Speechless, Pt. 2

All I could see in the air were words.

Well, no.

Obviously, I couldn’t see the words exactly, but I knew one thing: my assistant was trying to grasp my attention…and I was hearing not a word. She could've been screaming at the top of her lungs, for all I knew.

I felt a trickle of sweat creeping down the side of my face. My head lolled back and I gasped. I was aware of a persistent knocking but I was oblivious...blocking out everything but the sensations coursing through me...

creeping up my thighs...

warming my middle.

I ran my hands through my hair and put my finger in my mouth. Sucked it like it was a Charms Blow Pop and I was trying to get to the gum center. Muffled groans with the palm of my hand. Rich cream dripping down my thighs was lapped up like ice cream as I could barely control the sounds that came from my body. I tried to move down in my chair to give him better access and to perhaps get to the orgasm that he was artfully keeping me from, but he stopped me with one touch of his hand.

Knock.

I held onto my chair for dear life and bit my lip. Tried desperately to suppress the desire creeping out of me. Thought that I might have hid my nana’s last slice of chocolate caramel cake down there. This boy was eating me like the sweetest meal he ever laid hands on. Up and up and up I pushed my hips. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Knock.

The softest of moans rose from within me and bounced off of the walls of my office. The slightest of trembles snuck up my leg as waves of pleasure crashed over me. He brought me to the peak again and again. Another moan came from me, this one louder than the first. His ‘shh’ reminded me of where I was and made me come all over again.

The loud, insistent knocks at my door and someone jiggling the frame were my rude awakening. Realizing that the door was locked, I jumped up, aggravated. Fixing my shirt and tucking in my blouse, I unlocked and yanked open the door. “What?” I barked. My assistant jumped back, startled. “Uh…well, I just wanted you to know that the package from…” “Just leave it outside the door. I’ll get it”, I said, and practically slammed the door in her face. I traipsed back to my desk and plopped in my chair. He crept out from underneath the desk. “I’m going to be the talk of the office for the next week”, I said, and sighed.

He took my leg and massaged it gently, starting at the balls of my feet and creeping his way gently up my calf. I rested my head on the back of my chair and sighed again. “We shouldn’t be doing this here”, I said unconvincingly. “You said this was your fantasy”, he responded, and went to rub my other leg. “Yeah, I know,” I said softly, “but its different when something of this nature actually comes true…you never actually think these types of things through”. “If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he said, letting go of my foot gently and standing up. “Yeah, it might be best”, I responded tenderly and stood as well. My eyes told a different story, one of desire and passion, but my mouth forced out the words “I’ll see you later”.

And so he left, the only reminder of him a voicemail message, my personal scent, and his Fahrenheit cologne. I stayed in the office for the remainder of the day, a bit embarrassed to come out, intimidated by my own staff and their wayward mouths. I was the last out of the building later; my assistant came to wish me a good evening and I offered her an apology, citing pent up frustrations as the cause. “I understand, gyrl”, she whispered as her head darted around slightly for any sign of other powers that be. In the the corporate world, one tended to make it their business to leave the ‘sistergirl’ in us at home: the uninhibited, ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn’, neck snapping, and high five-ing. This time, she winked at me, an "I get it" wink, and walked away, the ‘sistergirl’ in her walk a bit more accentuated, the tailored cut of her Ann Taylor suit no longer hiding her curves.

Heading home, it began to drizzle, so I put the top up on my luxury car and closed my window. So much for a nice breeze, I thought. I got home pretty quickly and immediately headed for the shower. I knew that the Mister was at work, so I quickly decided that my night was best spent with me, my television, and my hand, since there would be no chocolate sweat on my sheets and batteries were just too overpriced these days. I threw on a comfy baby tee and some gray and turquoise pajama bottoms and settled down on the couch for some r and r. I was channel surfing when I came across this well endowed by way of surgery 'nurse' and her male 'patient' getting it on in the soft porn flicks you catch on the premium cable channels after 10 pm.

As I watched the contrite scene, I let my mind wander. I just never understood the attraction with these types of shows. To me, the chick, 9 times out of 10, is plastic, the sex is fake, and the plot is so predictable that you know how the segment ends before it begins. Watching the madness for a minute, I couldn’t take it anymore and went in search of something better. The Movie Channel was showing, surprisingly, Cappuccino, a movie I rather enjoyed, so I cuddled up with my pillow, pushed all erotic and erotic related thoughts from my head, and tried to enjoy the movie.

