Blog 3:
I was hoping to finish telling you the story of Pippa, me and the double ended dildo this evening, but things have moved on apace with little Stephen of the photocopier and I really need to bring you up to date with that.
I got into work yesterday to find one of those chocolate hearts sitting in the middle of my desk and Stephanie beside herself with joy at the prospect of having something to tease me with all day. Now, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where the choccie heart thingy had come from but I wasn’t really in the mood for playing with an adolescent, so I stuck it in my top drawer and gave Stephanie my best ‘don’t mess with me’ look and by 11 o’ clock I’d done my best to forget all about it.
So I arrive at work this morning and what do I find … flowers!
Oh dear, something definitely needed to be done.
I grabbed up the flowers and heart, gave Stephanie a fierce “don’t” before she could even get her mouth into gear and stalked out of the office and down the corridor to the accounts department.
Now, I’d like to say I sashayed or strutted and how sexy I must have looked as my stiletto extended legs covered the short distance from one end of the building to the other, but I was in a ‘take no prisoners’ mood and if you’d been there all you’d have noticed was one pissed lady.
Stephen was sat at his work station, so I marched over, placed my beautifully rounded posterior on the edge of his desk, planted one heeled foot on the floor and stuck the other firmly into his groin as he leaned back in his wheely, swivelled chair. What had started as a smile on his face had quickly turned into a look of concern as I pushed down with my shoe, squeezing the soft sac of his balls and his flaccid cock beneath its sole. I hold up the chocolate heart …
“I am not your girlfriend. Understand?”
He nodded painfully slowly and I held up the flowers.
“And I am not your mother.”
I waited for him to respond; watched his face reddening, saw moisture accumulating at the corner of his eyes as his whole body seemed to freeze before me and then I remembered …
I remembered how when I was nineteen, in my second job and really rather lost, there had been this guy called John who’d shown me the ropes and how I’d got all the messages of his professional kindness mixed up. At first I’d thought he was hot for me and then I actually got really hot for him. It had been messy and I’d ended up looking stupid and getting a bit hurt. Now here I was John and Stephen was me and I really owed it to him and to myself to handle it better than I did in my youth.
And then it occurred to me that maybe Stephen was a virgin.
And as soon as I thought it, I knew it had to be true.
And now there was a very inappropriate dampness spreading between my legs.
I mollified my tone:
“Look Stephen, please don’t send me gifts, okay. I’m not going to be your girlfriend but perhaps, we could be friends … special friends.”
Friends with benefits, I added just to myself as I removed my foot from his groin, leaned forward and carefully stroked any dust and dirt off the fabric of his trousers …
“Why don’t you come round to mine this evening, we’ll have a drink and we can talk about it … Okay.”
Which is what he is going to do; so I’m gonna have to dash because I’ve got a virgin who needs their cherry popping, arriving very shortly and I do want to look my best … but don’t worry I will pop back and tell you how it went.
Okay, I’m back. I’ve got a huge grin across my face, a very fluffy head and some rather sticky fingers because my very happy pussy is full of lots of lovely, gooey boy cum and I keep having to dip my fingers in to stop it dribbling all down my thighs and making a mess of the upholstery.
Excuse me a moment.
Mmmmm.
And if the truth be told I think that my own body might also be contributing a little to the mess but don’t worry, because as long as I’ve got a couple of fingers and an eager little mouth I think I should be able to keep myself clean. But you don’t want to know about that, you want to hear about Stephen.
Headline news: if Stephen was a virgin before then he certainly isn’t now and boy oh boy do I love a bit of fumbling innocence.
So, I didn’t waste much time making it pretty clear that he wasn’t really here for a drink and a bit of a chat and judging by the way his cock was tenting in his pants I think he’d rather hoped that was the case. He was looking pretty uncomfortable all constrained in his jeans so I popped his button, dragged his fly down and let my fingers have a good grope inside his boxers before bringing it out into the light for a closer inspection.