An Office Lunch

My knock was polite, a corporate kind of polite. When, too-busy-to-be-bored, you opened your new door to me, you were too surprised to be glad at first.

"What - hey, what's this?"

"I've been batch-cooking! And I thought, if I'm bringing a bunch of lasagna for me this week, why don't I bring some for you!"

"But - you came here from your work??"

"We work in the same company, silly."

"This place is as big as a town!"

"I've walked farther on my walking meetings. I take my lunches walking on the clothing optional beach another half-K West."

You took the tupperware half-sheepishly, with a kind of smarm. "And the cookies and the card?"

"To celebrate your new office!"

I smooched your cheek, chastely enough because I knew you were at work. It was a corner office, and the building was in a lull between hustles, no footsteps, but I know you.

I looked around, at your scribbly whiteboard, your Protect Trans Kids poster, your mess of equipment and your Fire Warden vest. And I looked at you. We were both different takes on the same corporate woman archetype: you had a woman's suit, black and orthodox except for a cheeky flaring at the blazer's tail, a shiny purple blouse, a black little skirt, practical loafers disguised as something less practical. I had on well-cut pants, unwrinkled from being changed into, and a green thing that refused to concede it was either a jacket or a top. It was whatever it chose to be, with almost 80s shoulders but form-fitting. The same deceptively practical shoes.

You ate a cookie, asked how my morning was, finished an email, checked me out a little, sent a Teams message with a grin.

"I'm sorry I haven't even called. It's been so, so busy. I haven't even had time to go out in the evening. I get home and I do more work over a glass of Red. It's been meetings all the time. How's Sunday?"

"Distant! But yes. Should we go out to the beach, or come over to your place, have one of our Naked Pizza Dates?"

You dashed your eyes conspiratorially around. "Babe someone could hear....." There just wasn't a soul yet. I gleamed at you. "How about both and also now?"

You giggle-groaned a fuller kiss into my mouth, forgetting yourself. "I wish."

I gleamed back, and pointed a cheeky finger behind me at the door. "Office!"

"Very funny."

"Yep," I remarked, coming into your personal bubble, "Very funny." I gave you a single fleeting very unchaste kiss while our breasts made a little contact.

You looked beyond sheepish, so I waited carefully for any signs. I didn't want to even approach a place of nonconsensual discomfort. You smiled friendily and kissed me back, not politely.

"It really has been a long time, hasn't it," you said, touching my tummy. "I miss you too."

"Mhm. Would you like to stop missing me sooner or later?"

You breathed for a moment, eyes closed, and you touched me higher on my tummy, without looking up, and said, "Sooner?"

"Excellent." I grazed both sides of your neck. When you let yourself enjoy that I nibbled an ear and you breathed into mine.

"Wait, is this about that thing you once mentioned? About one of us being, y'know?"

"Just something I noticed. But I promise, I swear to god, eagle scout's honour, it is absolutely paramount the moment you tell me to cool my jets, I fucking will, swear."

You were still sheepish but I failed to hear an instruction. Tricky.

"Aaaany time now."

Nothing.

I gave you a single, much longer kiss. And then stared at you. Your face was red, you were breathing heavily and slowly, you were swaying a little, you weren't looking annoyed. I tried backing away and you came to me with a slightly more vigorous kiss.

I went to your new corner and twisted your new blind's control rod until the blinds closed us off from your new window to your new staircase to your new floor.

I came back and tasted your mouth. You whispered gasps into my mouth. I could feel them as changes of pressure, not quite hear them.

So I took the risk.

I unfastened my little cravat.

You watched me do it. Your lips opened as you breathed.

"Tell me not to take off my clothes right now."

My cravat fell to the floor. I took hold of my top's zipper slider.

"Tell me not to take off my clothes."

Nothing. But you made eye contact.

I unhurriedly unzipped my top, unhurriedly slipped it off of me, unhurriedly put it on your new hat rack, while you stared at me, conspicuously interested and speechless. I watched your face. You looked... touched? That this was happening? But I watched you for your No.

Your No didn't come as I reached the hooks of my bra. I expertly snapped my fingers until it popped out. You watched my muscular shoulders reach and then you watched my impractically large breasts ripple free. I didn't even treat my pants and panties as separate layers. They were broad and loose enough to come off without removing my shoes.

I stepped free. As you stared, not having taken a single breath, I repeated our kiss, and this time my aroused nipples and fluffs of pubic hair brushed against your suit as I did. You cheeky woman, you didn't even close your eyes as I kissed you.

For a moment, we just watched each other. Your suit fit perfectly, flattering but proud of your large, strong body, hinting at your wonderful bum with an elegant flourish of tail. Your shirt was so well tailored it didn't bulge out at your breasts, and I almost needed them then, those perfect, ice-solid large nipples that loved me so.

I gave a chaste little afterkiss on your cheek. Then I giggled and said, "Oh drat."

You gasped a little and said "Drat what?"

"Hang on love" and I turned and walked to your door. I felt your suspicious eyes. I turned the lock and turned around just in time to see you gasp in horror at the hazard of the last minute.

I came back, smiled at you, watched your face, searched you for your Yes, found it, and began tasting your cheek and your ear and your jaw.

I looked at you again, and you looked ready to maul me with your mouth, and instead I whispered, "Please tell me not to take off your panties."

As you panted at me in response, brushing your open mouth against my open mouth instead of explicitly kissing, I kneeled my naked legs in front of you and reached inside of your polite skirt and found your very respectable panties and gingerly brought them down. All I had to do was caress your calves, one by one, and your calves knew they were being asked to step out of each leg.

