Emily the Paralegal
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
“You never forget your first time…”
No, this isn’t a first-time story. But it is a true one.
Instead, I was a 26-year-old young lawyer, recently hired to work at a mid-sized law firm in Atlanta. The firm serviced wealthy families and small-business throughout the region, and staunch decorum and professionalism was the tenor of the day — and of every day.
What to make then of this text message, which was sent to me by a tall, blonde, buxom paralegal who sat two floors away on the opposite side of the building? I had asked for her help on a project — as a young associate, explaining that it was my first time handling this time of transaction and looking for her guidance. There was no doubt she was opening a door with the double entendere (single entendre?) message that popped up in a blue bubble on my iPhone.
Her name was Emily. She stood about 5’8″, with blonde hair, a cute girlish smile and piercing blue eyes — and a playful, flirtatious demeanor that was totally at odds with the office’s culture. She left at lunch to work out every day, and it showed. Although far from a stick-figure, she was trim, firm, and with womanly curves in all the right places. Especially in two places: Emily had the most magnificent breasts I had ever seen. Firm, large, no doubt unnatural, but truly spectacular work. She wore tight blouses that were often low-cut, never afraid to show off these amazing works of art. Yet again, she defied all convention in a firm where the other women dressed in a manner obviously designed to conceal – rather than highlight – their gender. I had noticed Emily a few times, but had not before had the opportunity to work with her. Still, I couldn’t help but go out of my way to pass by her cubicle each morning, taking in her outfit of the day, and taking in a memory that would get me through the dull-drum of another day at my office computer, grinding out mind-numbing legal contracts, deeds, and purchase agreements. Just a glance could keep a smile on my face – and a stirring in my cock – the whole day long.
You never forget your first time…
Was I going to take the bait? There was a great deal on the line. What if my dirty thoughts and daydreams were coloring my judgment, and she didn’t at all mean to throw down a sexual gauntlet? What if things got carried away, and somebody found out? And what about my girlfriend? Yes, I had been dating for several years before moving to Atlanta to take this job. I moved to Atlanta without my girlfriend, determined to figure out what would be the next step in our relationship (or break-up?) after I got settled into the new town, new job, and new scene.
You never forget your first time…
Fuck it. I typed out a reply: No, you sure don’t. But you get better with practice.
With a moment of trepidation — my job, my career, my relationship, flashing before my eyes — I let the horny voice in my head take over and hit “Send.” A blue bubble popped into my chat history and then the infamous – and impossible – three dots, indicating she was preparing a reply.
“Practice is always fun,” appeared in her blue bubble. And my cock, already half-hard, flooded with blood and grew uncomfortable in my boxers and suit pants. I knew it right then: I was going to fuck Emily.
I summoned her to my office and asked her to bring some contract templates. It was early in the morning, and so I had not yet made my daily pass by her cubicle, and this would be the first time I laid eyes on her this day. When she stood in my doorway, she took my breath away. Tall, gorgeous tanned legs jutting out of her heels, a flowery-patterned skit that fell just to the top of her knees, and a simple white t-shirt-like top, fitted tight around her full, firm breasts and down around her trim, flat stomach. Just a small amount of cleavage was visible, and she wore a pearl necklace that hung just a few inches below her throat. But most of all, she wore a confident, mischievous smile, and a look her in eyes that made it plain: she was showing off, and she knew that my jaw would drop when I laid eyes on her.
Most intriguingly, despite the incredibly tight fit of her blouse, I could make out neither the subtle protrusion of a nipple, nor the slightest hint of a bra-line. How is that possible? I stood up from my desk, conscious of the bulge she would no-doubt – on the other hand – be able to notice below my belt-buckle, and we moved to sit side-by-side around a circular wooden desk in another part of my office. As she sat down, her skirt inched farther up those tanned but still firm, milky thighs, and she looked deep into my eyes as a twinkle shone through her piercing blues.
