Work is Play!

Lesbian Office Romp Page 1

She pushed her foot forward and her big toe pressed against my aching clit, and I screamed with unbridled joy. My body rippled as if with electric shock, and I knew that I would not last long with her toes in my pussy.
Vanessa Sanchez tentatively approached my desk, unsure of herself and what I wanted. I was sure, though. Very sure. "You wanted to see me, Ms. Williams?" she asked in a soft voice, a voice soft enough and warm enough to suck into your mouth and swallow down.
Easy, I told myself. Easy. You don’t want to scare her off. So I nodded in a business-like manner, stood up, walked past her and shut the door to my spacious, well-appointed office. Then I turned to face her. Her emerald green eyes briefly met mine, then dived down into the thickly carpeted floor.
Vanessa was dressed in a simple black skirt and white blouse, much like any one of a million other office workers, except that the skirt was short and the blouse was tight. The skirt showcased her large, round, firm ass, and her long, toned, supple legs. Her dancer’s legs were sheathed in glistening, black, sheer stockings, all the way from her high-heel-encased toes to somewhere just above her short, short skirt.
Her large, full, blatant breasts pressed against the thin, see-through fabric of her blouse, and in the air-conditioned office, her dark, erect nipples were clearly visible through the flimsy material—big and hard and begging to bust free. Her hair was chestnut, with red highlights, and her face was delicate and doused a golden brown, advertising her sultry, sexy Spanish heritage. “Yes, Vanessa,” I said briskly. “Have a seat, please. I wanted to discuss your performance evaluation. Your three-month probation period is up today, as I’m sure you already know.”

Vanessa sat down in a comfortable leather chair in front of my large antique desk, while I stood before her, leaning against the desk. I watched her cross her slender legs, fighting with the ever-rising hem of her skirt. I felt my pussy go wet and my face get warm as I stared at those long, lithe legs. I could now plainly see the bronze flesh of her right leg, between her skirt and her stocking. My eyes journeyed on an erotic course from that hot starting point, down the sculpted length of her leg, past her fleshy thigh, her rounded knee, her muscular, moulded calf, her slim ankle (narrow enough to easily wrap my fingers around) and down to her foot, a foot dramatically displayed in black, imitation-leather stilettos.
“Yes, I do…know,” she mumbled. She leaned forward to nervously grasp her knee, interlacing her fingers around it, her nails flashing silver. Her bountiful breasts almost tumbled out of her over-stretched blouse as she leaned over her legs, and I could see and appreciate the warm, deep cleft between her two magnificent mocha mounds.
But I was a leg woman from way back, from the days of ballet lessons, summer vacations at the beach and gym classes, and so that’s where my eyes returned and lingered.
“You’ve been doing a good job, Vanessa,” I said. “Everyone thinks so. However, I’ve had a couple of complaints about your…business attire. You know, the way you dress.”
She squeezed her legs and her emerald eyes flashed angrily at me, her blood boiling instantly.
“Who’s…I mean, what are these complaints about, specifically?” Vanessa said.
That was a good question, since I’d made them up. I stared into the fiery jade depths of her eyes, momentarily lost.
“Well, take your skirt, for example,” I said, making up policy on the fly. “Our company dress code states that skirts cannot be more than four inches above the knee.” I reached back and picked up a metal ruler off of my desk. “Stand up, please, and we’ll see just how far above the knee your skirt is.”
Vanessa rose from the chair and tugged down her skirt.
“I think it’s petty of people to complain about their co-workers’ clothing behind their backs. They’re probably just jealous,” she added saucily.
“They probably are,” I agreed inadvertently. I flushed and swallowed hard as I gazed at her stockinged legs, legs that seemed to go on forever. Then I licked my lips with a wooden tongue and dropped down in front of her, in front of her silky legs.
I could smell the faint, sweet, warm scent of her body spray, and perhaps even the musty, beginning dampness of her pussy. She was a passionate girl, easily aroused. She jumped when I cupped the back of her right leg with my left hand. My fingers lingered on the soft sheen of her stockings, surreptitiously caressed the fine, black material, and the hot, brown flesh that it covered.
“Okay, here we go,” I croaked.
I grasped the back of her thigh more tightly, and then placed the cold, steel ruler against the bottom of her skirt, on the front of her leg. A quick glance told me that her hemline was a good six inches above the knee, but I had known that much from a mere visual inspection. To an experienced leg-watcher like myself, hem length is all important. I pressed the ruler firmly against her leg and then slowly slid it up underneath her skirt until the tip of the metal touched her burnished flesh.
“Oh,” she gasped, her emotions running quickly from anger to pleasure, hot to hotter.

I kept on sliding the ruler up her leg, until it touched the edge of her panties. I began openly caressing the back of her leg with my left hand, stroking up and down from her thigh to the vulnerable spot at the back of her knee, and then back up again, higher and higher each time. My hand slipped underneath her skirt, touched the top of her stocking, and felt the rounded flesh that led up to her big, beautiful buttocks.
“Oh, Ms. Williams,” she said, sighing softly. I reluctantly pulled my eyes away from her lush, luxurious legs and glanced up at her face. Her eyes were closed, her red, pouty lips open, her beautiful body quivering with excitement, her big chest heaving with mounting desire.
“Call me, Karen,” I said, for lack of anything poetic to utter.
My mind was muddled with the brazen leg-heat of the young, Latina hussy. I sensed that we were well beyond words anyway, and that’s exactly where I wanted us to be. I slid the edge of the ruler underneath her panties, rubbed it against her ultra-sensitive skin, firing her pussy, while my other hand caressed and squeezed her butt cheek, revelling in its firm over-fullness.
“You’ve got beautiful legs, Vanessa,” I whispered, mesmerized by the feel of her soft, smooth, super-heated leg flesh. [read on..]

>>

Home | Free Galleries | FAQs | Links | Webmasters