1 comments/ 32654 views/ 0 favorites Meeting My Match By: anneski It was getting late and I still had one more meeting. I tapped my pen on the desk, impatient to be finished for once, already dreaming of the steaming hot bath and accompanying glass of cold Chardonnay that I had promised myself to make up for this long day. I glanced at the clock – still 5 minutes before the appointment, I had time for a coffee and a walk to stretch my muscles a little. I stretched my arms above my head, linking my fingers and leaning back in my chair, forcing life into my tiring limbs. I pushed myself to my feet and went in search of a caffeine kick. The offices were all empty as I wandered the length of the building, sipping my over brewed coffee and feeling the tension ebb from me a little. It was stressful, having so much responsibility at such a young age, but it was good stress I felt, leading me to push myself harder, to take on the extra work, and to never miss a deadline, or fail to cover all the bases. I was determined to get on in my career through my talents and attention to detail, and be noticed for all the right reasons. Not because I wiggled around the office in my little tight skirts, batting my eyelashes and pouting my impossibly pink lips whenever the world threatened to not go my way. My lip curled a little as I thought of Suzy, pretty little Suzy, not a thought in her head, nor a care in the world it seemed, blatantly flaunting herself and giggling, confident that her full and glossy lower lip with its hint of a tremble would be enough to deflect any complaints that her inadequate work might cause. If the old fools that doted on her could only hear her laughing and bitching about their gullibility in the ladies bathroom during her frequent breaks. Men! Just let her try her flattery on a female boss and see where it got her. I smirked a little, imagining myself in that role. I was getting there, and more quickly than was usual, mainly thanks to my determination and hard work, putting in the hours to gain the experience lacking due to my relative youth. A sudden draught lifted my hair, and I smoothed it with my free hand, tucking the stray strands behind my ears. I had left my jacket over the back of my chair when I went for my coffee, and I missed its warmth now, as the heating had obviously gone off for the evening and a chill was settling on the building. I quickened my pace, realising that I had already been gone for my allotted 5 minutes, and the contact I was expecting would be waiting, probably wondering just what kind of a slack operation we were running here. As a result, I was nearly running when I reached my office and as I entered and noted the expensive suit and a sleek head of dark hair, I started to apologise for the delay, mindful that I was the interviewer here, so it wouldn't do to babble, a brief word of polite contrition would suffice. These thoughts ended abruptly as he rose and turned to take my proffered hand, leaving me staring into a face I had only recently succeeded in erasing from my dreams... As if in slow motion, my coffee in its vending plastic cup fell to the floor, and I remained frozen, his hand grasping mine. It took all my strength to shake his hand, instead of pulling back, and a greater effort to force my voice to stay low and even, as I answered the platitudes you use on these occasions. "How are you, you're looking well, gosh you are the last person I expected to see here," all those trite phrases, you know the ones I am sure. He was as I'd always remembered him, totally in control of himself, smiling slightly; eyes holding mine as he spoke, although I barely registered the words. I was paralysed and lost in memories under his gaze, 18 again, full of the enthusiastic arrogance and bravado of youth. Just learning about the incredible pleasures to be found if you were prepared to learn, and accept that you didn't know everything, in spite of your private education and boundless belief in your own charms. This man had unleashed feelings and desires in me that had taken me the last 3 years to bury and within the space of 30 seconds of being in his presence I was an eager child again, waiting for the teacher's commands and craving only his approval. If I didn't break away soon, I would be begging for him to touch me and I would be under his spell all over again. And then his eyes released mine and I pulled away, blushing, already reaching for tissues to mop up the coffee spillage and give me something to do instead of dumbly staring at him. I crouched there, dabbing at the stain in the carpet, saying anything I could think of, filling the silence that might otherwise have led to recriminations and questions, or, worse, tears and pleadings. After all, he had left me with barely an explanation. Oh sure he said it was for my benefit, that I needed to experience life, other relationships, to find out what it was that I truly wanted. Of course what he really meant was that I was too clingy, too young, maybe not passionate enough, or just generally not girlfriend material. Whatever the reason, he didn't want me, not the way I wanted him, and that hurt. When I could find no more liquid, and my words had dried up, I risked a glance up at him. My heart leapt when I saw him standing over me, a look that I recognised in his eyes. His hand reached for me, and I took it and let him pull me to my feet. When I went to move, he held onto my hand, but I snatched it away, snapping "Never touch me again! That right is no longer yours." And I dropped the tissues into the bin and hurried behind my desk, grimacing at my melodramatic turn of phrase. I grabbed my jacket and thrust my arms into its sleeves, not daring to look at him. As I struggled, I felt his hand on my collar, helping me on with it. I pulled away again, nerves raising my voice to an unpleasantly shrill pitch. "I said don't touch me!" "Don't be so childish" he replied mildly, straightening my lapels, and then brushing one of those errant strands of hair back from my flushed face. Crack! A red mark appeared on his cheek, and my hand stung. I stared at the mark in horrified fascination as it glowed and took on the shape of fingers and a palm. The shock on his face did something strange to me, and I felt a release of tension, and I giggled. I clapped my hand to my mouth, as if to hold it shut, but another explosive laugh burst through, and then I was leaning against the wall, tears rolling down my cheeks, howling hysterically, unable to stop laughing, but feeling the humour rapidly draining from the situation. It went completely when I looked over at him, and I saw him throw his jacket over the chair, and advance on me looking murderous. The imprint of my hand, still plain to see, no longer seemed funny. I held my hands out in front of me as if to ward him off. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that..." I stammered, as I backed myself into a corner – literally. I felt the filing cabinets at my back and realised I had nowhere left to go. And still he came on. I held my breath and pressed hard back against the cabinets, wishing he would say something rather than just keep coming towards me with that chilling look on his face. I swallowed and tensed as he stopped in front of me, and felt my legs threatening to buckle. He just stood there, looking me slowly up and down, but giving no indication whether what he saw pleased him or not. "Turn around, slowly" he ordered. "W-what? Why?" He sighed. "Don't make me ask again. Turn around, a full circle, slowly" He spoke slowly and calmly, as if instructing a simpleton. Trembling nervously I did as he said, wondering what he was up to, and cursing the fact that quite clearly I wasn't over him, and probably never would be. "Nice suit. Get it from 'Bitches R Us' did you?" His words were sweetness itself, but his look was acid. I stared blankly at him, lost for words. "Seems as if you've been climbing the corporate ladder and learnt a few dirty tricks along the way. Let's see what else you've learnt" With that he lunged forward and crushed my lips with his, burying one hand in my hair and pulling my head back, banging it against the cabinet. I opened my mouth to protest and he filled it with his tongue, exploring and probing, and grinding