Forbidden Fuit

He stood, frozen in his tracks, his mouth open, barely daring to breath lest he should draw her attention to his presence. Torn between fascination, guilt and eroticism as he watched her.

It was his first job away from home. A fresh faced young man with so much to learn, thrust into a completely new but exciting environment so far from what he knew and was used to. A newly hatched turtle making for the crashing waves.

She was his boss. She'd hired him. He couldn't quite believe she had. A daunting woman with a sharp mind, an acerbic wit and an earthy sense of humour. As well as a disarming smile and porcelain skin.

He found himself caught between fear and respect for her and wondering how it might feel to grasp her wrists, overwhelm her with passion, maul those small but fascinatingly pointed breasts that sat high on her chest, and bury himself in those passionate lips whilst gazing deeply into those sparkling eyes.

As the weeks went by he found his lust ever harder to contain. Sneaking glances at her cleavage in the tight, low cut sweaters she often wore and at her silky legs, losing himself as he dreamed of exploring ever further up them to what lay beyond his gaze. And then he would realise that, lost in his dreams and his lascivious thoughts, he had looked a little too long, and he would rapidly glance away, blushing furiously in case she had become aware, knowing that he was fundamentally vulnerable to this woman, who was so close but so far away.

On occasions he seemed certain that she had caught him looking. Could she not have seen where his eyes lay? Could she not have realised what occupied his thoughts? Could she be aware and enjoying the attention, or could she be scornful of such unwelcome attention?

He tried to put the thought of her away but every morning he found himself confronted by this unyielding temptation. This paradox of power and lust and danger.

And then he found himself at her home. A party to celebrate success at work. He watched as she held court with colleagues, stripped of the formality of the office, those dancing eyes, that unconfined humour, that unbridled confidence. At the end of the night he found himself stretched out on the sofa, too drunk to move but too sober to sleep, thinking of her in the room above him, wishing that she might be thinking of him in the room below.

It was morning when he climbed the stairs, gently, step by step, desperate not to wake her, heading for the bathroom. Half way up he stopped and gazed across to his left at her door, half ajar. In the jamb of the door he could see her stretched out on the bed, on her stomach, one arm hanging towards the floor, the flawless porcelain skin of her naked back turned slightly towards him, her head away from him, her shoulders gently rising and falling as she breathed.

And so it was he stood, frozen in his tracks, his mouth open, barely daring to breath lest he should draw her attention to his presence. Torn between fascination, guilt and eroticism as he watched her.

And then she moved. Slightly, imperceptibly. He felt a sense of panic. If he moved suddenly a noise could give away his presence, if he stayed she might roll over and see him. So he stood paralysed, his heart beating thunderously, giddy at the sight of her and the situation he found himself in. If only he could see more. If only he hadn't put himself in such a vulnerable position.

And then he sensed movement in the half open doorway and looked across to see what he had failed to notice before, a mirror in the corner of the room. A mirror perfectly angled. And those piercing eyes staring straight at him.

He stared back, his mouth open, not knowing whether to speak or to move, their eyes locked together. And then he realised her breasts were bare, small, soft, alabaster breasts with rosy light pink nipples. And her stomach was bare. Gentle, soft, womanly, rounded stomach. And her lower abdomen was bare, bare of clothing and bare of hair.

As he stared, she stared back. Not a word spoken, the two of them connected by a hidden electrical bond. Without moving her eyes from him she slowly opened her legs, revealing the forbidden folds of her pussy, lips agape. She gently trailed her hand to her vagina and caressed her clitoris with her forefinger, never once blinking or moving her gaze away from him. Her expression intense, formed in concentration. And then she moved her fingers away from that treasure and, glistening eyes smiling, beckoned him to come to her with that glazed forefinger...