I met Cynthia years ago when we both worked together. She was a beautiful brunette, 27, tall, slim, sexy, and wore gold and silver dangling jewelry on her wrists, neck, fingers, and ears. She dressed like a cover girl. She was totally alluring, and aloof. Her thick black hair reached below her shoulders. She had a cute little turned up nose, beautifully soft tempting lips, and dark eyes that saw right through me.
I was married.
Cynthia did not know, care about, or ever mention any concern about my wife or that I was married. She knew I was married, but as things progressed, that never seemed to enter into her thoughts.
To this day, she does not even know my ex wife's first name or anything about her except that she was running around on me and that we had been married for seven years.
Cynthia would eventually spend more and more time with me as I continued to work at night. Occasionally, she lingered and talked to me as I worked the night shift, hanging around near me in the television control room after her workday had ended. She later told me that she only wanted to be friendly, but it seemed to me, then and now, that she was clearly interested in a man. Me. A woman, staying alone with a man "only to be friendly". I don't think that is possible.
Cynthia lived alone in a small studio apartment. She had moved from Maine, and was starting a new, completely different life in California. We worked at a small struggling tv station, and her uncle owned it. Every day, she moved around the building attracting the attention of all the men, most of whom, of course, would have fucked her in a heartbeat given the chance. (She later told me that her uncle tried, unsuccessfully, to get her in his bed).
No chances were forthcoming, apparently. Who was her current lover? She was, no doubt, sexually experienced. How could she not be? There was some talk of her being the mistress of an older married Italian tv producer who did business with the station. I think this was likely, but she never mentioned it, and I never asked her about it.
It was obvious that Cynthia knew a thing or two about men. She was much too sexually inviting not to have been with a man by this time. She was gorgeous. Exciting. Secretive. Perfectly womanly. I began to find myself wondering what it would be like to have Cynthia beneath me on my bed.
Cynthia's uncle had hired her to run the traffic department. She produced the program log for each day's schedule of commercials and shows. He also let her have her own 30 minute weekly travel show, "The Vagabond", wherein she stood in front of the live camera and introduced a very colorful, entertaining, stock travel film. She was somewhat innocent and slightly nervous, and would tell the viewers what a nice part of the world she was about to share, and then I, the engineer in the back rooms, loaded, started, and aired the film.
Every Saturday, before she went on, she handed me the film that she had selected, and told me that it was very important to her that it started exactly correctly, right after her introduction. Otherwise, she would be left on camera with no film airing. Slightly embarrassing. I never let her down. There was a "preroll" involved, which meant that the film had to be started about 7 seconds before she finished introducing it, or there would be a delay after she intro-ed it.
Sometimes, she would come back to the control room after her live intro and would watch the airing of the film back in the control area. That was the beginning. Heretofore, I had only seen her from a distance, in the lobby, through a window as I worked. She was beautiful.
I could not help but be physically attracted to this gorgeous woman. She would appear on the evening when she aired her film live, all dressed and enticingly made up for the camera. Beautiful eyes, red lips, slender waist. Her long legs, her neck, her hair, all of her. She was perfect. Cynthia was a complete woman, lacking nothing to make a man happy. Completely, innocently, seductive.
Nature took its course. I became very attracted to Cynthia, the lovely woman frequently near me. I came to look forward to those all too seldom times when she came near and spoke to me.
I breathed the air around her as if it were a potion. She was enchanting me. Causing desire to arise within me without a single provocation except for her bearing and gentle, stimulating, demure aura.
I was, unfortunately, married at the time, but that did nothing to curtail my attraction to this sexually potent woman. My wife was also beautiful, but was fucking strangers. Not me.
Cynthia was beautiful, quiet, mysterious in a way, and, unlike my lascivious wife, seemed delightfully shy and seemingly innocent. Nonetheless, I did not think she was altogether innocent in the way that others might have.
One night, when she was near me at the station, I remember my mind wandering and me taking time to contemplate her pleasuring a man in the way I needed to be pleasured. I imagined her with her present or previous lover, whoever he was.
I took advantage of her and placed her in a sexual fantasy in my mind. I visualized her pleasuring a man, and exciting me in the process. This was becoming the woman who I wanted to fuck. My wife was not satisfying me. I imagined Cynthia taking me into her mouth and sucking me off.