my lips onto my teeth till I tasted blood. The other hand sought out one of my breasts, grabbing it hard and squeezing rhythmically, kneading it, and roughly handling the tender flesh till I was sobbing against his mouth. He pulled back slightly, and his tongue flicked across the soft inside of my lips, stinging as it lapped at the blood seeping from the cuts made by my teeth. His hand left my breast and I thankfully gulped back the tears, but the relief was short-lived. He forced his leg between mine, kicking them wide, and grabbed my skirt and pulled it up. His hand rubbed along my crotch, mashing the satin into my body and sending a thrill up my spine. He dragged the silky fabric back and forth across my clit, and as my treacherous body started to respond, lubrication flowed forth and soaked my panties. I moaned, slumping against the cabinet as waves of sensation washed over me. I badly wanted to sink onto his hand and let him make me come. My arms had already started to reach for him, and I was kissing him back fervently. My mind was berating me for my weakness, but it was fighting a losing battle. My body wanted him. "So who've you fucked to get this office?" he whispered in my ear, as effectively turning me off as a bucket of cold water. "Well you for a start" I retorted, stung by the inference. "And you're fucked again now. You'll never get this contract" Anger and the high at having made a good retort in the face of such pain lent me strength, and I shoved him off of me and tried to dart past him. I failed. He grabbed my wrist, and spun me to face him again. Then he pushed my jacket off of my shoulders and down over my arms, pinning them behind me as tightly as any ropes could. He smiled at me as he kicked my feet from under me, and I crashed down backwards onto my desk, scattering the few sheets of paper that still required my attention. Another second and he was stood between my legs and enjoying my futile struggles to sit up. He reached down and tore my blouse open, sending buttons flying across the room. I shivered as the cold air hit me, and I felt my nipples harden. I yelled at him in anger to get off me, and leave me alone. My rage fuelled by the knowledge that it wasn't just the cold air making my tits all perky, oh no, I was getting turned on by this! I was enjoying it all, - the strength of his determination, the added naughtiness of being at work and the thrill of fear that ran through me at the thought of what he might do next. It was intoxicating! He tucked his thumbs under the band of my bra and with one smooth motion ripped it apart, leaving me naked and gasping at the sudden shock of the violence he used. As I struggled on the desk my breasts jiggled around, and his eyes followed them, admiring the view it seemed. Then he was on them, hand and mouth, moulding one and suckling the other. I felt my nipple, rock hard and yet so sensitive, pressing into his palm as he palpated the mound of flesh. His lips pulled on its twin, drawing it out and releasing it with a smacking noise, then returning for more, circling it with the lightest flick of his tongue, then sucking it brutally hard through his teeth and deep into the wet heat of his mouth, making me arch my back and thrust it towards him, crying out loud as I did so. Just noises, no words… My movements had brought me to the edge of my desk and the iron of his thigh muscles were pressing against my dampness now. I moved my hips up and down, rubbing myself against his leg, wrapping my own around it in an effort to press even harder. His mouth left my swollen breast, and nibbled its way upward till it reached my ear, then it asked, "Now who's being fucked?" I closed my eyes and whispered, "I am" "And do you want to be?" Came the question I had feared, and I gave the only answer I could. A very quiet - "Yes." His hands lifted me further back up the desk, and then my knickers were peeled off me, and cast aside. He pushed my ankles up onto the desk, and pressed my knees wide apart, opening me up to his gaze. I blushed crimson as he seemed to be taking a very good look, making me pay for the slap by this humiliating visual examination. I felt his fingers digging into my thighs, stretching me wider, making my pelvis thrust forward as if offering its contents to him. His thumb pressed hard onto my swollen clit and I bucked and cried out, then groaned in relief as I felt him slip a finger inside me, rapidly followed by another. My muscles clamped eagerly round them, and he slowly frigged me, pushing further into me, all the time pressing hard with his thumb. I gyrated my hips in an effort to get his thumb moving, to rub that tender little nub of flesh and set off the fireworks that were building up there. Then he was pulling away, leaving me frustrated and pleading for more. I looked up, and he was gone. I swivelled my head frantically, hoping he wasn't going to leave me like this, lying over my desk in ripped clothes, legs wide, desperate to be screwed. I heard him before I saw him. From behind my head, I heard the zip pulled, and the grunt as he freed himself from the confines of his trousers, then my face was turned to one side and I was looking straight at his cock. It never was small, but from this angle it appeared to have obtained gargantuan proportions. He rubbed the head across my lips, leaving a trail of moisture there, which I darted my tongue out and licked off, swallowing exaggeratedly letting loose an "Mmmmm" of pleasure as I did so, knowing that would provoke him. He growled and thrust forward, holding my head in place with my hair as he forced himself into my willing mouth. My lips formed a tight 'O' around the shaft, and I could only take half the length before I was gagging as it nudged the back of my throat. He pulled back and started fucking my mouth with short quick thrusts, pulling my head forward to meet him on the in stroke, hissing at me to suck his big dick hard like the bitch that I was, and swallow what he gave me if I knew what was good for me. The nasty words nearly made me come there and then, and I moaned my compliance and sucked as hard and as fast as I was able. I had my heels braced on the very edge of the desk and I was thrusting my hips at nothing, unable to help myself, when I felt him move slightly, then something flat and hard scraped across my pussy. I tried to move my face away from his pounding and see what it was, but he yanked my hair, forcing me back to his cock, and I cried out as he slapped my pussy hard with the object. It stung, but sent a flash of ecstasy ripping through me. I arched my back, as he scraped it down the inside of my thigh, and across my lips again, before delivering another stinging blow. Again and again he slapped me, and each time the pain was exquisite. I tried to close my legs when I thought I couldn't take any more, but that just earned me two hard blows across my nipples, which left me crying with the pain, so I spread my legs out wide again, and waited for him to finish. He pulled his cock from my mouth and made me shuffle further across the desk, so that my head and shoulders were hanging down over the edge. I could hardly feel my arms by now, they were numb from having all my weight pressing on them. But I knew from past experience of him it would do no good to complain. I just had to take my punishment. And it seemed there was more to come. With my head now lower, he straddled my face, and demanded that I lick his balls. The hair tickled my nose, and I had to fight back the urge to sneeze. I ran my tongue along the ridge of flesh under them, just the hard, moist tip of it, and even surprised him into giving a little jump. I started on one ball, carefully, dreading the consequences of hurting him. I rolled it around in my mouth, squeezing it gently between the roof and my tongue. He pressed himself down onto my face, telling me that was better, I was being a good girl now, and promising that I'd feel the contents soon if I behaved. His words emboldened me, and I sucked a little harder as I swapped over, feeling the ball inside his sack with my tongue as I did so, circling it and rubbing at it, figuring he could stand some roughness too. God I felt so dirty! And that feeling made me want his spunk so badly, wherever he cared to put