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I was in my early twenties when I began to figure it out. I didn’t have to be a macho man, or overwhelm women with my masculine authority. I just had to be friendly and ask nicely, and more often than not, this would get me laid. What a relief!

And so, for a couple of years, I had lots of friendly sex with fresh-faced young women who were typically my age, or a year or two older than I. Then, on one windy autumn day, everything changed.

I was one of the lower men on the totem pole at a prestigious engineering firm, and I was asked to run some documents over to an architectural firm with which we were collaborating on a high-rise project. I walked several blocks through the busy downtown area, found the correct address at an imposing office building, and rode the elevator up to the 25th floor. At the end of one of the halls was a plate glass wall that looked into a very modern office, and emblazoned on the glass were the words “Pollard her hand felt really good. I was aware that the door to her office remained open behind us.

“I’m going to need to look over this material, and then we should talk some more. Is your phone number on one of these documents?” As she spoke, her hand had closed around my erect cock through the wool of my slacks, and it felt heavenly. “Yes,” I more or less croaked in response.

“Good,” she said, and I admired her shapely legs and her elegant heels as she walked back to her side of the desk. My heart was racing and I was in something of a daze as it almanbahis dawned on me that i was being dismissed, so I rose from the chair and left the firm’s offices. I rode the elevator to the street level. A couple of doors down the street was a Jack In The Box. I rushed inside, locked myself in the rather seedy-looking restroom, and quickly stroked my cock to an explosive climax, imagining myself with Celeste. I sprayed an impressive amount of cum all over the wall, and then, good citizen that I am, I took a moment to wipe it down with some toilet paper before leaving the fast food joint and heading back to my job.

My brief encounter with Celeste provided fantasy material for some longer and more luxurious masturbation sessions over the next few days, in the comfort of my apartment. Then, soon after I arrived at work on the third day, I got a text message from her:

Celeste here. Are you free at 10:00?

I replied that I was.

Meet me at the Coffee Oasis on 7th St.

I texted back my confirmation and I was waiting by the entrance when she arrived. This time, she was wearing a peach colored suit and carried a stylish leather briefcase. She looked very businesslike but her eyes seemed to twinkle a bit when they met mine.

She ordered two espressos at the counter without asking me whether I wanted one, and then guided me to a booth in the back. We sat across from each other and she began to extract the various documents and diagrams from her briefcase. As she was doing that, a thoroughly tattooed and pierced waitress arrived with our espressos, and after the waitress had departed, Celeste moved over to my side of the booth.

She began to review the material with me, asking pointed questions about the electrical systems in almanbahis giriş particular, and as she did so, her hand crept over to my crotch. I was already hard, from thinking about our previous encounter, and she expertly unzipped my fly and liberated my cock, talking all the while about the building project.

I looked around and saw that the area in which we were sitting was mostly deserted. Plus, a combination of the tablecloth and Celeste’s body would shield what she was doing to me from prying eyes. And what she was doing to me was exquisitely teasing and stroking my cock. I surrendered to the sensation, moving my hips to meet her downward strokes.

Celeste grinned as it became apparent that I could no longer concentrate on the topic of the building project. So instead, she began to talk to me in a low husky voice, asking me whether I liked what she was doing to my cock, asking if I thought about her when I masturbated (I gasped out a vehement “yes”), asking if I wanted to eat her cunt (another “yes”).

I looked into her eyes. I was close to cumming. She regarded me with a calm, penetrating glance, and continued to speak to me, more softly and with sentiments ever more filthy. I opened my mouth to wail as softly as I could as my orgasm hit me and I began to spurt cum all over the underside of the table and unto the floor.

“I can see that we are going to be friends, Andre,” said Celeste. “I’ve got to get back to work. But here, I’ve got a present for you.” She looked around furtively for a second, then lifted her ass off the seat and hiked up her skirt just enough to remove her panties, which she handed to me. I accepted them gratefully and lifted them to my face. They were very wet and they smelled so good! I sandwiched them almanbahis yeni giriş between a couple of napkins and put them in my pocket as Celeste walked regally out of the restaurant.

Over the next few days I spent all my free time in may apartment, masturbating and cumming with Celeste’s panties pressed against my face or in my mouth. They were just starting to dry out and lose their magic when I received another text.

Hi, Andre. I’d like to invite you over to my place this evening. Maybe around 8:00?

I responded eagerly that 8:00 would be just fine. She texted back her address.

I agonized a bit over what to wear. This was not a business meeting (I hoped.) But what would be the right sort of casual attire to make a favorable impression on a woman who was a big wheel in a prestigious architectural firm? Would she even care, if she intended for us to get naked anyway?

I opted for something middle of the road, some designer jeans and a wine-colored polo shirt, and I was at her condo punctually at 8:00 PM. She buzzed me in, and I took the elevator up to her floor and rapped lightly on the door. She opened it and invited me in with a conspiratorial grin.

She was barefoot, wearing a skirt and a tight floral blouse that emphasized her large and tempting breasts. She ushered me into her living room and gestured to a plush armchair while she walked to a bookcase full of compact disks. “Do you ever listen to Millie Jackson?” she asked.

“No, sorry, I don’t know her,” I replied.

“She’s before your time,” said Celeste, removing a CD from its case and inserting it into a CP player. “But I think you’ll like her.” She pressed a button and the room was filled with the sound of a woman singing R she was calling the shots. At the end of the week, I finally received a text from her, which was simply a delicious photo of her wet cunt and her fingers capturing her clit. That fueled more than a few masturbation sessions during the week that followed, while I waited to hear from her again.

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