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Blog 1

Me, Stephen and a Photocopier ... what else do you need.
Blog 1 

So, Pippa and I were sat in Starbucks this afternoon for one of our
regular little tete a tetes and I'd just told her all about the
photocopier incident from that morning, when she pipes up with:

"You know, with all the stuff that happens to you, you really should
write a blog ‘cause I reckon it would be like really addictive

And I sort of thought, "Yeah right" but as the afternoon wore
into evening the idea just grew on me and I thought I'd give it a go.

She's wrong about one thing though, is Pippa, stuff doesn't really
happen to me often so I can't imagine that this is going to be very
interesting and no doubt in days to come I'll just end up waffling on
about housework, pets and the nightmare that is work. But today,
something did happen. Today there was the photocopier incident. And
so for today, at least, I'm going to have a go at writing a blog.

Now I'm pretty certain that if you're reading this that you are already
a bit bored and you aren't really very interested in me getting up,
showering, breakfasting etcetera ... and that the journey to work and
the mundane repetitiveness of my day hold very little attraction for
you. So what I'm going to do is skip all that and leave you to imagine
those bits, if you can be bothered, and really just cut to the chase.

Now, this afternoon at about 2.30, I collected up all the bits and
pieces of paperwork that I knew needed photocopying. Generally my job
purpose seems to be to shuffle paper, and wherever you have anybody
shuffling paper you can guarantee there is a fair amount of
photocopying that needs to be done every day. Basically, I like to get
all my photocopying done at once; it may take me half an hour but it's
better than constantly having to traipse back and forth.

So, 2.30 and I'm off to the photocopier which is in a little alcove come
open room down the other end of the building. I quite like this time
‘cause I get to mentally tune out; basically you put the paperwork in,
press the button, the light flashes and the jobs done ... no ringing
phones, no Stephanie wheeling herself across on her swivel chair to
point out all the things you've done wrong with your life, no bloody
computer screen that never, ever seems to want to do anything but
freeze or crash or ... well I don't bloody know what's wrong with the
damn thing.

Anyway, photocopier time is chill out time and I'm happily humming some
pretty much unrecognisable tune and checking out the smoothness of the
sheer hold ups that I've worn today by running my middle finger up and
down my thigh when who should wander over but the new(ish) kid from
accounts ... Stephen, I think.

Okay, it is Stephen. I knew that really. I was just trying to make out
that I hadn't really noticed him before.

Quick history: he's been there a couple of months, three max, and
although he's quite a bit younger than me I've noticed him checking me
out a few times. So, ‘cause I can be a bit of a tease when I want to,
in the last couple of weeks perhaps I've been leading him on a little
bit ... you know the sort of stuff; dropping pieces of paper in his
line of sight and then bending from the waist on tottering heels as my
tight little skirt hugs my arse and rides up my thighs to show my lacy
stocking tops ... actually when I did that I turned and gave him a huge
smile afterwards and his mouth was splayed as wide as I'd have liked my
thighs to have been.

Oh, and the other day I did the "Ooopps, how did that button come
undone" as I leaned over his desk and, come to think of it, that was
the day when all the bras seemed to have disappeared from my underwear
drawer and I'd forced myself to risk attending work improperly dressed.


Naughty me.

Picture; me half bent over the photocopier, wiggling my petite bottom in
my ‘just about long enough' short, tight black skirt to some tune that
is rattling around in my head as I stroke the inside of one thigh
whilst busily inspecting the manicure on my other hand. Well, lost in
my own little world I might have been, but I heard him cough.

He was a bit red and shuffling from foot to foot. He had one of those
plastic drink dispenser cups in his hand as if he was on his way back
from the water bottle and he kept squeezing it as his eyes flicked
down to my hand as it teased its way along the bottom edge of my skirt.
His mouth moved but the words seemed to have got lost somewhere.

I thought I'd better help him out.

"Hi, Stephen. Do you need the photocopier? ‘Cause I think I'm gonna
be about another 15 minutes. If you like I can stop by your desk when
I'm done and let you know ..."

He was floundering; his mouth opening and closing like a recently landed
fish, his eyes stuck on the movement of my hand along my thigh.

"... they're new; my stockings and when you first get them they're
really smooth and, well, I just like to feel how soft and silky they
are, and ..."

"Would you like to go out with me? For a drink or something. You know.
One day after work, perhaps?"

A scattergun of words punctuated by deep breaths.

"I don't know, Stephen. "

A mischievous smile.

"Would you like to stroke my new stockings?"

Well, he nodded, so I sidled over to him, took his shaking hand by the
wrist and deposited it on my thigh. He seemed a tad nervous so I eased
myself up onto tiptoe so that I could get close to his ear and started
whispering a few words of encouragement and guidance. Then, just to
show him how it should be done, I let my own sweet, well manicured
fingers wander up his trouser leg.

Sometimes with boys you really have to take control or nothing ever gets
done and in the workplace there is always such a lot to do before the
end of the day that you can't afford to dally. So, before you could
say ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' I'd got his zipper down, my
hand inside his trousers and my fingers wrapped around his rapidly
stiffening cock.

I do like boys; they are so enthusiastic. No sooner had my fingers
found themselves a nice rhythm than I could hear him huffing and
panting in my ear ... well that was all fine and dandy for him; a nice
quick handjob and cum all over the carpet tiles but at my age I like a
little bit more entertainment and my dampening pussy certainly wouldn't
have said no if the odd finger or two had decided to find their way
between its soft lips.

Well, I know it's not going to last very long and despite my
encouragement his fingers seem reluctant to sneak their way beneath the
hem of my skirt.

Oh well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do ... in no time I'm
down on my haunches, thighs spread wide, my own pretty manicured
fingers stroking deep into my well oiled pussy, stretching themselves
upwards to tease at my delectably sensitive g-spot, my other hand
sliding up and down his cock in perfect time to the fingers thrusting
between my legs as his bulbous head bounces up and down just in front
of my smiling eyes.

I felt his cock jump and knew I had a problem ‘cause I didn't see how I
was going to be able to go back, sit at my desk and finish my
afternoons work with Stephen's thick cum clinging to my hair and
trickling down my face. I squeezed tight, held my hand still, feeling
the pressure beneath it build as his cock spasmed wildly in my hand.

My other hand decided to give up on delicate caresses; four fingers and
a thumb coming together to form an arrowhead that plunged frantically
into my quivering wetness as I tried to drive myself to orgasm and as I
felt it build, as Stephen's cock vibrated teasingly before my face I
opened my mouth wide, impaled my dribbling pussy on my fingers, and
sucked him deep into my throat.

And that's it really. I did think for a moment that I might not
swallow, might spit it out into his silly paper cup, might even put the
cup to his lips and insist on him drinking his own sticky, thick cum;
but ...

Well, it really was pretty tasty and I did enjoy the way it slid down my

And that's it. That is today's blog and I'm sorry if it has been a bit
boring and if I haven't written it very well but I have literally just
sat down and typed it ... anyway, blame Pippa, ‘cause it was her idea.

Will there be one tomorrow? Well, we'll both have to wait and see.

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