it. He parted my pussy lips, exposing the tender area inside, and told me to stop sucking. When I'd complied he tapped my throbbing clitty, and said he had some questions for me, and I'd better pray that he believed the answers. He moved off me, and went around the desk, till once again he was stood between my thighs. Then he made me tell him in graphic detail about the men I had been with since him, and how I had come to be in such a good position at my age, if not through using my physical charms. It was less humiliating having to confess to the men, all two of them, than it was to have him thinking I would sleep with someone to gain promotion. So I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and answered him. His questions were blunt. Why only 2? When were they? How long had they lasted? Had I enjoyed them? Had I let them come in my mouth? (Something I'd always refused to do with him, and which seemed to be a pet niggle...) There had only been two, because after the second I had felt so disillusioned by men that I decided I'd be better off concentrating on my career. At least I got some satisfaction from that, and I was the one in control. The first was soon after he had left me, and I saw him for a month. The second was 6 months later, and he lasted for 3 whole days. No, I hadn't particularly enjoyed them; in fact I had felt nothing much at all, despite one of them fucking me in all sorts of positions for nearly an hour, till I had to fake an orgasm to get him off of me. No, neither of them had come in my mouth. Not anywhere in me in fact, as I had insisted upon the use of condoms, even for oral sex, partly due to the terrible prevalence of Aids in the news at the time. And, I burst out furiously, for his information, I had got this far in the company because I was bloody good at what I did, and I was prepared to work hard and learn quickly, not because I laid back and fucked my way ahead! I struggled vainly in a fit of violent rage to free myself from my jacket sleeves, suddenly overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all. I thrashed around, kicking out, feeling my heart pounding as the anger in me welled up and I screamed at him, venting my feelings in language I wouldn't have cared for my superiors to hear. He stared down at me for a few moments, and then he grabbed my ankles, pulled them up to his shoulders, and leaning forward onto my legs he thrust himself forward into me in one hard long stroke. In spite of being wet I was unprepared for him, and I cried out in pain, as he pushed deep inside me. He withdrew slightly then leant on me again, going further in this time, lubricating his shaft with my juices, pulling back and then easing his way into me again, taking his time and being gentle with me, gentle but insistent. He dropped my legs and slid my bottom forward to the edge of the desk, taking care to still keep me impaled on his cock. He pushed the jacket off me, finally freeing my arms, and taking my face in his hands he kissed it, dropping little feathery touches of his lips all over my flushed skin. I melted into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close whilst kissing me deeply and softly. As my arms tingled back into life I reached out to him, running my hands over his chest and back, feeling the warmth and strength that I had been denied for so long. Meeting My Match She drove into the Holiday Inn parking lot, and looked for a space near the door. Quickly finding one, she pulled in and smiled to herself. "Good," she thought, "There aren't many people here to complain about noise." She considered trying to unload her bags first, but she knew check-in could be a hassle sometimes. So she grabbed her purse and made her way inside. Approaching the front desk, the clerk smiled at her. Check-in was a breeze, and she decided to take that as a good sign. She also had a room on the 2nd floor. Most people wouldn't like this, but she considered that another sign of good fortune. Taking a flight of stairs a few times a day actually seemed to please her. "Nothing like getting a little workout now and then," she thought to herself with a little smile, "But then again, I hope to get more than a workout this week." She made her way to room 235 and unlocked the door as quickly as she could. Bounding in, she dropped her purse on the king size bed. Going back to get her backs, she grabbed her room key and turned to open the door. Gasping almost to herself, she jumped back. "Oh my," she exclaimed to the man at the door as she looked down sheepishly, "I'm sorry!" She was flustered, but she noticed that he was carrying all of her bags as her eyes dropped. She started to smile but then stopped and stared at his face. "Sweetie! You're already here!" she rambled, "I was about to call you but I wanted to get in my bags first, and well, here they are. I'm sorry, come on in, baby." He laughed lightly and dropped the bags in the doorway. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him as he kissed her passionately. "I told you I'd do that," he said with a wink. She looked a little dazed, but she hugged him fiercely as she kissed him again, going deeper and holding tighter. Her fingers ran through his hair as her tongue explored his mouth. She pulled back with a wink of her own, "Just returning the favor." She turned on her heel and waltzed into the room feeling as though she was on cloud 9. He shook his head and laughed slightly, following her in with her bags. He set them on the floor as she seated herself cross-legged on the large bed. "Like the bed I chose?" she asked with a naughty grin. He shook his head and took both of her hands in his own. "Any bed is fine, as long as I'm with you, my love." She blushed and looked down, but he reached a finger under her chin and moved her gaze back up to meet his own. Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned in and kissed her with more love and passion than either of them had ever felt. They looked into each others’ eyes as he gently rubbed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open as he kissed her lips once more. His hands ran down her back, rubbing slowly. Once he reached the bottom of her lavender shirt, he began pulling it over her head. He was both surprised and pleased to discover that she had no bra on underneath. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips as he leaned down and took her left nipple into his warm mouth. Flicking his tongue against her hardening bud, his other hand reached out to massage her left breast. Her hands roamed over his back to the bottom of his shirt. She quickly began pulling it up, moving her hands to his chest to push it all the way off. Tossing it to the floor, she gripped his shoulders as he began removing her bluejean miniskirt. She smiled up at him as he stared down at her see-through lacy thong. "A little surprise for you," she said in a breathy voice. "Mmm, well, I definitely like," he responded, returning her smile. He hooked his fingers into each side of her thong and pushed them down slowly. "But, unfortunately, it has to go." She giggled at this and blushed slightly when she was fully naked. Noticing her blush, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "You're beautiful, my love." She ran her fingers through his soft hair and then moved down to undo his belt and bluejeans. She nibbled at his chest as she pushed them down, as well as his boxers. He stood up and took them all the way off as she got up on her knees at the edge of the bed. His large erect cock was in front of her smiling face. She looked so innocent to him, but when she reached out and licked up his cock slowly, he knew she wasn't. He gently stroked her hair as she took the head of his dick into her mouth, sucking softly at first. She rolled her tongue around it lightly as he gripped her hair tighter. She slowly took more and more into her hot mouth, sucking harder and faster each time, as her hands roamed over his thighs and ass. She began moving her head back and forth, letting his large cock slide in and out. As he moaned and laid his head back, she stopped and then looked at up with him with a wicked grin on her face. "I would rather have that cum inside my pussy," she said to him. He moaned again at this, and then pushed