She always did the shitty jobs that no one else wanted to do – photocopying, filing, running errands, like this one. But she never complained. She was efficient and helpful and always had a shy little smile for me.
I took the coffee back to her. She was sitting in a corner of the large sofa with her legs tucked under her. She cradled the mug in both hands and pouted her lips to blow on the hot drink. She looked older than her years. In her white blouse buttoned up to the neck, a navy blue cardigan. A black, close-fitting skirt chastely smoothed down to almost cover her knees, black tights. She looked at once like a convent schoolgirl and a mature, sophisticated, very attractive woman. I sat down in the opposite corner of the sofa and sipped my own coffee. She looked up and could see me looking at her. She held my gaze for a couple of seconds, with a look in her eye that I had never seen from her before, then suddenly seemed to get flustered.
“The papers for you to sign!” she exclaimed, putting the mug down on the coffee table and standing up. Her shoulder bag was on the floor beside the table and she bent down to fish the thick manilla envelope out of it. Her arse was small, firm and round. The skirt rode up a little at the back to show a tantalising glimpse of black-clad firm thighs. I felt a tingling and tightening of the scrotum. My cock was starting to swell. I had forgotten that I was wearing only a bathrobe. My cock was not yet hard, but had swollen enough to peep out of the robe. She put the envelope on the table and turned round. She saw it and looked at it longer than a shy little girl should. She had that look in her eyes again. I pretended that I hadn’t noticed and continued to sip my coffee, looking over the rim of the mug at her. She didn’t look away. I half expected her to call me a dirty old man and to storm out of the flat. She didn’t. Calmly she sat down on the sofa again, next to me, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my thigh. I could smell her hair and her body, a warm, fresh, slightly musky smell, not the pungent whiff of cheap perfume that I caught from other young girls in the office as they walked past, but the scent of a real woman. I turned my face to her and kissed her gently on the lips, still not knowing what to expect. She didn’t pull away, but responded, a little stiffly. I put my arms around her and kissed her again, probing her lips with the tip of my tongue. Her mouth parted a little and my tongue darted into her mouth, past her teeth and met her tongue seeking mine. Her mouth tasted of coffee, but much more delicious. My cock was now fully engorged, stiff as a flagpole and stuck proudly out of my bathrobe. Still kissing, she moved her hand along my thigh until her fingers touched my balls. The gentle touch made them jump. Her fingertips ran slowly up the underside of my quivering, pulsating cock, not quite reaching the tip, then she wrapped her hand around the shaft, not squeezing, just lightly holding it.. We broke our kiss. She was breathing as if out of breath. She looked down at her hand holding my cock.
“It feels funny, but good”, she whispered.
“Have you never touched a cock before?”
“No. Once a boy at school showed me his, but I’ve never touched one.”
I have a tight foreskin and it had only slipped halfway down the glans.
“Put your hand a little higher, “ told her, helping her. “Squeeze tighter. Now pull it down so that the head pops out.” She pulled a little too fast and I felt a sharp, momentary pain as the foreskin stretched and folded under the swollen head and I let out a little groan.
“Oh, did I hurt you?”
“No, It was good. Do it again.”
She squeezed and pushed the foreskin up over the glans, then pulled down again. Four or five times, slowly and inexpertly. It was the first time I had been wanked so slowly and carefully. The sensation was exquisite. I could feel the electric tingle in my glans and the pulsing deep in the root of my prick that told me I was close to coming.
“Stop”, I said gently, not wanting to alarm her. I moved her thumb to the underside of my cock, with two fingers over the top. “Now squeeze as hard as you can. It’s OK, you won’t hurt me.”
“I can feel it like a pulse”, she said. I could, too, three of four times. Then the pulsing stopped. “Take your hand away now”, I said. My cock jerked twice of its own accord. A droplet of clear liquid formed in the slit at the top of my cock, like a bead of sweat. My cock wilted a little, but stayed hard.
