In the Music Studio

A cold, outside rainy afternoon, late and most of the others in the office had gone home. Greg decided he had had enough for the day too, so he closed off his computer, making sure all he had written that afternoon was saved, and tidied his desk, looking around to check nothing was where it shouldn't be. Then he left the office and decided, on his way out, he would stop in and chat for a bit with Victoria, the music specialist in the firm, the one responsible for all the background music and so on for the ads they made there. Her studio, as it was known, was at the other end of the vast floor that the company took up, and Greg walked through the now almost deserted corridors, the only sounds being those of vacuum cleaners and the occasional laugh from one of the cleaning staff.

No light was on above the door of Victoria's office, and Greg knew he was always welcome anyway, so he opened the door and went in. She was his only real friend in the office, though even that was a very limited friendship-coffee at lunch sometimes, chats like this at the end of the day-never anything deep and meaningful, just general work-place chat-sometimes she gave him a lift to the train station on her way to the aquatic centre where she went swimming most evenings. Very little that was ever personal or approaching the intimate.

Victoria was in her late twenties, he knew that, as there had been talk of a thirtieth birthday soon, so that made her about his age, a bit younger. She was very attractive in a quiet, stereotyped-librarian kind of way. Brown hair, a little dull perhaps, shoulder length, a roundish face with quite large eyes, a sweet nose and small mouth above a slightly pointed chin. She was medium height, slim with what appeared to be a very nice figure. Greg used the word appeared, because Victoria always dressed quite modestly, usually slacks and a blouse and of course, at this time of year, a jumper of some sort. In summer though, these blouses gave indications of firm, neither too small nor too full breasts, a slim waist, nice hips. On the rare occasions she wore a skirt, which was never above the knee, there were glimpses of nice trim calves, a cute bum, and the slacks she wore, though never the tight clingy sort, showed that her thighs probably matched the semi-petite trimness of her whole figure. In other words, Greg thought she was very attractive, and to be honest, if he were younger, people would have said that he had somewhat of a crush on her.

But he had never dared ask her out anywhere, for several reasons. He was terrified of rejection usually, which meant that he found it better to not ask, rather than ask and be rejected. Also, he had the impression that there was a guy in her life anyway, though she never mentioned partner or boyfriend or any terms like that. He knew she shared a flat with a guy, but whether there was any relationship there at all, he did not feel it right to ask. And the underlying reason of course, the reason he rarely dared ask a woman out, was his belief that they would only say no anyway, that there was nothing about him that would encourage a woman to agree. That was just how he usually saw himself, unless alcohol somehow or other heightened his courage.

He himself was of medium build and height, nondescript blond hair, a rather narrow face and pointed chin. Not ugly by any means, but certainly not of an appearance that anyone would call handsome.

Victoria that afternoon was glad Greg had dropped by, she liked him, often wondered why he never asked her out for more than a coffee at lunchtime. She had considered asking him, perhaps to a film or a concert-she was a very keen classical music concert goer-but the whole relationship thing had soured for her, and while she liked him a lot, she did not want to tarnish their friendship with asking him that, or even getting involved in case things went horribly wrong again. She sensed that, like herself, Greg was a very lonely person. But she accepted that there was not a lot could be done about it for either of them.

Just recently, though, there had been hints that Greg did want to be more than casual friends at work. A week or so ago, when she had stopped at the station to drop him off, he had put his hand on hers, and let it rest there for a few seconds. She had not pulled her hand away, but had done nothing to encourage him further either. And then there had been the times when she had noticed his eyes, looking at her in that way that meant he was trying to see further, to guess perhaps what lay under her clothes. But Victoria was a modest young woman, and had not done anything to encourage those looks either.

Greg had shut the door behind him, and looked across the carpeted room to where Victoria was sitting at her desk. And when he thought about it afterwards, he decided that it must have been the way she was sitting that encouraged him. She had pushed her chair back from her desk, and was leaning back in it, her head thrown back, her arms out and behind her, as if she were stretching muscles or something. The effect of this was to arch her back, and her breasts were pushed up and out. She had on a thick-materialled blouse of some sort, deep green, matching the green slacks he could see she was wearing. From behind her, it was a very sexy pose.