her back onto the bed, climbing on top of her. They began kissing passionately as he rubbed both of her large tits. She wrapped her fingers around his cock that was already wet from her mouth and positioned the head right above her tight hole. As she removed her hand, he slammed his hardness into her and she screamed out his name. Her legs quickly wrapped around his hips as he begin thrusting in and out of her wet cunt. Her hand moved down and she began rubbing her clit as he sucked and nibbled at her right tit. His teeth teased her hard nipple as her other hand gripped his shoulder, digging her fingers into his sweaty flesh. He pounded faster and faster at her sweet cunt as it was already dripping with her juices. Her legs wrapped tighter around him as she began thrusting her hips to meet his. Their mouths found each other and they started kissing passionately, wrapping their tongue around the others. She began to orgasm, causing her pussy to tighten around his dick that was already ready to explode. He groaned and screamed that he was going to cum, and they came together, holding each other tightly. He collapsed on top of her and she stroked his back lovingly. He kissed up her neck and began whispering sweet things into her ear. He rolled off of her and she cuddled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair until she fell asleep, then he kissed her forehead and slept deeply. Meeting My Match Ch. 2 MEETING MY MATCH (Part Two): LANDING THE CONTRACT I waited in her office, legs stretched out in front of me, relaxing at the end of a busy day. I'd been chasing here and there for this deal, that deal, following up meetings and pencilling in new contacts. A fair bit of my work in between had been conducted on my Vodaphone – expensive though it was. Mobile phones didn't come cheap right now. One day, I won't be chasing around all over the place for other people; they'll be chasing around after me, I thought. Almost there. Just a few more pieces of the jigsaw to fall into place, a few more moves on the corporate chessboard. This contract – the one I was after – would help immeasurably in that direction. The late meeting was my idea. I'd had one of the company secretaries make the arrangements on my behalf, not even giving my name – at least, not my full name – to enhance the element of surprise. Oh yes, I was exuding a deliberate air of confidence, but even I had to admit that, unusually for me, I was pretty knotted up inside, butterflies flitting around my empty stomach. Lunchtime had been several hours before. Current Yuppie wisdom might have it that 'lunch is for wimps', but only an idiot deliberately goes hungry thinking it gives them an edge in business. What does it look – sound – like if your tummy rumbles during the high-powered meeting to close the deal? Pretty damned stupid, that's how. Still, I was pretty sure that future business meetings would be conducted via some sort of computer link-up. Some Yank and Asian corporations already had their offices linked by a computer network, doing away with the need for so much face-to-face contact. Her company obviously weren't that up on new technology – yet. On the way to her office after the genial old security guard named George on the front desk had checked my credentials and let me up in the elevator, I'd checked the number of VDUs in the main open plan office. Most of the blocks of desks didn't even have one VDU between them, let alone one per desk. There were more stick-on fuzzy bugs and houseplants in evidence than useful hardware. There was only one breezeblock shaped facsimile machine on a far table near the ancient looking photocopier, probably operated by only one or two 'trained' staff. Yes, the contract might be good for my company, but it'd help bring this one into the 1990s a bit sooner too. I'd see to that. I looked around her private office. The vertical blinds were a nice touch – who likes working in a fish tank? But even she had just one VDU on a separate desk. The rest of the office was pretty…spartan. Production schedules and sales charts covered most of the walls, along with one piece of abstract art that could have been done by a two year-old. Two sturdy filing cabinets to one side and an in tray on her desk that was it. Apart from the closed filofax on the desk directly in front of her chair and the navy blue jacket on the back of the chair behind it, no hint of any personality, no human touches. No photographs, no kiddies' drawings, not even a friendly looking chipped mug. It was almost as if she was afraid that any hint of personality would diminish her standing in front of the staff – especially her superiors. Oh, I'd made a few discreet enquiries before setting up the meeting. Despite being just a few weeks off her 22nd birthday, she'd impressed her MD with her willingness to work long hours, her determination to break through that 'glass ceiling' or whatever it was they kept saying top businesswomen were hindered by. I figured she'd used a fair few female charms on the way up too. Knowing her MD, a shapely figure and a pert bosom was just as impressive as high sales figures and a well-stacked CV. Idiot. The man had no real appreciation of women. Not like me. No finesse. No style. It'd been the best part of three years since we'd last been together and it'd been something of a tearful farewell on her part. I had to admit, with hindsight, that I'd felt pretty badly about it since. Her parents were probably delighted. They never approved of me, blamed me for Star Daughter only getting seven A Levels at Grade 'A' and - shock horror – three at Grade 'B'. What a failure their daughter must have felt in their eyes! It never mattered to them how happy she was, or how stylish I was, although I'd delighted in the gobsmacked looks on their faces when I'd called to pick her up in the Porsche. (I'd borrowed it from someone higher up the corporate ladder, but that didn't matter – it's all presentation, right? A matter of style). But even then I knew we'd pick up the game one day, when we'd had other experiences to enhance that game. I'd like to say that I'd engineered this meeting specifically for my own purposes, but I didn't. It was just coincidence that my company needed to get into bed with her company and she just happened to be handling the initial contract negotiations. So – pure luck really, but that's the game, you see? Sometimes you have to leave it to chance – the opportunities to resume playing often just present themselves. Gamblers would call it the wild card. Me, I'd play it as being all part of the master strategy and thus put her at a disadvantage to start with. Play it cool, play it convincing. Play it with style.   I suddenly snapped out of my thoughts when I heard footsteps – obviously a woman's – clicking of higher heels, closer together – somewhat magnified by the emptiness of the open plan office. It was her, returning to her office from the bathroom or wherever she'd been. I couldn't sneak a glance out of her office window, as the blinds were drawn and besides, to do so would betray curiosity on my part. I'd see her soon enough, I could wait. Style, remember? I deliberately turned my chair around to face the sales charts on the far wall, my back now to her office door. I heard the door open, felt the slight draught of displaced air. "Oh, I do apologise for keeping you waiting," she began, voice the same, yet different to how I remembered it, more – refined, more – in control. I liked that. A challenge then. I rose slowly from my chair and turned to face her. She was extending one hand in greeting, whilst clutching a plastic cup of vending machine coffee (tacky) in the other. "Could I get you a coff –." The words froze in her mouth, which – to her obvious embarrassment – remained open. I had time for a quick appraisal; same attractive face, framed by brown hair, now severely pulled back behind her head, leaving just a few delicate whisps either side of her cheeks and a tidy fringe. Same slim figure, well proportioned cleavage, all now packaged in a crisp, white blouse, collar buttoned up as was the style these days, and navy blue, mid-length skirt, obviously complementing the navy blue jacket on the back of her chair. No tights or stockings, as the weather had been warm