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Message-ID: <36545asstr$1021767002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "tim os" <timos111@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Thrill of the Chase (MF exhib cheat)
Date: Sat, 18 May 2002 20:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


<1st attachment, "THRILL OF THE CHASE.txt" begin>

THRILL OF THE CHASE

(MF exhib cheat)


"Yale Law Review - they all go to the Current
Journals section."

Carol reeled off an identifying number from the new
coding system, and soon I was able to find the
correct shelf.  I heaved the stack of musty tomes up
from off the trolley.

""Come and work for a big glamorous law firm", they
said.  "Do important cases and be famous" they said
..." I tailed off sardonically.

"The cases we have to do are these ones ..."

Carol swept out her arm to indicate the rows of tall
grey metal bookcases in the archive room.

"... in accordance with this new system".

She tapped emphatically on the manual we'd been
given by Brad, our immediate boss, when he told us
we'd be working together on this "vital
reorganisation" of the firm's case-law collections.


Carol had been here almost twenty years, but I was a
new kid on the block.  A lot of the people here I
still only knew by sight.  Including Carol, until
just lately.

"If you don't like it" she continued, "why don't you
quit this job and finish your law studies full-time?
That way, you'd start at the top.  Well, the
middle, anyway."

"I don't have the dough.  And it will look good on
my resume.  Always looks better for a law student to
be doing the shitwork of a law firm than some
grocery store ..."

She flinched at this.

"Excuse me, I've been doing this ... this "shitwork"
since almost the time you were born ..."

Oh-oh!  Looks like I was in for an
inter-generational telling-off!  But, impetuous
youth that I was, the flames got fanned with:

"Yes, how'd you put up with it for so long?  I'd
have been driven insane by now!"

She went quiet, then: "Sometimes it does drive me
insane. But it's a job ... and better than some
things I could be doing ..."

That made me bite my tongue.  I'm no bleeding-heart
liberal but you didn't have to be an Einstein to get
her drift, about being a girl, and Hispanic, and
growing up in the place that she did.

"So I always take this kind of thing seriously " she
continued.  "It's Brad's way, or the highway."

"To hell with Brad!  Soon this stuff will all be
on-line anyway!  I'd rather be working-out, or
mountain-biking  ... anything but this for three
straight weeks!"

"Then go ride your mountain bike, so I can go ask
Brad for a new assistant.  One who can knuckle down,
and not just be only thinking about "looking good"
... if kids like that can even be found these days
..."

My turn to get tetchy, about being called a "kid".
At twenty-one, hadn't I just been given the keys to
life, and everything?  Anyway, what's wrong with
looking good?  Far from a sign of laziness, it'd
been a career in itself developing an upper body
like mine.

But the conversation here was really not that
heated.  Banter like this helped to pass the time,
and after this exchange we lapsed into silence for a
while.

Then we got on to spouses.

"So ... when did she move in with you?" Carol wanted
to know, having just learned about the existence of
Fay.

"About three months ago.  It's getting serious, I
guess"

"I guess.  Are you engaged?"

"Shit, no!  I'm not ready for anything like that!"

"I'll bet you're not.  But what about her?" Carol's
probing hinted at a deeply ingrained Catholicism.

"I dunno.  She hasn't said.  We mostly just have a
good time together."

"And what makes a "good time"?"

"You mean, lifestyle in general?  Or intimate
secrets?"

"You can save the intimate secrets.  I meant
lifestyle in general."

"Okay, I guess we have a lot in common.  She's
sporty.  I'm sporty.  We met when competing in a
triathlon.  I like to spend a lot of time in the
gym.  She does too, fortunately for me.  It'd cause
a problem for us if she didn't."

"What else?"

"I like girls with athletic bodies.  She has a very
athletic body.  Very taut, very ..."

"Hey, that's intimate!"

"No it's not.  I'm just describing her figure."

"To us women, having our figure described is
intimate."

"Why?"

"It's like being looked-at all over, but in words
... oh, never mind!"

"I thought women like being looked at!"

Carol didn't dignify that with an answer.  Another
period of silence, punctuated only by book-moving
talk.

"Anyway" I said after a while, "Enough of me, what
about you?  What do you think about me?"

I'd heard this line in a Bette Midler movie, but if
Carol thought it witty she didn't show it.

