Oh Carol!

It's one of the great clichés, isn't it: you go to the office Christmas party and, all of a sudden, you get off with that bird you've lusted after for six months without ever actually having spoken to her before. If it's such a great cliché, why had it never happened to me in ten years of office parties? Last year, for the first time, I did have a woman flirting with me. Only trouble was, it was bloody Carol!

I've known Carol for over five years, ever since I started my current job. She's okay, if you know how to get on with her. Every office has a Carol somewhere. She's been there since the year dot, controls stationery, sick leave records, that sort of thing, and has built her own little empire around it, amassing a level of power far beyond her official status in the hierarchy. You get on fine with Carol as long as you agree to start out from the basic premise that she's right. About everything. Try crossing her, like disagreeing about how many spare bottles of toner you need for the photocopier, or suggesting that her interpretation of rule 21(b) about travel expenses might not be entirely correct, and you'll soon find that Hell hath no such fury. Just see how long you have to wait next time you run out of window envelopes and urgently need some more from stock!

Our Carol's in probably her early 50s, about 20 years older than me, and she's known behind her back as Dame Edna, because she looks like the famous Australian drag act of that name. She wears plastic-framed glasses with little wings above the lenses, and her short prissy hairstyle can change in colour from week to week, from jet black, through blue or purple, to gold with flecks of black, a sort of leopard skin look. She's medium height, chubby without actually being fat, and favours tweedy skirts and nylon jumpers in shades like lemon, lavender or cornflower. It's rumoured that she's been having an affair for years with an older bloke who works in a neighbouring room to hers; I never believed it until a couple of months ago, when I saw them stalk past each other in the corridor without a glance at each other but with war in their eyes. She's married, and as far as I know has been for about 200 years.

Anyway, at the Christmas party I was doing the rounds, as you do, chatting with folk, sharing dirty jokes and gossip, when I spotted Carol off to one side of the room with a faraway, slightly sad look in her eyes. Being the nice guy I am I went over, gave her a cheery grin, and asked her if I could fill her empty punch glass for her. From the slightly slurred way she replied it was pretty clear she'd already emptied it a few times. I filled the glass to the brim and took it back over to her. Giving me a leer far dirtier than I would have believed she was capable of, she giggled, "My, you've got a big one there. Are you trying to get me drunk Nicky?"

I was taken by surprise not only by her blatant double entendre, but by the fact that she'd never in her life called me that before, just Nick or Nicholas, depending whether I was in her good or bad books at the time. Oh what the hell, it was Christmas, we were all entitled to let our hair down a bit -- whatever colour it was this week! So I leaned into her suggestively and asked her if it was worth my while to get her drunk. She sipped her punch and made doe eyes at me over her specs. "Well, play your cards right Nicky and you never know. After all, when someone offers me such a big one..."

I wished her Merry Christmas and wandered off chuckling to myself. I even told one of my mates that he'd better watch himself around Carol because she was well up for it tonight. About 20 minutes later, when I was leaning against a wall taking a slight break from the hubbub at the centre of the party, I suddenly found Carol standing right in front of me, her ample bust millimetres from my chest. I smiled at her, as you would at a colleague, and she lisped to me, "Oh look, I'm out of punch again. If I gave you my glass, would you give me one?" I could scarcely believe my ears! Old Carol really was flirting with me. I walked over to the punch bowl shaking my head in bewilderment. Oh well, she was the only woman at the party who was trying to chat me up, it was all just a meaningless bit of fun -- why not? She'd be embarrassed as hell in the morning, if she remembered, but that was her problem. So I walked back with punch slopping over the top of her glass and, handing it to her, asked her if I got to give her one now. She edged slightly closer to me, her tits actually brushing against my chest, and murmured "I should be so lucky."

Still hardly believing I was having this conversation I asked her with a wink if she was generally a lucky person. She smiled blearily at me and said she hoped she would be tonight. Laughing I said her number might come up in the raffle that was to be drawn later. Carol's slightly unfocussed eyes locked on mine and she whispered "I'm hoping both our numbers are about to come up." Then I felt her hand rub very deliberately across the crotch of my trousers. I wasn't sure which surprised me more -- that touch, or the way I felt my cock immediately leap to attention and strain against my fly! Carol noticed too and, her eyes still boring into mine, she brushed her hand even more firmly across my dick. "If you've got a nice big Christmas surprise for me, Nicky, we could both end up knicker-less before the night's out."