lately and plain, black shoes with enough of a heel to look feminine, but short enough to be sensible. I pretended not to notice as the plastic coffee cup left her hand and fell to the floor, splattering its muddy brown contents over the carpet, a few random spots peppering her sleek legs. To spare her embarrassment by the shock of seeing me again, I swiftly gripped her hand, detecting a slight tremble as I shook it, maintaining eye contact and smiling as I trotted out a few simple ice-breaking phrases, as though the whole thing was a complete surprise to me too (at least until she recovered her composure a little, then I could let on that I had engineered the whole meeting). Just by the rapid flushing of her cheeks and the tremble in her hand, I could tell she was fighting her emotions and recalling our previous times together, the pleasures I had introduced her to, the concept of not just pushing the boundaries but smashing right through them, the liberation of being subjugated, to submitting to full, total, orgasmic enjoyment, learning to be fully female to my total male. The pleasures, basically, of The Game. I released her hand and she immediately pulled away, searching out a wad of tissues form one of her desk drawers. She crouched down and began to furiously mop at the spilled coffee, wittering on about how impressive my company's tender for the contract had been and how she felt this meeting would be interesting. I could tell she was babbling, just trying to avoid what was really on her mind; our last meeting, her tearful pleading to me not to leave her, to give it all another chance, and then her anger when I had coolly told her that it was all for her own good, that she needed to experience more of life, other relationships, gain a different perspective and then, one day perhaps, we could get together again and resume the game. Perhaps my final remark had hurt her most of all. As I recalled, she'd ended up screaming and swearing at me, calling me a cruel, arrogant bastard who didn't love anyone except myself. Thinking back, I wasn't quite sure why I had let her go. Maybe she was too romantic, maybe I really did believe she needed to become harder, more experienced in order to play the game better. I wasn't so sure now. There'd been other women since her of course – despite all the media hysteria about Aids – but I, had to admit, none of them were quite such good players as she had been… or as she'd had the potential to be. I looked down at her, still smiling. As she finished mopping up the liquid, she stole a glance upwards and our eyes met again. The difference this time was that there was no openness, no warmth to her eyes. Anger had replaced surprise. In order to deflect the impending flare up, I courteously gripped her hand to help her up. Gentleman assists lady, you see? Style. Instead, she wrenched her hand away with such vehemence that I was taken aback. Her spoken words mirrored the anger in her body language: "Never touch me again! That right is no longer yours!" She stalked away from me, dropped the tissues into the waste paper bin and hurried behind her desk, using it as a barrier between us. She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and furiously attempted to pull it on, anger making her movements clumsy. As she struggled, I decided to try the gentlemanly approach again by holding he jacket's collar to help her on with it. She wrenched away from me again, her voice shrill and bordering on hysteria, close enough to tears, I thought. "I said don't touch me!" she shrieked, turning to face me, her eyes blazing, her cheeks flushed hotly. I decided to use my male rationale to defuse her feminine volatility; to put her in her place, deflect those misplaced emotions. It had always worked when she was a teenager. "Don't be so childish" I soothed, straightening her lapels, brushing one of the loose strands of hair back from her face. Her cheeks turned deathly pale. This was a bad sign. Red, flushed cheeks indicate anger, sure, but they also denote an inner emotional conflict, the old 'fight or flight' question. A white face was a sign of emotional determination. The white face is to be avoided, because that's the face from which violence will surely follow. And it did. Hard. Across my left cheek and onto my upper lip. I almost felt tears spring to my eyes. Game or no game, I was feeling angry now. Angry and…. shocked. Shocked that she'd had the balls to actually hit me without me telling her to. Obviously my look of surprise did something to her, maybe released all the pent-up tension. She giggled. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle, almost in shock herself at what she'd done. But then she was laughing hysterically – howling, tears rolling down her cheeks, leaning against the wall, scrunching her precious sales chart behind her. Laughter. Directed at me. Not with me. At me. Now I felt my cheeks cooling, despite the sting of her blow remaining. I must've bitten the inside of my mouth too, because I could taste the faint tang of blood. I hadn't felt anger like this for a long, long time. And never before directed at a woman to this extent. She'd be sorry she'd done that, game or no game. If she expected me to laugh along with her, she had another think coming. I coolly slipped my jacket off and slung it casually over the back of my chair, then loosened my collar. I'd have rolled my sleeves up too, but that would look theatrically ridiculous. I felt my jaw clench and my forehead furrow as I advanced very slowly, but very deliberately towards her, stepping slightly to left and right to cut off and moves she made in that direction. She was holding her arms out now, Canute-like, as though this would hold me back. The smile had gone from her face, the laughter had dried up as swiftly as her inane greeting a few minutes ago had done. She began to back away, her progress abruptly halted by the filing cabinets. I'm sure she'd have scuttled up it backwards, spider-like, if she could have done. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that...," she babbled, pressing back against the filing cabinets. I stood stock still in front of her, saying nothing, staring hard at her. I noticed her bravado visibly evaporating as she swallowed, saw her legs trembling. Good. She was scared. I looked her up and down, appraising her, making it clear that my interest was physical but not emotional; that her qualifications and position within her company, her business skills meant absolutely nothing to me. She was a woman who'd gone too far and needed to be punished. And she knew it. I raised my voice just a notch, kept my voice even, authoritative. "Turn around, slowly". "W-what? Why?" she stammered. Questioning me eh? She'd obviously forgotten the rules of the game. I gave a slight sigh, to indicate my disappointment in her. "Don't make me ask again. Turn around, a full circle, slowly." She did as she was told and turned round, slowly. I appraised her once again. Apart from her jacket being open, she looked every inch the professional businesswoman. Very calmly and even – sweetly – I said: "Nice suit. Get it from 'Bitches R Us' did you?" She looked at me, her face blank. She was obviously worried at my anger, but probably thought I'd directed it into mere verbal insults. Oh dear. She had forgotten a lot. "It seems you've been climbing the corporate ladder and learnt a few dirty tricks along the way," I said, matter-of-factly now, keeping my anger under control, channelling it, using it, as a good player should. "Let's see what else you've learnt." Before she could react I pounced on her, one hand grabbing her jacket lapel and slamming her back against the filing cabinets, knocking the breath out of her. I buried my other hand in her hair and wrenched her head back, banging it loudly against the cabinet. Not hard enough to stun her or to make her see stars, but enough to make her open her pretty mouth to exclaim pain. That was my opening - literally. I lunged forward and crushed my lips to hers, thinking to myself that hers were moist and soft, whereas mine were dry, as though her slap and the resulting anger had drained all the moisture from my face, let alone the blood. I pressed on, her sweet soft lips forced aside. I tasted blood again, but