The Call

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Everything was going well. I was sitting on a comfy couch, chatting with the friend that I hoped one day to turn into a girlfriend. We had gone back from lunch to her place; I had the afternoon off, and she telecommuted from home, where she had cleared her calendar for the day. We were sitting and laughing, enjoying a pitcher of margaritas when it happened.

Wait. Before I go on, let me step back for a second. I’m Mike. 35 years old, with piercing green eyes and not a single strand of hair on my head. I’m fairly athletic, though not militant about it or anything. I’m about 20 pounds heavier than I was in college, although most of that is long muscle from biking. I’m about 5’11” tall, no facial hair, not the best looking guy, perhaps, but not hideous or anything, either. I’m in my work clothes, dockers and a polo shirt; computer programming is not a sartorially demanding enterprise. I usually wear jeans or shorts; the dockers were an effort to look good for our lunch “date.” The women in my life have described me as “a great guy” and “a fantastic friend.” Apparently those are euphemisms for “not dateable,” since the majority of my romantic interests in the past years have turned into friends. Not that there hasn’t been a fling here and there, but nothing serious.

She’s Sarah. Sarah is 30, redheaded and gorgeous. At least that’s how I see her. We’ve been friends for 5 years, through the good and the bad. Either she or I was in a relationship at any given time, and the connection had never happened. Now, for the first time, we were simultaneously single, and I was hoping for something to happen, but taking it very very slowly. We had kissed, and groped a little, but not much more. She’s about 5’7″ tall, say 130 lbs or so. Not a waif by any means, with just enough weight to give her absolutely luscious curves, the kind that make your hands itch to touch them. Her hair cascades to her shoulders when allowed to fall naturally, thick and luxurious. Her eyes are chameleon, changing shades with her moods.

Today Sarah looks so good she’s virtually edible. She’s wearing wide heeled shoes, socks, jeans that are just tight enough, with a man’s white dress shirt tucked into them. A wide black belt adds attitude to the ensemble. Her lips are painted a subtle crimson, her eyes shaded with a slight color as well. Frankly, she looks amazing, even to me, and I’ve seen her look a lot of different ways in the last five years. Her scent is a turn on as well, a perfume I can’t identify that makes the blood rush that much faster through my veins.

Anyway, we were each on our second margarita, fully enjoying one another’s’ company, locked in a particularly passionate kiss that it had taken me days to work up the courage to try with her, when the phone rang. I looked down at the phone on the table next to me, confused; the ring hadn’t come from it. “Shit.” Sarah breathed as she stood up. “It’s my work line. Hang on a second.” Sarah strode from the room as I laid my head on the back of the couch, bemoaning my bad luck. It got worse when she stuck her head out of the room and said “It’s a teleconference that just got called. Some sort of emergency. It could be a while. Sorry.” With that, she ducked back into the room she uses for a home office, and I sighed and started to wonder whether I should wait, or just leave.

It’s now 10 minutes later, and I still haven’t decided. I can hear her voice occasionally from the other room; it seems like she’s mainly just listening, not participating. Of all the dumb luck; why did this have to happen today? Maybe I should just go. Standing now, I wobble a little as the margaritas hit my brain. Crossing the room, I decide to tell her I’m leaving and just call it an afternoon. I push the door quietly open and open my mouth to speak when I change my mind, and just watch her. She is pacing back and forth, the phone against one ear, head tilted to hold it in place. She is concentrating very hard on listening to the conference, a no-nonsense look on her face.

I have a problem. I cannot, for the life of me, resist a challenge. No matter what it is. If someone tells me I’m afraid to do something, consider it done. Sometimes the challenges come from within. That was the case this time. The conversation went something like this:

“Good” Brain: wow. She looks like she’s concentrating really hard on that work stuff. “Bad” Brain: that’s true. And she’s blowing us off for that call. “Good” Brain: she wouldn’t have if she could have helped it. We should go. “Bad” Brain: no, what we should do is try to distract her. “Good” Brain: huh? “Bad” Brain: she seems to have forgotten about us. Maybe we need to remind her. “Good” Brain: wait a minute here…. “Bad” Brain: shut the hell up. “Good” Brain: but… “Bad” Brain: you’ve been waiting 5 years for this. Now is the time. Don’t make me hurt you… again. “Good” Brain: shutting up.

