Who am I? What's my name? Irrelevant. You don't need to know my name, my age or my star sign. What you do need to know is that I work as an S2 auditor for Deloitte, a global financial services firm in their Islington based London England branch. I'm attractive, hard working, driven and get on very well with my colleagues, so with this in mind I think you can see how, when I was chosen amongst five other members of my department to take part in the prestigious upcoming Rising Stars exhibition at the Estoria hotel in Manchester, it didn't come as much of a surprise.
Rising Stars, for the uninformed among you, is a weekend long program for Deloitte's up-and-comers from around the country, which entails networking seminars with the firm's high flyers, senior partners by day, and hardcore partying by night. My colleagues Lee, Usman, Chloe, Salima, and I were all handpicked as the crème de la crème of London's EP rated auditors, and were entrusted with the honour of representing our branch over the weekend.
On the subject of getting to Manchester, we were offered the choice of either receiving reimbursement for train tickets to the event, or actually driving down ourselves, and hence get a cash refund for petrol usage. Being the cheeky scamp I am, I opted to drive with the full intention of creatively declaring my petrol consumption, and therefore receive both a full tank for free, and a small profit to boot. What can I say? I'm a capitalist.
Naturally, Lee, Usman, and Chloe didn't see the beauty in my plan, and opted for the train journey. What did surprise me was that Salima, a woman who'd been the focal point of my many lustful fantasies over the past eighteen months, asked if she could car pool with me on the way.
Now let me tell you a bit about Salima. She's 24, Indian, and has the most beautiful butter caramel complexion that makes you just want to lick it right off her. She's five foot seven in heels, and has the kind of figure that will make any man feel physically weak. Her athlete's body with its feminine yet muscular legs, and full yet firm ass comes from years of playing tennis at a semi professional level, and working out at the gym for two hours at a time, four nights a week. She has a fondness for tight fitting, knee length business skirts, shimmering, fully fashioned stockings and dangling her nyloned soles from sexy Jimmy Choo heels for hours in the workplace. The woman literally oozes sensuality. From her soft yet husky voice to the slow and graceful sway of her hips as she walks in her butt hugging skirts. To know her is to want her, period.
Now I was lucky enough to spend some time with her while we were posted together on the CX3 post in Bayswater and had the extreme fortune of having my desk behind hers. I needn't tell you of the immense pleasure and torture I've endured watching as she continually slipped her sexy size five's in and out of her fuck-me-heels, and slowly ran her damp soles along the stack and wheels of her executive chair. Don't ask me how no one ever spotted my indecent gawping, 'cause I just don't know. It's not like I had the willpower to be discreet.
Anyway, she said she wanted to carpool with me because, "I don't like trains, and besides it'll fun, you know? Give us a chance to talk and get better acquainted."
The program started at nine sharp on Friday morning, which meant we needed to get to the hotel by Thursday night. Salima was working late that day, so I arranged to pick her up from work at about eight on my way back from the gym, and we'd drive down together. On Thursday, as fate would have it, I got into a zone working out, lost track of time, and didn't have time to change from my gym shorts and vest for fear of being seriously late for our meeting. As I pulled up in my Ferrari a fashionable five to ten minutes late, she looked me in the eye, smiled, and stepped into the passenger seat.
"Nice car," she said as she sat down. She then saw my blue vest and shorts combo, and looked me up and down in mild amusement. "I like the look."
"You refer to my minimalist couture?" My deft retort was met with a slow nod, and a sly smile. "Just thought I'd do the right thing and give you something pleasant to gaze longingly at during the long and tedious drive."
She smiled and studied me slowly from my eyes, down past chest, my stomach and my legs, and then slowly trailed her eyes back up again. My heart rate began to quicken. "And why would I want to gaze at your body?"
I shrugged, and smiled knowingly. I was beginning to like the fact I was dressed so revealingly. At the risk of sounding cocky, I'm no slouch physically, and my outfit gave her clear view of my very muscular pecs, arms, and legs, I knew she liked what she saw.
"I guess we can gaze at each other," she said while running her ruby red fingernails along her dark semi opaque stockinged legs. She was flirting pretty heavily with me, and I liked it a lot. There was plenty more banter as we headed for the motorway, and the scent of her Gucci Rush perfume filled the car.
I'd brought a stash of Bacardi Breezers along with me for the weekend, which Salima spotted in the back seat. She promptly asked, "Would it be okay for me to have a bottle or two?"
Naturally I said yes. After an hour and a half of lighthearted, witty conversation, she clearly began to get a little tipsy. That's when she pulled a copy of Cosmopolitan from her handbag, and started to read it.
"Think I've got a cramp in my legs," she said innocently. "Mind if I stretch them out onto your lap?"
There was no way in hell I was ever gonna turn down this proposal. "Go for it," I said coolly. She swung around in her seat with her back against the door, and stretched her legs across to me as she read her magazine. I felt the thin, hard heel of her light brown mules dig slightly into my inside thigh, and got very excited as my dick slowly began to swell.
After about fifteen minutes of trying to think about anything and everything but where her feet were, in a futile attempt to subside my growing stiffness, she pulled her heels off using the top of my thigh, and began curling and uncurling her sexy toes in my lap.
"Sorry if my feet smell," she said without looking up from her magazine. "They ache a bit, and they're just really hot and sweaty from being in my Jimmy Choos all day. Feels good to air them out, you know?"
"Not a problem," I choked. "Can't smell anything anyway." I was lying through my teeth. She wasn't exaggerating when she said her feet were hot after being in her shoes all day. I could feel the heat, and dampness of her soft soles burning into my thigh, and it was driving me nuts. Making things worse, her removing her shoes after having worn them for over ten hours, with nylons, in the middle of summer caused the sweet must of her foot scent to rise straight to my nose, and slowly envelope the car.