We started to walk through the documents, and her left knee bobbed up and down as she bounced her heel, constantly distracting me and calling my attention away from the contracts. Her knee was just a few inches from my own, as once as she caught me gazing down at her şerifali escort distracting, bobbing knee, I noticed inch her left knee ever closer to mine … causing a gap to appear between her legs. What I wouldn’t give for a better angle. She looked at me with a wry and playful smile and began referring me back to the contract, but then I felt it: the bobbing knee above her tapping heel suddenly started to brush against my suit pant leg. I instinctively lent my knee a few more inches, closing the gap, and then our legs made contact. The bobbing stopped, and instead she just rested her knee and part of her thigh against my own. My God…
My eyes couldn’t stay away from her tits: easily 36 DDs, maybe bigger. They stood firmly, high, proud on her chest without a hint of sag that might be expected given her thirty-five years. Her surgeon is good.
As her right hand guided me through the contracts, her left drifted below the table and grabbed my own right hand: interlacing her fingers with mine, and then bringing my hand to her knee, where she subtly raised her skirt and inserted my hand beneath it, onto the flesh just above her knee, and she let go. If ever there was an invitation. As we continued to work through the contract, I cupped the inner part of her thigh, and began slowly tracing my fingers back and forth across her flesh.
Another paralegal sat right outside my office door, and I was terrified that the door would open without the courtesy of a knock-announce, and I wondered if I would be able to extricate my hand from this compromising position in time. I didn’t care. Instead, I continue to trace my fingers along her thigh, finally working up the courage to inch higher and higher until I was about mid-way up her thigh.
“So you have a girlfriend, I hear?” she asked. The question cut me like a knife, and snapped me back to reality. What was Emily up to? Was this just a tease and a set-up, and was I going to find myself haled into the HR’s partner’s office? Was she going to threaten to call my girlfriend? She saw the panic on my face, I surmised, and quickly followed up: “Not that that’s a problem …” And, that quickly, the blood rushed from my flushed, reddened face, back to my surging penis.
She leaned her face in, offering her lips to mine, and without a moment’s hesitation I met her lips for one of the most magical kisses I’d experienced in my young life. Soft at first, our lips met, embracing briefly, then pulling away, then re-connecting. She offered her tongue out to mine, and I readily met hers with my own — playing, teasing, until we sank more deeply into a passionate dance. I brought a hand to her hip and pulled her body – still seated in the chair – closer toward mine, until her left breast pressed up against my chest. It was as firm as it appeared as it pressed tautly, through her blouse, up against my white dress-shirt.
My left hand started to drift up from her hip, along the side of her torso, until it was just below the swell of her right tit…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
In an instant, we separated and regrouped, just in time as the door opened and one of the female partners strode through. “I heard I could find you here,” the fifty-year-old woman in a plain, straight, brown skirt-suit said to Emily. I regarded her, trying to deduce if there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. But she was all business, and quickly began barking instructions to Emily about a project she needed done immediately. “Yes ma’am,” Emily said as she stood and strode out of my office and back to her floor.
Fuck me, I thought. A few minutes later, as I gazed at our text history, I saw the tell-tale ellipses start to flicker and I knew Emily was writing me: “See you later for some practice? 😉 ” I don’t know how I was going to make it until then.
The rest of the day seemed to take forever. I sat at my desk, attempting to focus on a complex asset purchase agreement, but my mind was never far from Emily. Her smile. Her mischievous blue eyes. The swell of her breasts. The feeling of her firm abdomen under my hand, of her soft thigh under my fingers. Of her lips against mine…
As five o’clock approached, she texted again: “Is Cheryl still here?” Cheryl. The octogenarian paralegal whose desk sat outside my office. I could hear her on the phone all day barking at opposing party’s counsel. “Yes, for a while yet” I replied. “Too bad? :-P” came Emily’s response in a moment.
Our office was in a six story building, of which our firm occupied three of the floors. Upstairs, a bankruptcy firm existed in the penthouse, with their lawyers and staff almost always out the door by five o’clock. “How about an elevator ride?” Emily asked.
“Be right there,” came my response, without a moment’s hesitation.
