9 comments/ 42607 views/ 18 favorites The Job is Hers By: bisexy_butterfly "Is this seat taken?" she asks. I glance up from the book I am reading ready to dismiss out of hand. But the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye stops me. Luscious, the young lady is, but more than that, there was someone home behind those beautiful dark almond eyes. She doesn't give me time to answer; which is a good thing since my mouth has gone as dry as a desert wind, before sliding her shapely form into the seat next to mine just as the train rumbles its way out of the station. The fragrance pulsing off of her body is spicy and exotic...something an Indian princess would wear next to her skin. I am wrapped in a cloud of fragrance, her scent inviting my mind to wonder what it would be like to kiss the nape of her chignon exposed neck. A thought as disturbing as the sudden vibration on my elbow. I glance at her, arching an eyebrow, as she is sliding delicate French manicured fingertips into the breast pocket of her form fitting blazer. She removes a tiny phone from her pocket. "Sorry," she smiles, turning away on the seat as much as she can to answer her call. While she is murmuring incomprehensible responses into her phone, I attempt to turn my attention back to the book I was reading, only to find that my concentration has been shattered. Instead of following the words on the pages before me, my mind has shifted entirely to her and is now focused on trying to follow her words. Her voice is rich and melodious. Her skin is golden; glowing in incandescent invitation and radiating warmth in the early morning light. She seems a flower, kissed by the morning sun, and magically transported aboard the midtown train. The physical attraction I feel for her is something that I haven't felt in years. Not since I married my husband. Maybe not since college. But now here I am, on the train of all places, and I feel an attraction so keen for this woman that I can feel my body responding to her presence. The next station is announced over the P.A. system, and I am relieved. Only two more stops to go before I can get off this ride. Only two more stops to control the urge to touch her. To lean in closer and smell her. To kiss her. 'What the hell is wrong with me' I wonder, 'I don't even know this woman.' And it comes right down to that, doesn't it? I don't know her, not even her name, so my response to her is purely physical. It is nothing more than an appreciation for her unmistakable beauty. With that realization, I am once again able to focus on the words on the page. I started taking the train last year when my car broke down. The shop had to order the parts from the manufacturer to fix it, and I was without transportation for almost a month. Since Matthew works on the other side of town, we either would have had to leave home at the crack of dawn or I had to learn to take the train. Since I am not a morning person, I opted for the train in order to get that extra hour of sleep. After about a week, I realized that I rather liked it. Sure there was the hustle and bustle of all of those people, but if you shut them out, it was like having free time. I learned that I could read all of those books I never had time to read if I took the train to and from work, plus I didn't have to fight the morning traffic or get pissed off when I found someone parked in my spot. The money I save on gas is just an added bonus, extra money for shoes. Matt still complains about how much I spend on that though, which of course I find uproariously funny. It is not as if we are poor, but men will be men, and will never understand our fascination with footwear; no matter how often we try to explain it. Before I know it, my station is announced and I begin to gather my things together. "Oh, are you getting off here too?" she asks. 'You've got to be kidding me,' I think to myself, but I answer her as politely as I can. "Yes, I am. Why, is there something I can help you with?" I ask her, meeting her gaze and smiling slightly. "Well, I was just wondering if you could tell me...once I leave the station, do I turn right or left to get to Century Towers?" I feel my eyebrows draw down a bit at the center. My building. She must be new, because one does not easily forget a woman this stunning and if I had seen her before I would have remembered. She is waiting for my response, looking rather expectant, and I suppose she thinks that I am thinking about my response. Having no way of knowing that I could get to Century Towers in my sleep from the train station, she has mistaken my frown for concentration and not for the what the hell it truly is. "Umm, you turn right," I finally say, standing. She follows suit, and I am again graced with the sight of her lithe body in its mini-skirted