The Dinner
I've got a new colleague since a few weeks.
A handsome man. Not necessarily handsome in the usual sense, not a photomodel, but a man with a powerful appearance.
And young. Clearly younger than me.
Boyish, but definitely a real man. A well-dressed, slim, attractive man.
With something in his eye that makes me curious. Cocky, a little arrogant even, and slightly mocking.
A man who does things he does not tell about.
I regularly see him looking at me, when I'm sitting at my desk and my door is open. Or if I walk across the corridor.
His gaze lingers just a tad too long, on my long slender legs, my ass.
Actually, I want him to look. I make sure he has something to see. My skirt riding up, my shirt stretching tightly across my breasts.
Of course I fantasize sometimes. How it would be, a younger lover.
I imagine that he would be intense, impatient. Tirelessly. A bit rough.
Maybe he also fantasizes...about naughty games with a classy lady.
Tonight we're both at a business dinner with foreign guests.
He talks with the American guests, smoothly, gestures, laughs. His slim cut suit looks gorgeous on him. His tie is a bit loose, nonchalant.
I am wearing a tight dress, with sexy thin stay ups and striking dark purple high heels.
Underneath I am wearing a stunning bra and a ravishing open slip. Especially for him. Even though he can't see it, the feeling of wearing it for him tonight is so exciting.
During dinner we're too far away from each other to talk. I see him looking at me from time to time. Stealing a glance here and there. Very brief eye contact.
The tension between us is almost tangible.
When we look at each other again, I hold his gaze and stand up. I turn around and walk in the direction of the toilets.
Before I walk out of the room, I look back and see that he's also getting up.
A few seconds later we're both in a half-dark corridor, just around the corner, past the toilets.
We silently look at each other. My heart is pounding in my throat. He wants me. And I want him. Now.
While I look at him, I release the little hooks of my Snap Dress. Two, three hooks, five.
Slowly I unveil my breasts, shrouded in the fine lace of my Coup de Foudre bra by Maison Close.
His hands take over, releasing more and more hooks, revealing my ouvert brief by Maison Closeand the nylon cuffs of my stockings.
He squats, kisses my tummy, then lower, my naked mons pubis, framed by the purple straps of my open panties.
His fingers glide over my smooth stockings, his lips and tongue find my most sensitive spot.
My hands grasp his short dark hair, my breath stagnates, pleasure spreads through my body in warm waves.
I feel lightheaded and unsteady on my high heels when he gets up again.
I kiss him; I taste myself on his lips.
Silently, with that cheeky look in his eyes, he fastens the hooks of my dress again.
I look at him and ask, just as bold as the way he's looking at me: "Fancy dessert ...?"