"I got married when I finished high school, and have
two sons.  Miguel is smart, handsome, but shy.
Anton is lazy and already a charmer with the
ladies."

"Anton ... that doesn't sound like a Spanish name."

"It isn't. I just happened to like it."

"And your husband?"

She was slower to answer that one.

"Anton takes after him" was all she'd say.

After I'd digested this, my mind went back to what
she'd said about describing a woman's body.  I'd
just tried to describe Fay to Carol - so how would I
describe Carol to Fay?  Not that I made a point of
letting on to Fay that I noticed other women's
figures - quite the opposite.  But I did notice.  I
noticed lots and lots and lots.  Especially Brad's
personal secretary with the legs that went on
forever, and the junior clerk in Accounts who
sometimes wore a tight stretchy miniskirt, and ...

... so why hadn't I particularly noticed Carol
before?

She's not from an age group I was attuned to
noticing, perhaps.

I regarded her surreptitiously, or so I thought.

Her face was pretty, with smooth olive skin, though
some lines here and there.  A strong face, with
heavy eyebrows if left unplucked.   Nice full lips.
Dark hair that fell in heavy curls about her
shoulders.  Dark eyes, usually with a warmth in them
but sometimes guarded and sometimes with a trace of
sadness.

Figure ... a lot more rounded than his own past
dates or preferences to date.  Her frame was petite,
and a little padded now with the passage of time.  A
narrow waist that flared out to her hips, a blouse
front that swelled promisingly, and a gorgeous
backside under that tailored skirt.  She could look
good - could put to shame some girls half her age.
But the packaging ... she always dressed
conservatively.  Demurely.  Dressed down, you could
say.   In a way that always lessened rather than
increased attention toward her ... ahem ...
"assets".

She looked up sharply and caught me "regarding".

"What are you looking at?"

"Nice outfit!" I volunteered.

"Thanks" she said, but gave me a funny look.

A few more days passed, in the same old boring
tasks.  I couldn't wait to get back to my usual
desk, doing my usual paperwork while surreptitiously
surfing the net.  The only upside of my present task
was working with Carol, who was loosening up a bit
and becoming easier company.  Though I got the
impression that at times I irritated the hell out of
her.

"Have there been many other girlfriends before Fay?"
Carol wanted to know one day.

"A few.  In fact, several.  I lost my virginity when
I was fifteen."

I was being deliberately provocative here, and
expected censure for it, but there was none so I
followed with "How 'bout you?"

"Eighteen.  On my wedding night" she said primly.
One point to her, in the morality stakes.  But a
milestone had just been passed.  We were now talking
about intimacies.

"To have had so many girlfriends already, you must
change them like library books.  How do you do it?"
she wanted to know.

"Same way you'd change a boyfriend, I guess".

"Which is ...?"

"You mean, you don't know?"

"I've only ever had the one.  I married him."

"Weird!  Try before you buy, I always say!  It pays
to shop around."

She allowed a silence which obviously did not
indicate assent, then "Well ...?"

"Well, it's usually obvious if we're, like, drifting
apart.  We'll see each other less and less, phone
each other less and less, then one of us finds
someone else that we want to see more, and then ...
we say "It's over.  Bye-bye!""

"As easy as that?"

"As easy as that.  Unless, you've just met someone
really hot, and you want to be free of complications
real quick, then it can get heavy."

"So, what do you do?"

"Just tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That I don't want to see her anymore."

"How does she take it?"

"Not well.  Lots of waterworks, maybe things thrown.
A stuffed toy once got disemboweled with a bread
knife.  Very symbolic.  But hey, to make an omelette
you gotta break some eggs!"

She didn't approve, I could tell.  But then, she'd
asked a straight question and I'd given a straight
answer!

She got back to asking about Fay.

"What's the main thing that first attracted you?"

"Her body.  In a two-piece Lycra triathlon suit, she
looked so hot.  I had to ask her out, the minute I
saw her."

"What was so great about the triathlon suit?"

"The way it clung.  And what it was clinging to.
And the fact that she was dressed like that in front
of 300 other entrants, mostly male."

"Is she big ... y'know, in front?"

"Nah!  Fried-eggs!  And just as well, if you're an
athlete."

"Do you still allow her to dress like that in front
of other men?"

"Sure.  I get a kick out of it.  She does too."