business suit. Swallowing hard as I avert my eyes I say again, "Turn right, and it is about a block and a half over." "Thanks," she says smiling and rushing off. "Have a nice day," she says over her shoulder, before I have a chance to tell her that I am going that way myself. As I make my way off the train I have a sudden, chilling thought. My assistant Karen's maternity leave starts this morning. But no, fate could not be so unkind, I think to myself as I imagine what it would be like to work so closely with a woman that lovely. Karen is a nice woman, but she's plain. And she's boring. And she doesn't smell like anything. Not to say that she smells badly, because she doesn't. I could never tolerate that. She just never smells like anything more than fabric softener and soap. But she's not a distraction. She was perfect for the job. Ms. Indian Princess, as I'd dubbed her in my head, would be distraction of gargantuan proportions. Not to mention the fact that all anyone would have to do was look at me looking at her to know. It was tantamount to opening my closet door at work. I laugh a little to myself at that thought. I've always thought that being gay is easier than being bi. I could be wrong. But still, when you're gay, you come out once and that's it. Over and done with. Whoever is okay with it is okay with it, whoever is not is out of your life, and that is the end of it. Not to say that losing people you love over something like that isn't painful. It's just that it is only done once, and then you get to live out and proud. When you're bisexual, you have to come out everyfreakingtime you meet someone new. And then there are the arguments about being confused. I decided a long time ago that the work place was not the place to have these discussions. You never know what kind of response you're going to get, and I prefer to keep my private life private. The rich aroma of brewing coffee alerts me to my arrival at my pre-office destination. I open the door to my favorite café, and at once feel my eyes closing as I inhale deeply. I've never been able to decide what I like more, the smell or the taste of freshly brewed coffee. "Good morning, Ms. Beaumont," said Mitch, the owner of Blue Mountain Coffee, in his rich southern drawl. "Morning, Mitch," I smile brightly at him. I've been coming to this coffee shop for the last six years. I have never been able to get him to call me Johann. Or even Ms. Johann. Never, not once; he says it just doesn't feel right to him. Although he absolutely insists that anyone and everyone that walks through the door of his café call him by his first name. It must be an old southern thing. Charming to be sure. "You havin' your usual this mornin'?" "Yes, I am. But I need a little extra something today. Something sweet." "Marla made beignets this morning," he said to me. "Think that might do the trick." "Oh, it sure would," I laugh. "I'll take 'em, even if I do have to run an extra mile on the treadmill tonight." His wife Marla makes the best beignets this side of New Orleans, but she only makes them about twice a week. I try to stay away from them since you can never eat just one, a fact not at all aided by the fact that you can only get Blue Mountain beignets by the dozen. So I guess it is a good thing I only have to worry about them on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mitch laughed, "Don't know that you need that treadmill, Ms. Beaumont." "That's because I use it. Religiously. Otherwise I would need it. Something fierce," I answer, laughing with him. "Thanks," I say as he hands over my coffee and a bag of warm beignets. "Thank you," he said. "You have yourself a great day, we'll see you later." "Thanks, you too," I say as I breeze out the door smiling. No matter how busy he is, Mitch can always takes the time to make me and all of his customers smile. I take tiny sips of my coffee as I cross the cool marble floored lobby of my office building, trying really hard to get a good taste without burning the hell out of my mouth; my mind making the transition to work me. I am the Executive Director at Dreams Come True, a non-profit organization that helps underprivileged children from underprivileged neighborhoods into schools that bolster their various talents. We also provide them with books and materials; whatever their parents cannot provide themselves. Kids that have benefited from our organization have gone on to do great things. I am very proud of the work I do here, but sometimes we can't help everyone that needs it because of funding; I've learned to take me out of the equation and not let these disappointments affect me personally. I've learned to pocket my natural empathy, a mental process that I go through every morning when I cross the doors, because if it were up to me I would try to