The noise as she fumbled to get her key into the lock made me look up. My desk was at the far end of the lab, back by the centrifuge and I normally wouldn't have heard the door opening. She seemed unusually agitated as she squeezed past the door, in such a hurry that she did not even wait for the door to swing all the way open before rushing into the lab.
She looked a bit disheveled, her appearance not as carefully tended to as usual. Even so, I felt that thrill in my chest each time I saw her, and an involuntary smile came to my face. If I had admitted it to myself, I'd have recognized that I had fallen in love with her.
Her trim physique would have looked good in almost anything. The carefully chosen designer jeans and blousy tops she favored only enhanced her visual appeal and today's selections were no exception. The candy stripe blouse set off the blonde waves cascading across her shoulders nicely.
She quickly threaded her way back to my desk. Placing her palms on the back corners, she leaned across, bringing her face close to mine, and announced, "I need a hard, abrasive fuck!"
As was only too typical, I was at a loss for a suitable response.
I was used to her rather more frank discussion of matters sexual than were quite the widely accepted social norm, but I distrusted my interpretation of such potentially intimate topics. Did she want to shock me? Was she laying the groundwork for us to have even more intimate discussions? Did it mean she was interested in me sexually? Or was she treating me just the same as she treated everyone else? It was confusing and frustrated me.
I was infatuated with her, lusted after her. I dreamt of making love to her. I wanted to believe that she felt the same way about me. That meant I couldn't trust my judgment here.
Unfortunately, for those desires, I loved my wife. Really loved her. Like head-over-heels, silly in love. And I had stood before our gathered family and friends and swore to her that I would forsake all others as long as we both lived. We'd been married less than two years; it was far too soon for either of us to dream of straying.
Yet the woman in front of me had seized my erotic imagination. I doubt many would call her pretty, exactly, though I had come to find her so. She was, however, undeniably sexy. She seemed to exude an essence that aroused sexual desire in everyone around her. A friend of mine, one of our fellow grad students, observed that just about every guy in the department "followed her around like a bitch in heat." He was not wrong. She was sexy in a way that seemed effortless.
Although my friend evidently thought that I was impervious to her undeniable allure, I was as thoroughly smitten with her as anyone. Perhaps I did hide it a little better than most because I was so afraid to let it out.
"I need a hard, abrasive fuck!" she insisted again.
The woman before me awaited my response and she was not, in my experience, a patient person.
I mustered all my intellectual might to devise a fitting reaction to her rather direct announcement. "Oh?" I inquired, softly.
"Gee," she replied, "I guess I need to make myself clearer. I need to be fucked RIGHT NOW." She paused and seemed to consider before she continued, "And I want you to do it."
When we were by ourselves, working late in the lab or down in the darkroom, or over beers at the local brew pub, we'd traded some risqué comments and shared some lightly sexually charged banter. She'd shared a few glimpses into her sexual history, though nothing verging on graphic.
I knew for sure that I longed to have sex with her and was all the more wary that I might, therefor, read more into our conversations than she intended. However, not even I could find a way to deflect her statement as a misunderstanding on my part.
"I need you to fuck me. NOW!" she reiterated as she began to undo her belt buckle. "Come on."
She turned and leaned over the low bench in the center of the lab, sliding her fancy designed jeans over her gorgeous, distractingly curvaceous hips, shimmying her butt automatically as she pushed them down towards her knees.
I had fantasized about seeing her perfect backside unconcealed by the jeans that usually hid its flesh from view (though the jeans did nothing to hide its alluring curves). Now that it was bared before me, I was transfixed. Her bottom was every bit as arousing bare as I'd imagined, and the soft swelling nestled between her legs and bottom intrigued me even more. I studied the glistening pink folds protruding there, nestled among her pale, downy hair.
"Please?"
The request refocused my gaze. She was looking at me over her left shoulder, fixing my stare with her bright blue eyes. I felt certain that she was not used to begging. Her intense, imploring gaze excited me further. My erection had started when she'd first announced her need. Now my cock strained uncomfortably against the buttons of my fly.
My misgivings loomed large, yet I could rationalize doing as she asked as helping a friend in need, a woman in distress. That fucking her would fulfill my own long-standing desires was further fuel to the raging fire I felt. The room was become redolent with the heady scent of her arousal and its aphrodisiacal qualities fanned the flames further.
I rose from my desk and walked around to stand behind her. Putting my hands on her hips, I bent low, touching my forehead to her buns and drinking in the aroma of her sex. I moved to kiss the shining petals of her blossoming flower. She flinched away from me.
"Just fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me." Her command was at once sultry and desperate, and it would not be denied.
I generally tried hard to be a gentleman.
How could I refuse such a charming invitation?
Raising myself back up, I couldn't undo my fly buttons fast enough. Somehow, I freed my dick and began rubbing its head along her warm slit.
She reached a hand between her legs and groped for my shaft. When she found it, her fingers enwrapped it with a thrilling firmness.