I wanted to believe that she was experienced, and that she knew what to do to pleasure me. I did not want to be the one to take her innocence. I wanted her to be a dynamic sensual, sexual woman.
I visualized her taking a hardened cock into her mouth for her first time, beginning and continuing to stroke and suck, bobbing her head up and down on it until it gushed forth hot thick cum, and imagined her satisfied smile after she lifted her head from that hard, still throbbing, oozing dick, and her inaudible giggle as white fluid ran from the corners of her mouth, onto her hands as she continued to grasp and pump more from it. I visualized her cleaning the cum off of her clothing, off of her face.
I imagined her feeling her power over a man, able to elicit the gushing of his seed into her, her tinted lips now somewhat changed by the addition of his bodily fluid that had been gushed into her, across her tongue, around her mouth, and then, finally back between her lips as she released them from a softening cock. It was easy to imagine.
And so, I imagined Cynthia sucking off a man as she was, in reality, so near me. She was innocently standing in the control room, the focus of my carnal fantasy while I thought lascivious thoughts of her with her hand around my cock, her lips bobbing up and down my shaft as she sucked, bobbed her head up and down on it, and let her saliva keep it moist and slick. She was indifferent to me at the time, but without revealing it, I was having erotic thoughts of her. I was beginning to be constantly distracted by her form.
How different were the images of her sucking me off from the unknowing sereneness of the pretty woman now next to me, intently watching the monitor as her film played and I was busy readying the next program, my hardening cock still hidden in the folds of my jeans. If I was not careful, my stiff erection would be obvious. I turned from her and continued working.
When I got home that night, I formed her image of her when I was alone on my bed. I touched my cock, now exposed. I imagined Cynthia's wet red lips on my cock as I touched myself. I began stroking my hard cock, imagining her making me cum in her mouth. I jerked off hard, thrashed, and came in Cynthia's mouth. Then, alone on my bed, I let the cum run down my cock, through my fingers, and onto the sheets.
I rolled over and fell asleep, not knowing when my wife was to return to my bed beside me, back turned to me, distant, untouching, uncaring, unfaithful and filled with the cum of a stranger.
Cynthia was now the woman in my life, although she did not fully know that.
I did, however, sense that she was drawn to me, and began to hope that I could have her if I was patient and kind. I sensed a loneliness in her, even if she was fucking the Italian producer, and hoped that she was yearning for the touch of a man, the coupling of her body with another, and the natural desire for passionate touches would finally win me the place upon her bed.
Cynthia was young, full of life, very much a woman who cared little what other people thought, and obviously, sexually experienced, although I had no idea of her talents in this regard. I could imagine them, however.
She walked as a woman, adorned her body as a woman, ignored the glances of men, as a shy lady, and tempted all men around her as a woman.
Week after week, Cynthia was in my peripheral vision at various times of the day as she walked through the building. Not once did I fail to notice and admire her lithe body as I saw her going from one place to another in the small building that housed the station, and where we both spent a considerable amount of our time.
I fulfilled my work by actually running the station equipment that got the stuff on the air. Alone. The place had become a one engineer operation, and I was very busy during each of my shifts keeping everything running and streaming to the transmitter, which was located on a mountaintop a few miles distant.
Each night, (and another period when I worked two eighteen hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday, virtually single-handedly operated the place), I was alone and ran the station.
Some nights I was the only person in the building after all the others had left the building.
Then something began to happen. Cynthia began to linger a bit after delivering the next day's logs to me in the early evening. That was her last task, and signaled the end of her work day. She dropped them off and left. Typically. She went home, and my eyes watched her hips sway as she walked away. I wondered what was beneath her neatly ironed pants.
Something was happening, and I could sense it. Almost every day now, Cynthia began to stay a bit after delivering the logs, and chat with me as we were alone in the building, in the control room, as I kept working running back and forth with the various elements of commercials, programs, audio cartridges, slides, film, and video tapes.
I had to be on my toes so that the dreaded "black air" never occurred. A tv station requires a constant stream of video and audio to satisfy the viewers and of course, the managers. I had to be sure there was no interruption in any of that at any time. Sometimes equipment failures of other shortcomings resulted in slight panic events, wherein I had to immediately solve unanticipated problems.
Cynthia was sometimes hanging around with me after she finished her work. In the evening, Alone, for the most part, even if there were other people somewhere in the building.