I kissed her again, and as I kissed her, I unbuttoned her cardigan and her blouse. I slipped my hand inside. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her titty was tiny. I cupped my hand and it barely filled the palm of my hand. But her nipple was hard, as large as a hazelnut. I slipped her blouse off her shoulder to reveal her breast. The aureole was brown and swollen, The nipple standing out proud and hard. I bent down and kissed it. I sucked it to make it stand out even more and I flicked my tongue over it, up and down, side to side. She moaned and wriggled, but pressed her breast harder against my mouth. I slipped my hand down her side, feeling the smooth warmness of her skin, the ridges of her ribs. I moved my hand over her skirt, feeling the curve of her hip through the fabric, the round firmness of her bottom, the hard muscle of her thigh. When my hand reached her knee, It started to slide up again, this time under her skirt, my fingertips savouring the prickling smoothness of the her black tights. My hand slipped between her thighs. She pressed her legs together, but my hand slipped easily between them, feeling the soft inner thigh on both the front and back of my hand. And then my hand could go no further. It met the soft, yielding buffer of her pussy. I rubbed the side of my index finger slowly up and down the slit I could feel behind the layers of nylon and cotton, my thumb caressing the mound above the slit. Her legs parted slightly so that I could remove my hand from between her thighs. Again I slid it over the outside of her thigh outside the skirt until my fingers found the button and zip at the side of the waistband. I undid the button and slipped down the zip.
I stopped kissing her mouth and breast, and looked at her face. My left arm was round her shoulders, and she was leaning her head back on my arm, her eyes closed, her breathing fast and hard. She had relaxed completely and was enjoying the sensation of my hand exploring her body.
I laid my hand flat on her belly button with fingers pointing down her belly. Slowly, I slipped my fingers under the now loose waistband of her skirt and moved downwards. My fingertips found and wriggled under the waistband of her tights. My hand slipped downwards. Her belly was flat and firm. My fingers found the waistband of her panties and slipped under it, always heading downwards. The smoothness suddenly gave way to the roughness of her pubic hair. Rough, but at the same time silky. My fingers scrabbled around in it, teasing it out, wrapping it around. Sandra’s eyes were still closed, but she smiled and wriggled as it tickled her. Then my middle finger found the slit and slid along the line of it. It was wet and slippery and warm. My finger flicked back and forth across the labia, rubbing over the soft outer and feeling the petals of the inner labia sticking to my finger and following its movements. The pussy was getting wetter and slippier. My probing finger slipped in deeper and suddenly rubbed against something sharp and hard. Sandra yelped and writhed as if hit by an electric shock. She struggled and wriggled away from my hand, slid off the sofa on to the floor.
“I’ve gone too far”, I thought. “She’s going to yell rape, call the cops, I don’t know what.”
She sat slumped on the floor, her back against the sofa, her legs under her. She looked stunned for maybe about a minute. Then she stood up, wriggled out of her skirt, peeled off her tights and white cotton panties, shucked off her blouse and cardigan in one. She stood in front of me, completely naked. Her skin was pale and without a blemish. Her little pointed titties with the hard, brown, protruding nipples. Her slim waist, her thick black pubes spreading in a wide triangle across her mound, glistening. I stood up, too, slipped off my bathrobe. My cock was harder than it had ever been, standing erect, almost touching my belly. Sandra’s ministrations had left the foreskin peeled back, so that my glans was exposed, purple and almost painfully swollen. Sandra grabbed my cock and pumped a couple of times, She was getting better. She let go, stepped forward, pulled my head down and kissed me passionately, this time her tongue doing the probing. She put her arms around my waist and pressed her belly against my body, sandwiching my throbbing dick between us.
“That feels so hot and hard,” she said, Then standing on tiptoe she whispered in my ear, “I’ve never done it before. But I want to go all the way with you. Show me how.”
I put her hand on my cock again and asked, “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she replied “I like the feel and the colour and the shape. It’s like a stick of rock.”
“Well lick it like a stick of rock.”
I sat down again on the edge of the sofa and she knelt in front of me. She grasped my dick and tentatively stuck the tip of her tongue out. Hesitantly she licked the shaft.
“Mmm…it tastes salty. A bit like cheese and onion.”
She licked the shaft again, working her way up to the glans and licked that like an ice cream . Without prompting, she took the tip if the glans into her mouth and sucked, gently. I was in ecstasy. Her mouth was warm and wet. More boldly, she opened her mouth wider and took the whole glans in, and pulled it out again with a slurp and a pop.
“This tastes better than rock”, she said as she took the glans into her mouth again and worked her tongue around itStarting to bob her head up and down. But she was going a little too fast for a beginner and started to gag. She stopped to catch her breath. My cock was throbbing and jerking, tingling like a thousand volts was surging through it. Just as well she stopped, because I felt as if I was going to cum and I didn’t want to, not yet.
