Who was Ms. Mazarine?
She was a quiet, focused woman. She was a handler for what was likely the most prestigious 'spy' company in the world. She could type at 120 words per minute while humming Mozart's 9th symphony in C major, and she was on a high-protein diet that lent itself almost beautifully to her physical appearance.
Mazarine wasn't a shy woman, but she was soft-spoken and so she was often mistaken as such.
Sebastian saw her walk quietly through their work doors every morning with her head bent over her phone, heels tapping quietly against the marble flooring, and the arm of her glasses hooked neatly over the fold of her breast pocket, and he understood why people assumed her to be unconfident, bashful, even reticent.
Despite appearances, though, Ms. Maz was more commanding and confident than any other woman he'd met in his life, and it was a pity that few men had ever experienced her for long enough to learn it. He raised a glass to any man who'd been exposed to even a quarter of that feisty personality burrowing itself under her secluded demeanor.
When she passed him with her nose in her work and said, "Good morning, Seb," as if he were a peripheral thought, it wasn't so evident. But a moment later when she was standing at the elevator doors and she looked over her shoulder at him, slowly licked her lips, and then turned back to the elevator as if she hadn't done it, it was much more obvious.
He was curious. He was intrigued. He wanted more and if that meant prematurely raising a glass to himself in preparation for that goal, then so be it.
-
Sebastian had dreams about Mazarine all the time, and in them, sometimes she was talking with her mouth. Most times she was talking with her body.
He remembered fondly that in one of his dreams, Maz was laid out on the cold, wooden floor of her office and beneath her back were these ugly, blue blankets that he'd nicked from the supply closet. Her pencil skirt was pulled up around her hips, she wasn't wearing any shoes (only the lace mid-thigh stockings that often accompanied her office dress), and her lace panties were pushed down to her ankles. Her feet were on the floor and her legs were spread neatly so that standing over her lower body, Sebastian could look down at her exposed, shaved pussy.
None of it was real, but Sebastian felt it all the same. His stomach was in knots. His fingers were itching to touch. His mouth was aching to taste. He wanted her more badly than he'd wanted anyone.
"You think there's an excuse for your behavior?" Mazarine asked softly. She said it with so little conviction that it came out almost passively. She was continuing a conversation that Sebastian couldn't remember - maybe didn't need to remember. That often happened in his dreams. Just the calm lull of her voice was enough to make the conversation relevant.
"No Ma'am," Sebastian responded. In this dream, he'd come off of a mock-50's mission and was still done up neatly in a suit, but he reached up and yanked his Hamburg hat off of his head and whipped it neatly aside. Then he slipped a finger between his neck and his tie and loosened it. "But I sure hope that this'll explain at least a little bit of it."
It'd been a long time since Sebastian had been on his knees in pursuit of a woman's pussy. This time, he went easily down onto them and pushed Mazarine's legs a little bit further apart. Her ankles tugged at the panties holding them close to one another, and they stretched, threatening to tear. He was dreaming, Sebastian reminded himself, and since he was dreaming and Victoria's Secret was free in the land of imagination, he ripped them easily and threw the newly ruined garment aside. Then he coaxed Maz's thighs far enough apart from one another that he could crawl between them, hovering over her as he reached down between them and pressed his fingers easily between the folds of her lips.
Mazarine had a gorgeous body. Sebastian had dreamt about it so often that he'd forgotten she'd never let him see it in real life. She was always wet, ready for Sebastian to slip whichever part of himself he wanted into her. The way her body accommodated him no matter which he chose to use was almost as surreal as the idea of her on her back in the first place.
This time he only used his fingers. When Mazarine's body gave way around them, she was so warm. He could feel every ridge and bump of her as he slowly pushed two of them into her as deep as his knuckles, and she sighed happily, her eyes fluttering closed as he pulled them back out and then pushed them back into her again. She licked her lips as he began to fuck her with his fingers.