"Hi Greg," she said, a sweet voice, soft and melodious, in keeping with her musicality.

"Hi, how has your day been?" and he stood behind her, close but far enough away not to be intrusive into her 'space'.

"Awful," she replied. "This silly ad about the budgerigar-I mean, what kind of musical background would suit a budgerigar." The company they worked for was renowned for its offbeat ads.

Greg tried to think of something funny to say, some amusing musical reply that she would like and perhaps find helpful. But he couldn't. So often he ended up tongue-tied. And besides, the way she was sitting was so appealing. Victoria had not changed her pose, was moving her arms up and down to the side and behind her, and this of course was causing her breasts to rise and fall in rhythm and Greg could not take his eyes away from the skin he could see, from her throat just down a tiny little bit to the top button of the blouse. He hoped against reason that somehow that material would lift, and he would be able to glimpse even just a tiny part of a breast, or even just the top of a bra cup would be wonderful, but of course that wasn't going to happen. But the pose-so suggestive, and she hadn't moved, and he wondered was she inviting him, and a little voice in his head said yes she is, and he took a step closer, still behind her, the front of his trousers now only a few inches from the top of her head, which was tilted back, and she raised her eyes at him, and smiled, and said, "How has your day been?" and there was a curious look in her eyes, as she noticed how close to her Greg was standing.

Greg never knew what gave him the courage, never knew what made him forget his usual reservations about not ever doing anything that might offend or upset the other person, never knew what Victoria was feeling at that time that allowed what happened to happen as it did.

Without giving his brain time to tell him he shouldn't, he took another tiny step forward, and placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingertips touching the fabric at the front of her shoulders, letting them roam slowly and just a little, searching for and finding the little bump of her bra straps under the fabric. He touched them for a few seconds, probably waiting for Victoria's reaction, but all she did was look back up at him, and did not move. For some reason encouraged by this, Greg softly slid his hands down over the blouse, over the tops of her breasts under that blouse, then they came to rest fully cupping her breasts, his fingertips at the undersides of them, his palms over the tips of them he could feel the peaks of the bra cups through the fabric of her blouse, the heels of his palms pushed softly and gently against the tops of her breasts, he could sense the rims of the tops of the bra cups against his skin there too, and he very gently squeezed, so softly, with his fingers, his mind racing what are you doing, in his trousers an erection out of control, and just kept his hands on her breasts, the feel of them through the fabric of the blouse overpoweringly wonderful.

Victoria's breathing had changed slightly, and she felt a strong tingle deep in her belly, and she refused to wonder what was going on. Greg's hands were gentle, and she liked the way he was so softly kneading her breasts, through the fabric, not squeezing or mashing at them the way so many men did, but softly, gently, and she wanted to feel his skin on hers.

She raised her eyes back to his again-it meant tilting her head back further-and smiled at him. The back of her head, the hair on the back of her head, sensed his closeness and the hint of a hardness inside his trousers. I'll think about that when we get to it, she yelled at herself, angry at the way her mind always wanted to analyse and plan and control and know what would be next.

Greg smiled back at her, encouraged, and his fingertips pressed a little more firmly into the undersides of her breasts, working up the courage to start undoing buttons. Looking down into Victoria's face, he was a little surprised she had closed her eyes, then a little disappointed that she now raised her arms and put her hands on top of his.

But instead of taking his hands away, as he was expecting, Victoria was rubbing his hands on the material of her blouse, her hands pressing on his, rubbing his hands in small movements on the fabric, and Greg could feel her breasts moving under his hands, sensing the sweet flesh of them moving as his hands moved under her hands which were directing what was happening for those moments. In his trousers Greg's erection was as hard as he believed it could possibly ever get, and he resisted the temptation to press the front of his trousers against the top of her head. He was not sure, though, why she was holding his hands and rubbing them over her breasts the way she was, and he knew it would be a spoiling question to ask. But she answered for him, so he didn't have to say anything.