“My turn now.” I said. “I’m going to try and give you another shock like the last time, but this time with my mouth.”
“I’ll be ready for it this time,” she said eagerly, sitting on the edge of the sofa. I knelt down, parted her legs and propped her feet on the coffee table. Now I could see her cunt clearly for the first time and savoured the view. Her thick curly bush almost hid her twat, but between her legs, there were only a few wispy hairs on her labia which were thick and soft. Even with her legs parted, the lips formed a tight slit, with only a soft pink petal peeping out. I buried my face in her damp pubic hair, breathing in the heady musky smell, running my tongue through the rough undergrowth. With my thumbs, I parted her lips and caught sight of the clean, pink, glistening interior. The wavy flaps of her inner labia were folded together. Perched above them was a small, pointed clit, wet and glistening. I knew that this was the danger point, so I would go for it last. I worked my tongue around the sticky petals, trying to tease them apart. I put my mouth closer and sucked on them, pulling them out and finally separating them with the tip of my tongue, all the time tasting the salty honey of her juices. As I buried my face deeper into her twat, I could feel them smearing my chin. I felt like a glutton, lapping her delicious clam sauce thirstily. I touched the opening of her piss hole with the tip of my tongue. Moving down, I found the opening of her vagina, small and tight, not much bigger than her piss hole. I pressed and wiggled harder with my tongue until it pushed in to the opening, feeling it relax and tighten and then relax again until I could stick my tongue in as far as it would go. Sandra was beginning to writhe and groan. It was getting hard to stay attached to the bucking, squirming pussy. I knew that she was going to climax soon, so I moved in for the kill. I buried my tongue in her pubic hair again and dragged it down until I could feel the top of her slit. I probed until I felt a hard ridge and ran my tongue down until it reached the end and the sharp point of her little clit. I started to flick and suck relentlessly, faster and harder, at the same time I slipped my middle finger into the yielding opening of her vagina, slowly and gently. All at once, she exploded again, writhing, bucking and yelping as if she was being branded. I pulled my face away but kept my finger in her hole, slowly and rhythmically working it back and forward, feeling the contractions and pulsations of a pussy on fire. Gradually, she subsided and lay with her head thrown back, her feet still propped on the coffee table, her knees wide apart. She put her right hand down and cupped her pussy, holding it as if it hurt. Then she dragged her hand up through her pubes and held her finger to her nose, breathing in deeply. It was clear she was enjoying the smell of her own juices. I sat up beside her on the sofa, grasped her hand and started licking her fingers, slipping three of them into my mouth and sucking them. They were delicious. I sucked and licked until I could taste the salty sweetness no more.
Sandra was lying back with one hand behind her head, smiling beatifically, eyes half closed. She pulled her fingers out of my mouth and moved them down to her crotch again, slowly rubbing up and down. Her middle finger found the opening of her vagina and pushed in, up to the knuckle. She winced slightly and halted for a moment, then continued moving her finger in and out. She pushed another finger slowly in, and winced again, but kept on moving her fingers in and out, pushing a little more deeply each time. I leaned forward to look more closely. Her pubes, her lips, her clit, the inside of her thighs were soaking wet. The aroma was intoxicating. Involuntarily, I grasped my cock. It was hard and dry, like a rod of polished wood. It tingled as I touched it, sensitive as an open wound. It told me it couldn’t wait any longer. It needed relief and a hand wasn’t what it wanted. I moved up and kissed Sandra lightly on the cheek.
“Let me take you,” I whispered in her ear. “Are you ready?”
She pulled her fingers out of her vagina and seemed to hesitate for a few, long seconds.