CRASH!  Carol's grip on a pile of folders
momentarily faltered, and most of them ended up on
the floor.  We scooped them back up.  While we were
bent down on the floor, I took the opportunity to
glance down her blouse.   Only a brief glimpse of a
deep cleft, but enough to confirm the presence of
certain attributes that would render her seriously
triathlon-challenged.

"How do you know she gets a kick out of it?" Carol
finally brought herself to ask.

"She told me.  We were confessing turn-on's to each
other.  She says it's like a revenge on all the
big-breasted women in the world, when she dresses to
make her nipples really obvious.  Guys can't take
their eyes off them!"

Funny, Carol didn't seem to be placing so many
news-blackouts on "intimacy" these days.

But she had her limits.

When she asked "And what's the main thing that keeps
your relationship going?" I replied simply "The sex.
Her blowjobs are fantastic!"

Carol was offended by my crudity, and ended the
conversation to go into a huff for a while.  But
hey, it was the truth!

Well, not totally.  I was about as in-love with Fay
as I was capable of being in those days.  But if I'd
been forced to choose between love or blowjobs, it'd
be a close call.  I guess you could say I had a
short attention span.

Speaking of which, Carol was starting to catch my
attention more and more.

Why, I don't know.

Maybe it was a combination of things.

First, she was different.

Different to what I was used to.  Soft and rounded,
not lean and taut.  Dark, not fair.  Quiet and
considerate, not showy or egocentric.  Mature, but
on some things quite na ve.

Or was it just the close familiarity we now had at
work, being on the same project for over two weeks
with mostly just each other's company - a sort-of
"hot-house" atmosphere where things might happen
that in other circumstances wouldn't?

Or maybe it was just the fascination of somebody who
is off-limits, a case of wanting to obtain the
unobtainable.  I mean, I'd have no intention of
forming a relationship with her.  She was at least
fifteen years my senior, and married with kids.

At least that's what I'd remind myself each time I
found myself fantasizing about her, or glancing at
her legs while she was up the stepladder with a
stack of files.  Good legs, too ... now stop it,
will ya!

"Nice outfit!  It suits your figure."

I was taking to making little comments to show I
noticed what she looked like.  Yeah, obvious, I
know.  Subtlety was not my strong point.  She was
suspicious at first.

"What figure?  I'm a mom, remember?"

But after a couple of days she'd take my occasional
compliments in good grace.

She'd even return them, in an indirect way.

Like, instead of just saying "Lift that carton of
files up for me", she'd instead go "Get those ab's
and pec's working for me, will ya?" and give my
upper arm a squeeze.  I enjoyed her touch.

I began wondering how I could take this further, how
I could find some way of winding up in bed with her.

Then fortune smiled upon me.  Or so I thought.

"Hand me up those Harvard publications?"

She was balanced on the ladder, high enough that I
could see a little thigh under the hem of her
knee-length skirt.  Nothing to get too excited
about; still, she had to place one foot on the
bookshelf itself to reach across to the "H" section,
almost out of her reach.  Would I get to see more?
One foot was still on the ladder.  Not an ideal
situation in terms of the laws of physics.

And sure enough, the ladder toppled sideways.  She
had one foot on a shelf, but immediately lost this
precarious toehold.  It happened so fast that my
reaction was purely instinctive, but I managed to
catch her as she literally fell into my arms.  I was
able to break her fall, but got pushed off-balance
hard up against the opposite shelving, with Carol
wrapped up in my arms.

We remained frozen like that for a couple of
seconds.

Then I kissed her.

Just lightly, on the lips.  Fairly chastely, I
thought.

I kissed her again, a little more forcefully,
seeking out each full lip.

But now her eyes had gone round like saucers, her
hands came up between us, and she tried to fend me
off with a hard shove.  Except I was still jammed
against the bookshelves, and had my arms around her.

Her arms relaxed for a bit, and I felt her lips
soften too.  The tip of my tongue flickered along
the tiny gap that was opening up, but then her lips
hardened again and she pulled her face away.

"Please stop!  This isn't right ..."

"It feels very right to me" I replied, bending and
covering one of her soft cheeks with light kisses
that ended at her earlobe.

She tried another push.

"I'm married!  I can't do this!"

My lips tried to move back to her mouth again.