With eyes still closed, she said, very softly, "Just making your hands nice and warm." And an old memory, of a different time and place and breasts, flashed into Greg's mind, a memory of an objection to cold hands and warm breasts, and his erection jumped when he realised she was doing it because she wanted him to put his hands inside her blouse.

Victoria felt the little jump at the back of the top of her head, it has been so long, she sighed to herself, do I dare-here? And then she angrily told the controlling voices to go away, and instead hoped that Greg had got the hint about the warm hands.

He had, and when Victoria took her hands away, he moved his right hand from her breast to the top button of her blouse, undid it, then the second one, then the third. Looking down at Victoria, he saw her eyes were still closed, her mouth open slightly, her breathing again a little different to what it had been. He put his hands inside the lapels of the blouse, letting them rest on the top of her chest for seconds, looking now at the bright whiteness of the bra cups, the slim beauty of the straps. His hands moved softly over her chest and his fingers entered the tops of the cups, his whole body trembling with pleasure as his fingers worked into the cups, feeling the soft firm skin of the topsides of her breasts, the flesh of them soft and firm and very warm.

Now his fingertips had reached her nipples, and he touched them, felt them hard against his skin, felt the little bumps of the aureoles as he traced his fingertips around them, heard Victoria whisper a little 'Oh' and his fingers moved inside the cups of her bra, tracing down the sides of her breasts towards her back, then back up to the nipples and down the inside slopes to the centre of her chest, then back to her nipples, which he pressed against, squeezed them gently between his fore and middle fingers, tips of his little fingers stroking the outsides of breasts, just barely scratching at the sweet skin, his thumbs pressed by the cups against the insides of her breasts , and again Victoria whispered a little "Ohh" and Greg for a moment let his whole hand squeeze at her breasts and they were a bit fuller than it appeared and it was getting a tight fit inside the cups, his hands and those beautiful firm breasts.

Victoria was feeling that too, along with many other feelings, and though she did not want to break the atmosphere, the mood of what she was feeling, she knew she had to do something.

"Hang on a sec," she said quietly, and took his hands from her bra and put them away from her, gently though, she did not want him to think she was angry or anything like that.

Greg felt a pang of disappointment-hang on a sec usually meant let's stop for now, in his experience and he was angry at himself because he believed he had done something wrong, something he had done had spoilt the wonderful moments they had seemed to be having.

But he need not have worried. Victoria stood up, her back to him, and pulled her blouse from her slacks, then he saw her arms were undoing the other buttons. Then she lifted the back of her blouse, all the way up to the strap of her bra. She held the blouse up, he got the hint, and surprising himself by his calmness, deftly unhooked the clasp of her bra. Then Victoria did that strange thing only women can do, of taking her bra off without taking off her blouse. She dropped it carelessly on the floor next to her chair, opened her blouse all the way, leaned her head back again, and closed her eyes again.

Greg looked at her breasts, they weren't large, (he didn't really like too big breasts) but they weren't small either. Coarser men he knew would have called them a good sized handful, but he just thought they were beautiful. The way she was sitting, with her head back, her back itself slightly arched, emphasised the beauty of their shape and size. The tops sloped up to her nipples, themselves a pale brown colour inside the paler brown of small aureoles. The skin of her breasts themselves was that special pale whiteness of skin that has never been exposed to the sun. He leant forward, and put his hands on them again.

As he leant forward, Victoria pressed her head back against the front of trousers, pressed back and rubbed side to side for a moment, then was still. He is so hard, she thought, and it has been so long-are we...but then she silenced herself, refusing to think ahead, just for once, she told herself, just enjoy what's happening now. And she really was enjoying that. The little "Oh"s were becoming more frequent, and the little tingles deep in her belly had merged into a continuous pulsing of want, and they were no longer just in her belly. They had moved down now, into that place between her thighs which, even at twenty-nine, was still such a mystery to her, the strange feelings she had there, the strange urges that seemed to originate there, the strange things it sometimes did on the rare occasions she felt as she was feeling now. She could feel herself moistening between her thighs, feel that urge to lift her bum up, and press her hips, press that place between her thighs hard against something, press and press and clutch and not let go. What his hands were doing on and around her breasts felt so, so good.