get the moon for all them. "Good morning, Ms. Beaumont," says Ronnie, the security guard, in a warm drawl. "Morning, Ronnie," I smile, in return. "Can you give me a hand with this?" I ask him, waving the bag full of beignets. "I'd be happy to," he says walking over. I admire the view as he comes closer. Ronnie is a tall glass of chocolate milk; sweet, cool, and inviting. I flirt with him every chance I get and I am rewarded for it by being looked at like I am the most beautiful woman in the world. "Good, cause I tryin' to minimize the damage by getting rid of as many as I can between here and my office," I laugh. Ronnie lets his eyes wander up and down my body, pausing over the naughty bits long enough to make my temperature rise a few degrees before saying, "No damage as far as I can see. No damage at all." He chuckles a little as I blush and murmur an inaudible response while pulling out a pastry from the bag with a napkin. I hand it over to him and he takes it, along with my coffee. He takes a slow sip, and I marvel at his audacity. As he hands my cup back, he leans in to whisper in my ear, "I know this is the closest I'll ever come to the pretty lips of yours. Thanks for the sweetness, Johann," sauntering away. Ronnie gets away with this type of behavior because he and I both know that if it wouldn't cost me my career, my prestige, and my marriage I would have fucked the taste out of his mouth a long, long time ago. The elevator doors chose this moment to ping open, and I am left standing there with my mouth gaping open. Several people push past me onto the elevator, and I allow myself to be pressed along with them. As I come back to myself, I look around, and am quite relieved to see that no one on the elevator with me works in my office. They are all from other floors, and do not really know me beyond the nodded hello. By the time I reach my floor, I have fully recovered from my morning encounters. Both of them. And I am back to being the enigmatic, energetic, sultry-voiced executive that I normally am. 'There will be no more gawking at beautiful boys and girls this morning,' I think to myself, realizing that my hormone induced lasciviousness needs to be put in check if I am to get anything done today. And there really is so much for me to do. I have to meet and train a new assistant, a temp, which means that sadly by the time I break her in, it will be time for her to leave. I have a board meeting, four family interviews, and a tasting for a prospective caterer for our next fundraiser. I absolutely do not have time for my libido to get in the way of my day. "Good morning, Brenda. Care for a beignet?" I ask the receptionist as I finally reach my office. "Oh, no thank you, Johann. I'm off carbs this week. John called me fat this weekend," she answered, with a watery smile. Brenda is a very pretty redhead, with long curly hair, and a smattering of freckles that make her look perpetually fifteen. The few extra pounds she carries actually help her youthful appearance. She isn't fat, she's plump; and she carries her extra weight in all the delicious places a woman can and should carry her weight if she's to have any extra. She is also incredibly funny, bright, cheerful, and a joy to be around. But her fiancé, John, is an asshole who figured out early on that in order for her not to realize that she was too good for him, he had to keep the negativity focused on her. I've heard the other girls in the office try to convince her of this, but for some reason unbeknownst to all of us she simply doesn't believe us, choosing instead to believe him. All I can say to her in response is, "I'm really sorry to hear that, Bren," because if I say what I am really thinking, I might reduce the poor girl to tears. I met John once, at an office party, and I loathed him immediately. There is something about him that screams abusive misogynist. Plus he looks like a ferret. She hands me my messages, the ones left by people that refuse to use the voicemail system thinking that their important message might get lost in the melee if they don't leave it with a human being, and while I am scanning them she says, "Your temp got here about ten minutes ago, but you just missed her, she's in the ladies' room. I think she's a bit nervous, she looked a little green." I giggled a little, and she went on, "No, I'm serious. She was doin' the whole leg shake number, and she kept crossing and re-crossing. Then she would get up and pace a little before going right back to sitting down to do the leg shake. Poor baby. You'd think she was waiting in the lobby of police headquarters about to be interrogated for murder one the way this girl was fidgeting. To be honest with you, I'm glad you're finally here; she was making me nervous with all her nerves. Never seen anything like it." "Maybe she just had to pee, Bren," I laughed again. "But whatev let me know when she's out of the ladies room so we can put the poor child out of her misery." "And me too," said Brenda. "Yes, and you too. Lord knows you have your own stuff, you don't need anyone else's nerves making you nervous." "I know that's right," she agreed, a little too readily, and again my heart did a little squeeze of sympathy. 