whether it was hers or mine, I couldn't say. But if I could taste it, then so could she and that was satisfying. It would be a clear signal that I was playing for keeps. My tongue burrowed into her mouth, subjugating her tongue in an instant, forcing it down, tasting her, invading her. Did you know that a tongue can be the greatest weapon in a situation like this? It can be far more invasive than a cock and infinitely more flexible. Use it properly and a woman can feel either truly loved and explored, or used and violated. Guess which effect I was aiming for? My other hand released her lapel and slipped under her jacket, grabbing the nearest breast, squeezing it hard and pinching the nipple through the material of her blouse and bra, bullying it into painful hardness. It didn't need much coaxing and was the perfect indicator of what she really felt. Sure, her whole body might be resisting me, her hands ineffectually pushing against my chest, her muscles tensed, but deep down – and not so deep either – she was responding to my assault, to my very touch. The barrier she had so carefully built up after three years was collapsing as easily as a brick wall with insufficient mortar. My hand released her breast and plunged down to her skirt, yanking it up high, hard enough to hear the stitches in the seam protest. I forced my left leg, knee first, between her legs and kicked them apart, using my knee and my foot in equal measure. Now I dropped my hand down to her crotch, feeling her panties. Interestingly they weren't plain cotton or functional, as my kneading of her breast had deduced about her bra, they were satin, with small frills. So, she still liked to retain some femininity close to her skin, did she? And for whose benefit was that? My anger rose again, sending blood pumping into my groin, hardening me, emboldening me further. I dug my fingers into her clit, thrusting the silky material into her, moving it backwards, forwards, up and down. I could feel the spasm of pleasure tingle through her body, feel her rigid muscles relaxing. Even the taste in her mouth changed subtly, overriding the presence of blood. Now she was returning my kisses, her lips brushing mine, her tongue eagerly seeking entry into my mouth, a moan escaping her as her panties began to moisten around my fingers and her juices were released. Her arms were now encircling me, her long fingers squeezing my arms, nails digging into the flesh through my shirt, all of this combining to spur me on further…. No. No! NO! This was too soon, too easy, too fucking romantic. Where was the challenge in this? For either of us? What game were we playing here? With great effort I pulled back from her hungry mouth, then ran my tongue up her now flushed cheek to her ear, gently licking the blood-engorged lobe, feeling her writhe and sigh gratefully as I nuzzled her. "So who've you fucked to get this office?" I queried, nodding my head in the general direction of her desk. She stiffened, her eyes wide and mouth open, incredulous. I could almost feel her juices stop flowing as though someone had turned off the tap. Or flicked a switch in her whole body. "Well you for a start" she snapped eyes blazing, pushing me away hard. "And you're fucked again now. You'll never get thiscontract!" Although I was releasing my grip on her already, once again I was surprised at just how strong and determined her anger had made her and I rocked on my heels as she shoved me back. She was almost past me, heading for the door. She was fast, that was for sure. But not fast enough. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly, the sudden pain stopping her in her tracks and allowing me to spin her round to face me. Quick as a flash, I let go of her wrist, swinging her arm down to her side, grabbed her lapels with both hands and wrenched her jacket down over her shoulders, down her arms, pinning them behind her as I intended. She started to protest, to make threats but I simply held her eyes in my stare, smiled and kicked her feet away, slamming her down onto her desk, her symbol of power in this, her territory. Another violation and very effective at that. Papers scattered onto the floor, her in-tray clattering as it expelled its contents, the telephone dinging slightly as it hung by its wire, clattering against the side of the desk, the receiver dislodged. In an instant I was there, pushing her legs apart to allow me to stand over her. She was struggling to sit up, but I pushed her down, savouring the moment. Before she could react further, I grabbed her blouse, and with one savage wrench, ripped it open, the buttons flying across the office, making satisfying ptink noises on the wall, against the filing cabinets and onto the floor. Meeting My Match Ch. 2 As I expected, her bra was plain, white and functional, but not ugly. It certainly showed her hard nipples off to maximum effect. Maybe it was the sudden draught of cold air – the heating in the office had obviously been turned off automatically some time before – but her nipples stiffened immediately. My guess was her nipples were simply responding as nature intended when a woman is sexually aroused. Her mind must be full of thoughts of what I might do to her next, a heady blend of fear, excitement and lust. Keep up the momentum, show her you mean business, show her you don't care what you do. Show her you've got style. With that I gripped her bra tightly and with a swift sideways and upwards motion, I tore it apart, releasing her grateful breasts, causing her to gasp with shock. I grabbed one of them, squeezing and kneading, rubbing the palm of my hand over the hard, sensitive pink tip, whilst I bent down and took her other nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, pulling the nipple up between my teeth, not biting hard, but firmly enough to make it count, eliciting a further gasp and low moan of pleasure from her. I pulled on the throbbing nipple with my lips and then released it. I bent back down and ran my tongue over its sensitive tip, circled it, teased it, then, as her ecstasy grew almost unbearable, I sucked it hard, wrenching nipple and a good deal of the surrounding breast into my mouth, my teeth raking the soft flesh. She arched her back, crying out, almost animal-like, her well honed defences now well and truly crushed asunder by my onslaught. She'd given way to her feminine instincts and they, in turn, had given way to my male instincts…. Instincts which I, however, could control, even though, I had to admit, my erection was painfully hard, yearning to be released from its tight confines. Soon, I told myself, soon… I was aware of her hips moving in copulating motions, rubbing against my leg, trying to reach my hardness, wrapping one of her legs around me to pull me closer to her. Tempting though it was, I stood my ground and resisted. The lesson was still in progress and I dictated the way it went. I released her no doubt throbbing breasts, noticing red welts caused by my sucking and nibbling. I ran my tongue up her chest, nuzzling and nibbling her neck, finally reaching her ear and lightly flicking the red lobe with the tip of my tongue. I whispered, trying to keep my voice even, to dismiss the raging torrent of testosterone coursing through every fibre of my being, which wanted to release that coiled spring and let me into her. "Now who's being fucked?" I hissed. She closed her eyes, almost dreamily and whispered, her own voice husky with lust. "I am" "And do you want to be?" She hesitated – just for a split second – and I could see the conflict raging within her mind, characterised by rapid movements of her eyes through closed lids, a slight clenching of her jaw. The conflict was always a one-sided battle however. Instinct overcame Conditioning. "Yes." Her voice was small, quiet, submissive, and yet eager. She may have well been recalling games we'd played three years before, secret sessions after school hours in my apartment, the stolen afternoon here and there and the occasional Saturday or Sunday when her parents had relaxed their leash-like hold on her. 18 years old and all her life ahead of her, learning eagerly, willingly, becoming the best player I'd ever known. Ever cared for. Ever... The Game, Man – play the Game! I snapped out of my momentary