"Stop!  This is harassment!"

That brought me to my senses.  I released her at
once, and she spun away.  She stood against the
shelves a few feet from me, looking straight at the
floor, and breathing heavily but otherwise silent.

"Carol, I'm sorry!  I ... I don't know what came
over me!  I acted on impulse, I guess ..."

She gave me an angry look, though her anger was
already fading - from white-hot to about red-hot.

"Look, you're basically a nice guy, and I don't want
to get you into trouble, but if I say "stop" can you
please stop?"

"Yeah, sure.  I ... I really apologize for upsetting
you."

Her dark eyes flashed hard looks at me for another
few moments.

"Accepted.  Now lets get back to work.  Your turn to
go up the ladder."

We spoke only a little for the remainder of that
day, just sticking to the business at hand.  She was
really pissed off with me.  And fair enough, too.  I
must have been nuts to think she'd respond to an
overture like that.  I was feeling pretty
embarrassed about it.

Every so often, though, I'd catch her glancing at me
briefly.  She was working on auto-pilot, and seemed
often lost in thought.

"Good morning!  We're not far from finishing ... in
just another few days time!" was Carol's greeting to
me next day.

Everything seemed cool again.  She could even joke
about the day before.

"Can you spread a safety net around this ladder
before I do my next high-wire act?" she kidded me
upon going up its steps.

"I'll get a mattress and lay it ready, so you can
have a real soft landing this time ..."

"As long as its not a double mattress ..."  she shot
back.

All in all, she seemed to be taking my indiscretion
in good humour.

Another day later, and Carol did something out of
the ordinary.

Ordinarily, she'd be dressed in formal skirts of
conservative length, and loose, heavy blouses that
didn't give too much indication of what she had up
on top.  Today she still had the regular skirt and
tailoured jacket, but she'd also chosen a thin
knitted sweater instead of the usual blouse.  To put
in bluntly, it accentuated her breasts.  And she was
a lot breastier than I'd previously given her credit
for.

I wasn't the only one to notice.  I'd gone out for
some more boxfiles and other stationary supplies,
and heard somebody say to another "Did you see Carol
today!  Is she changing her image, or something?"

There were no more ladder jokes between us today,
but she was up the ladder a lot as we moved a stash
of stuff that had to be archived.  I could hardly
take my eyes off her breasts.  She'd removed her
jacket before long and, as she held her arms up high
and concentrated on getting the files in the correct
order, I could take in her profile from a range of
two or three feet away has I held each file up to
her from below.  Her bra was outlined in the
stretchy wool, and strained to contain such heavy
globes.

Nothing slutty here, you understand.  On a woman of
lesser dimensions I wouldn't have thought twice
about the particular way she was dressed.  It's just
that, with someone of her chest size, it wasn't hard
to choose clothes that brightened up my day
considerably.

She must have known I was captivated, but gave no
sign of noticing my glazed expression.  Sometimes
she bent down to put something on a lower shelf, and
showed a deep, deep cleavage down the v-neck of that
top.  I was entranced.

Should I make any mention of this new state of
affairs, or should I not?  I decided it was a trend
that ought to be encouraged.

"That sweater looks good on you."

"What, this old thing?" she answered nonchalantly.

Then there was another accident.  Or "accident"?  If
it was faked, then it wasn't faked by me.  Stepping
down off the ladder with her back to me, she missed
her footing and stumbled backwards on a collision
course.  I could have jumped out of the way, but
then she'd have slammed into the shelving, so I
stood and caught her - again.

In so doing, I managed some faking of my own.  I
managed to have one hand land across her chest, and
the other on her hip.

My hand was pressed against the under-hang of one
breast, with my thumb close to its nipple.  This
feels pretty good, I thought, and down in my groin,
pressed hard up against her buttocks, something
started twitching.

Though expecting a telling-off at any moment, I
decided to get bold.  My thumb found her nipple and
started teasing it through her bra.  There was no
sign of panic.  Carol remained leaning into me, her
eyes closed and breathing evenly.

Give me an inch, and I'll take a mile.  I cupped her
breasts with both hands, testing their weight and
brushing my thumbs over her nipples.  I slumped down
so that my lips could find an earlobe and start
nibbling it, and so the tip of the tent-pole in my
trousers could nestle at the tops of her thighs.
She remained in a trance-like state.