“I’ve never done it,” she whispered back. “Please”. It was mixture of “Please take me” and “Please don’t.” But she took her feet off the coffee table and lay back along the length of the sofa, her head on the arm at the end, one leg lifted and hooked over the back, the other on the floor, her arms behind her head, clutching the arm of the sofa. In this position, her chest was completely flat, no sign of breasts. Only her nipples stood out hard and erect. I knelt one knee on the sofa tucked tight against her firm little arse, the other foot on the floor, touching hers. My balls were close to her, my rigid cock poised above her virgin twat. With thumb and forefinger curled around the base of my cock, I pushed it down. It was so stiff that it hurt as I forced it down and I had to curve my back to make it obey. Sandra looked down the length of her body, watching the head resting on her black bush. The hairs prickled the underside of the exposed head, making it twitch and tingle. I dragged the tip down between her lips, feeling the stiff ridge of her clit, the warm wet velvet of her slit. She jerked and let out a quivering “ooh” as the tip of my cock found the dimple that was the opening of her vagina. I pushed. It was like pressing against a piece of wet, slippery rubber. I pushed again and could feel pushing against me. I looked up at Sandra. She was frowning and biting her lip, but was still pushing her pussy forward. I pushed again, The tip slipped in the tiniest amount, but a contraction squeezed it out again. I pushed again, Suddenly the whole head of my tingling cock slipped in to the hot wet darkness. Her vagina tightened round the glans like a tourniquet, like someone was twisting a hot piece of wire round the end of my cock. It was a sharp pain like I had never felt before. It took my breath away and for a moment I couldn’t move, neither in nor out. Sandra was squealing in a high-pitched whimper, like a puppy. But she didn’t try to pull away. I glanced down to see only the shaft of my dick. It looked as if the head had been amputated. I pushed further and could feel the tight ring sliding slowly down, squeezing the shaft I pushed another inch. Sandra started to respond, trying to push her pussy down on my cock. I pulled back, very slowly until I could feel the end of my head gripped in the vice. I pushed forward again, as slowly as I had pulled back. My cock slid another inch further in. The tight grip on my cock was loosening. I began to push in and out, slowly and rhythmically, but no more than three inches at a time. My balls started to twitch, I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. I thrust faster and deeper, no longer able to control the hunger of my cock. Sandra squealed louder. Her pussy pulsed and squeezed and sucked on my cock. It, too had developed a life of its own, which she could no longer control. She was coming again. It pushed me over the edge. I thrust as deep and far as my tingling cock would go, Our pubes ground together and our hairs tangled. I could feel my release pulsing up inside the shaft of my cock, pumping and squirting inside her, wave after wave. My back arched backwards and I let out a loud “Aah”. I felt like I was falling weightless from a high, high building and then I landed in slow motion in a vast, soft pit of feathers. My dick started to shrink and I pulled it out, feeling the tight rubber ring sliding up my dick until it was free. I slumped back into the corner of the sofa, my cock a dead slug my semen and Sandra’s juices drying coolly and caking.
For a minute or longer, Sandra lay not moving, only her chest heaving. I caught another view of her cunt, wider now, with liquid dribbling down her slit running into the crack of her arse. The liquid was creamy and tinged with red. Christ, she really was a virgin! I felt pangs of guilt. I should have used a condom. What if she was pregnant? But then The pangs passed. It had been one of the greatest experiences of my sexual life, better even than when I had lost my virginity, a long time ago, better than any of the countless other shags I had had.
Feeling the liquid dripping into her arse, Sandra cupped her hand on her dripping twat, trying to hold in the juices, sliding her leg from the back of the sofa and trying to stand up. “Where’s the bathroom?” she said hoarsely. Still feeling weak, I helped her to stand up and supported her to the bathroom as she hobbled, trying to keep her legs together with her hand still clamped over her pussy.
As I was pulling my bathrobe on again, I saw the thick manilla envelope on the coffee table. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed out loud, remembering why Sandra had come to my flat. I took it across to my workdesk, fished a pen out of the ceramic mug and quickly scrawled my signature across the bottom of the necessary pages. Glancing at the clock on my desk, I saw that it was just after eleven. It had seemed that three or four hours had passed, but it had been barely more than an hour. I called the taxi company and ordered a cab as quickly as possible, saying it was an emergency. They said one would be here in about ten minutes. I phoned the office and told Ted I had signed the papers, telling him they would be with him in about half an hour and feeding him a line about how I had taken my time going over them again and how I had had trouble getting a taxi and that it wasn’t Sandra’s fault. Maybe I gabbled too much, but Ted just seemed relieved to know that he could deliver the papers before the deadline.
When I turned back, Sandra was standing in the doorway to the hall, fully dressed and putting on her shapeless tweed overcoat. She looked just as she had when she had arrived. But not quite. She was no longer the bedraggled, miserable, mousy office junior. She seemed to have a certain glow of self-confidence. She hadn’t put her glasses on again, As I handed her the envelope and she slipped it into her shoulder bag, I noticed that her eyes were clear and sparkling. I kissed her lightly on the forehead, and she shyly pecked me on the cheek.
“Thank you, Mr Thomson“, she said as the taxi’s horn sounded in the street and she turned and left.