It was not a surprise to find myself in Marianne's kitchen at lunchtime on that day. I often went there with her and Clinton for lunch, since she lived near to where we were all working. She had a homely kitchen and a nice patio area where we could have our sandwiches and a real perc coffee. But on this occasion things were different.
I had met Marianne a couple of years previously at a weekend conference. I was 35, she was about ten or twelve years older than me. She was still good-looking and kept herself trim. She had a very cultured accent, unusual for the teaching profession. On this first night, I had been drinking and so had she. I found at some point in the evening that she became flirtatious. I am not sure how it happened, but suddenly there was this man-woman thing between us.
Later that night, we went for a walk together in the countryside near the conference centre. I put my arm around her, and she didn't quite remove it, but she shocked me by saying,
"Philip, I think I have been celibate too long. You know, I am engaged to be married to this nice guy..."
The word "celibate" was what shocked me. A tentative flirting gesture had had the spotlight of sex turned on it. Was I really making sexual overtures? I suppose so, but it was early days. I removed the arm, but I was still turned on by her. The fact that she had jumped a number of steps to sex excited me, and I found I was more excited because of her accent, which made her seem prudish and correct when she was really a very sexual woman.
Nothing happened then, not for a couple of years. Then she came to work in my office, doing a similar job to mine. She and and our colleague Clinton and I enjoyed lunches and coffees together occasionally. Then there was this occasion when we three went to a coffee place one mid-winter morning. For some reason, I thought I was getting a vibe from Marianne. I let my knee rest against her thigh, occasionally pressing a little harder. Because there was a cloth over the table, Clinton could not see what was going on. Marianne did not withdraw. On the contrary, at one point, she pulled her skirt down over her knees, a gesture which led to us making closer contact. She placed her hand briefly on my knee and said,
"Oh, I'm sorry, Philip".
I mumbled that it was OK, and I am sure I flushed, but Clinton kept talking, not noticing. I let my knee resume its place against her thigh and it was not rejected. Then in the car on the way back to work, she said pointedly to me,
"You know, that was so-o comfortable in there. I feel warm inside."
I was in the back seat, she in the passenger seat. I smirked.
Soon after, we were on a conference again. It was warm despite the season, so we were working in a big group outside in the sun. I sat opposite Marianne, and made lascivious, surreptitious gestures with my tongue on my lips, suggesting I would rather be nibbling on her pussy than working. Later we met and I managed to get a little kiss on her lips before she pulled away saying we would be caught. She suggested a walk later that night. I couldn't wait. I had felt how soft her lips were, and knew that she was dying to really be kissed. I got hard thinking about our tongues playing together.
We never did get together that night. Somehow, having drunk a skinful, I never did quite link up with her, but not for want of trying. I slept badly, still drunk. I had to go to the toilet in the early morning. Because this conference venue was an outdoor education centre, the men and women were sharing the ablutions block. So shower or toilet cubicles were unisex. As I was in the toilet area I heard someone come in and I knew it was a woman. When I emerged, she was still there, but over by the door. It was Marianne, now in dressing gown. She wore glasses at night, obviously replacing daytime contact lenses. I approached her with cooing noises. She initially accepted my embrace. My hand found her boob. It was bigger than I expected, a nice handful, and while soft was still not sagging. Again however, she ducked my embrace, and headed out the door quickly, whispering,
"No, Philip, someone will catch us."
I protested in vain, and went back to bed with a hangover and a hard-on.
The next day, We happened to shower in adjacent cubicles. As I was brushing my teeth, she brushed past me, and cheekily pinched my hips as she said good morning. We did go for a walk together at lunchtime. I tried to find a spot where we could be alone enough to get in an embrace, but there was no such spot. As we were walking back, along a side road, I tried to get my hand around her waist. She gently removed it, saying
"No, Philip, if anyone sees it, how will we explain that?"
I knew that reason was on her side, so I could not argue.
And now I was in her kitchen. Marianne had been due to take leave from work immediately after the conference, but somehow found reason to be in the office and inviting me home for lunch. She was wearing a thick woollen dress, cream with cable patterns. I was still sexually excited from the conference, and unfulfilled. I grabbed my lunch and joined her. As we drove to her home, she mentioned that her husband had set off on a business trip that day, and would be away fro a few days. So, when we entered her house, the atmosphere was electric. The house was warm, heated partly by a wintry sun at the back. Marianne offered me a drink. I was still a little seedy after the conference but accepted a white wine. She took a big sip of hers. Then she moved to put on the coffee. I got behind her and placed my arms around her waist. She wriggled out, excusing her self by saying that the neighbours could see us through the kitchen window. I looked up: no neighbours in sight. Was Marianne simply a big prick-tease? I was beginning to wonder.
As if to answer my query, Marianne moved away from the window to the door to the corridor. She moved her hand to the roll top of her dress.
"Philip, I am going to slip into something less formal. Would you start me, please?" she said, showing me the zip on the collar. I reckoned that this was the time to find out just how far Marianne would go. I moved slowly to her,
"Certainly, Marianne, my body is at your command..."
She looked archly at me, but a smile played around her little mouth.
Marianne looked away from me and dropped her head. I slowly zipped down, exposing some neck and back and the straps of her white slip. I decided to go for broke. I lowered my lips to her bared neck and nuzzled her. She did not pull away this time, instead arching her neck and sighing softly. I brought my hand up to cradle her breast, and again she did not pull back. She let me feel her breast through the thick material of her dress and bra. Again she sighed softly. She spoke. My heart was in my mouth (or rather, my cock was in suspension, to tell the truth) as I half expected her to make another excuse. Instead she said,