A Green Light?
Posted 3 December 2005
On Wednesday I had a meeting with Matt at the office. This was basically a preparatory get-together for the presentation we'll be making in London next week. The two team members who have been putting this together with me, Richard and Sarah, were also present.
I went to Matt's office about ten minutes before the others were due to arrive, and despite my determination not to start coming on to him I couldn't help acting somewhat differently than I have done in the past. When I walked in he looked up and gave me a smile that made me go weak at the knees, but it's his eyes that really do it for me. He's got beautiful eyes and they always look at me with a mixture of mirth and desire. I always feel that he can see right through me, that he knows exactly what's going through my mind. It's highly unsettling and yet extremely compelling.
"Hi, Maria. Grab a chair. I won't be a minute."
I sat down and began sorting the papers I'd brought with me, although I didn't really need to bother. The meat of the presentation was on a laptop that Richard would be bringing. I deliberately hadn't worn anything that was too sexy that day - a well-lined black pencil skirt which was below the knee, a fairly thick grey roll-neck jumper, black stockings and (for me) reasonably conservative shoes. To avoid the outfit looking too plain I wore a chunky gold necklace and matching earrings, but essentially I just looked every inch the working professional. Next week Matt will see me in far more daring clothes, and this was an opportunity to strike some balance.
All the same, I couldn't resist a small tease. As I fiddled around with my notes I casually crossed my legs away from Matt, leaving the skirt stretched across the thigh that was facing him. From the other side - the side that Richard and Sarah would be sitting - you couldn't see anything unusual, but if Matt looked carefully he would have seen the vague outline of one of my suspenders and its metal clip. No way could it have been construed as a blatant come-on though.
After a couple of minutes Matt turned his attention back to me:
"So, how's things then? What's been happening?"
I started to talk about some work-related stuff, very aware of where he was looking. If you remember I told you that I've turned this observation of a man into a science, but I guarantee you'd never know just how closely I was watching you if you were sitting opposite me. I can follow facial expression and eye movement with peripheral vision, which is a great trick to acquire because you can learn a good deal about what people are thinking when their emotions are unguarded.
I was waiting for Matt to glance to my leg and maybe see my cock-tease, but annoyingly he just kept looking at my face as I spoke. I suppose I should have been flattered that he was keeping such intense eye contact, but this was one occasion when I wanted his eyes to wander. The humorous thought crossed my mind that maybe Matt is as skilled with his people watching as I am, and all the time he was enjoying an eyeful of my leg.
We carried on talking for a few minutes, and then out of the blue Matt said something that made my heart stop:
"You know Maria, it's always great to talk to you. I always feel we're on the same wavelength."
It wasn't just what he said, it was the sincerity with which he said it, and those beautiful eyes were riveted to me. I could have easily been left speechless at that moment, but my reply was almost instant, and without any thought:
"I know. It's a shame we don't meet up more often. Maybe the two of us should go out for a meal one day."
His eyes widened just a little with surprise, but he hid his emotions very well. He just paused, continuing to look intently at me as if assessing the situation. Then he quietly said:
"Yeah, maybe we should."
And that was it. He moved back to discussing the presentation and Richard and Sarah arrived a few minutes later. For a while though I had real trouble focusing on the matter in hand. I had opened the door a little for Matt and he had responded positively. You had to see his face to know what I now know - Matt is interested, he's very interested. It's impossible to hide that sort of sexual attraction. The only question that remains is whether he's interested enough to overcome the obvious complications that accompany having an affair with a married colleague.
As I got in the car to drive home after the meeting I cursed myself for having worn the pencil skirt. I was so turned on I wanted to play with myself, and with a shorter skirt I would have been able to massage myself when the road traffic slowed to its usual rush hour crawl. I even thought of hitching my skirt up around my waist, but unfortunately I had to drive through a city centre area with lots of pedestrians. I'm not sure what they would have made of a woman driving with her stockings, suspenders and unzipped PVC knickers in full view.
When I got home I went straight upstairs, stripping my skirt and jumper off as soon as I got into my bedroom. I grabbed a vibrator and a glass dildo, and a couple of minutes later I was writhing around on the bed doing myself. My panties were wet. Not damp, but wet. I used to think it was nonsense when I read about women getting wet with excitement, but these days when I'm very turned on this same thing happens to me as my vagina anticipates the pleasure it's about to receive.