Carol felt good, so soft and pliant, and the
situation was getting better by the minute.  I
yanked up her top, pulled down the cups of her lacy
bra, and her heavy boobs just popped out.  Now that
they were hanging over her bra, I could get my hands
onto an abundance of soft warm flesh and easily find
turgid nipples to tug upon.

I kissed my way down across her cheek and she slowly
turned her head around until our mouths could
connect.  Her lips parted to accept my probing
tongue, and her own twirled against it.  I began to
grind my prick harder against her butt, and she met
these warmup-thrusts  by pushing back against me.

Things happened fast after that.  I wanted to have
her there and then, possess her totally, not even
wait to get her clothes off.  Releasing her boobs, I
fumbled with my fly and got my pants down far enough
for my cock to spring free.  I hiked up the back of
her skirt and, while she braced herself against the
bookshelves opposite, I whisked her panties down to
her knees.  Then I was buried up to the hilt in
molten slickness, my desperate thrusts cushioned by
the two sweetest pillows it'd ever been my pleasure
to part.

I held her hanging breasts for a time and enjoyed
the feeling of having my hands so full.  But my butt
wanted to go like a buzz-saw and I needed more grip
on her.  I grabbed her by the hips and found it
allowed me to thrust harder.  Luckily she was well
braced, because my cock was practically lifting her
off the ground.  She started squeezing me
internally, and it was this that tripped my trigger.
That familiar salty, tickling sensation in my prick
heralded the onset of frantic, spastic jerks, and
then I was spurting my stuff into her.

I stopped to catch my breath and clutched her
hanging breasts again, my cock still inside but
gradually retreating.

I popped out of her as she straightened up and
turned round.  She put her arms around my neck and
kissed me full and slow, our lips melting together.
Her skirt had fallen back into place, but her bare
boobs still spilled over the top of her bra.

Pushing me away, she commanded "On your knees!"
What's up? I wondered.  Do I get a knighthood for
this?

But she lifted her skirt up to expose her bush, with
panties still down around her knees.

I took the hint, and believe me, it was no problem.
Laying a hand on each soft buttock, I pulled her to
my face and gently kissed the sparse black curls on
her mound, licking my way down her cleft and, with
one of her feet up on a rung of the stepladder, I
could press my face into her moist entrance.  I
lapped and supped at her, kissing her full on her
other lips as my nose tickled her bud.  My
fingertips caught the stickiness that was seeping
out and spread it out over silky inner-thighs.

She gasped several times, with long pauses in
between, and I could feel her body quiver.  Then her
thighs closed to push my face back out of her tender
spots.

I stood and, without speaking, we straightened up
our clothing and both headed off to a Ladies and a
Gents to clean ourselves up again.  Me,
specifically, to wash the pussy smell off my face.
Not that I am averse to it or anything, but out of
consideration for anyone who might pass within two
yards of me.

We managed to get about another hour and a half of
work done, talking small-talk and trying to focus on
the task at hand.  But she had this soft, fuzzy,
"fucked-duck" look about her, and her boobs were
still so painfully obvious in that tight top, and as
soon as I thought my cock was ready, I just took her
again.  Grabbed her from behind and eased her
forward, cupping those magnificent breasts and
bumping her rear with my groin until we'd arrived in
the most private spot in the Archives suite.

This time I spread clean sheets of flipboard paper
on the floor at the end of a row of shelves, took
her panties right off, and got her top and most of
her bra out of the way of those perfect, luscious
breasts.  I covered her in kisses from her face to
her chest to her thighs while she lay with legs open
waiting to receive me.  Her boobs had big nipples -
berry-like teats set in large dark-brown circles -
so different from the delicate coral-pink buds I'd
so far come across.  Carol remained passive as I
mounted and eased myself inside, and I began
leisurely strokes that gradually quickened in pace
and intensity until she brought her legs up, to
change the angle and get me bumping right against
her sweet spot.  I came without drama, just began
squirting without even changing pace.  If she came
at all this time around, she was pretty quiet about
it.

We got dressed again, and this time stayed dressed.
We didn't speak of anything much at all until
hometime, but she patted the front of my trousers
and shot me a knowing look before heading for the
elevator.  I went home with a silly grin on my face.