It didn’t work.

To be continued...

Speechless, Pt. 1

The taste of his back called me.

It called me in the office. On the phone. In that insipid meeting with my boss, I dreamt of chocolate flavored sweat stirring my coffee, relieving the need for cream or sugar, and I just wanted to take a sick day to become one with him and collect it all. I almost came when my boss said "yes" and I realized that I was reliving the night before...to the point that I almost moaned aloud.

Wow.

Collecting my thoughts, I dropped everything on my desk, grabbed my twenty four pack of packaged death, and hightailed it for the parking lot. Leaning on someone's car, I lit, puffed, and inhaled. Sigh. My mind drifted back to his lips on my...

"You know you have to quit smoking, right?" I looked up. Why was everyone trying to ruin my fantasy? Nick, the resident fix it-all-do-it-all guy at my job, was leaned again the side of his company van, puffing on a cigar. I looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Um...aren't we a hypocrite?” I quipped. Nick chuckled, the smoke from his Oliva pluming a thin greyish stream from the side of his mouth. "Listen, sweetheart, I always tell you, leave the ugly stuff to the ugly men". Nick coughed. It was the deep phlegmy of a seasoned smoker. I retorted, "And I always tell you, stop calling yourself ugly. You know ugly people make me itch". Nick laughed again, and this time I offered him a true smile. I enjoyed talking to Nick. He was one of the few people in the office who I enjoyed talking to on a regular basis. Unlike others in our office, it didn't matter to me that he cleaned our toilets and our floors. I liked Nick. Nick was real. And consistent. A quality that I wished many other people that I knew possessed.

The tropical infused cancer stick did nothing to abate my hunger. If anything, it increased it. I knew it was only a matter of time when the temporary high would go away and I would be reliving it all again. Nick spoke, and I heard moans, soft utterances of pleasure like tiny pulses running through me. He wiped his forehead, and I tasted salty sweet sex. It wasn't Nick. I was trapped in a yesterday.

There was a pop. I jumped. Nick chuckled. "You're someplace else, miele. Perhaps I talk to you later, no?" I grimaced slightly. "Sorry, Nick. I am someplace else. I'll talk to you later". "No prob, doll face, whenever you wanna talk". And Nick was off. Nick reminded me so much of Santa Claus sometimes, if Santa had no beard, told dirty jokes and, well, cleaned toilets. I stepped on my cigarette and went back inside the office. The message light blinked incessantly on my phone. Checking my voicemail, I realized I had four messages. Was I gone that long? I wondered. The phone was on speaker, so I sat back in my chair to listen.



It was as if pure passion had wafted through the vents and took a seat on my desk.



I sat up and took the phone off speaker. I must have looked like the RCA dog who meets that pit from the projects, because as my assistant knocked and peeked in, she took two steps back and asked if I was ok. I shook my head yes. "Oh ok. I just wanted to make sure. A Mr. Johnson is here to see you". I furrowed my eyebrows. I didn't know who a Mr. Johnson was, but my assistant looked like the cat that swallowed both canaries, so I told her to tell him to come.

He didn't say a word as he walked in. All he did was point to the phone, and I felt his voice, smooth as chocolate, ooze out his caramel finger and land on my breast. "What are you doing here?..." He put his finger to my lips. The sweat I had been craving all day was literally at my fingertips and I was busy making small talk. I sat up, silent but eyes sending constant inquiries. He walked back to the door and closed it. Locked it. He pointed to the phone again. I caught the hint this time and replayed the message. Ginuwine floated through the air again as he walked over and kneeled down in front of me, sliding off one red pump.

Then, the other.

His hand caressed my foot and licked it. Gently. Softly. His tongue rubbed my toes and trailed a path, well past the point of no return, where it met a pleasurable entrance that by this point was dripping. I wore a no frills g-string, which he moved to the side. He explored my delta, wrote his name in sexy curlicued script that left no room for displeasure. It was a wonder that I remained silent. I wanted to scream. I settled for soft, breathy moans. I didn't do the saying names thing, but I was seconds away from making an exception. And then, someone knocked on the door. He looked up at me, only for a second before moving to kneel under the desk and wheeling the chair and me closer. I said, "Come in". I could only hope that the person would be quick and that he wouldn't be found out under the desk. Or me. Especially since he didn't stop...

To be continued...