I, like most people, have a number of pet peeves. For instance, those unaware drivers who hang out in the left lane while traveling 10 miles-an-hour under the speed limit, the people who take 20 items into the express lane at the supermarket and those coffee drinkers who take forever to add a squirt of cream and a packet of sugar into their coffee at Starbucks then block others while endlessly and aimlessly stirring their beverage.
Of course, as those who have read my other stories about my affair with my ex-boss, K. Linford Little, know, the man doesn't escape my ire in the pet peeve department.
Back in the days when I worked for the man 10 years my senior we had several adventurous escapades on his desk and his office couch before discretion took over. Since then we've spent our intimate time together in his car or other away from the office locations. The fact that we would rendezvous away from the office didn't bother me, it went a long way toward keeping our affair away from the watchful eyes of co-workers, away from suspicion from his wife or my boyfriend. Yet what bothered me, my pet peeve as it was, is Mr. Little's unwillingness to completely drop his pants when I would go down on him.
Now to some it wouldn't be a big deal. A blow job is a blow job, right?
Wrong. For me, I like to savor them, I like the feel of a cock in my mouth, and I like to play with the throbbing meat, stroke it and make love to it. But I also like to feel the guy's ass, stroke his thighs, play with his ball sack and do my best to give him a toe-curling, mind-blowing orgasm. But Mr. Little is too cautious, he won't drop his pants for me when we nocturnally nookying. He's just too afraid of being caught with his pants down, so instead the majority of the blow jobs he gets from me are of the zipper down, cock out of his undies variety.
The man loves my mouth, I love his dick, we have a great time together, but there are times when I wish he would simply let go and let me have my total way with him, even if it meant his pants would be down around his ankles.
Sometimes he lets go and I get what I want, but I do understand his reluctance to "let it all hang out." But not too often, as my boss was the cautious type. "Robyn, I know it's crazy," he'd say, "but if someone did come by and you were pleasuring me it would be easy to zip up and sort of leave it as you were just laying your head in my lap."
Yea, right, like some lame brain would actually go for that excuse! Still, I understood his reluctance, and the fact is that several times when he was sans trousers and boxers and totally nude from the waist down and all mine he had trouble in the performance department, blaming it on not being comfortable about the potential of being caught in the act.
Turns out there was an occasion during the early part of our relationship where it might have been better to be a bit more discrete than adventurous.
As mentioned in prior stories, we have mess around in his car along a lover's lane, in a mall parking garage, a baseball dugout and behind a Circuit City store. We also messed around a lot in a local park, where there was a long, meandering pathway which made its way through the woods around a large lake. We found out own secret spot behind an old abandoned grist mill. There, about 50 yards from the pathway and well away from the mill was a secluded spot under a grove of chestnut trees where we could do out thing well away from the watchful eyes of passerby’s. What was nice is that we could hear those coming nearby as the brush would rustle and warn us of intruders. It was a great place to be alone.
We'd generally make out in the car a bit, but wouldn't get down and dirty there because of the number of people walking by. After a bit of kissing and hugging and feeling and playing we'd make our exit toward our "spot", holding hands, stopping to kiss when the coast was clear. Every once in a while the kisses would get a little longer and more passionate, and, with an eye up and down the path, we might sneak a feel in each others pants while making out.
On the cloudy spring day in question Mr. Little was totally hot and bothered before we left the car, causing him to adjust his hard on in his pants as we began our deliberate trek. We stopped and kissed a couple times as we walked through nature and his excitement got higher and higher as we strode among the foliage.
We had stopped at the park after work, leaving just a little early in separate cars. He told all he was going to work out while I supposedly had a doctor's appointment. We were wearing work clothes, so he left his jacket and I my sweater in the car. My wardrobe included a smart looking light blue blouse, a dark blue knee high skirt, pantyhose and comfortable black pumps.
The path was relatively quiet, although we did pass a young mother of about my age pushing her baby carriage and had several riders fly by while furiously peddling their bikes. The new mom looked at me with knowing eyes almost as if she knew we were having an illicit affair.
Halfway into our walk the path came very close to a passenger train track, one of those commuter rails which take folks to and from work. Mr. Little was a bit frisky this day, as when he heard the train coming he took me in his arms and started kissing me with great passion. His hands were caressing my ass while his mouth was glued to mine. I felt a cool breeze on my backside before realizing the little devil had lifted my skirt and was fondling my ass checks protected only by my thin nylon panties and hose. I remember blushing as I realized anyone looking out the window toward the park could see his hands on my butt. It was embarrassing and extremely exciting. After the train clickity clacked its way down the track we broke our embrace and laughed at the show we gave!
