They are old friends, but they haven't met up for a couple of years. She is petite and lithe, her taught little body belying her love of dance.
Her auburn hair is just short of her shoulders and she has brown eyes. Her nose is a little too sharp and when she speaks, her voice is slightly shrill. It registers with him and he remembers without guilt how annoying he used to find it.
Her body is perfect though - her olive green silk bra cupping her pert, proud breasts. Beneath the scooped neckline, her soft cotton top laces up, and her underwear is visible between the laces.
The low red light in the city centre bar where they meet falls across her smooth skin, and accentuates the shadows between her breasts. Her waist is tiny, but her arse is sweet and round, her frayed jeans tight.
He is much taller, well built and rough round the edges, even in the well fitted suit. They are both professionals, in fields different enough that their low opinion of the other's jobs affects their view of each other and adds to the undercurrent of tension beneath their friendly conversation.
She reveals that she is still unattached. He lets his eyes run heavily over her body, and knows he is not the only man to have done so, even in the short time since they sat down with their drinks. He is amazed, and tells her so.
She feels a warmth between her legs and the beginning of a blush in her cheeks. She brushes the compliment away, but her fingers stroking her hair and her eyes, seeking out his, let him know she enjoyed receiving it. She remembers an evening years ago not long after they first met.
She'd come in from her dance class, still in her leggings and shiny black leotard. They'd watched TV together as she let the perspiration from her class cool on her skin. Her legs rested on his, close enough for her to provoke his arousal and let the sexual tension between the two of them build.
She could feel his eyes all over her body. A few quick moves from him could have her naked and beneath him, her hips thrusting up unashamedly to take him inside her. She had certainly thought about it, and was nearly sure he'd been thinking the same too.
She savoured the feeling, shifting her position slightly so he could feel the firm curve of her arse press against the side of his thigh.
He takes a gulp of his beer. His manner is warm on the outside but on the inside, he is almost maddened by her awkwardness about relationships. What is about her? Does she like being pursued but not caught? Or is something stopping her from letting go?
He also remembers the night when they flirted in her room. He remembers her showing off her lean body for him, stretching in front of him to loosen her muscles after her dance class. He remembers the jolt in his dick, so hard it was almost painful, as she stretched her legs across his lap.
He could see her nipples clearly, pushing up against the Lycra of her leotard, and he lost himself in the fantasy of sucking each hard in turn, feeling them swell in his mouth. He has long ago decided that he won't have her, but why hasn't she gone with someone else?
He feels his cock starting to throb as he thinks, for the first time in years, about what it would feel like to fuck her.
She is demure and keeps strict control of herself in front of him. Yes, she is still attracted to him but the feeling is seedy to her in a way she can't explain.
She has sex in tastefully decorated bedrooms, with the lights off. But she imagines him pinning her desperate body across the bonnet of a car in a darkened side street or pushing her against a wall, his cock skewering her from behind.
Looking at herself in the mirror of the Ladies toilets, she can't stop her hand lifting aside her green silk panties and probing the hot, wet flesh beyond, toying with the image of the two of them wrapped around each other, him deep inside her.
She stamps on the thought hard. Even the difference in their size is a problem for her. Might he not just be too big for her? No, she has enjoyed herself tonight, and she is looking forward to seeing him again. She will put that to him when she returns to the table.
But on the way across the bar, seeking him out amongst the other customers, she realises she isn't ready for the night to end yet. They both have to be in work tomorrow, but her apartment building is just a hundred yards up the street from the bar.
She makes the invitation, suddenly afraid he'll say no, but he accepts immediately, and the warm wetness between her legs starts to grow again, beyond her control.
She notices how well his suit fits him, and lets him help her on with her coat, pushing her slim shoulders back and feeling his breath on her skin, as he gently pulls the coat together over her breasts.
The ride up to the eighth floor in the lift lasts a few seconds, but feels like hours. She stands, back to one wall, her hands splayed against the cool metal panel, her breasts rising and falling beneath her clothes with each one of her short breaths.
He is close to her - the lift is so small that he must be - and when he adjusts his stance a little, she gasps, so strongly does she need him to touch her. But he does not, and they walk down the hall to her apartment.
She turns on soft lights, leaving the spectacular view of the street lit city out of her balcony door uninterrupted. He asks her, in his polite but direct way, if he can use her bathroom. While he is out, she pours drinks for them both, and an extra measure of neat Bombay Sapphire for her.
The warm liquid tingles in her throat, and the feeling spreads through her body and along her limbs. She toys with exactly how much contact she will allow. Should she let him kiss her on the cheek when he leaves? Her lips? What about if he were to hold her too? She shivers at the thought. She sits in one of the tall metal chairs beside her dining table, wondering whether, after he's left, she might try her new vibrator for the first time.
She starts when he enters the room, spilling her drink on her jeans. He apologises and steps toward her to help. Her eyes meet his and unconsciously, she pushes her hips forward just an inch and sighs .
His fingertips stroke her bare upper arm, and all she can think of is her gaping wet cunt beneath the silk ribbon of her panties, needing to be filled by him. Her eyes flutter shut at his touch, and she pushes her chest upwards towards him, her shoulders back against the cold metal of the dining chair. He kisses her once, unbearably softly, barely brushing her lips. She can feels her pink nipples swelling under her bra, aroused by the slightly rough silk. She opens her eyes.
"Trust me." he says. She nods. She has thought about this for years, she realises.
She feels his fingers circle her wrists, holding her arms around the chair - and then she moans as he pulls her wrists together, behind the chair. He ties her gently, but firmly so that her shoulders are pulled back against the cold metal frame.
She pushed hard with her strong legs, arching her back and lifting her backside off the chair. Her top rides up over her flat belly, showing her flawless creamy skin. He yanks her belt undone and drags her trousers down, revealing her lean thighs.