'One day,' I thought, 'one day, she will realize the power she really has, and she'll kick that schmuck to the curb.' Five minutes later, just as I was done listening to my voicemail messages, my intercom buzzed and Brenda announced that my temp was ready to meet me. After asking her to show her in, I arranged myself into my very best power pose. Legs crossed at the ankles and tucked under my chair, spine straight and not touching the back of it, hands folded on my desk, expression open and welcoming but serious. As soon as Brenda walked in and stepped aside, I thanked the powers that be that I'd taken the time to school my expression. See, fate really can and will be unkind, given the opportunity. Because standing there in all of her magnificent glory was Ms. Indian Princess. 'Holy shit,' I thought, at a loss. But work me is in control, work me has flipped the switch to auto-pilot, and I feel myself standing and smiling. As if through a tunnel, I hear myself saying, "Well what a coincidence. Good morning. It's nice to meet you. My name is Johann Beaumont, and you are?" "Yes, yes it is. I'm Lailani Garcia," she responds smiling broadly, her slender manicured hand finding mine, and shaking it with confidence. If she was previously battling nerves, she has won and is in complete command of herself. Impressive. "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Beaumont. I've heard a lot about you, and the company. I'm really looking forward to being here." "Thank you," I say, "have a seat," gesturing for the chair in front of my desk. "You realize of course that this is a temporary position, that you will be covering my assistant's maternity leave?" I ask her. I have to. I don't have any other available positions at the moment, and sometimes temps get sent over from the agency with a mistaken idea about the position they will be filling. "Yes, ma'am," she says. "But they also said that if I perform well, and I fully intend to, I might find myself a permanent position on your staff." "That might not be for some time," I respond. "I'm willing to take my chances. I can't imagine wanting to work anywhere more than I want to work here. My cousin Steven...well, let's just say that your organization saved my cousin. He was starting to run with the gang kids and getting into trouble, when my aunt found out about you guys. With the help that you gave the family, he was able to turn himself around. Now, he's in his last year of college, and they're saying that he'll be one of the first picks this year at the NFL draft. Our family owes you a great debt and I've wanted to work here since high school." "Garcia, Garcia..." I mutter, thinking back to my students from a few years back. "Steve? Steven Garcia?" I ask her and she nods in response. "Okay. I see. Of course I remember Stevie. How's Maria?" "You remember Titi Maria's name?" she asks, her composure slipping a bit, her age showing just a little. "Of course I do," I answer kindly. "I make it a point to get to know all of our families. When one knows them, I mean really knows them, one is much more motivated to help them; to make a difference. Maria was one of those women that really touched me very deeply. She reminded me a lot of my own mother. Her determination, her perseverance, her complete faith, she inspired me. I had the hardest time placing Steve, he'd gone pretty far around the bend, gotten into quite a bit of trouble, and Wheaton Academy didn't want him, regardless of his sporting abilities. I had to beg, wheedle, and cajole. But because of Maria, I knew it was worth the extra time and effort. And now I see I wasn't wrong," I finished, smiling. "Thank you, Ms. Beaumont," she said smiling. "Johann," I amended immediately. "Thank you, Johann," she said quickly, correcting herself. "It really is my pleasure Lailani; I love my job," I said. Because of our conversation, I was able to finally study her. I mean really contemplate her fully. My previous assessment of her had been made with discrete-I'm-not-gay-glances. Now I was able to really study her. She was actually far more stunning than I'd previously thought. Her hair was raven wing black, and glossy as glass. Her eyes, subtly made-up, were so dark brown they looked black, with a fringe of very long, very thick lashes. Her skin was the color of light butter toffee, her cheekbones high, her lips full and a dark rose color. Such a beautiful rose color that she'd forgone lipstick, in favor of lip balm, leaving the natural color to dazzle on its own. And the body...goodness, does this child have a body. Average height, maybe a little shorter, with high proud breasts, a teeny tiny waist, full curvaceous hips and ass, and dancer's legs; envy inspiring, that's what it is, but so inviting and so tempting you want to weep. "Yes, ma'am, I've been told," she answered, bringing me out of my reverie. "It is what made me want to follow in your footsteps. I just got my degree in social work from St. Andrew's and I don't want to waste it stuck in the system. 