"Are you going down to the pool after tea?"
Marisa smiled. "After dinner, you mean? My god, I need to! Did you see how much there was to eat at lunchtime?" She put both hands around her waist. squeezed and frowned. "I'll need a whole new wardrobe by the end of the week."
We were both stuck in the middle of an interminable residential training course, in a classroom full of our colleagues from around the country, and had until about five minutes ago been practising our advocacy skills on each other.
Different companies take different approaches to these things. I've got friends who get put up in incredible hotels across Europe and have to put up with a nominal amount of "training" in exchange for a free hand with the company credit card and a gentle shove in the direction of the nearest strip club.
Our own firm had chosen instead to maroon 60 of us in a charmless maximum security compound somewhere in the midlands, twenty miles from the nearest large city. We were sharing the place with ashen faced delegates from a high street fashion retailer and a couple of major banks, all of whom looked like they were wondering what they'd done to deserve this. It was an excruciating waste of the first week of warm weather we'd had that year. It was also making me unbelievably horny.
I snuck a glance at Marisa. She worked in the London office, and she was wearing a beautifully cut wool suit, with a skirt that was a little below the knee. The double breasted jacket was cut short, emphasising the curves of her hips and bum, the lapels framing her full breasts. Her blond hair was cut short, pixie style, and textured, so that I could imagine ruffling it with my hand. Her blue eyes were playful, and had been gazing at me for most of the afternoon.
My concentration had gone at about two pm, when one of her shoes had brushed my leg under the table. I was so sensitised that I could feel the exact curve of the shiny patent leather and the hard spike of the heel. I'd spent the last three hours imagining sliding my hand up her warm thigh, caught between the sheer nylon of her stockings and the silky lining of her skirt. Would she be wearing stockings? I watched her breasts rise and fall against the tailored pink blouse. Absolutely, I decided.
Through all this, she had been professionally and cleverly defending her client in the mock dispute resolution scenario we had, and I had been fencing with her equally well, both of us polite, giving a little when needed but pressing for the points that really mattered. Which was how we got to meeting each other at the pool, after tea.
"So I'll see you down there then? About 8?" she said.
"For sure. We might actually be able to get a look in on the jacuzzi."
Marisa giggled. The jacuzzi had been occupied on rotating shifts by the teak tanned Jackie Collins lookalikes that made up the membership of the hotel health club, and the sweating bulk of John Colshaw, a rubbery lipped tax genius from the same office as me.
Having read this far, you might guess that I spent the next few hours imagining Marisa dripping wet, every curve of her body displayed in her brief swimsuit, stepping slowly into a frothing jacuzzi. And you'd be right. Eventually I went straight down to the empty pool after tea and hammered up and down, trying to work enough of a sweat to at least feel like I'd be able to hold a conversation with her. The clock on the wall slipped past eight while I was doing this. Eventually, I hauled myself, my throbbing dick and the gallon of underused sex hormones powering my massive hard on, out of the pool and into the boiling hot jacuzzi. I hit the button and bubbles frothed all over the place. I was just closing my eyes and wondering why she'd changed her mind – boyfriend, perhaps? - when I heard the door to the pool open.
"Hi!" Marisa called. "I'll be up in a minute – just let me get my thirty lengths in."
I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her swimsuit was pretty modest really; dark grey lycra to her tummy, then a band of mid grey to beneath her breasts, then white wrapping her breasts and for the halter. It was scalloped above her hips, so I could see the fair skin of her flanks. But it held every curve of her athletic body as she stalked across the tiles, lined up on the diving board and jumped cleanly in.
In no time at all, she was towelling her short hair dry and walking across to the jacuzzi, water streaming down her. I watched as the water in the tub fold around her graceful calves and her ripe arse, over her body until it lapped at the U shaped neckline of her swimsuit and the curves of her tits beneath.
Marisa sighed happily. "Right – gimme bubbles!" she said.
"OK. Hang on to your... well, just hang on." I hit the switch and the water frothed around us.
"Woah!" she cried. "I can see why those old ladies spend so much time in here!"
She slipped both legs across my lap, holding them demurely together but rubbing her smooth, smooth skin gently back and forth.
"D'you mind? It's smaller in here than it looks..." she said. She half closed her eyes, letting me run my eyes over her from her toes to her cute button nose, looking at the bubbles coiling around her body, caressing and stimulating her. She gave a long contented sigh.
"That working for you?" I asked, smiling.
"It's lovely, but it does have its problems. If I sit the wrong way, it can get me a bit...excited." she murmured.
My head was buzzing, my mind almost stalled by the level of my desire for her. My fingertips tingled as I imagined the feel of her warm, yielding body.
"Five thirty on a Friday excited?"
"No," sighed Marisa, gently rubbing her bum closer to my lap. "The other kind..."
Under the water, I cupped her buttock with my hand, feeling the difference between her bare skin and the slightly rough, clingy lycra.
