Finally, Samantha

[Mr Stag]

The last thing on my mind when I ran into my ex-boss was that I would soon be having some of the best sex of my life. He and I spoke briefly and agreed to meet for lunch the next day. I looked forward to the lunch, as I wanted to rub in how much I was now making and I wanted to hear how his company was doing.

Miserable, his business was doing miserably.

He seemed a different man, exhausted and defeated. Just two years prior when I quit, he still saw himself a Mafia-boss like master of his fate, in spite of being a short, balding Italian man in his late fifties, with zero charisma or style, his black shirts and white silk ties to the contrary. He acknowledged that I had been so right about his choice for running IT, as the fellow was a fraud and was fired last year and everything was a mess. I wasn't surprised, as I had referred to him as our Magic Alex, after the electronics wizard who bedeviled The Beatles. My ex-boss begged me to visit my old workplace to see what I thought of the IT situation. I agreed.

I dressed in my best suit and showed up early the next day, before most the employees had arrived. Things were in disarray from an information technology standpoint. I asked to see where they were storing the expensive gear that Magic Alex had bought. It was gone, all of it, with only the old gear in place. I quickly wrote up the three biggest problems I had spotted and wrote the name and phone number of a very capable friend who could fix most of them, but at great expense as he didn't come cheap. The owner thanked me profusely and asked as his last favor if I could stop by the old office building, where one employee worked six hours a day, Sam, which was short for Samantha. When I hadn't seen her there, I assumed that she had also quit, as she absolutely hated working there.

Sam was in her mid-20s when she was hired four years earlier. At the beach in a bikini, tall, slender, but large-chested, Sam was the sort of blonde that many men longed for—well, at least they longed for her body; her personality, not so much. At work, she wore the least sexy clothes possible, in an attempt to hide her eye-catching breasts and shapely legs. Her last name made for an easy pun that described her dour disposition. Occasionally she was upbeat, but it never lasted. She made few friends and never dated. Some imagined that she was a lesbian, which her staunch women's lib utterances seemed to confirm, but the office lesbian assured us that she wasn't gay.

A few weeks after she was hired, a rumor had spread through the place that she and I were secretly having an affair. I didn't deny the false rumor at the time, as that would only give it credence. Still, it irked me to hear it, as I assiduously avoided any office dalliances. I always abided by the motto, never get your meat where you pick up your bread. I did some sleuthing and discovered that Sam was the source of the rumor, but I never confronted her on the rumor.

Sam was surprised, pleasantly surprised to see me on the video monitor ring the bell at the old office building. She seemed quite happy to see me, until I started talking, then she wished I never existed. She listened carefully to my explanation of why I was there. I then had her show me her entire routine. She was nervous, more so than I had ever seen before; nonetheless, she detailed her entire workflow. Data massaging, the translation of data taken from the main office to the old computer at the old office, and then her returning with the reformatted data. Two hour's work—tops, perhaps as little as one hour of work. I had been steely and unbending with her the entire time, as I was a tad miffed at her having started the rumor and I hated thieves, which she effectively was, as she was stealing time. She, on the other hand, was desperately trying to ingratiate herself on me, talking about old times, making feeble jokes.

I told her that this setup had to end, as it was a colossal waste of time and money. She knew I was right, but pleaded with me not to pull the plug on her ideal situation. I explained that it was too late, as I already had given her boss the name of a very competent IT specialist and he would replace her six-hour task with a six-line batch file. Still, she begged. She then made a big mistake. She hinted that she would tell my ex-boss how often I had called him an idiot. Very slowly I detailed how I no longer worked for him and how I was doing this task as a favor and that just the day before, while we ate lunch together, I called him an idiot to his face, several times in fact. She was crestfallen.

I hated seeing her so sad and I was about to tell her that I wouldn't make any recommendation concerning her job but that she nonetheless had between a month to six weeks before the changes would come, when she achingly implored me, asking if there was nothing she could do to convince me to say nothing about her job. I had definitely caught a whiff of sexual exchange in her pleading tone. I replied, "Such as?"

She lunged forward and hugged me, resting her face against my chest. I didn't return her hug. I expected her tears to flow, ruining my best tie. Instead, after a silent minute or two of embrace, she stood back two steps and began unbuttoning her blouse. Last thing I expected. She stopped near her belly button and looked expectantly in my gaze for some softening. I stood motionless and said, "I need more convincing."

She unbuttoned the remaining buttons and pulled her blouse out of her pants and let her blouse fall off her shoulders onto the floor. She then undid her pants and removed her sensible shoes before taking off her pants. Her head drooped and she stared at my shoes. Silence. Letting out a large breath, she pulled down her off-white panties, placing them on the keyboard. She looked me in the eyes and asked, "More?"

I didn't say a word. She undid her bra, setting her large breasts free. What ample and sexy breasts she had. Perhaps because she was otherwise so slender, her large breasts looked extra-large. She was lucky that her nipples sat high on her breasts, which made her breast droop not only acceptable, but extra sexy. I remember a coworker telling me that he was sure that Sam was hiding a beautiful rack. He had been right. She covered her breasts with her arms, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting.

I was not done surveying her ample D-cups and I put out my hands for her to grasp. She held my hands and I raised them up over her head, causing her breasts to follow, moving up her chest. I marveled at the thought of what her natural breasts must have looked like when she was twenty. Even now, she had an athletic, girl-next-door body; back then, Playboy magazine would have welcomed her into its pages.