'Dreams' really does make a difference in the lives of the people it touches, and I want to be a part of that. I know that I was called to fill in for your assistant. But I believe in the laws of the universe. And I know that this is where I work," she stated, with such an utter unshakeable belief in herself that I was reminded of her aunt. The Job is Hers I smiled then and stood. "Well, then on that note, let's get you started, shall we?" "Yes, please," she said in her rich, melodious voice. And the way she said it, the tone, the absolute sexiness in those two syllables caused my knees to shake just a little. I felt my walls get slick with wetness as my mind flashed to her naked, blindfolded, and on her knees. 'This is gonna be a long day,' I thought, as I showed her out. I spent the next hour in her company, showing her around, explaining how I liked things done. She paid rapt attention to every word I said, even taking notes on a small pad she carried around with her. She asked intelligent questions, and she learned very quickly. That was almost two weeks ago. Outside of that first hour, I have gone out of my way to keep the contact with Lailani to a minimum. Sure she carries out all of her responsibilities, and we work closely together, but I barely look at her and eye contact is out of the question. It's like she's not there, even when she is. That was two weeks ago, and every night since then, I go home and use my husband like a male whore. He's exhausted to the point where he cannot see straight, and while he's not complaining, he is beginning to question this new me. The new me that wants to have sex every single night as soon as I cross the threshold to our home. The new me that has slipped into the ladies' room on more than one occasion, to quietly slide fingers over slick quivering flesh, biting down on my tongue to keep from crying out. This new me that is perpetually wet, swollen and wanting. Tonight we had to work late. The office is quiet. We are the only two left here. I am responsible for making sure that tomorrow's charity luncheon goes off without a hitch, and we have just finished taking care of the last minute details. I click send on the email I was working on, and watch as the little folder with wings takes off. A soft knock sounds on the door, which is open to the space outside where Lailani's desk sits. "Johann," she says, her voice softer than usual, and I close my eyes to the sound of it. "Yes, Lailani?" I ask. "I have to fax my timesheet over to the agency first thing in the morning. Since this is my first pay period, I have to send this evaluation with it. I know it's late, but tomorrow you'll be so busy. I was wondering if you would mind filling it out for me before we leave tonight. Oh, and if you would sign my timesheet?" "Sure, let me have it," I answer, shuffling papers around on my desk. I glance up as I take the papers from her hand, but just barely. It is my version of a dismissal, and she has understood and heeded it since day one. Today, she dismisses my dismissal. I am dismayed but say nothing; assuming that she is just waiting for me to return her documents to her. I sign the timesheet first, since it is the easiest, and then focus my attention on her evaluation. I answer the questions by checking off the boxes with the answers provided. In the comments field, I write out my assessment of her, and what it has been like to work with her. Aside from my attraction to her, she is easily the best assistant I've ever had; bright, efficient, enthusiastic, and she truly cares about our clients. She is actually better than Karen, and I am beginning to hope that Karen decides to be a stay at home mom. When I am finished writing, I hand it along with the timesheet back to her, finally looking up. Our fingertips brush as I hand over the documents, and I feel a rush of electricity at our touch. Our eyes meet, and her lips fall open, a small sigh escaping her mouth. It would seem that in my effort not to notice Lailani, I've failed to notice that Lailani finds me attractive as well. This is bad. Dangerous. "I guess that's all for tonight, Lani, you can head out now," I tell her, knowing