As this conversation happened, I stood in the doorway, minding my own business. güvenilir bahis At the end of it, I straighten up with new purpose and walk into the room quietly, standing behind the now still Sarah, breathing quietly. Gently, ever so slowly, I slide my arms around her waist, clasping my hands in front. Sarah sinks back against me slightly, her head falling onto my shoulder, her ear still glued to the telephone.

Keeping my left hand against her stomach, I begin to give her a light massage with the other hand. Squeezing gently at her shoulder, then down her arm. Next her hip, then down her leg, a little harder. Back up her leg to her back, pushing her forward just a little to allow access. Up to her shoulders, then the back of her neck. She sighs softly in response to my efforts; a good sign, I think. She stiffens slightly as she realizes she just sighed into her teleconference, then relaxes back into me.

Pushing her forward so she’s no longer leaning on me, I continue the massage with both hands, starting at her waist, then up her ribs, around to her shoulder blades, ending again at her neck. I can see her loosening up, relaxing under my touch. Reaching onto a nearby table, I grab the rubber band I see there; gathering her hair, I bind it into a pony tail, freeing her neck. Grabbing each arm and pulling her back to me, I bite her gently on the spine at the nape of her neck.

She breathes in quickly, then lets it out slowly, trying to be quiet for the people on the other end of the line. With one hand she waves at me, telling me to back off. I respond by visiting her neck again, this time with a kiss and a lick that sends visible shivers shooting down her spine. Her hand quits waving at me. How about that? She seems to like it.

My hands go to work again, this time just gently touching her, caressing her neck, sliding inside her shirt to trace her collarbone, then back out, my fingernails pressing into her back as my hands trail downward. Over the hips and down the side of the legs I go, kneeling behind her, kneading her calves now. She steps a little wider to allow me access to her calves; I look up at the way the tight jeans hold her ass, licking my suddenly dry lips in anticipation.

Making my hands as wide as they will go, I knead my way up her body. Calves, thighs, back of the knees, hamstrings, then my hands touch her bottom. She inhales audibly, but doesn’t react in any other way. I linger there, kneading the flesh, before continuing up her back. She lets a deep breath out slowly as I move up her back, and I can feel that, despite (or because of) my efforts, she is less relaxed than she was when I started touching her. Back to a traditional massage I go, trying to loosen her back up. She is speaking into the phone now, some work babble that I barely hear and don’t remember, my mind totally on her body.

My hands find their way around Sarah’s waist again, and clasp over her stomach. I give her a big hug from behind, my body pressed against hers, which she falls into easily. With a deep breath, I quickly jerk her dress shirt untucked from her jeans. She tries to turn and look at me, but I hold her in place, and she doesn’t struggle very hard. By her quickened breathing, I can tell that she isn’t upset with this new development. Her head jerks as she hears something on the phone, and she starts talking, sounding annoyed at the people she is talking to. While she is distracted, I start to rub her leg with my left hand; another distraction. My right hand starts working on the buttons of her shirt, unfastening them one by one, starting at the bottom. I manage to get halfway up before I have to stop, as she finishes talking and starts to listen again. I slip my hands over her shoulders and start to rub them, planning the next move. Her shoulders slump as she relaxes again under my touch; I slide my hands under the shirt to her collarbone again. After a few seconds, I lean forward and whisper in her free ear “I need a little more room” and boldly unfasten her two top buttons, leaving only two holding her shirt closed. I tug backwards on the shirt, sliding it down her back a little, and spend some time rubbing the bare skin on her shoulders, her collarbone, the top of her breastbone.

I’m breathing a little quicker now, and I make my move. One hand returns to her waist, then slides across her bare stomach under her shirt. The other reaches around and undoes the remaining two buttons as quickly as I can, then I pull the shirt back and down, leaving it puddled around her wrists. She’s wearing a racerback bra in brilliant blue, which, I presume, clasps at the front, since I can’t see any fasteners in the back. My hands are trembling slightly as I work to control myself from grabbing and groping and tearing the phone out of her hand and taking her right there, right now. I trail my fingernails over her now bare skin, across her stomach, her arms, her back, which arches slightly in response to the caress. türkçe bahis I slide her one hand out of the sleeve; she switches the phone to that hand and drops her other arm, allowing me to remove the shirt completely. I throw it somewhere off to the right; I have no idea what happens to it after it leaves my hand, which is drawn as if by a magnet back to her smooth skin.