reflection. I grasped her thighs and shifted her further back up the desk, furiously wrenching her skirt back up around her thighs, my hand shaking slightly and perhaps too much for me to attempt to tear that accursed skirt off. Her panties, however, were quite another matter. I gripped the damp, silky material, no doubt trapping some of her pubes in my grip, and with one savage wrench, I ripped them from her, the elastic snapping, the fabric shredding. I triumphantly threw the ruined undergarments aside and grasped her ankles, shaking her smart black shoes off and slapping her bare feet onto the desk. I wrenched her knees wide apart and once again – after so, so long – I gazed upon her cunt; so inviting, so open, so wet, so ready. I almost chuckled as I saw a deep blush colour her cheeks – all four of them – and ripple across her exposed body. Was she embarrassed? Did she think I was punishing her for that slap by peering so intently at her? All well and good if she did. Like I said, sometimes you have to take advantage of unexpected developments and incorporate them into the game. To emphasise my interest, I dug my fingers into her thighs and pulled her towards me, her pelvis thrusting up to greet me, as she offered herself to me in unconditional surrender. She writhed and moaned as my thumb pressed against her swollen clit, her moans growing louder, more desperate as my fingers began to follow the thumb in a voyage of dark, wet discovery. If proof were still needed of her total acceptance, total need of me, then the spasm of her cunt, closing in around my penetrating fingers as tightly as a Venus flytrap snapping shut on an insect, spoke volumes. It was as much as I could do to move my fingers, to excite her to greater ecstasy. Cruelly, I wrenched my fingers and thumb free, the shock of deprivation alone being enough to knock the breath out of her. I swiftly edged round the desk to stand behind her head, watching with some satisfaction and her eyes snapped open, wide and afraid, her head swivelling round frantically, trying to find me, fearful that I had left her like that, stripped, violated and yet unfulfilled. With a supreme effort, I managed to wrench my fly open and yank my protesting, but ultimately grateful, blood swollen cock free from my underpants. I must have grunted with the effort and relief as this betrayed my location to her as I shifted to the side of her face, so that she was staring straight at my cock's throbbing, swollen purple head, poised like some dreadful, hungry snake, ready to attack. In a sense, it did attack. I slowly rubbed the head across her pink lips, leaving them glistening with a light trail of precum. To my delight, she licked the moisture from her lips, her tongue following through to lightly touch and flick the very tip of the near- bursting head, swallowing, teasing and groaning "Mmmmm," in pleasure. Teasing me. Provoking me. Who the fuck was in charge of this game? With a snarl of anger, I bent forward, grabbing her hair at the back of her head, dislodging the comb which held it in place, twisting it painfully and holding her head steady, enjoying the wince of pain across her face. I thrust my cock forwards, forcing it between her lips. Any resistance she may have put up quickly evaporated and her pert little mouth formed a perfect sheath around my shaft – or at least half way down my shaft as the tip of my cock was now brushing her tonsils, causing her to splutter and gag. I pulled back to allow her to breath and began to fuck her mouth, short, sharp, hard strokes, delighting in the warmth of her mouth, the feel of her teeth across my shaft, her tongue on the sensitive tip of my sensitive head. All the time I hissed at her: "Suck me bitch. Suck my cock hard, you fucking little whore, suck me dry. Swallow my cum like the cunt you are or you'll be sorry!" Memories again. She always did like it when I spoke dirty to her, named her for what she was. Now, as then, she moaned in compliance, supplication and sucked as noisily and as hard as she could. The fact was, she'd never before wanted me to come in her mouth. Blow Jobs were fine, but it was always spit, never swallow, despite my urging to her that she'd like it once she tried it, like a grown up trying to cajole a recalcitrant child to try a new food. And in a way, that's exactly what it was, even though the difference in our ages was less than five years. Oh, how I wanted to spunk in her mouth right there and then, and how much control it took me not to do so, but to hold back, to save that ultimate pleasure. I remembered the slap across my face, the fact that her punishment was incomplete and the need for further discipline. Inspiration came in the form of an object which caught my eye on her desk, amongst the few scattered items of stationary left on its surface. A ruler, an old-fashioned, wooden ruler. Twelve inches of pure discipline to match the nine inches already exercising discipline inside her mouth. I lent forward, grabbed the ruler and moved slightly backwards, angling around so that it lightly rubbed the surface of her glistening hole. I felt her moving her head, trying to sit up and look round at what I was doing. I yanked her hair hard, forcing her back onto my cock. I raised the ruler a few inches and slapped it down onto her cunt's lips. She cried out – in a muffled way, naturally – as the pain spasmed through her. She arched her back in sheer pleasure as I ran to ruler, now dripping with her juices, down her thigh, lightly tapping the flesh there, then raising it and slapping it down had on her cunt again. "Like that, do you?" I almost snarled, surprised at the vehemence in my own voice, at the pleasure it was giving me to inflict such delightful pain on her. I must've slapped her at least five or six more times before I felt her trying to close her legs, involuntarily, to protect herself against any more pain. "Don't!" I snapped angrily, lashing the ruler across each of her nipples as a real chastisement for her audacity in trying to dictate the way her own punishment was going. Obediently she opened her legs wide again, her eyes squeezed tight shut, her whole body clenched, waiting for the next blow to fall. True to form, I anticipated this and decided to surprise her. I swiftly pulled my cock out of her mouth, almost - not quite – letting my load loose then and there. "Move up," I commanded, pushing and pulling her further along the desk her movements awkward as her arms were still held tight inside her jacket. Now her head and shoulders hung down over the edge of the desk, her hair now loose, hanging long and free, the comb lost. I grabbed her hair again, slightly supporting her head and straddled her face, pulling my trousers and underpants down so that my groin was completely free. My throbbing balls hung on her cheeks, brushing her lips. I had no doubt my pubes tickled her nose, but just let her giggle now – or sneeze. Punishment didn't come into what would happen then! "Lick my balls, Bitch!" Even I was surprised at just how sensitive my scrotum was when she licked the underside and I gave an involuntary jump. Mustn't lose face! Control the game! But before I could offer any further chastisement, she slowly, deliberately – and very carefully, I was pleased to note – opened her mouth wide and sucked one ball in, licking it and rubbing it against the roof of her mouth. I stifled a moan of pleasure and pressed down harder on her, bending my head down and whispering: "That's better! That's good. Good girl. Behave yourself and you'll soon get your reward. You do want me to come in you, don't you?" I felt her suck a little harder, felt my ball tighten inside the sac, the throbbing getting harder to control, the pain juddering from my balls all the way down my cock to the tip, wanting to explode to burst forth. No… not just yet… I wasn't ready… yet.! I ordered her to stop sucking and pulled myself free from her mouth and slowly, carefully, crossed back round the desk, almost on tiptoes, trying to hold my spunk in. I tapped her cunt lips with the ruler to attract her attention (as if I needed to) and took a deep breath, trying to moderate my voice to its normal level, not to appear fazed by what had transpired. Be in control. Play the game. Sense of