I stood. I stroked my face against yours and you stroked your face against mine. We smelled each other a little.

I looked at you. I smiled a little. You watched patiently.

"You are very-much allowed to not sit on your tiny new meeting table."

You looked around, as though ninjas could come through the vents any moment, backed up until your bum lightly bumped against what was indeed a cute little teeny conference table for two. You hiked your bum up onto it, and, after a moment of indecision, hiked the back of your skirt too, apparently protecting your skirt instead of protecting your table.

I smiled at you in complete adoration and excitement as I came to you again, and knelt as politely as I could. I gently placed your knees further away, which because of physics I guess brought you further back, and you watched your unclothed visitor come to you, without hesitation, without a moment of tease or exploration, right onto and between your already misty already reddened labia.

You were fucking delicious.

I thought only of myself as I sought out your tastes and invited them out onto my work-ready face, and as I felt the first trickle I looked up and watched you buck. I watched you experimentally try different levels of whisper and gasp, finding just the right amount of volume to not get in serious, serious trouble.

After a long vertical lash of my tongue from vagina to clitoris, ending with my neck high up, I saw you look down at me. I arched back just enough so you could see the drips of you already between my breasts.

I knew you couldn't see any of what was happening, only an expertly conditioned head of carefully curated hair lightly bobbing around your work skirt, and so I presented your own arousal to you as it travelled down my neck, listened for your whispered desperate disbelief, and returned to you, just in time for your second wave. I would taste the new rush of horniness I had just made for you. I would lavish your vulva until your need for this trickled into my tummy button, further. I would worship what you gave me until it joined my own desire for you.

No such luck. You grabbed and clawed into the lip of your table, punishing its wood as you gave me a sudden and desperate orgasm. Mercifully, it was not short. You came, and came, and came, allowing yourself little highs and lows of noise.

You watched the ceiling.

And then you came back and watched me.

Smiling politely. Hair still quite done up. Shiny with you. The friendly woman who brought you lasagna and a card.

I stood and you stood too.

You were shaking your head, looking the version of in-love you make with your face that looks similar to anger, determination, disbelief, and amusement, all at once. You didn't know what to do with your hands, and so for a moment you settled on feeling my breasts, searching them, somewhere between skin-deep caress and squeeze.

You took my hand and watched three steps to my desk. I forget how you used your hands to request a bend-over but the message was clear. I was wordlessly given to understand that I was to rest my arms and torso on the corner of your desk while standing.

You weren't teasing either. There wasn't a moment when you removed your clothing. My sensations alone told me very explicitly that what was now happening was that a fully dressed woman in corporate leadership was kneeling in front of my heels and my bum was gently hiked up.

Without a moment of uncertainty or expectation a mouth and nose was prompty placed right onto my vulva. Like my own probing, your tastes were not altruistic, just hungry. I felt my vagina being searched for what it offered you, and my desperate little clitoris was grazed incidentally, repeatedly and perfectly but as an afterthought of each search. I was being drunk.

I slowly danced my ass onto and up and down your face. I remember your touch used to be about finding something to stimulate and activating it deliberately. Something else was happening. The walls of my vagina could feel your cheeks as you nuzzled, my clitoris and my ass kept flashing at me, activated by fleeting brush-by flicks by your mouth and nose and I don't even know what else.

There was no room for bashfulness, I was where you asked me to be, opened up to you.

As you leaned into what we were doing, your hands took the cheeks of my ass and simply enjoyed them, kneading and morphing their shape, lifting them up to access a different corner of vagina, arching them apart to demand more access, more. My lower lip and tongue dribbled onto your desk as I sought oxygen and tried to open as much as you wanted me to.

And then you found one unbelievable position, this one particular angle. You were going to just be there for a minute, I could tell, in order to give my clitoris a fleeting, unsatisfyingly incomplete reward for her patience, but I could feel it--flicking me on that angle while opening me up released a new wellspring of aroused liquid, and you stayed, lapping where it landed, rushing into your body.

I managed to keep my oncoming orgasm a series of rapt breaths. You heard me, and you little shit, it was at that exact moment that you slid your mouth upwards and slickly tickled and entered my ass. The entire time I came, my vulva was completely alone, as I felt initial overwhelming touches in the pink folds surrounding and on my asshole, adoring make-outs that I would have loved to last much longer, when I was much less distracted.

My sanity returned. You weren't kneeling anymore, you were soothing my lower back and my thighs, you were feeling my torso breathe.

We came back to each other, standing clumsily, neither of us with much breath left. Our eyes searched. You thought I was coming for a kiss so I stopped your face with my hands, and slowly lapped at you. My tongue sought out the juices you had taken from me, and I gently cleaned you, finishing with your mouth. You took me by the back and deftly whimpered little licks onto my tummy and chest as you gathered your arousal up. We reclaimed ourselves from each other, as much as it was still possible, and then just kissed.

I could tell you were now frustrated that I still protected your perfect clothing. I refused to mash my filthy naked self against you. My kisses were completely uncivilised but I kept your brand safe. And that's when you realised I was going to leave soon.

"I very-much wish I could stay, I think we need a longer bistro talk on this topic. Shall we reschedule to expand on what we've covered?"

You stared, again looking not quite angry, not quite determined, not quite amused, not quite disbelieving.

"How's Thursday?"

"As in tomorrow?"

"How's. Thursday."