that she needs to get the hell out of my office before one of us fucks up. "Thanks, Johann. Good night," she breathes, her voice barely audible, making the tone even more sexy than usual. I feel my panties soak and rub my sensitive flesh as I shift in my seat. She does nothing to disguise the fact that she is reading my comments as she walks out of my office. As she leaves, I log off of my computer, and switch my phone to voicemail. Just as I am gathering my things to leave, I see her standing at my door. "May I come in?" she asks. "Sure," I answer, my own voice barely audible this time because I know that I should be saying no instead. I can feel my heartbeat thudding in my chest; echoing elsewhere in my body, behind my ears, behind my knees, between my legs. I swallow hard, and put my hands in my lap, hoping that she does not see them shaking as I hide them under the desk. "I took the liberty to read your comments." "I know. I saw that while you were leaving." "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I was so scared you would say something unfavorable. I thought you didn't like me." "What would make you think something like that, Lailani?" I ask her. "I guess it's the fact that you go out of your way to avoid me, and when you have to deal with me, you go out of your way not to look at me." I look up at her, wracking my mind for something to say, and after a few seconds I look away again. My tongue has stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my poker face has gone to hell in a hand basket, leaving my desire written all over it. I know that I have to do or say something. Soon. But my powers of speech have deserted me. "Jo," she whispers, and I jump as I realize that she has moved from that side of my desk, and is now standing next to my chair. "Lailani," I answer, finally giving in, and looking her in the eye. She is standing next to me, bent over at the waist, her face inches from mine. It would take only the slightest shift from either one of us to close the distance. "Why don't you ever look at me, Johann?" she asks me, her voice a soft caress, commanding attention with ease. I'm looking at her now. As my eyes travel her face, they stop at her inviting lips. I feel the tip of my tongue as I lick my own, and I recognize it for the tell tale sign it is. But she is unrelenting and unlike Brenda, she is fully aware of the power she wields. "Johann, why don't you ever look at me?" she asks again, and my eyes fly back to hers. "I've been here for two weeks, working side by side with you, following you around, making sure you have everything you need, and you act like I am invisible. Here I am thinking you cannot stand me, that you are desperately counting the days until Karen comes back from maternity leave, only to read your evaluation and find out that nothing could be further from the truth." She paused for the briefest moment before continuing, "Do you like me, Johann?" "Of course I do, you just saw that for yourself. You just read it," I answer, knowing that is not what she is asking at all. "That's not what I meant," she said, leaning a little closer, "and I think you know that." "Lailani, don't. Please don't do this," I whisper. "Why? If I don't, you never will. And you and I both know you never will. So I have to, because every night I go home and I wonder." "What do you wonder?" "I wonder what it would be like to kiss you. I wonder what it would be like to feel your lips all over my body. What it would be like to taste you. I've never wanted a woman the way that I want you," she said, her voice catching on some of her words, belying her calm. "Don't you ever wonder about it?" In that moment, I closed the distance. Right before my lips touched hers I answered, "All the damn time." And with that, I finally gave into to the desire that had been building up for thirteen days. Thirteen days can be a very long time when they are full of longing and desire. Thirteen days can seem like an eternity when you spend every waking moment denying yourself that which you want more than anything else. She kissed like she meant it. She kissed like she wanted to erase the memory of every other woman I'd kissed before her. My fingers found the way into her hair, and I used my hand on the back of her head to crush her mouth to mine. I pulled her into my lap and she sat on my knee with her skirt riding up her thighs, as my fingers pulled the pins out of her bun. