Her Saturday Clothes

Intro -

She straightened the seams on her stockings and gave her makeup a final glance before she entered the club. All in all, she quite approved. A petite 5' 6" tall, her figure was one a woman ten years younger would envy and a woman ten years her senior would spend thousands to replicate. Her shoulder length ebon hair, burnished to an almost metallic luster from her nightly ritual of 100 brush strokes, fairly glowed against her pale, milky skin. Indeed, at 36 she still cut a fine figure, even if she did say so herself.

She adored the dress she had chosen for tonight's adventure. It was a red number, with thin spaghetti straps that forbid the use of a bra and a scalloped hemline that dipped, loose and flowing, to fall only a few inches above her knees. She didn't really care for a lot of jewelry and so had chosen only a single rope of gold that hung to just below the hollow of her throat and a wrist watch, with a band in matching gold, clasped around her delicate wrist. She never used a scent; her own was enticing enough if the many compliments she received about it were in any way true. One could clearly see the Cuban heel of her coffee-colored, silk stockings contained within the fire-engine-red shoes she wore. Their narrow three inch heel and thin leather laces, looped around her slender ankles and tied in a loose bow in the back, completed the look.

The stockings were an indulgence, she knew. They had cost many times the price of the nylon pantyhose she usually wore but she had always thought them a bargain. The stockings and heels gave her legs the shape and tone of a ballroom dancer; you just couldn't get that with pantyhose or even nylon stockings. Not that she waltzed that often. She was more likely to be found in the strip aerobics class from which she got her trim figure than dancing a foxtrot. Still, if things worked out the way she hoped, she might be doing a different sort of tango later this evening. It was Saturday night and this was what she lived for...

*

Chapter 1 -- Stairway to Heaven

A staid professional woman by day, her work week colleagues would not have recognized her the way she looked tonight. While she always dressed to impress, Monday through Friday her tastes ran more to tailored suits, silk blouses and flats. Her day-to-day demeanor was more mentor-like than that of a vixen. Her sexuality was muted by the needs of a modern workplace that demanded she repress any hint of her true self. She had not risen to the level of VP of Business Development at her company by emphasizing her femininity. But, in her head, the work-a-day world could not contain her.

She had heard, she was not sure where but she had heard it more than once, that men think about sex every seven seconds. If that were true then she was manlier than the most virile hunk at any gym. It seemed as though everything led back to sexual thoughts for her. It was one reason she worked as hard as she did: if she didn't have work to think about her mind seemed to fixate instead on the so called sins of the flesh. Take for example this morning. She had seen the FedEx man making an early AM delivery and immediately her fantasy life had assaulted her thoughts again.

She had pictured herself, outfitted in her Saturday best, in fact in the outfit she wore tonight, coyly glancing his way as she wandered past the reception desk. Her heels and the dress itself enhancing her gait, her fantasy self caught the delivery man consuming her with his gaze as she passed him. He was obviously a leg man. Their eyes met briefly and he quickly looked away embarrassed to have been found leering. As fast as he had glanced away his eyes returned to her body. She knew it from the heat rising at the nape of her neck, as though his laser-like gaze was focused through a magnifying glass. Obviously undone by her charms, he stammered his excuses about his busy delivery schedule to Nancy at the front desk and hurriedly made his way out of the office covering himself with his clipboard as he shouldered the heavy glass door open.

She saw her other-self leave the office by the hallway door just as he left the reception area. Catching his eye as he stepped into the hall, she threw him a smoldering look of her own. With a slight pause in her step and a subtle inclination of her head she silently invited him to join her as she stepped into the emergency stairwell. She did not wait long in her dream; she rarely did when she directed herself.

The latch had not yet clicked closed when his strong hand caught the heavy steel fire door and pushed it open to follow her. He caught her shoulder with his other hand and spun her around as the door clanked shut with the coffin-like finality you only hear from doors designed to keep out the bad stuff: fire doors, submarine airlock doors, the doors to prison cells. Caught off balance she stumbled into him stopping herself with a hand against his chest. Almost reluctantly she pushed herself away to stand on her own feet. The muscles of his chest, made hard by lifting boxes 350 days a year, felt like corded steel under her tapered fingers.

He moved his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck, his fingers trailing lightly across her throat as he did, and she felt him draw her into his embrace. As their bodies met, she felt another piece of steel, a bar, thick and firm, against her leg. His lips, rough and chapped from his blue collar life, pressed themselves against hers and his tongue traced the seam of her lips. His tongue pressed forward invading her mouth and she tried to push him away. But, FedEx would have none of that.

