Cleaned Out

It was the final lousy day in a lousy week. My husband had been in as rotten mood because his bloody football team had lost a big match (oh boohoo!), my 16-year old daughter suddenly hated me for no particular reason I could work out, my 11-year old son was fretting over exams and some girl at his school, my mother had taken it into her head to divorce my stepdad after 32 years, I'd put on three pounds, and my sodding boss had been working my arse off all week, arranging meetings, phone calls around the world, rearranging the meetings I'd arranged, minuting the meetings, zoom calls, typing up contracts...frankly I was knackered, and really needed the weekend to come.

At 5.55pm I stood at the window of our 34th floor office, staring out at the rain pissing down on the City, urging the last five minutes of the working week to pass, and not looking forward to getting drenched in my five-minute walk to Fenchurch Street Station. When I heard the boss office door swing open I assumed he was on his way out, but no, he had a shock for me: "Jackie, I need this contract typed up and mailed to New York before you go home." Darren couldn't have missed the rage on my face, and my meaningful glance at the wall clock. Flashing me what he considers his boyish grin (yeah, maybe ten years ago, bucko), he said, "Sorry, but that's why you're paid the big bucks. Well, quite big" he added before I could snap back at him."

I stalked over to him, snatched the thick sheaf of papers out of his hand and, muttering that I don't get paid enough for this shit, smacked my bum down in my swivel chair. Darren returned to his office and reemerged a moment later pulling on his coat. Seeing my poisonous look he tried to look contrite and told me "Sorry, I'd stay to give you moral support but we have tickets for the opera -- Bartoli and Bryn Terfel." As the outer office door clicked closed behind him I muttered a prayer to the god I don't believe in that the fucking opera house would collapse on top of him.

At around 6.30 our office cleaner appeared. I'd seen her before, a skinny Indian-looing girl around her mid-20s, barely five feet tall, but I'd never spoken to her beyond an occasional nodded greeting. She gave me a pretty smile and started her vacuum cleaner but, seeing my shoulders rise in tense irritation at the noise, she switched it off again and said, "Sorry, I come back later."

At about 7.15, as I finally finished typing the bloody contract, the office door opened, flooding light from the corridor into the room, lit by only my desk lamp and the glow of my screen. I saw the cleaner silhouetted in the doorway. She switched the room light on and said in surprise, "You still here? Time to go home I think."

I managed a tired smile, and replied "Yeah, another two minutes and I'm done." It was the first time I'd raised my head from my screen in over an hour, and I felt a tense ache in my neck. Closing my eyes I rolled my head and shoulders to try to ease it. When I opened them again I was surprised to see the woman rounding my desk and moving behind me.

Before I could ask what she was doing she told me, in a soft, gentle tone, "Poor lady, you look tired. I think neck massage would do you good." She then rested her hands on my shoulders. Annoyed, I was about to brush them away when she began to knead my shoulders, her strong slim fingers digging into my flesh. It felt good and I immediately felt myself relaxing. Glancing at the clock I thought, what the hell, my next train wasn't for 40 minutes anyway.

The cleaner's thumbs began massaging the back of my neck in form circles, my shoulder length blonde hair flowing over her hands. I felt the tension begin to flow out of me and, letting my head fall back against her chest, I murmured "Thank you, erm..."

"Dilina, my name is Dilina". Her mouth as she whispered this was so close to my ear that I could feel her warm breath on my skin. Unexpectedly I felt a warm glow developing in my loins, and I closed my eyes again, enjoying the experience.

It took me a few moments to notice that Dilina's hands had slipped down from my shoulders to my chest, her fingertips stroking my skin in the V of my white blouse. Surprised and embarrassed by the feel of my nipples beginning to harden, I said hesitantly, "Erm..."

Dilina shushed me as her warm hands drifted onto the flesh of my boobs, her soft palms kneading them just above my bra. I should explain at this point, I'd always been a bit of a prude, I had nothing against gay people but I had never been remotely attracted to women, and the idea of girl-on-girl sex made me feel a little queasy. Nevertheless, I couldn't deny that my big nipples were now rock hard, and I could feel a moistness developing between my thighs.

