I arrived at work bright and early the next morning, I had barely slept and couldn't wait to get there. I thought I'd be the first person in, but the lights were already on.
"Hello," I called cheerily over the maze of cubicles, "Anybody here?"
No answer. I swung happily into my cube and dropped into my chair. I was logging into my system when Millie walked in quietly behind me. Her hands were on my shoulders and she pressed her heavy breasts against the back of my neck.
"Good morning, baby boy," she cooed, "How was your evening?"
"Funny you should ask," I said, rocking my shoulders slightly, digging myself deeper between her sweater-clad tits, "I had a great evening. I got a stapler and I got laid."
"Me, too," she giggled, her hands kneading my shoulders, "Imagine that."
I turned my chair to face her. Her low hung tits were at eye level and, as always, she was wearing a tight sweater and long skirt. I hugged her ass and felt the cool smooth material. I rubbed her butt curiously, there was something missing ...
"Not wearing any," she told me.
I hiked her skirt and cupped her wide, bare ass in my hands. The long skirt draped over my arms as I squeezed and pinched her firm butt. I rested my face against her protruding, round belly, her tits resting on my forehead.
Millie heard another early-bird arrive and quickly retreated to her cubicle. It was going to be a long day.
I found excuse after excuse to visit Millie's area and she never failed to give me a wink or a peek or even a pinch. My cock stayed semi-hard most of the day and my briefs were damp with excitement.
The sun was setting when the last co-worker finally drifted out. I thought they would never leave. I was excited, almost too excited, and I tried to look casual as I strolled to Millie's cube.
"Everybody gone?" she asked pleasantly.
"Yep," I said, again trying to be casual.
She pushed her chair back a bit and raised her skirt up revealing her bare legs and round belly. Her crotch was simply a dark patch, but I knew it was uncovered.
"Well then," she laughed, "Come on in! Come on down."
Casual left me as I crawled frantically under her skirt. She dropped the soft material on my head and spread her legs wide. I couldn't see anything, but I could certainly smell it -- musky and pungent, her scent filled my nostrils and I wanted to taste it.
With my hands on her fleshy thighs I leaned into her gap. My tongue explored her hairy bush, looking for her crease in the darkness. I found it and my tongue took a tentative dip. Millie was wet and warm and tasted sweet despite her musky aroma. I removed my tongue and nibbled and tugged on her dark lower lips. I bit at the roots of her short hairs, tugging some of them out playfully. I kissed and sucked at her inner thighs.
I ran my tongue along her upper leg, stopping at her knee. I started back in the other direction, passing my tongue roughly over her swelling clit before stopping again at her opposite knee.
I did this a few more times and with each pass her clit was stiffer and more sensitive. She moaned every time I touched it.
On the last pass I unexpectedly stopped at her knob and lapped at it furiously. Millie's legs were literally jumping as I flicked her clit passionately. I rammed my face and tongue into her. I circled it inside her and sucked madly.
She was flapping her legs open and closed against my head when I felt her first deep spasm.
"Oh, God," she said hoarsely, "Baby boy. Baby boy. Baby boy, what have you done?"
Millie exploded, her first burst felt like a blast of air -- almost a pop -- then she came in waves. My tongue tried to capture every drop, but there was just no way. Again and again she groaned and more juices spilled out of her.
She grabbed my head through the skirt and forcefully shook my face deeper into her crotch. Slowly, inevitably, her spasms stopped. She pulled her skirt up to her waist and my dripping, smiling face peeked out at her.
"You're a talented young man," she said smiling, "So, what now? What can this old lady do for you?"
Millie was at least 60, but she wasn't old. She was a large African American woman with uneven, blotchy dark skin. Her hair was short and dry. She had broad hips and shoulders on a stocky frame. Her breasts were enormous, but well past their prime, sagging dramatically across her protruding belly.
"Stand up," I told her as I climbed to my feet. I stood behind her and pressed my body against her back. My hands slid under her arms and into her sweater. I gently rubbed the firm sides of her fat stomach. I pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it on the floor.
I cupped her breasts, hefting their weight off her belly. I squeezed her nipples roughly through her tired bra. Struggling, because I hadn't unclasped the tight garment, I pulled her bra from her breasts. They flopped crazily and I pulled them into my hands.