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft rippling waves, caressing my cheeks as I let my mouth travel from her mouth to her jaw and down lower to her neck. She smelled so good. At this time of day, she smelled as good as she did that first day on the train first thing in the morning. I let my mouth slide up the side of her neck beneath her ear and breathed, "You smell so good." Her sigh and the gooseflesh that accompanied it were the only indication I had that she'd heard me. I felt her fingertips opening the buttons of my blouse. She fumbled with them, not out of lack of experience, but because her entire body was shaking. Like a leaf on a tree, she was shaking. Her desire rode mine, made it stronger. I raised her shaking hand to my mouth and kissed the palm of her hand, letting my tongue trace the contours of her palm, and the space between her fingers. She actually moaned out loud for me. "Stand up," I ordered. "Please don't stop," she begged. I chuckled and said again, "Stand up." This time she obeyed, and I stood with her. I took her by the hand and started to walk around the desk. When she saw that I was heading towards the door she stopped. "No," she said, squeezing my hand and pulling me to her, kissing me again. "Yes," I answered, pulling her with me, "or do you want the cleaning crew to see us?" She shook her head, blushing, and I understood at once. Lailani thought I was going to kick her out of my office. Not a chance. She started this party, but I was going to finish it, and by the time I was done making love to her she would be more than my assistant. "We're not going anywhere, baby darling. Not yet. I like to finish what I start, and it's rude to leave a girl all dressed up with no place to go," I said smiling. I closed the door and sat her on my couch. Then I knelt between her knees and kissed her slowly. I let my mouth learn the contours of hers, feel the softness of her pretty lips, taste the sweetness of her mouth as I slowly undid the buttons of her blouse. I was shaking now as much as her, but because I was going so slowly, it was easier for me to fumble a bit less. As the silk went sliding down her arms, I was greeted with the sight of black lace. I slid my fingertips between the cups and opened the front clasp, drawing away from her mouth to admire her. "Lovely," I said, "your breasts are lovely." "I want to see yours," she answered. "Please." I finished unbuttoning my own blouse, and she helped me out of it. Before I could reach behind me to open it, she had it opened, and was tossing my bra aside. She took the weight of my breasts in each hand, cupping them and letting her thumbs trace the already erect nipples. She leaned forward and took one into the warm recesses of her mouth, and my breath escaped in a long sigh. She let her fingers tangle in my hair as she suckled first one and then the other breast, pulling me closer to her, as she fell back onto the couch. I traced my fingertips slowly up and down her thighs as I languished in the sensation of her mouth. I pushed her skirt up while I did so, letting my fingertips come closer and closer to her pussy each time. The closer I teased, the harder she sucked. When the fingers of my right hand brushed up the center of her panties, just barely touching her, she bit me. Not hard, just enough to make me arch my back and push into her mouth. I slid my hands up her body, tracing her hips, waist, breasts, shoulders, neck, until I reach her face. I pull her back up to my mouth. I can't get enough of her kisses, so soft and sweet, yet passionate. While I kiss her mouth, I continue to explore her body, noting how she responds to my touch. The slightest caresses making her writhe, the satin of her panties soaked with her essence. I can feel her, her wetness, and I want so badly to taste her. She raises her hips to help me pull down that last barrier between us. Her skirt lies forgotten, bunched up around her waist, but we can't be bothered with it anymore. She's eager now. Her breath has quickened and her eyes have glazed over with lust. I push her back into the cushions of the couch, sliding her bottom down to the edge of the seat with my hands. I open her and gaze at her with lust. The lips of her cunt match the lips on her mouth; full, ripe, pink, and incredibly inviting. "Have you imagined this too?" I ask her, as I kiss the delicate flesh on the inside of her thighs. I feel them quiver in response and smile to myself. "Yeah," she says. "Every night while I am lying in bed playing with myself and wishing it was you touching me." My body tightens at her words. Everywhere. My fingertips dig into her hips, where I am holding her, and she lifts them slightly off the seat, bringing her closer to my mouth. She is glistening wet, and as I take that first lick of her with my tongue, I fall in love with her taste. She is tangy and sweet, smoky and clean. I find a rhythm with my tongue, exploring all of her crevices, letting my tongue into the recesses of her body. She is writhing and moaning beneath me, but I am lost in her. I slide a finger and then two inside of her, pushing upwards on her g-spot. I am rewarded with