Fay was "in the mood" that night, but to be honest,
my prick hurt.  I pleaded that I had a groin injury
from playing squash, so couldn't screw.  I went down
on her instead, but my heart wasn't in it and it
took her a while to come.  She said "I hope your leg
gets better real soon ..." and drifted off to sleep.

I couldn't wait to get to work, and start
manhandling Carol again.  She was dressed a bit more
sexily, not outrageously so, but in a shorter skirt
and a tight cotton top through which her bra was
visible.  And she had real stockings on ...

But she had gone all cold on me again.  When I tried
to embrace and kiss her she pushed me away and said
"No.  I'm feeling really guilty right now.  I've
betrayed my husband, and it's hard for me to deal
with.  Lets just cool it ...".

This was torture.  She'd keep bending in front of me
to get stuff, and I'd see those stockings go up, up,
up under that skirt, and I could see the garter
straps and some creamy thigh, but if I put my hand
on her butt she'd slap it away and say "I told you,
"No!""

And her top was low-cut so I could see how her bust
welled up and quaked as she moved, and her lacy bra
left little to the imagination.  It was driving me
crazy.

I had to spend some time back in the main
administration area because Brad called me for a
progress report on the Archive project.  When he'd
finished, he said conspiratorially "Carol's looking
good these days.  Have you noticed?"  I just nodded,
but didn't say anything.

Well, nothing happened that day.  Carol stayed
thoroughly professional at all times, and I gave up
trying to seduce her.

Her dress sense was giving other signals, though.
Next time she arrived for work, she had a dress of
soft, clingy material.  Viewed from the rear, one
could see panty lines that were fairly high-cut.
Her bare legs were shapely, and there was a moderate
amount of cleavage on display.  As I came into work,
the lift operator said "Wait till you see Carol
today.  She looks like she's off to a party
someplace!"  This of a woman who two weeks ago
hardly anyone was giving a second glance!

When we were alone in the Archive room, I tried to
hug her.  She said a firm "No!", and pushed me away.
She began work, but I just looked her up and down.
Her bra showed the bumps of her nipples through the
fabric of that clinging dress, which looked like it
was moulded to her.  It showed that she had a bit of
a tummy roll and broad hips, but this just made her
even curvier, sexier, like the voluptuous nude women
those mediaeval artists used to paint.

I couldn't stand it.  I ached to have her again.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I unzipped my fly, pulled out my prick, coaxed it up
to full hardness while ogling her tits, and started
masturbating in front of her.  She stopped working
and looked at me, stunned.

"What are you doing?!!?"

"You look so fuckable.  I want to fuck you again."

She watched me beating away furiously for a few
moments.

"Do you really want me so bad?"

"Yes"

"A woman who could be your mother?"

"Yes"

"So bad, even though you've got a sexy young
girlfriend?"

"I haven't screwed her for days."

She looked at my vigorous stroking some more, then
came over to me.  She knelt down, took my cock out
of my hands and sucked it into her mouth.

Well, hello!  It was obvious she'd done this before.
She applied just the right friction, and tickled my
balls, and looked up soulfully with dark eyes as my
cock stretched her lips and engorged her cheeks, and
she kept her teeth well out of the way, and made
little "Mmmmmm!" noises, until I hit the point of no
return.  Some semen slipped out the corner of her
mouth and dribbled down her chin, but its forceful
arrival didn't faze her and she kept up the suction
until the last drop had been extracted.  Then she
stood up, pulled by face down to hers, and kissed me
full on the lips.  We shared my load until it had
all been swallowed.

Then she hiked up her skirt and sat up on the table,
laying back with her legs open.  Her panties
decorated rather than concealed her curly bush, and
I soon got my face down there to nuzzle them aside.
Gripping the sides of her buttocks, I licked and
nibbled all over her gash, kissing and sucking,
tasting and tongue-fucking, until finally I was done
teasing and settled into a steady tempo on her stiff
little bud.  Her hips bucked and thrust up against
my face, and I had to hold on tight to stay on the
right spot.  She was silent but violent when she
came.

Again we visited respective bathrooms, and after
that we actually got a fair amount of work done that
day.  Little was being said, and I suppose little
needed to be said.  Obviously she'd changed her mind
about me in some way, but I didn't want to question
in case she changed it back again.  My theory was
she'd either decided that she liked me after all ...
or still disliked me but found I could give her
something her husband couldn't.

