I met her at an industry function. I was talking to some colleagues when suddenly she was at my side, listening intently, patiently. I had actually met her before but had forgotten her name – she was the girlfriend of a bloke I vaguely knew. Amanda? Rebecca? Jane? What was her name? I was putting off introducing her to my friends when she saved me the trouble: "Hi, I'm Susan." As we chatted I became more and more aware of her presence, as though she was sending me covert signals on an obscure radio wavelength. The way she held her body, the way she held my eyes, the way she held her attention. She was hitting on me!
I started to take greater interest in her and subtly checked out the view. I liked it – short and tight. Tight arse but rounded. Tight waist and tight stomach. Stand up tits, and bigger than you would expect on such a trim unit. Full lips. The conference dragged on for a couple of hours but I had thoughts only for Susan. When I scanned the room for her she instinctively looked up and caught my gaze. She was on the make, all right, but cool and composed. Her eyes fixed mine and pierced me with desire. Her mouth opened slightly as though she had taken a sudden breath. Her tits rose and pushed against her thin blouse. No one would have noticed except me, because it was for me.
After the tedium my workmates and I milled outside on the pavement as we debated whether or not to go back to work. Then, just as I knew she would, Susan strolled up and asked if anyone wanted to go for a drink and could she join us. We took little convincing and were soon throwing them down at a trendy city bar. Needless to say, Susan was sitting next to me. As the evening wore on we talked more and more between us, ignoring the others, and the talk turned to sex. The wine and conversation were having a predictable impact on my cock, which was straining against my jeans and eager to be let loose on the tidy package of simmering sexuality on my left. Suddenly, without thinking, I slipped my hand under the table and placed it on her thigh, close to her pussy. It was an incredibly dangerous move in the circumstances, but she rewarded my boldness by shifting her arse on her seat and slightly opening her thighs.
I'd just been given the green light, but couldn't take advantage of the situation. We couldn't suddenly stand up together and leave, as this would have aroused too much suspicion amongst my friends, most of whom knew my wife. We had to sit there, our hearts racing, my cock getting redder and thicker and her pussy swimming in a small sea of its own overheated juice. She squirmed on her seat as I played with her thigh and I could imagine her no-doubt tight cunt squirming on my veiny cock. It was agony sitting there and engaging in small talk, but it was also electrifying, like a sadomasochistic session of foreplay over three hours.
Eventually a barman came up and announced it was closing time, so the drunken group staggered up and out in search of new drinking holes. Susan and I dawdled along in the rear until we lost contact with the mob, at which point I suddenly pushed her into a dark corner and kissed her. Actually, that's a shocking understatement – I virtually raped her mouth with my tongue and it was fantastic. As close to orgasm as two tongues, four lips and bodies rubbing together through clothing can be. I frantically unbottoned her top and managed to free one boob from her bra. The nipple was painfully erect, exactly like my cock, and I greedily sucked it, sending Susan into a spasmic back arch which ripped the succulent teat from my mouth. "We can't…not here," she gasped as she backed away and adjusted herself. "I have to go…this is crazy!" With that she bolted up the street, leaving me dazed and randy, drunk and spinning. I did the only sensible thing and called a cab.
First thing next day I called her. "Hello, Susan? Phil from last night. I just wanted to ring and apologise sincerely for my appalling behaviour. I can't believe it, but I know what I did and I'm shocked."
"No, no, it's fine – it was as much my fault as yours," she replied anxiously. She'd obviously been thinking about it as much as me and trying to work out how to go ahead from here.
"I want to buy you lunch to make up," I said. "To prove I can behave myself!"
"Okay," she said, "that would be good. We can both make amends."
She picked a sidewalk café and was there before me, sitting under an umbrella in the unseasonal sun. She was wearing a green-patterned kilt with black leggings and a black blouse. She looked more demure than sex kitten, which was a safe bet for a meeting that had both our mouths dry with fear and excitement. I sat down and ordered wine and we chatted about nothing for a while, trying to get the feel for each other's mood and intent. "So, about the other night…" I began.
"We were both drunk," she said, "but that's no excuse. You can't blame alcohol for what happened."