Smooth isn’t actually enough to describe it. Her skin is almost perfect, with hardly a blemish upon it. I scratch softly at it, and notice the lighter marks of my nails as they fade back to the duskier natural shade of her skin. My brain has taken a moment to get itself together; my hands are uncontrolled as they trace her skin, changing direction only at the touch of fabric. I caress beneath her bra, and above it, without touching her breasts at all; that would be too much, too soon, and even my unguided hands seem to understand that fact. Minutes pass, how many I don’t know, as I acquaint myself with this new expanse of touchable area.

Finally my brain comes back, and we decide unanimously to progress to the next challenge. She is talking into the phone again, and I attack the back of her neck, tiny slow kisses that show their effects immediately; she trembles in response, and gasps quietly, catching herself just before she made some louder noise. Her free hand flutters at her side, unsure of what to do with itself; I solve its dilemma by reaching down and grabbing it, lacing my fingers into hers. She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers back. The other hand finds the buckle of her big black belt, and starts to unclasp it. She looks down, but doesn’t react otherwise except to squeeze my hand harder. I slide the belt free, and toss it aside. The hand returns, and I slide it around her waistband, the fingers tucked just inside the jeans, softly and slowly moving across her body. When the hand returns to the front, a simple motion frees the top button of her jeans; the sharp rasp of the zipper being pulled down follows immediately, loud in the quiet room, and I can feel it against my chest as she inhales deeply, trying to control her breathing.

I let go of her hand, and stand behind her. My hands find purchase on the sides of her jeans, and I begin to tug them down, ever so slowly. My eyes feast upon what is revealed, inch by inch, devouring the sight of more bare skin. They continue to slide, revealing another patch of brilliant blue, V-cut panties that shrink virtually to strings at her hips. I kneel behind her as the jeans slide over her hips, and remove her shoes and socks, then help her to step out of the jeans. She is now breathing more quickly, and has moved the mouthpiece of the phone away from her mouth, raising it high and away, with her ear still glued to the meeting. Perhaps unconsciously, she steps wider than she had before as her feet are returned to the ground.

My hands travel the new roads of bare skin, up her legs and back down, caressing softly, kneading roughly, scratching a little. She is getting excited, and her energy fills the air, turning me on that much more. My jeans are feeling way too tight as my hands caress her; I deliberately slow my movements down in order not to lose control. She is talking again, into the telephone I presume; I can’t make out the words, I am utterly focused on the physical sensation of touching her. My hands tease around the fabric of her panties and bra as I run my hands higher, standing behind her. Finally, I reach around and my hands meet at her belly button, pulling her into yet another hug, losing my face in her neck, breathing in her scent.

I look down over her shoulder; I can see the risen fabric covering her hard nipples; “must be cold in here” I laugh to myself. My hands slide across her body again, moving around to the back, as I push her slightly forward so she no longer leans on me. My hands now ignore the bare skin for the lure of the bright blue fabric; my eyes roam the back of her body, admiring her fantastic ass, barely covered by the blue panties, and the straining bands crossing her back, holding in her ample breasts. My fingertips glide over her buttocks, feeling the material more than the flesh underneath it. A low moan escapes her lips as I touch the material. The fingertips trace each hip as I move my hands to the front of her body. They slide down the front, again, barely touching, teasing the fabric, stopping just short of touching anything other than skin and hair.

I gently scrape my nails up her stomach and around her ribs to her back. She licks her lips, which are suddenly dry, and leans back against me, her hips grinding her backside against my groin, causing my breath to catch in my throat. I respond by pressing harder than before as my fingers trace the fabric of the bra across her back, and around the sides. My fingers slide down, one fingertip tracing each underwire as they continue on, meeting in the middle. I tease at unclasping her bra; she inhales güvenilir bahis siteleri sharply and I continue on. My fingertips trace her breasts through the fabric, carefully avoiding the areas around her nipples. Finally, they trace the shoulder straps, sliding over her shoulders to her back, where I remove them from her entirely. I stand and watch for a second, the way her body works as she struggles to control her breathing.

