Wor on a Snow Day

I was busy clearing off the front entrance walkway when Carole walked up. "Hey, Carole, what are you doing here on this terrible day?"

"Oh, hi, Chris. I live within walking distance, on Madison, near Altomonte's Market, and I figured that somebody had to show up today. Besides, I've got some work that just has to get done."

"Well, the front door's unlocked, but I think I'm the only one here. With all of this snow, I doubt anyone else will show up."

It was just a miserable day in Hatboro, Pennsylvania, and I really doubted that we'd be doing any work or sending out any concrete today. There was at least six inches of new snow on the ground, and while PennDOT was out plowing County Line Road, it seemed that it was accumulating just as fast as they pushed it away. I came in early, earlier than usual, because I have a four-wheel drive F-250 with a snow blade on the front, and I figured that I was the best one to come in, and I could plow the yard at the same time.

Just then a SEPTA regional rail train went past, and I was happy that none of the few vehicles on the road had been unable to stop at the crossing.

I had done what I could with the snow blower and went back inside, stamping the snow off of my work boots. I headed into the Dispatch Office, and *72ed the office phones to my cell; I knew that I couldn't just sit inside all day. Still, that didn't mean I couldn't talk to Carole for a few minutes.

Still, she was a bit hard to talk to. Carole was hardly a beauty, dark haired and on the plain side, but at least she was reasonably slender. Unlike the other two women who worked in the office, she was just not a talker, not a joiner-in type. I knew that she was married, because she wore a wedding set, but guys never really flirted with her type: she just gave off the freeze-you-out vibe.

"So, what do you have to get done that couldn't wait until tomorrow? You aren't going to bending out invoices today I would guess."

"Oh, there's a huge blow-up over some concrete we sent to that new development off Jacksonville Road. The builder is claiming that we shorted him a few hundred yards, and that there was delamination on the sidewalks and driveways throughout the place. QC needs all of the delivery tickets pulled, to see how much water was added to the loads, and then I'll have to pull all of the batching records to make sure there was enough air-entraining agent in the mix."

"Carole, that project was what, four years ago? And they're just now complaining? After what, three or four winters, they were probably throwing deicing salt on everything, so surface scaling is pretty much a given."

"I know, that's what QC said, but we've still got to get the records."

"Well, the batch records are saved in the computers, so that's easy enough, once QC gets the ticket numbers. Those ought to be in the billing records."

"I know, but the delivery tickets are in the back storeroom somewhere, and I hate that room. It's dark and cold, and there are probably mice and bugs in there."

"That's OK, I'll go in with you, whenever you go. You heading now?"

"I've got some other stuff to do as well, and I'll admit it; I've been kind of putting it off."

"OK, just call my cell when you're ready, 'cause I've got to try and plow the yard. If it gets much deeper, I'll need to use the loader rather than my truck."

With that, I headed outside, to start plowing. First up were our driveway entrances, where the PennDOT plows had pushed up a huge pile; for that, I back-dragged the piles away with the loader.

Of course, plowing snow all by yourself leaves way too much free thinking time; plowing snow doesn't take all than much mental effort, other than figuring out where to put all of the snow! Anyplace else, I could just push it off to the side, but I sure can't push it too close to the SEPTA railway!

And too much free thinking time makes a young man's thoughts turn to pussy. I was just 31, and Carole must've been five or so years older, not that I could really tell, her dressing so plainly and looking like, well, looking like she wouldn't be much of a lay.

Still, who doesn't mind a little bit of sex at work? 😊

I'd been plowing for I guess two hours, and gotten most of the yard cleared once, but the snow was still falling, and there was at least another inch where I had started plowing. It was just then that my cell rang, and it was Carole; she was ready to head into the old records room.

She was right about one thing: the old records room was dark and cold and everything seemed to be covered with a later of fine dust. She'd pulled up the billing records, which had all of the delivery ticket numbers on them, but what we were facing were stacks and stacks of old, white boxes, with ticket numbers written on them with a magic marker. Since the newer stuff was in the front, we'd have to move that stuff out of the way to get to records from not four years back, but five.

"Eek!" Or at least something like that, as she screamed incoherently, and ran back toward me, and against me. "There's a rat back there!"

Whatever it was she saw, I couldn't see it, but I unwrapped Carole from my body and moved back toward the boxes, moving more of them out of the way, and I finally found the first one for which we searched. She approached, gingerly enough, and then she screamed again, charging into me again. I held her tight to reassure her that there was nothing there that could hurt her, when it happened: she was in my arms, and we were looking into each other's eyes. I took my hand, and brushed a bit of her hair out of her eyes, just like in the romance movies. Even with her dark brown eyes, I could see a misty-eyed look beginning.

I suppose that I could have reassured her again, that nothing in there could hurt her, or even told her I'd find the rest of the boxes myself, which maybe I should have done, but I was still holding her as I walked her out of the storage room. Instead, kicking the door closed behind us, I was still holding her as we stepped back into the office.

I'll admit it: I wasn't really sure what to do here. Wrapped together like we were, I wanted to kiss her. I also knew that I shouldn't. What I wound up doing was a half-assed compromise: I kissed her on the forehead, kind of a reassuring move than a romantic or sexy one. She looked up at me again, really misty-eyed now, and I'd seen that look in other women before. She wanted to do more, but she was afraid, just plain afraid. If we were going to do anything more, I'd have to take the initiative.