While I was still wondering whether I should put an end to this, Dilima's hands slipped into my bra. At the same moment I felt her tongue tracing the contours of my ear, a particularly sensitive spot for me. Against my better judgement I just sat there, panting, as the other woman's hands fully entered my bra and began to gently squeeze my 44D boobs, her palms rhythmically pressing against my nips. I could feel my panties were now soaking, and I couldn't have stopped her even if I still wanted to.

She started nibbling on my ear lobe and her fingers closed on my nipples, rolling and squeezing them. I placed my hands over hers, outside my blouse, and squeezed them. I vaguely heard myself whimpering, and suddenly I gave a half-gasp-half-scream as my hips bucked, bells jangled and rockets fired in my brain, my own personal 1812 Overture with added starbursts behind my screwed shut eyelids.

I slumped down in my chair, still panting as Dilina turned my head towards her and kissed me, her tongue tracing my teeth before pushing deeper and stroking my own tongue. I was starting to wonder whether my shaky legs would carry me to the station, but my new lover wasn't finished with me yet.

Spinning my chair to take my legs from under my desk, she dropped to her knees and pushed her hands up my tight skirt, outside my legs, and her fingers curled around the waistbands of my knickers and tights. Realising through my post-orgasmic fug what she had in mind, I tried to resist, pushing at her hands from outside my skirt and groaning "No, stop it, that's too much". Between my wriggling and Dilina's hands up my skirt it had ridden up my thighs, and now she leaned in, pressing her lips to my gusset and nudging me with her tongue. Another skyrocket exploded in my head, my hips bucked involuntarily, and that was all the time Dilina needed to whip down tights and pants in one.

Despite them pooling around my ankles, she pinned my knees open with her slim shoulders and placed her hands behind my bum and dragged me forward in my chair like a ragdoll, and I gasped as I felt her warm breath blowing on my pussy. She pressed her nose to me and inhaled deeply, then I yelped as I felt her tongue press between my fleshy lips and lick my length from bottom to top, teasing at my prominent clit.

Now completely lost to my mistress, I slumped back in my chair, my tongue lolling, my hands squeezing my boobs as she licked me and nibbled my labia. I'd noticed that, like me, she wore a wedding ring, but she was certainly no stranger to lady love. She withdrew her tongue for a moment then I groaned with pleasure as she pressed several fingers into me, quite possibly her entire slim hand. Her mouth returned to me, her teeth attaching to my clit and her tongue pressing and flicking it. The way my hips started to buck and writhe I'm amazed she was able to stay attached to me. My throat was sore from the amount of groaning and gasping I was doing, and I hope there was nobody else within earshot in the building as I let out a scream worthy of Cecilia Bartoli as her fingers fucked me to a shattering, mindblowing orgasm which left me weak and sweaty.

Still half-dazed, skirt still up around my waist and knickers round my ankles, I pulled myself upright in my chair as Dilina stood and grinned at me. Bending her face to mine she kissed me, and I tasted my own loved nectar as her tongue entered my mouth and swirled around. Then she undid the top two buttons of her thin nylon housecoat to reveal a tiny breast capped with a long chocolate brown nipple. She leaned in to feed it into my mouth, and I obediently sucked it in, flicking the nipple with my sticky tongue. As I did I felt my pussy filling with new wetness.

After a few seconds Dilina pulled away and rebuttoned her housecoat. With a little wave of her fingers she moved towards the door, saying "I vacuum in here Monday." As she passed through the doorway she turned and, with a wink, told me, "Next time it's my turn."

I sat for a moment, trying to pull myself together, then took a handful of tissues to wipe my sodden pussy and shakily pulled up my pants and tights. As I stabbed Send on my keyboard to get rid of that damned report, I guiltily thought that I'd have to arrange to work late once or twice again next week.