He tugged her closer and crushed her mouth with his. It was as if he had been stranded in the desert for weeks with nothing to drink and her lips, her tongue, were an oasis; as though she were his last chance at life, a wellspring of water to heal his parched, dry throat. And he drank deeply. She melted with the need his kiss implied and met his kiss with equal abandon.

She felt his other hand now moving down her side, pulling her leg up and around his waist. He let out a low moan when his fingers discovered her garter. The bare flesh of her thigh seemed to heat to his touch. The roaming hand, more urgent now, continued its exploration while the other, steady and unmovable, held her lips to his. She felt the wanderer move lower, or was it higher, to cup the firm cheek of her behind. This time her fantasy lover's moan was louder. He had discovered her secret: her garter and the stockings it held in place were her only undergarments. No panty lines would mar the elegant drape of this cocktail dress.

As though possessed he lifted her off her feet and, taking two strides forward, pinned her back against the wall. She hooked her other leg around him and balanced herself, her shoulder poised against the cool cement block wall of the stairwell and her hips against the molten heat and hardness of his steel. It was the low moan that did it. She loved the idea that she could make a man that crazy for her. She felt herself responding to him with a torrent of her own; she could feel it leaking warmly down the inside of her thigh and she was sure she was dampening the front of his uniform shorts.

Now the roaming hand became a searching one. She felt his fingers run lower and flutter against her opening. He slid them inside her and this time the low moan echoing in the stairwell was her own. His lips left her mouth and traveled down to her collar bone. He nibbled, he kissed, he sucked, gently at first and then harder, on the flushed skin of her neck. As his fingers moved inside her she felt him bite her neck, hard, almost but not quite hard enough to break the skin and another sound escaped him. It was not so much a groan really as a growl that started low in his throat. She felt it vibrate against her skin. A sharp hiss of air left her lips and her back arched. With a will of its own, her hand shot forward to grasp him through his navy blue shorts and again she heard herself moan at his rigidity. She had caused that! He could hang lead weights there she was sure, and he had gotten that way from her.

She felt his hand move from behind her neck to grasp her wrist and pull her hand away. Again she fought him but only a little as he placed her arm around his neck. Then he lowered himself to his knees, one hand raising the hem of her dress above her waist while the other pulled the zipper down. She could feel the sharp metal teeth of it rasp against the skin of her back as he tugged the dress open. She felt his breath, warm and measured against her opening as he lifted her legs, placed them over his shoulders, and stood back up lifting her off the ground completely as he did.

With one hand cradling her lower body he ran the other up her side and across her ribs to fondle her breasts. She hung there suspended with her back against the clammy wall as he parted her folds gently with his tongue and traced a line from the bottom most portion of her opening to the top rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he did. He sketched the outline of her opening with the tip of his tongue and grazed his teeth lightly against her folds, teasing her. Each time he neared her sweet spot he would stop, almost but not quite hitting it.

She heard a soft, plaintive, mewling sound issue forth as she felt his hand caress her breast and tease her nipple. All at once, he attacked the target, his tongue stabbing forward to make contact while at the same time he pinched her nipple between his fingers. He pinched hard and the shock of the sharp pain, almost but not quite too much, combined with his attentions below, served to send her. Her mewling became a sharp, high pitched squeak that echoed sharply against the bare walls as, all at once, she went. The intensity of her reaction surprised her. She hadn't known she could reach that level so quickly and so thoroughly. She thought she could never feel something so wonderful again. She was wrong.

Instead of stopping when she reached her peak, FedEx stepped up his ministrations. She felt his tongue running first in circles, clockwise and then counter clockwise, then in sharp ups and downs against her. Each new combination seemed to send her again. She twitched in pleasure, squirming against his lips and teeth as he held her there with one hand, and still she felt the pressure building. Higher and higher with each new trick of his mouth, she felt herself build to a precipice of pleasure.

She had not noticed him take his free hand from her breast. But, as the apex of her pleasure rose, she suddenly felt three fingers slide effortlessly inside her. She had stopped breathing to concentrate on the feelings of pleasure she was receiving and she gasped as she felt his fingers enter her, shuddering to take in a breath she hadn't even consciously known she was missing.

His fingers curled forward slightly as he moved them within her, brushing that spot just above her opening along her outer wall each time as they did. His lips, tongue and teeth continued their dance as the pressure that had been building slowly now increased its oncoming pace. The girth of his fingers filled her, not quite completely, as they continued to move inside her. The ripples of pleasure she had been riding grew like a wave front, each ripple intensifying the next and the next and the next until all at once the wave broke against her and she screamed in delight at the intensity of her reaction. It was like nothing she had felt before. Where once she might have describe her peaks of bliss as small earthquakes that made her shudder with their strength, this was a volcano erupting.