As we worked, I would occasionally squeeze her arm
or rub her butt, and she might give my cock a
squeeze, until finally, half an hour before home
time, we spread sheets of paper between the shelves,
completely disrobed, and fucked like bunnies.  She
finished me by getting on top, grinding her hips
against me.  I had fun trying to catch her big
nipples in my mouth as her bosom heaved and swayed
above me.  Then she started squeezing my prick with
her internal muscles to complete her total
de-spunking of me.

Fay was disappointed to learn that my groin injury
was no better.  After the distracted way in which I
finally brought her to orgasm, she was probably now
entertaining thoughts of buying a vibrator.

The library project came to an end a day or so
later.  It was behind schedule because we'd been
fucking each other so much, and I got criticised by
Brad.  "What the hell have you guys been doing down
there?" he wanted to know.  "Don't ask!" I replied.

Carol was back in her section again, and I was based
at the other end of the building.  The loss of
intimacy was more than I could stand.  Any excuse at
all, I'd go on errands to Carol's end of the office,
to check out what she was wearing that day, and find
if there was any chance of being alone with her.
She'd play it cool, but was lapping up the attention
and was now dressing to thrill.

Today she had a black silk blouse, a short red
skirt, and high-heels.  She was already up out of
her desk when I came along, and was sashaying away
down the corridor.  I followed her, and saw her go
into the stationary stockroom.  I went in after her,
closed the door, and locked it.

She spun around at the sound of the door closing,
then stood there looking at me.  Without a word, she
began slowly unbuttoning her blouse.  I unzipped and
got my cock ready as more and more cleavage, then
black lacy bra, then tummy came into view.  She bent
down and removed her panties from under that short
skirt.  I stepped up to her and hastily pulled down
her bra cups until each boob spilled free.  Then I
was devouring them, covering as much of them with my
tongue as possible, manhandling her nipples,
thrusting my fingers up between her thighs,
smoothing the soft flesh in the space below her
entrance.  I cupped her fluffy mound, testing the
entrance with a fingertip and finding it soft and
wet.  I lifted her up onto a table, got in position,
and entered her swiftly and desperately.  Her
insides felt as good as ever, gripping me and
sucking me inward, clamping with her muscles, while
she locked her legs around my back and hung on for
the ride.  It didn't take long, and I left her very
messy down there.  Then I zipped up and strode out
without a backward glance.

Fay was beginning to suspect something.  "Are you
seeing another woman?" she wanted to know.

"No!  Why?"

"Well, you're not the same anymore.  You don't seem
to find me sexy."

"I do!  I do!", and I hugged her to prove it.  We
tried to make love, but my prick was still sore from
fucking Carol twice that day, once in the stockroom
and again in the Law Partners Private Bathroom, and
I ended up fingering Fay to a climax.  I knew she
preferred cocks to fingers any day of the week.

Carol also seemed to like cocks.  Well, my cock,
anyway.  As long as I could get her anyplace alone,
she was mine for the taking.  Today, just to be
different, I tried her asshole.  I bent her over the
table, parted her bottom cheeks and used some saliva
to make things a bit slippery.  It was tight getting
my cock in, and she grunted a bit as the head wedged
its way past her ring-piece. I didn't know if she'd
done this before and I didn't ask, but she permitted
it and things relaxed a tad once I was in.  It felt
different, and for me a change was as good as a
holiday, but I didn't think that she got very much
out of it at all.  I withdrew without coming, and
masturbated until I could shoot all over her broad
bottom.  Then I left her to clean herself up, all
the while hating myself for wanting her so badly.

I was getting addicted, and fast losing control of
the situation.

We were screwing each other at least twice a day.
It was always me that chased after her, but I knew
she was ready and waiting for it.  If I willed
myself to hold back though, she'd provoke me with
flashes of cleavage or thigh, until I abandoned
whatever I was doing and took her with me to the
nearest secluded spot..

Meanwhile, Fay was giving me a hard time at home
about not paying her enough attention anymore.  Brad
was giving me a hard time about hardly ever being at
my desk, and not getting though my work fast enough.
Carol's co-workers were giving me a hard time about
lurking in their section, and were gossiping about
us.  My law professors were giving me a hard time
about missed assignments.  It was going from bad to
worse.

