A continuation of "Shelia's Shoes"
At his office, his receptionist tried to stall me, but I insisted that I must see him immediately. I was incensed that he might have jeopardized the sanity of one of my prized assistants, and I was in no mood to have my time wasted.
The receptionist was a saucy brunette wearing a tight red sweater that emphasized the curves of her round, bulbous breasts. It was tight enough that I could see her nipples were stiff, tiny little bumps against the ribs of her pullover. Her glasses, sleek black frames in a European style, were pushed back onto her temple. "You can't just go in there, sir," she said saucily, with a strange lilt that seemed a provocation.
"Don't trifle with me," I said. "This is urgent." I made for the door to his consulting room. The receptionist stood up from behind her desk to block me.
I wouldn't have guessed she would be so tall, so lean, with a lithe, slender frame and skinny hips that made her breasts seem even rounder. Her legs were long and sleek; her chunky heels were totally unnecessary. She put one of her legs up on the arm of a chair to bar my way to the door, and when she did her short skirt lifted so that I could see the tops of her stocking, and a sumptuous white slash of her thigh flesh. My mouth watered, even in the midst of my perturbation at being delayed.
"Are you gonna give me trouble?" she said salaciously, rocking against her extended leg so she her knee would bend and unbend, lifting and dropping her skirt, teasing me with her thighs, which were making it suddenly hard for me to concentrate. She dropped her glasses down over her eyes to get a good look at me, and I swear she flicked her tongue quickly over her lips, as though she couldn't wait to get a taste of me.
"I need to see the doctor," I told her. "I don't have time for games."
"Come on," she purred, "we all like games. You don't need to be a cognitive therapist to know that." She was rubbing the black nylon stretched across her thigh now, and she wouldn't take her eyes off my face. Her nipples were still harder, it seemed even more noticeable now. It almost seemed as though she didn't know she was doing it, or she was just so uninhibited that she didn't care. She was caressing herself right in front of me, in her place of work, and I was a total stranger.
I hesitated, not knowing what to do. She certainly had stopped me in my tracks, and suddenly I was getting hard. The bulge in my pants would have been extremely obvious to her, if she ever stopped looking at my face to notice.
"I can't let you in there," she said. "But I can let you in here." She lifted her skirt all the way. I stared at her, dumbstruck. Suddenly my world had been turned upside-down, and everywhere I expected professionalism I got raw sexuality. "I can see you like this," she murmured.
She was right. I did. She had the beautiful kind of cunt that was delicious to look at, a nice tight slit ornamented by a well-trimmed bush. It was already moist and open and I could see how pink and wet it was. What had turned her on so much? I wondered, but I really didn't care. All I could think about was sticking my tongue in that hole, and sucking that clit until she came.
She started playing with herself, using her fingers to open herself to me, then burying them inside her to pull them out all wet and shiny. "Look at how wet I am?" she said. "You like that?"
"You're quite a receptionist," I said.
She dropped her skirt and began running her hands over her breasts, holding them up for my inspection. "You like these too, huh?" she said. "I love to play with them. I was sitting at my desk just playing with them when you walked in."
I moved closer to her, close enough to swell her sweet female musk underneath her perfume. "That's what you do?" I asked her. "You sit at your desk and play with your tits? That's what they pay you to do? Because I bet you'd get paid a lot more to do that at a few places I know downtown." It was strangely easy to fall into a patter of lewd talk with her; everything about her demeanor demanded it, the crook of her hips, the flash of her thighs, the way she swayed, and slurred her words slightly, as if she were drunk on the idea of cock.
"I'll bet," she said. "I bet you like those kind of places." She grabbed my throbbing cock through my trousers. "What do we have here?" she said. "Seems like your little friend's getting a little antsy."
"Little?" I said incredulously, as I unzipped my fly and unleashed all nine inches. "You must know some mighty big boys," I said.
"Do you wanna fuck me, or what?" she said petulantly.
I kissed her then, her mouth wet and willing, tasting like a citrine explosion. My hand was under her skirt and on her taut, white thigh, like warm marble. She kissed me back, thrusting her tongue into my mouth, one arm wrapped around my waist and the other on my chest, rubbing, clawing, until she was finally fumbling at my belt, trying urgently to unleash my cock, which was so hard and dripping at this point, I thought it my tear right through my pants. She pulled it out finally and jammed it inside of her.