style. "I've got a few questions for you, Bitch." I said, deliberately trying to use the aggression of the words as a counterpoint to the evenness of my tone. "You'd better pray I believe your answers, or else." I tapped her nipples with the ruler to emphasise my point. Just what did I want to know? And did I really want to know in the first place? I was the player, after all. The Senior player. The one who made it all happen. It shouldn't really bother me…. But it did! I needed to know! Now! The words just seemed to spill out of me. Within seconds any pretence at being in control, that it was all part of the game even was gone. I wanted to know about how many men she'd fucked since we'd parted, whether they were any good, whether they were better than me. Bigger than me? More stylish than me? And how had she, at a mere 21 years of age managed to reach such a responsible position? She must have fucked her way up the corporate ladder. I knew what her boss was like, because everybody knew what he was like with his favourite female staff. They didn't call him 'Boner' for nothing. Did these guys come in her mouth? Did she swallow for them? Was it good? And the biggest question of all was not one I gave voice to, not one I asked her. It was one I asked myself. Where was this coming from? Why did it bother me so fucking much? What was it about her? To her credit – and I felt my admiration growing for her by the second – she answered me. In detail. There'd been only two, she told me, because after the second she had become so disillusioned by men that she'd decided she'd be better off concentrating on her career. At least she got some satisfaction from that, and she was the one in control. (Yes, being in control, I could respect that.) The first was soon I'd left her (Note that – after I'd left her), and she saw him for a month. The second was some months later, and he lasted for a few days, three, I think she told me. No, she hadn't particularly enjoyed them; in fact she had felt nothing much at all, despite one of them fucking her in all sorts of positions for ages, pretending he had some great fucking style till she had to fake an orgasm to get him to stop. And no, neither of them had come in her mouth. They'd not come anywhere in her, because she was worried about Aids – who wasn't? – she'd made them wear condoms. I could see her anger building, noticed the pitch of her voice rising, so it came as no surprise when she yelled furiously that she hadn't used her female charms to get this far in the company, she'd worked all the hours that God sent. She wouldn't fuck her way ahead because she was better than that, worth more than that, because she had pride, she had knowledge, she had style! I had to step back when she started struggling with real rage to free herself from her jacket sleeves, thrashing around, kicking out, screaming at me, calling me an unfair bastard for wondering why she was like this when it was me who'd made her like it. She said – or screamed – plenty more at me in language I'd never heard her use before, and I suddenly realised two profound truths: One: She was right. Two: I cared about her, not about what she'd done. I stared down at her for several long seconds as he half sat, half lay, chest heaving up an down with the exertion of her screaming, her make-up smudged, hair a tangled mess, plastered to her sweaty brow, torn clothes hanging from her, skirt pulled up around her waist and her privates exposed and glistening, red marks around them f from my beating with the ruler, red rings on her breasts where I'd sucked them so hard. I wanted to take her in my arms, to show her I cared. And I would. But I had to…finish… the… game. I dived forward, yanking her legs up onto my shoulders and thrusting deep into her with one mighty stroke, causing her to cry out with shock and pain. I withdrew my pulsating cock slightly then thrust into her again, going further, lubricating us both with her juices. I began to move into her, slowly at first, but then more insistently, firm yet gentle. I lowered her legs and slid her bottom forward to the edge of the desk, keeping us both close together. I pulled her jacket down, freeing her arms, pulling her blouse off along with the jacket. She sat looking at me, her anger gone, her eyes wide and questioning. I gently took her face in my hands and kissed her gently. No insistent pushes, no violation with my tongue, just light, gentle kisses over her delicate skin. I lightly tugged her lips with my teeth, our tongues meeting slowly, then the kisses growing harder, more insistent on both sides. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close to me, wanting to protect her. She melted into my embrace, running her hands over my chest, my back, my neck. She swiftly pulled my tie undone, fumbled awkwardly with my buttons, then gave up and ripped my shirt open as far as she could, her hands gratefully running over my bare chest, teasing my nipples into hardness. I gripped her buttocks and whispered to her to move with me. Her hips moved perfectly to meet my thrusts. She gripped my shoulders, her nails digging into my flesh through my damp shirt. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me into her, our speed increasing… The pressure built to its climax. We both released what felt like a torrent into each other, mingling, combining, the shock of the orgasm causing our hearts to miss a beat. She threw back her head back and cried out loud as the orgasm racked her body. I moaned loud and long, gasping at the shock of an orgasm the like of which I'd never had before. The last time I'd experienced similar pleasure was… was… about three years ago. I held this thought as I held her, tightly, vowing never again to let go of my star pupil, my best player, my equal partner. I guess we must have sat on the coffee-stained, prickly carpet in her office for well over an hour, alternately stroking each other's faces, kissing, hugging and talking, staring into each other's eyes. Eventually, practicalities took over. We tidied the office up, tidied ourselves up, buttoning jackets to cover up the fact that we had scarcely little else on. We still had to go downstairs past George, after all. Paperwork was signed, the contract all but awarded. Her recommendation would be accepted, the terms agreed. And we knew that soon – two years at the most – I'd either be running the company I currently worked for or setting up on my own with the shares we were both going to buy, shares which would boom in value, thanks to this contract. Thanks to this very meeting. And she would be even higher up the corporate ladder, because she was good at what she did and because this contract would work. As we left the office together, hand in hand, she turned to me and smiled. "Well, you won your contract," she whispered. "So did you," I replied. "A permanent contract – if you want it." She grinned wickedly and replied: "Let's get into bed about this." Now that's what I call a game player. That's what I call style. © Nickton, 2002 Meeting My Match His hands dropped to my buttocks as he encouraged me to meet his thrusts. He began pumping harder, more urgently and I held onto his shoulders, wrapped my legs around his hips and began rocking, matching his speed with my own. I dug my nails in and arched my body as I felt my orgasm beginning, my muscles rippling along the full length of his cock as it drilled into me. I threw my head back and cried my ecstasy aloud as I came, my body wracked with exquisite pleasure, and at the same instant I felt him stiffen, and swell inside me as he came too, flooding me with his warm seed. We clung to each other tightly as the feelings crashed over us, and as they slowly ebbed away we lay back on the desk, exhausted of all emotions, and powerless to move. Still wrapped together we gazed into each others eyes, seeing not just our own reflections, but seeing our very souls laid bare. I stroked his hair, and traced the outlines of his face, so very dear to me, and he kissed away my fears, and whispered of our future, a future to be spent together. By the time the warm glow of intimacy and love surrounding us had faded enough to allow the chill of the night to close in, we had begun to plan our lives together. As husband and wife.