I got in the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor, where Emily worked, and she was waiting silivri escort in the elevator lobby and quickly stepped on with me. I pressed the button for the sixth floor, knowing we would be safe there, and the moment I closed the elevator doors Emily was on me. Her lips on mine, her body pressed against me firmly, crushing those spectacular tits between us. Taken by storm, it took me a moment to respond, but soon my hands were mirroring hers and roaming up and down her spectacular body. She slid one thigh between mine, and the skirt was flowing enough to allow her pussy to mount my thigh — I could feel the heat, and I thought maybe even the wetness?, through the thin fabric of my suit pant and her skirt. Meanwhile, that caused my cock to press against the very top of her thigh, near her hip, and for the first time that day I felt some sweet relief as her body writhed against my now-fully-erect cock. I was dying to get a look at those spectacular breasts, and I pulled her blouse up over them – which was no small feat – and then saw something I had never encountered before: and it was the secret to her lack of bra-line or nippleage. Pasties. Small, skin-colored cups, adhered to her massive, firm tits — concealing her nipples, without the need for a bra. So that’s how she does it. In twenty-six years, I had never seen these, and I looked at her with confusion. She laughed and peeled them each off, revealing the most beautiful areolas and nipples I had ever seen. Light pink, perfectly-centered on her large milky globes, and standing proudly at attention.
In a split-second, my mouth was taking one into my lips. It was erect, a good three-quarters of an inch (which was large, but beautifully proportioned against her 38DDs), and fit perfectly into my lips. I used my tongue to flick her nipple as it stiffened even further, and then closed my lips around to take her into my mouth – and then between my teeth, offering a teasing bite down. She moaned with pleasure as I did that, and I felt her hips continue to buck against my thigh as she ground her pussy lips against me, still separated by a few thin sheets of fabric. Not wanting to deprive a woman in need, I pulled my hips back just enough to slide a hand up her skirt, down the waistband of her panties, and to her labia … which were already soaked and slick with anticipation.
That moment is always my favorite of a sexual encounter: the first time I feel the wetness of a woman. Adrenaline surges through me as I discover physical evidence that her arousal matches my own. After just a stroke up and down her lips, I felt my finger slip inside – almost of its own volition. Fuck, she is tight, I thought, as I slid my middle finger up into her love channel. She broke her kiss as her head rocked back with pleasure, her eyes staring up at the bright lights in the elevator ceiling.
I took that opportunity to take stock of the moment. Just eight hours ago, Emily was a piece of eye candy. Now, here I was, her skirt bunched at her waist, my finger deep inside her, and her breasts hanging out with her shirt hiked up over them. I’m a lucky man.
Suddenly — the elevator door opened. What the fuck? I thought everyone was gone from upstairs? I didn’t know what to do, and – like a coward – I put my head down walked right out the front door and past the middle-aged woman who was waiting to get on… leaving Emily to rearrange her clothes and try to maintain some semblance of dignity. Who was that woman? Was she going to tell the building manager? Fuck, fuck, fuck — my career is over.
I fled to the staircase and took them down to my second-floor office where I was collecting my thoughts. “You ok?” I texted her. “Close one,” she replied, before adding an emoticon smile. “Where are you?” she followed up.
“Back in 210,” I responded.
“Is Cheryl gone?”
“Yeah, her workstation is dark,” but I didn’t think either of us would have the appetite for adventure to continue our tryst.
“See you there ;-)” came Emily’s reply.
A few moments later, a knock at my door, and there she was again. All put back together. I stood to meet her at the door, and she pressed me against the wall and continued our kiss. She put her hands on my shoulders after a moment, and began to push downward. That’s usually my move, what’s she up to? She pressed me down until I got the idea, and came to a seated position on the floor, my back against the wall. Emily reached to my zipper, lowered it, and then whipped out my throbbing shaft.
I’m about six inches long, but thick as hell, and she smiled. She straddled my hips with her feet, and then began to squat down over me — in an instant, her hand was under her skirt, pulling her panties aside, and suddenly I felt the most amazing feeling: her soaking wet pussy dropped onto my shaft in a single surge. Fuck, she is even tighter than I realized, I thought, şirinevler escort as I began to give thanks for her tumescence that allowed her to sink onto me without tearing the skin off my rock hard cock. Now there I was, my cock poking out of my zipper and into my paralegal, and she began to grind her pussy against me — causing my mushroom head to seek out and prod every inch and nook and corner of her soaking wet pussy. She continued this grinding action for a moment and then, her feet still in her high heels which were still on the floor on either side of my hips, she began to bounce on me. Impressive, I thought, as I remembered her daily gym trips at lunch.