At the time I completely failed to register the crude pun on my name. My eyes wildly circled the room as I prayed that, if there really was a god, he hadn't let anyone who knew me see what was happening. Amazingly everyone seemed to be looking the other way. We were near the door out of the room and, desperate not to be noticed apparently trying to pull one of the office frumps, I hustled Carol through it. In the relative quiet of the corridor she threw her arms around my neck, pulled my face down towards hers and locked her thin lips to mine, thrusting her tongue into my mouth. I felt the last dregs of her drink trickle down my neck from the empty glass still in her hand, and my prick become so stiff it felt as if it would burst my zip! A second later her hand was on the front of my trousers again, her fingers wrapped around the outline of my painful erection. I felt my face flushing and my heart thumping. I began to snog her back, stroking her tongue with mine, as it finally sunk into my punch-addled brain that, if I wanted to, I really was going to be screwing this plain woman about the same age as my mother around 30 seconds from now. I edged a hand down the back of her skirt, feeling the naked flesh of her bum, and found myself thinking "Well, at the end of the day a cunt's a cunt, whoever's it is."

I was vaguely aware that she was edging us along the wall. She reached behind me and we almost fell into the unlit room the door of which she had just opened. I found my backside resting on a table and, as Carol switched the light on and locked the door, I realised it was her stationery store. There was barely enough room for the table, a single chair, shelves of paper, files and envelopes, and the two of us. I expected Carol to start kissing me again, but she bobbed down in front of me and I felt her tearing at my belt and fly. Then she dragged my trousers and Y-fronts down to my ankles and she was on me.

Her lips closed over my knob and she started pumping her mouth slowly, sensuously up and down along its length. I realised she must have removed dentures from the top of her mouth because I could feel a ridge of smooth flesh tracing along the top of my shaft and sharp little teeth dragging along the bottom. At the same time she'd wrapped a hand around my scrotum, and she was squeezing my balls in rhythm with the passage of her mouth up and down me. Every now and then she would stop moving her head and simply swirl her tongue around my prick. God, I was in paradise! I'd had blow jobs from women before, but never one as erotic as this. Who would ever have thought that dull, middle-aged Carol would be so amazingly talented at giving head!

I could feel I would shoot my load, before long and I badly wanted to get a shag out of this. I pushed Carol off my prick and dragged her to her feet, a slightly dazed look in her eyes. I manoeuvred her to the table and pushed her into a forward leaning position over it. Without a moment's thought she swept her arms across the table, sending papers and record books flying to the floor. I pushed her stiff tweedy skirt up around her waist and nearly came there and then when I saw she was wearing stockings and a suspender belt, together with silky black loose-leg knickers. I ripped her knickers down to below her knees and feasted my eyes on her gorgeous arse. I had always secretly thought that Carol's large backside was quite attractive, and now there it was before me -- a wobbly white, incredibly soft expanse of pampered flesh. I ran my hands across it, watching her cheeks ripple, and she shivered, then thrust back at me impatiently. Obligingly I stepped forward and pushed my cock deep into her welcoming cunt.

It felt absolutely luxurious -- huge like a cave, silky smooth, boiling hot and squelchingly wet. I enjoyed the sensation so much I just rested my cock there for a moment, letting it baste in that steaming pussy. But Carol started wiggling impatiently again, and I began humping her, slowly at first with long, hard thrusts, then increasing my rhythm, my balls slapping against her. As I did I leaned forward over her back and, reaching under her, pushed my hands up her jumper and squeezed them into her bra. I wrapped my fingers around big, soft, silky tits, and twirled large spongy nipples between my fingers and thumbs. Carol picked up on my rhythm and each time I thrust my forwards she thrust back at me, increasing my penetration and the power with which my prick slammed into her. When she started groaning encouragements to me, "Oh god, yes that's good, so fucking good, fuck me harder darling" I couldn't hold off any more and spurted into her. Seconds later she came too, roaring obscenities as she shuddered to her climax. I just lay on top of her for a minute or so, enjoying my hands squeezing her cushiony tits, that lovely soft bum pressing into me, and the velvet furnace of her cunt wrapped around my cock. Then she squirmed out from under me, ducked down, and I gasped with lust as she slid her heavenly mouth onto my prick again, sucking our mingling cum from it.

I had a sex-free Christmas, if you don't count lying with a pillow over my head trying not to listen to my sister and her boyfriend fucking noisily in the next bedroom night after night. The first day back at work, though, was a nightmare. Carol gave me a huge smile and a cheery greeting when I entered the office, and I mumbled something back and scuttled past her. Everywhere I went there seemed to be knots of colleagues staring at me, having little whispered conversations, giggling as I walked past. It wasn't until mid-afternoon that one of the girls sidled up to me and asked, "So, did you really shag Carol at the Christmas party?" She and her mates collapsed in fits of cackling laughter and didn't even hear my angry denial, as my face flushed fire engine red.

I had decided to work late and was the last person left in the office when my 'phone rang. "Hello Nicky, it's Carol. Someone's made quite a mess in my stationery cupboard, and I wondered if you might like to come in there with me. To tidy it up." Being a gentleman I of course agreed instantly. Okay, Carol might be nothing special to look at, and considerably older than me; but when someone's that good a fuck, and they ask you for a hand with something -- well, you've got to give them one, haven't you?