My hands fall to her ass again, grabbing it firmly as I begin to kiss along her spine, starting at the top and working my way downward slowly. I can feel her pushing back against my hands, and I squeeze a little harder as I kiss her, stroking her through the fabric, grabbing in different places and ways. She starts to moan, but chokes it off quickly. She falls slightly forward, her hand finding the wall in front of her for support, the phone still held to her ear, the hair that is not trapped by the ponytail falling across her face as she looks downward. The kisses continue, now I’m crouched behind her, kissing her spine as it disappears into the panties. I start to roll them down, centimeter by centimeter, kissing Sarah’s spine as I go. I stop before anything major is revealed, and pull them back up as I stand. Sarah’s legs quiver, and a low moan issues from her lips. I’m pretty sure she’s forgotten about the phone. I can see tremors in her hips as she unconsciously grinds them; her needs and wants are displayed for anyone who wants to see them. I can see her chest rising and falling heavily. One look is all it takes.

My hands take over, as if they have a mind of their own. I reach up and slide the straps of her bra down her shoulders. Without a pause, my hands follow the straps down and grab a cup each, pulling down and away. She gasps loudly as the air hits her exposed breasts. A quick flick and the bra is flying across the room, forgotten. She stands there, trembling, one hand against the wall, the other still pressing the phone to her ear. Her chest is heaving with each breath, and I watch her full breasts swaying, the nipples standing proudly up. Then my hands are on her, grabbing, groping, pulling her away from the wall and into my embrace, her arched back pressed against my front, her free hand falling to the back of my neck, her ass grinding my jean-covered erection, which feels like it’s going to explode it’s so hard. My hands knead her breasts roughly, the way she wants me to, her nipples trapped and squeezed between my fingers. She pulls the phone down to her mouth and attempts to speak into it. The first time, no words come out and she clears her throat. The second time, I pinch her nipples just as she is about to speak, and nothing comes out but a frustrated hiss. Finally she begins to talk again.

I respond by pushing her, not gently but not roughly, back towards the wall. She catches herself with an “umph” and an outstretched arm. She continues talking, then punctuates her sentence with a sound that’s midway between a sexy moan and a sob as I yank her panties down her legs in one quick move, pulling her feet from them and tossing them aside.

I took a step back and look at her. She is amazing. Stark naked, beautiful, infinitely desirable. I strip in a flash, quietly. She is unaware I am naked until I mold my body to hers, letting some of my weight fall onto her as she holds us away from the wall with one arm. One hand caresses her breast, the other her bottom; they both start to slide. The one on her breast slides down to the trimmed patch of hair between her legs. The one on her ass slips between her legs. The meet finally and start to stroke her, the one pressing her hard button, the other parting her soaked lips. She sticks her ass out further, allowing me more room to work as I slide a finger inside her. She responds with a moan and a tremble, her entire body shaking. Another finger joins the first as I kneel behind her. I can tell what she wants as she spreads her legs wider and sticks her ass out even further.

Another finger slides inside her as I oblige her desires. The phone barely misses my head on its way to the floor as I lick her lips, then start sucking at her clit. She has both hands against the wall, grinding into me, completely lost in the moment. I too am out of control as I dine on her, my tongue working at a feverish pace, my fingers plunging in and out of her in time with my tongue.

I can think of nothing more than wanting to hear her scream, to yell her pleasure to the world. I lick, suck, and finger faster, and she starts making low noises, moans, and starts muttering things under her breath. I listen closer and it’s a litany of encouragement: “yes,” “don’t stop,” “faster, more.” Hearing her turns me on even more, and I can’t contain myself any longer.

I slide out from underneath her, and bodily spin her around, pushing her across the room from behind. One sweep of my arm clears her desk of papers, and I bend her over the desk, kissing her neck fiercely as I spread her arms wide. She grabs the sides of the desk and presses her face against the cool plastic. Her hair has slipped from the ponytail, and now splays out across the desk, hiding her face from my view.

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