In that remarkable position, she rode my cock – bareback (I hadn’t even given thought to finding a condom in my briefcase) – her slick pussy careering my shaft with each thrust, the head of my penis burying into her vaginal walls at the end of every downstroke. She had her hands on my shoulders, assisting in her pistoning motion, but then with a naughty smile, she slid them to the hem of her blouse and yanked it over her head. She hadn’t re-applied the pasties, so now I found myself staring into her totally nude, plush, tits. They were firm and taut enough — again, damn nice work, doc — as to hold their fine shape, but not so firm as to not bounce with each rocking of her hips, putting an amazing show as they bounced – both up and down, and into one another – just inches from my face. I brought my hands to cup them and I felt my balls start to churn, knowing the end was near.
Oh fuck, I thought, as I heard the external security door down the hall click. Emily grabbed her shirt and ran behind my bookcase as I scurried to my desk, unable to get my cock back inside my zipper — so I just slid my chair under my desk, and waited . . . praying that the intruder was not coming toward my closed door. We heard the copy machine fire up and some relief set in, followed by far greater relief when we heard the security door open and shut again, this time the automatic lock engaging after-hours.
“Close one,” Emily smiled, once more. Still topless, she walked over to me and I stood to embrace her. We settled back into a sweet, romantic kiss this time — a nice contrast from the raw, animalistic fucking in which we had just been engaged — and I felt her ride her pussy up against my thigh again. Something felt different this time, though, as I sensed even greater heat — and, was it?, sopping wetness — against my pant leg. My hands slid down to cup her world-class ass and assist in her grinding, when I realized she was pantiless. When did she do that? I thought, until I considered the moments she waited, hiding behind my bookcase.
With this revelation, all pretense of romance was gone. I spun her around and bent her over my desk, and with a decisive thrust I plunged my cock into the nether recesses of her exposed pussy. She felt amazing. Warm. Wet. Tight. Everything a pussy should be. And meanwhile, I looked at her hot ass, her skirt flipped up against the small of her back, and at the huge globes hanging from her chest as she bounced on my cock. I shifted my gaze to where my cock was buried inside her, and basked in the sight: her lips wrapped tight around my intruding member. And — my other favorite snapshot of sex — I watched the way her lips stayed tight around my cock, hanging on for dear life as her pussy walls followed my cock out of her lips with each extraction. My God, that is hot, I thought.
As I continued to thrust inside her, I brought my dominant right hand around her hips and slid my fingerpads to the crest of her vaginal lips. I slipped them down an inch, to where my cock was pounding inside her, to gather some of her natural lubrication, and then brought my two fingerpads to her clit, where I began to massage her. She let out a groan of pleasure unlike anything I had heard to date, and I quickly deciphered the path to her orgasm. As my cock thrusted deeper and deeper — varying speeds and angles every so often to tease every ounce of pleasure out of her — my fingers continued to massage her clit, which I felt stiffening and growing beneath my fingers.
I wanted more. And with me left hand I fumbled with my belt, and the snap of my pants allowing gravity to pull them to my ankles, and then shifted my boxers down as well, so that now – at last – with every thrust, my thighs smacked against her spankable ass with telltale sound. Between her groans and the sounds of my thighs smacking her ass, I knew that if another intruder found their way to our wing of the second floor, there was no getting away this time. But I didn’t care. I was lost in nirvana.
Emily had her elbows on my desk at this point, but then stood up slightly — her palms planted on my desk. She noticed the photograph of my girlfriend on the desk, and she knocked it off the back of my desk before looking over her shoulder at me with a smile. At that moment, I hadn’t even considered my status. Nor was I about to.
I brought my left hand up to grab her breast, taking her nipple into my fingers as my right hand continued its ministrations upon her swollen, turgid clit. Emily looked over her shoulder again and whispered – in that sexy voice that only a beautiful woman can convey – Come with me…
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32