I accosted Carol on the ground floor outside the
lift, as she was heading home from work.

"Carol, this is too much.  We've got to finish it!"

"Well, you started it, loverboy!"

"I know, but I'm a wreck.  My life is falling apart.
I can't handle it any more"

"Okay, I'll stay away from you.  But the question is
- can you stay away from me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It'll be over if YOU can end it.  But you can't.
You can't stop fucking me.  You'll keep coming back
for more.  And as long as you do, it will continue
..."

"Oh, shit ... Carol, please!""

I followed her as she turned into a big department
store.  She walked to the ladies fashion section,
selected an outfit, and went to a changing booth.  I
trailed along after like a dog following a bitch on
heat.

"Just check out how this looks on me, honey?" she
said to me loudly for the benefit of the sales
assistants, and then we were inside, ripping off
panties, unzipping flies, parting thighs, and
humping and bumping to record-time climaxes.

We managed to get out of the store without being
arrested, and went our separate ways.

It was the same the next day.  She had to run an
errand to my section, and bent over the desk of the
person she was delivering the papers to.  From where
I was sitting I could see right up her thighs and
almost see her butt cheeks peeping out from under
that short dress.  As she walked away, I got up and
followed.

We went out onto the emergency stairwell.  No one
used these stairs unless the lift wasn't working,
but it's windows looked out onto another office
block and people could see us.   We didn't care.  We
didn't uncover much flesh, just enough to find the
right orifice, but it was obvious to any casual
observer that meat was in motion and body fluids
were being exchanged.  When we finished, we looked
out and saw that about half a dozen people at a
window were putting their hands together in
applause.

I was now very close to getting myself fired.  I was
constantly distracted from my work, with visions of
Carol always flooding into my thoughts.  At home,
Fay and I were hardly talking to each other.   I was
seriously in lust, and it couldn't continue.
Something had to give.

It all finally came to a head when Carol turned up
at my apartment one Saturday.  Luckily Fay had just
gone out to the convenience store, and meanwhile
Carol stood there in the hallway dressed in cut-off
shorts, a halter top with no bra, and "come-fuck-me"
leather boots. A vision of bare brown skin and
dangerous curves.

I gawped.  I never expected her to come around here.
And I certainly didn't know she went in public
dressed like that.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

She pulled aside the cups of the halter top and her
boobs spilled out.  Right there in my hallway, just
like that.  She cupped her breasts with her hands
and offered them up to me, big teats pointing right
at my face, dark circles like inviting targets.

"Shit!  Get inside before someone sees you!"

"My pleasure."

Carol had so little on, that it was the work of a
moment to get it all off.  I was still in the
process of impaling her upon my prick on the
living-room floor when Fay walked in on us.

Carol quickly got dressed, as cool as a cucumber,
and walked out of the apartment without saying a
word.

Fay said plenty, most of it unprintable even in a
story of this nature.  She packed up all her stuff,
called a friend to come help her move it, and then
she too walked out of the apartment.  I didn't
expect that she'd ever be back.

At work on Monday, I went to see Carol at her desk.
I hadn't slept for two whole nights.  She was not
inclined to talk, and I couldn't get her to leave
her desk without making a scene.

I waited on the street for her after work.  I fell
in step beside her and pleaded "Carol!  I've got to
see you!"

"No" she replied, "This time, it really is over".

"But ... I need you!"

She looked at me with pity, and a little bit of
scorn.

"Look, I was angry with you at first.  But then I
enjoyed your attention.  I was very flattered that
you'd find an older woman like me so attractive.
And the sex was great ... it's never been as good as
that with my boring husband ..."

"Then why is it over?"

"Well, the biggest thrill was finding I could steal
you away from your young girlfriend.  That's what
made the sex so great, knowing I was taking you away
from her ... that you'd rather be fucking me than
her ... but now the stealing's been done, and for me
the thrill just isn't there anymore.

And since I started dressing up for you, other men
have been noticing me.  I'm a hot property now ...
and that handsome young guy in Accounts has asked me
out on a date tomorrow night ... and guess what?

I happen to know he has a beautiful young wife ..."








If you liked this story (or not), be sure to let me know
at timos111@hotmail.com




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If you liked this story (or not), be sure to let me know at
timos111@hotmail.com




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