Professional Engagement

Let me say, first, that I never expected to be involved in such a situation. As a young professional, I barely had time to date, and so my sex life consisted of fun times with my vibrator and a few select fantasies. Some nights I would come back from the office to my tiny suburban home and pretend I was having a romantic night - candles, wine, music... it can be a lonely existence having such a demanding career. I inevitably ended up watching porn, touching myself with increasing intensity, and then more often than not, falling asleep tipsy and frustrated. I was one of those women who could seldom cum, regardless of circumstances.

On the night in question, I'd had a particularly trying day. My boss had made an inappropriate remark about my shapely ass when he thought I was out of earshot, and a homeless man had followed me three blocks before I lost him. This on top of the usual stress of work left me close to tears by the time I locked my front door behind me and stepped out of my high heels. I headed straight for the liquor cabinet for a shot of whiskey, bypassing my usual glass of red wine. I was feeling unusually horny and fancied I'd put on a little show for myself. I didn't bother to shut the bedroom blinds, and in fact opened the window for some night air, as my neighborhood of young yuppie parents was long since in bed, and the house across the street had been empty since I moved in.

Bottle of whiskey in hand, I stretched out luxuriously in front of the mirror, allowing my silk blouse to gradually untuck itself from my grey pencil skirt. I admired my own pale midriff in the mirror as I sipped straight from the bottle, feeling the comforting glow of alcohol steal through my system. I decided it was long since time for my head to stop aching from the severe bun I wore my hair in to work, and unleashed the cascade of chestnut curls that were my favorite feature. At that point I was really starting to relax and feel the buzz, so I gradually unbuttoned my blouse and let it slide from my shoulders. The lace of my half cup bra brought the tops of my breasts into view, pale and creamy by lamplight. I massaged them gently, excited by the open window in spite of my own assurance that no one could see me. Who would have thought I had an exhibitionist side... hmmmm. I grinned and stared myself down in the mirror, flushed face and dilated pupils evidencing my arousal.

Time for the vibrator, clearly. As I turned to fetch it from its place in the bedside cabinet, I froze in place, fear and arousal warring in my lust-fogged brain. At the window, there was a face, a man's face. Masculine lines and sensual lips, curved into a half smile. He'd been watching me unabashedly and now that he was discovered, he certainly did not turn to leave. Instead, before I could react, he hauled himself through the window and crossed the room in two quick strides. I lashed out to block his approach but his hand was across my mouth, effectively silencing me. The other hand captured my wrists in a painful grip, rendering me completely immobile.

My heart raced and time stood still for a moment as I processed the fact that I was being assaulted in my own home, in a state of partial undress. I knew, a moment later, that what I had fantasized about alone with my wine was about to take place. The man leaned forward so his lips brushed my ear, and told me to be very still and quiet. The implied threat chilled me, but his masculine proximity and husky voice left me wanting things I'd never quite articulated to myself. He moved to position himself behind me and I felt an erection pressed against my ass, straining the fabric of his jeans. I gasped and stopped my struggling as he forced me around to face myself in the mirror once again.

Use your hands. Touch yourself like you were before, he suggested, but I knew it was a command. Trembling with adrenalin, I extended my fingers and continued to softly touch my breasts. The nipples hardened immediately and I felt his hands behind me, moving to unhook the bra, then slide the skirt down over my hips leaving me standing naked except for a grey lace thong. I was mortified, but unsurprised to see a patch of darkening material where my juices had already started soaking through the panties. I felt his reaction, instantaneously behind me; a sharp intake of breath and a twitch of the cock that still seemed to be lengthening and thickening against my backside. I felt, rather than saw, his hands snake over my hips almost involuntarily.

Eyes closed, I tried to steady my breathing as his fingers brushed against the lips of my pussy through the damp fabric. Not a chance in hell that I wouldn't cum from this, how humiliating. I was already soaking, so aroused that the lips of my pussy were swollen and rosy and eager for more. He pulled the fabric of the thong in tightly, letting it slide between my lips and against my clit with almost painful tension. I could hear harsh breaths in my ear and see his eyes glazed over with lust. A few more strokes left me squirming with desire, angling my clit toward the persistent fingers and cloth. I'd forgotten everything but the sensations flooding my body. My arms dangled limply at my sides and he took over fondling my neglected breasts with one hand while the other continued its tantalizing progress toward my most sensitive spot.

Look at yourself, he commanded. I opened my eyes to see myself slumped against him, flushed with sexual need, nearly naked. He paused a beat, and then his fingers came down around my clit. He forced me against his hand over and over and as I looked at myself in the mirror I could not hold back. I had one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever experienced. It seemed to go on and on. He stepped backwards and laid me gently on the bed. Paroxysms of pleasure continued to emanate from my groin as I moaned involuntarily. When a few seconds later I had recovered enough to get my bearings, I opened my eyes warily, seeking my attacker. His form was disappearing through the open window, and with a thud, it closed behind him.

Sure, maybe I'd hired this man to give me pleasure, but he'd done the job almost too excellently, fulfilling my fantasy to a t. I had no time to meet people, but a woman has needs - I felt no guilt. Still, in the wash of emotions and the aftermath of pleasure, I felt confused and even frustrated. Why hadn't he fucked me? Was he stringing me along? I was fairly nonspecific in my directions, and what he did to me was hot, really hot. I could only hope we could arrange a second rendezvous to satisfy the rest of my needs.