Which I did. My hands on both sides of her face, I kissed her, gently, and not on the forehead this time. She was surprised, or maybe she wasn't, but the look on her face was clear: she wanted me to kiss her again.

And I did. It started out as a soft kiss, but despite her hesitancy, I felt her lips part. Somehow, the fire in this woman, always so deeply hidden, was breaking through. It wasn't just her kiss, but her arms, which were now around my neck, had tightened up and tensed up, and if not exactly pulling my head down, keeping me from escaping.

Should I do this? She had to feel my erection pressing hard against my jeans, as she was pressed up against me. With the terrible weather, she had ditched her usual dress slacks, and was wearing jeans herself, not skinnies, not even the typically close fitting jeans that women wear, but fitting a touch more loosely. Still, I could feel her groin pushing against mine.

Carole had already ditched her snow boots, which were wet from the walk in, and was just in her sock feet. Her jeans, I could easily have unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed down. When her arms dropped from my neck to the top button of my flannel shirt, I knew that she had given her permission.

It was really awesome! Her face wore the strangest combination of a shy smile and a hungry look in her eyes. She was wearing a flannel shirt herself, one clearly too big for her, and buttoned on the man's side; she must have swiped that from her husband's stuff. That thought reminded me that yes, she did have a husband, but if I was thinking that, thoughts of her husband sure didn't seem like they were in the forefront of her mind. I unbuttoned a couple of buttons on her shirt, as she looked down at my hands, watching what I was doing. The angle was poor, but I thought I could see a hint of a smile on her face as she watched my hands.

Unbuttoning her shirt didn't really show anything; she had a t-shirt under that. Then again, with the winter weather, I did, too. But when I finished unbuttoning her flannel shirt, I kept going, unbuttoning her jeans, and then unzipping them. By this time, her hands were on my belt buckle. She was having trouble with the tight buckle, so after unzipping her jeans, rather than pushing them down, I pulled my hands away and undid my belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped my own jeans. I left them in place, and returned to pulling Carole's down, using my thumbs to hook onto her plain cotton panties and bring them down as well.

There were no words spoken; it was as though she had placed herself in an alternate reality, doing things she'd never have imagined, and saying nothing that would bring reality back to her world. Using her left foot first to hold down her right pants leg, and then reversing it, she stepped out of her jeans completely.

It took me longer, because I still had on my work boots, but I was out of those, and my pants as quickly as I could have done it. Strangely, we were both still wearing our socks, but hey, it's the middle of winter, right.

There was a black Naugahyde couch in this gang office, and I took her hand and led her to it. For the first time I felt a slight hesitancy in her step, but it was barely there. I sat her down, and then dropped to my knees, knowing that a good tongue lashing would solidify her mood. I think she was surprised when I bent down to eat her pussy; did her husband never do this?

Carole may have been a kind of plain girl, but she did have a really pretty pussy! It was clearly untrimmed, but her dark pubic hair was kind of naturally sparse, not really hiding anything. Her labia were swollen and pink with blood; her inner lips didn't show at all. She had a pussy that any man would want to eat!

I didn't know, maybe she had kids at home and had trained herself to be stifle sounds, but while eager and intense, Carol was very quiet, with moans and soft grunts, but no screams or words. That what I was doing was working, though I could only tell by the tensing and relaxing of her legs. It seemed like only a couple of minutes later, she straightened her legs out, and was as tense as a board, pushing her pussy into my face as she obviously came.

Me? I had softened slightly while I was doing the work, but her orgasm brought my cock back to full hardness. I don't know if she liked giving head, but I didn't wait, I shifted her position, arranged myself, and entered her with one long, smooth, but not overly quick stroke. Her mouth formed an "O" of surprise, though about what she could be surprised at this point, I hadn't a clue.

Who knows, maybe her husband has a smaller cock, I thought wryly to myself, even though I was no porn star; I was at perhaps the larger end of average, but still well within the average range.

But that thought disappeared quickly, as I was concentrating on what I was doing, and not worrying about her poor husband. I was stroking in at medium speed, not slamming her, and not going too slowly. I must have hit the right pace for her, as I could tell from he slight moans, the tensing and relaxing of her muscles, and a prettier smile on her face than I had ever seen her with before.

Carole started with her legs wrapped around me, but that didn't last. She put them down, straightened them out, and pushed her thighs together, making herself tighter for me, and causing me to put more friction on her clit. Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of intense concentration, almost a grimace, and then her orgasm overtook her. I could easily have held back, but why bother at this point, and I let myself go as deeply into her as I could.

Our climaxes over, the whole mood changed. The intensity was gone, and I was pretty happy. Carole? I think that she was just realizing what we had done, what she had done, perhaps thinking of her husband again.

But she still wasn't mad, at least not mad at me. Finally she said, with at least something of a smile, "You made me a mess." I laughed, and pulled some Kleenex from a box on Terry's desk for her. She put the Kleenex in place, gathered up her jeans and panties, and headed into the bathroom.

Me? I used some Kleenex to clean off my cock, and then pulled my clothes back on. I was completely dressed, work boots and all, when Carole emerged, dressed again, though her flannel shirt was still laying over a desk chair. She picked that up, started putting it on and said to me, with a smile, "That never happened."