"Oh!" Greg heard Victoria murmur again, no longer just a whisper, but still very soft.

When she had sat back down, Greg had put his hands back on her breasts, just lying there for a few seconds, feeling their soft firmness, feeling their warmth, then he had squeezed them firmly but gently, then his fingers had started moving again, feeling all over their beauty, fingertips softly scratching at the undersides of them, tracing lines up the inside slopes to her nipples, tracing around her nipples, rubbing the tips of them, squeezing the breasts again, fingers drawing contours in a spiral from the base of each breast around and around up to her nipples and then slowly and still in spirals tracing all around back to the base of each breast, then his fingers wandered into her armpits, he traced around inside her armpits, heard a little giggle at the ticklishness of it, amongst the still more frequent "Oh" s, and let his fingertips linger in the very depths of her armpits, feeling the tiny traces of stubble and loving it. And against the front of his trousers the pressure of the top of Victoria's head as she pressed back against his erection, pressed at it and encouraging it.

Victoria now had an urge she often felt but rarely gave in to. She wanted to put her hand down between her legs, press her fingers into herself, press them deep and hard into that place, and keep pressing them there until she could grasp onto her longing and pull it out of herself, experience that violent relief she had so far in her life only a few times allowed herself. She was actually on the verge of undoing her pants when there was no longer a need to-Greg was doing it for her.

Greg's hands had moved back to the top of her chest, then, with a greater pressure than he had so far used (but still so wonderfully gently) his hands had slid up the tops of her breasts, across her nipples, down the undersides and across her belly, past her belly-button, into the little valleys at the sides of her hips, to the waist band of her slacks. Now they were undoing her belt, now the top button, now they had slid down the zip and were opening her slacks up. Greg looked at what he had done, looked at the paleness of her lower belly, the way it curved down into and under the band of a pair of brief, very-deep-red panties. His eyes looked closely at how the downward curve of her belly, under the soft material, then started to slope upwards again as her mound, though still covered by the panties, started to reveal itself to him. As he put his fingertips under the band of the panties, just inside, he heard another "Oh" followed immediately by a very soft "Mmm". And he felt Victoria's head move, the side of her head, move against the front of his trousers, felt her press her cheek against his erection.

To reach her belt, Greg had had to step from directly behind her head to behind her shoulder, and Victoria could feel his erection against her cheek, when it moved away slightly she had moved her head, pressing her cheek against it. For the first time in her life she really wanted to take that strange organ-say it, she said to herself, say it, all right then, cock, I want his cock in my mouth.

Never before had she wanted to do that. Sure, she had a few times, for over-insistent boyfriends, but she had never liked it, and the last time-over a year ago now-when her mouth had suddenly been filled with hot, thick liquid-she had spat it all out, told herself she would never do that again, and rushed to the bathroom to throw up. But now she wanted to do it, she tried to tell herself Do it. Her hand raised, intending to unzip his trousers while his hands continued their almost tickling around the band of her panties, his fingertips eagerly seeking her pubic hair, and her hand had just about reached his belt when he moved again. She was disappointed; she wanted to at least touch it.

But now Greg had moved. Rubbing his hands back up from her panties, he had stroked his fingers across her belly once more, then stood up straight. With another little "mm" and an "oh" Victoria looked up at him, having to admit to herself that her neck was getting a bit sore from all the looking back and up, although nowhere near sore enough to detract from the feelings in her breasts and nipples and belly and especially-down there. That was all she could call it-that other word for it, she had never used, had been told when she was young it was an evil word, a name for an evil part of her body, told herself many times she could never say it out loud. But now she wanted to at least acknowledge it, and the amazing feelings it was sending through her body. In the very back of her mind a little voice whispered "My cunt is not evil" but there was no way she could ever say that out loud, or even think it in more than a thought whisper.