As the vibrator buzzed against my clit and the thin glass dildo screwed my rear, I fantasised about Matt fucking me. Every minute or so the same fabulous thought flashed into my mind. It's really going to happen. I'm really going to have his cock in my mouth and his cum inside me.
I was approaching my second orgasm when I heard Martin open the front door. I deliberately raised the volume of my moans and groans, and predictably he had soon made his way upstairs to see what was going on. As he walked into my bedroom I practically screamed at him: "Lick me! Now!"
Three or four seconds later his tongue was masterfully stimulating my clit and pussy and although I wanted to hold on for longer I just couldn't. I cried out as amazing waves of ecstasy coursed through my body. I thought they would never stop.
As I was recovering Martin sat on the side of the bed and gently brushed the hair away from my eyes.
"What's got you so turned on?" he asked, although he must have figured that it had something to do with the meeting with Matt since he'd known for some days that I was going to see him.
"Matt gave me a positive signal today. Plain as day. I think it's really going to happen. I think there's a good chance that within a matter of weeks now I'll be having sex with him. The expectation is driving me crazy."
Whether it was the punishment I gave him the previous week or whether it was simply seeing me so turned on that did it, Martin unexpectedly reacted very encouragingly to this news. He began doing what he's best at - arousing me by talking dirty about what I'll do with my lover while caressing and fondling my body. He told me how I'd massage Matt's erection while I kissed him, how I would unzip him and kneel as I pleasured his prick with my tongue and mouth. It was a story I'd heard a hundred times before, but usually with some faceless stereotype lover. For the first time Martin put Matt into the scenario and within a few minutes I was breathless with excitement. Suddenly this fantasy seemed so believably tangible.
Martin also began stimulating me with my two toys and twenty minutes later I had yet another orgasm, just as intense as the previous two. I was so delighted with my husband's reaction and subsequent efforts that I took him in my arms and kissed him passionately; long, loving kisses in which I tried to convey my appreciation and gratitude for the wonderfully fulfilling life I now lead, a life that he was very much responsible for moulding.
I am, I realise, truly oversexed, yet I'm in no way afraid or embarrassed by that. Sexual pleasure is my life, my one abiding passion. Just as some people may dedicate themselves to business or sport, I'm now dedicated to sex. Not addicted, but dedicated. I'm good at it, but I want to get even better. I spend hours thinking about it - how to dress for it, how to enjoy it, how to make men want me, how to satisfy their fantasies and urges. I wake up thinking about it, and I go to sleep thinking about it. I orgasm every day, usually more than once, and yet I want more of it, and I will have more of it.
And I will have Matt.
There's no relevant picture I can post with this entry, but I feel somewhat obliged to give my readers something to look at each week. I've decided to show you an outfit that has very fond memories for me, although you might not think it's anything particularly noteworthy.
It's special because it's the only out-and-out fetish outfit I've ever worn in public. Two years ago a friend asked me to act as a model on a stand at a trade exhibition in Paris, handing out advertising literature for a new product her husband's company was launching. She asked me to dress sexily if possible because it was always the girls who drew the predominantly male attendees to a particular stand. Well, the outfit I wore was admittedly way over the top, but the only visible flesh was my face, hands and the gap between my skirt and stocking tops. Our stand drew one of the biggest crowds even though there were other girls at the show wearing a good deal less than I was.
I suppose I'm taking quite a risk showing these shots because my friend's husband took quite a few pictures of me in this outfit (as did many people at the show) and they've been shown to other friends of ours. I've been asked about the clothes and I've always laughed it off, saying I was indulging myself in a bit of exhibitionist fun - which of course is true. With luck though the mental image of me dressed like this will have stayed with many of the men I know socially, especially one particular close-up photo which shows just how easy it would have been to access me via the metal zip on the briefs.
Well, next week we've got the big day in London. As I've already said, I'll be getting Martin to video me dressing for the meeting and I'll hopefully post a picture or two of what I wore as part of my next diary entry. I say 'hopefully' because if things don't go so well with Matt then I'm not sure I'll be in the mood to even write up what happened, although I think I owe it to readers to at least tell you what occurred that day.
Now that I'm certain that Matt wants me, I no longer need to use the meeting to send a message to him. Instead I'm hoping that I'll be able to arrange to actually go out with him.
And if I can do that...
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