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.
I had fantasized about this kind of raw, animalistic fucking. I had fantasized about it with her. Nonetheless, I had imagined that if we ever actually did have sex, our first couplings, at least, would be more a mutual seduction, with classic trappings of romance. I'd imagined we might decide to get a room after one of our after-work dinners that we each pretended was just about assuaging the day's hunger.
Maybe we'd find a secluded cove when we were out collecting seawater. On one such trip, after a marvelous picnic of sourdough, sharp cheddar, tart apples, a local chardonnay, and chilled crab, we'd been so brazen as to go "skivvy-dipping" in the frigid surf. Afterwards, awkwardly toweling ourselves off in the cramped confines of her 240Z, we'd been almost playful, teasing as we helped each other dry those hard-to-reach spots. Nothing overtly sexual (by some unspoken agreement, we avoided even nearing more private places), but it's hard to dismiss the implications of a man and woman in their damp underwear, in a small space, touching one another, if only through beach towels.
If she noticed my erection then, and it's difficult to imagine that she didn't, she made no mention of it. Oddly, I was glad she didn't. I don't know how I'd have responded and, though I wanted desperately to have sex with this erotic goddess, I did not want to break my promise to my wife.
I had always seen myself as a man of honor and adultery is dishonorable. It didn't matter that Anna had, in a sense, given me permission, when she told me, once we became engaged, that she expected that I'd cheat on her some day but that a meaningless fling on my part wouldn't end our marriage. She made it clear, however, that if I actually fell in love with someone else, that was a different matter altogether!
I guess my hang-up was that I didn't want a meaningless fling with Marla. I wanted a full-blown love affair -- sex AND romance. Maybe I was a closet woman! I felt all man. I mean, sex was the first item on my list, after all. The biggest trouble was that I was damned sure Marla didn't feel the same way about me. I'd come to believe that she wanted to have sex with me, that she was becoming fixated on the notion, but I didn't delude myself into imagining that she wanted an actual relationship. Heaven forefend! I couldn't imagine she'd want a committed, long-term relationship with anyone.
For all these reasons, and more, I knew I shouldn't have sex with her but there was no way I could resist the temptation as her insistent grip pulled me towards her hot, sloppy slit.
I had always believed I was a man of honor, some one who kept his word. At that moment, none of that mattered at all. Here was this woman I had wanted for so long offering herself to me freely, eagerly, longingly. Not even hung-up ol' me could resist that temptation.
Her sultry voice, her willing posture, and her unbelievably attractive ass trumped any ideals of fidelity and honor. I willingly let her lead me to the center of her steaming, drooling sex. Never had anything so wrong felt so right!
I felt her puffy labia wrap past the swollen head of my aching dick. I almost believed she was sucking me in rather than that I was pressing myself forward. God damn! It felt so warm, so wet, and so hot. The sensation was incredible.
Was it any better than doing it with my wife? Physically, probably not. If we could step outside such moments as a neutral observer, then it would probably be no better to fuck this woman than it would be to fuck my wife. Logic was utterly beside the point. The fact that it WAS this woman I was fucking was what made the sensations so fantastic. The thrill transcended the merely physical reality of it all. This was all about desires gratified and that took it far beyond mere physical stimulation. As I slid my prick all the way in until my scrotum was pressed tight against her clit. I was transported. I was actually fucking Marla! What could feel better than that?
Just then, I doubted that anything could.
The only thing tempering my delight was my fear that I was too excited, that I was enjoying being inside her too much. I feared, with good reason, that I would pop in a moment's time. I was too excited, too unused to these sexy, stimulating sensations. I sure as hell didn't want to leave her wanting!
As if reading my fevered mind, Marla spoke urgently, "Just GO for it, OK? Don't worry about me. Just fuck me hard and fast. It doesn't need to take long. Just satisfy yourself and I'll be good!"
"For sure?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yup," she responded, "I need you to get off on ME!"