her tightening her vaginal muscles on the invading digits. I use my tongue and my fingers on her, and the more she moans, and the more she sighs, and the more she trembles and shakes the wetter I get. My thighs are slick with my wetness, and the want in me is so deep and so bad, I ache with it. I can feel my own muscles tightening and releasing on themselves, begging for attention. I don't care. All I care about is pleasing her. I can feel her orgasm building. She's holding my head to her, moving her hips in time to my lips and tongue. I close my mouth over her, allowing my tongue to pay special attention to her clit, easing a third finger inside of her. "Fuck," the word comes out harshly, half moan, half scream only to be lost in the strangled cries that follow as she finally comes in my mouth. I continue to lap at her through the orgasm, relishing the tightness as she closes around my fingers. I look up along the length of her body to see her breasts, neck and face flushed. Her head is thrown back in abandon and her eyes are closed. She has never looked so lovely to me. As her orgasm subsides, I let my mouth travel up her body, but leave my fingers inside of her. I reach her mouth, letting my lips linger over hers. She traces my lips with her tongue, sucking on my bottom lip. "Mmm," she says against my mouth. "I taste good on you." "Yes, you most certainly do," I agree. "Let me see," she says, reaching down and taking my wrists, pulling my hand away. She brings my fingers up to her lips and sucks on my index finger, letting her cheeks cave in with the pressure. Her mouth is hot and silky inside. Just like the rest of her, hot and silky. "Want some," she asks, holding my hand up to my mouth. I let my middle finger slide between my lips, licking her essence, but watching her face as I do it. She is watching my mouth, unaware that I am watching her, and she licks her lips before leaning over to kiss me again. "I want to taste you," she says when she pulls away from the kiss, bringing me up off of my knees. I think my panties hit the floor before she was finished speaking the words. Now it was my own skirt bunched up, forgotten, around my waist. She ate my pussy like she does everything else. Meticulously. Thoroughly. With passion. She noted my every response, for the most part not taking her eyes off of mine, closing them only every now and then to savor me. Over and over she brought me to the edge, only to pull back right before I went over. Over and over, she took me to that point, only to bring me back; drawing out the pleasure until I think I will go insane from it, it feels so good. "Please," I beg finally. "No more, baby, please." She penetrates me, and eases her mouth off of me so that she can answer me. "But I've wanted you since that first time I saw you on the train. I want it to last; I've waited for so long." "Baby girl, please," I moan, lifting my hips off the couch and pushing into her hand. Smiling, she takes me back into her mouth, closing her lips over my clitoris and sucking it into her mouth. As I start to tremble, she pushes up on my g-spot, and I have a second to wonder how a girl just barely out of college even knows where that is, before I explode in a mind-numbing orgasm. I bite down on the corner of a cushion to keep from screaming, and I feel my body shaking from head to toe. I open my eyes to see her smiling down at me. I feel the corners of my lips lift in response. Slowly, she closes the distance between us, and lets her lips trace my mouth. Now it is the taste of me on her that we savor. "Still think I should stop?" she asks. And all I could do was say the same words I'd said to her earlier. "Please don't," as I pull her to me and kiss her again. She laughed, a sultry siren's laugh, and hugged me close. "Please don't what?" she demanded. "Please, don't ever stop," I answered. "You're not the only one that has wanted this since that morning on the train." "I'm glad it happened," she said. "Me too," I answer, and I am; I'm even happier that she initiated our lovemaking. I would have hated feeling like she felt pressured. This way, I know it was something she really wanted too. "I just have one more question, Johann," she said. "And what might that be," I ask her. "Do you like me, Johann?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Hmm, I don't know, Lani. Lie down and let me lick you again, I'll tell you later." She laughed and laughed at that, but she did lie down, and she did spread her legs nice and wide for me. And she let me have it. From the front, from the back, from the side, sixty-nine; all night long, she let me have it. And now she's mine. Poor Karen, it looks like we'll have to find her something else when she comes back; but it's like Lailani said, this position is hers and hers alone.