It was as though every other time had been only a shadow of the paradise she now felt. Every muscle in her body clenched in an involuntary spasm. She felt the sharp points of her heels dig in to his back, one of them tearing a hole in his shirt and getting trapped there. The trapped feeling that slid over her as she realized she couldn't get her heel loose sent her again. And this time, as if he knew she would not be able to stand anything more and he must, if he were going to, take advantage now, he bit down on her tenderness. Again it was almost, but not quite, hard enough to do damage. Feeling her pleasure break, he added a fourth finger to the mix.

Chernobyl. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. The Berlin Blitz. She gave a full throated scream of pain-mixed pleasure as once again, and finally, he brought her to complete fulfillment. The feeling overwhelmed her and a dark haze covered her field of vision. She stopped; all thought, all feeling, all movement, her breathing, everything stopped and she left her conscious self.

When she returned to awareness she realized that he had lowered her to her knees on the floor. She looked down at herself, her red dress spilling around her waist, the seams of the black stockings twisted to the front of her shapely legs, and was amazed. She heard the sound of a zipper being drawn. When she realized that the sound was coming from him and looked to see its cause she was, again, amazed.

He held himself in front of her. One hand clutching his base, he held himself ready for her and angled himself toward her. She realized, with a shock, that his hand did not close completely. The tip of his middle finger was still several centimeters from touching the tip of his thumb. She also realized that two of his hands would not be enough to cover him from base to tip. He did not use two hands though.

The second hand he reserved to place again behind her neck drawing her forward to meet him. As her lips touched him she opened her mouth and using just the tip of her tongue she ran circles around his tip. Finally, she opened wide to take him inside her mouth. She was certain, with a stark clarity, that she would not be able to take even the crown of him inside her mouth. Again, she was wrong.

His apple sized tip filled her mouth as no man ever had before. Her mouth had opened to its widest to even get to this point but still somehow he fit. Not just fit, but fit perfectly. Starting slowly she moved her head back and forth using her tongue to caress the length of him as she did. His hand on the back of her neck added a gentle but inexorable pressure each time she came forward and then released it as she pulled back. First some, and then some more, and then some more, a little each time. Aided by the pressure he supplied, she gradually took him deeper into her mouth.

As the length of him reached the back of her palate she fought against her natural instinct to expel the invader. She grew scared and looked up at him in fright. It was then that he said the only words that had been spoken between them during their entire fantastic encounter: "breath slowly...through your nose..." and pulling her head forward again he forced himself deeper.

She felt him against the back of her throat, and he released her.

She felt him pass her esophagus slightly, and he released her.

She felt him slide to the middle of her throat just above her larynx, and he released her.

As she felt him slide past and into her throat she felt a light tickling on the tip of her nose: the feather light brush of his nether hair like a butterfly kiss. And he released her.

With one final movement of her head and another small increase in pressure from his hand at the back of her neck she took all of him; breathing smoothly through her nostrils she exulted in his smell as she did.

Her mind grappled with the impossibility of the feat while her body dealt with the reality of it. The full length of him was inside her mouth, down her throat. She could feel the tight fullness it caused. She moaned again, low in her throat as the strength of his hand forcing her to do this, and the implausible fact that she could, sent her over her edge once again. It was a small pleasure, nowhere near the heights she had reached earlier but enough to cause her to moan in pleasure and contentment. He felt this as a thrumming that seemed to start with a low bass rumble traveling the full length of him. Gazing down at her their eyes met and he cried out.

She sensed the moment and giving herself as completely to her task and he had to his she grabbed the back of his thighs and jerked him forward, taking his full measure as he tumbled over the edge. His fingers twined through her hair and clenched into a fist, pulling her hair with a bright stinging pain as he spent. She swallowed reflexively, albeit needlessly, as he emptied himself deep inside her. Her throat muscles massaged him to completion and she gloried in the warm-cocoa feeling in her chest and belly each time he pulsed.

As he pulled himself slowly from her mouth and throat. She gazed up at him from her kneeling position and a wicked smile began to form, curling the corners of her mouth. She was still amazed she had been able to take him fully. His crown passed her lips with a soft popping sound, like Champaign bottle opening, and she shuddered one last time as yet another small pleasure took her.

He tucked himself away still hard. Not steel hard but a softer metal: gold or silver or bronze. Tugging his zipper closed he reached down cradling her head and neck in both hands as he pulled her to her feet. He crushed his mouth to hers again like a conqueror, seizing his farewell kiss by force of arms. And then he released her. Her legs, still weak at the knees and unable to support her, folded and she crumpled the floor of the landing.

As he stepped back into the hallway he uttered the second words spoken between them: "next time I'm gonna fuck your ass..."