I had her turn around, so I could appraise her ass. She had the sort of ass that 99 percent of women long for, small, but round, with a delicious half inch sag where the protruding cheeks met her taut thighs. At the time, I would have preferred a bit more butt, but her rear was very bite worthy. As my eyes scanned her body, I took a mental tally of my numeric appraisal: thighs, 9; calves, 7; ass, 8, waist, 7; pubic hair, 7; belly; 9…

Today, with our chubby population, all my scores should be increased by at least one. While examining her naked body and reflecting on my stony bearing, I was reminded of 007 in the movie, Thunderball, explaining how someone would have to pay for his misadventure on the stretching machine and the blonde nurse pleading for her job. With Sean Connery in mind, I stated, "I need more convincing."

She looked totally confused, and I instructed her to collect her clothes and place them on the table. I wanted to see her walk from behind and then see her breasts bounce as she walked back to me. Both were lovely sights. She then stood a foot away from me, loosened my tie, and began unbuttoning my shirt. I removed my tie and placed it over her head and tightened it properly. She was fumbling with the last buttons and sighing loudly. Her sighing irked me. I stopped her and stepped back before saying, "Sam, are you not embarrassed? Aren't you just ashamed?"

She began to complain about how dreadful working at the main office was, when I cut her off and said, "No, not your damn job. Are you not ashamed of how you have gone out of your way to hide your lovely body? I remember all the baggy, amorphous, asexual clothing you wore, covering your perfectly-pleasing body from everyone. It isn't right. It really isn't. Sam, it's a crime against life and love and happiness. What the hell were you thinking?"

She uttered several "I don't…" in a row, but never completed a sentence. I placed my fingers to her lips and told her not to answer. She held my hand with both of hers and kissed my fingertips. I continued, "Remember that hot summer, when the air conditioner had to be replaced and we all said screw the dress code and you wore those Capri pants and the white cotton top?" She nodded. "And the next day you wore shorts just like everyone one else? Sam, you looked stunning." I had a lot more to say, but I didn't say it.

She had closed her eyes as she kissed my fingers, but she opened them and my expression said all I had wanted to say. Suddenly I pulled her to me and hugged her tightly, as I could bear to look into her sad eyes. She seemed to flow naturally into my embrace as if we had hugged this way many times before, our bodies meshing flawlessly. The scent from her shampoo filled my nostrils and the warmth of her naked skin against my bare chest filled me with both lust and regret for having let her go this far. She looked up at me and I kissed her while twisting her off balance, so only my arms prevented her from falling, which was my signature kiss, a very macho kiss that had melted even the most ardent man-hating woman.

As our mouths hungrily intertwined, my hands roamed across her backside, finally resting at her ass cheeks. My hands enjoyed what they held, the perfect combination of softness and resilience. I knew that she was a devout yoga practitioner and I had seen her jogging once, but I marveled at how toned her body was. I was happy that I had spent so much time at the gym, as was the most buffed I had been since I was in high school. In other words, I wasn’t' shy about her seeing my body. She finished undoing my shirt buttons and was pulling at my shirt. Her efforts betrayed a wanton eager impatience that was more typical a drunken one-night stand. With my bare torso exposed, she sucked on my nipples and proceeded to plant kisses down a line that would end at my cock.

I held her shoulders and let her do all the work, except for kicking off my shoes. She fell to her knees, before tugging at my pants and shorts, giving one final large yank. As my hard cock sprung out of my shorts, I expected her to greedily suck away. She didn't. She stared at my cock and panted. She then tenderly kissed where she had left off just above my pubic mound; she continued to kiss the base of my cock and the length and sides and bottom of my cock, covering every square inch of it with delicate kisses. She then rubbed her face and long hair over my crotch, my cock rolling over her cheeks and lips, while she made little murmuring sounds. My cock was throbbing with anticipation when she finally extended her wet tongue and began to lick all that she had kissed. At last, my cock pushed through her parted lips. She sucked, really sucked my cock, the vacuum pulling in her cheeks.

I wouldn't say it was an accomplished blow job, but it was enjoyable. I remember wishing that we had a large mirror, so I could see behind at the same time. I didn't want the fun to end too soon, so I pulled her up on her feet and resumed kissing her, while my hand explored her ass again and then her pubic hair and her labia. My middle finger effortlessly slid inside her and I felt the rough skin over her G-spot. I didn't touch her clitoris or breasts. Years of experience had taught me to leave the nipples and clit for the last. She grasped my cock and kissed with extra urgency. I thought that she might orgasm from just having my finger in her vagina, when I heard her whisper, "Please let me suck you."

I did.

Once again on her knees, she worked at getting more of my cock into mouth. I sniffed my still wet finger and concluded that I had smelled a similar sexual scent before, always from near nymphomaniac women. I wondered if she was a closet nymphomaniac, a very withdrawn and introverted nymphomaniac. A female friend once told me that her brother was an alcoholic who never had a drink, but lived in constant fear of that first sip that would lead to his ruin. Was Sam a virginal nymphomaniac? My finger hadn't encountered any excess vaginal tightness, just the opposite. Well, even virgins can own fat dildos.

I stopped her and removed my remaining clothes, except for my socks, so we matched each other in only wearing socks. I sat on a nearby wooden chair, with the expectation that she would continue sucking me to my orgasm, after which I would have been entirely convinced. Instead, she climbed on my lap, facing me, my cock sliding into her wet vagina. We fucked.

God did we fuck. We fucked and I came twice in her. Our fucking was fueled by the our knowing each other, our shared pain while working together, which was like having gone through a war together. We fucked in just about every position but the missionary. I even lifted her off the floor and fucked her standing. The only sex act missing was anal, although I believe I had licked her anus a few times. She also orgasmed, numerous times, not from our fucking but from my fingers and tongue. And, yes, I finally did clutch her breasts in my large hands and sucked on her nipples and tickled her clit.

The big event ended with me reclining on the computer chair and her sitting on my lap, still wearing my tie, resting her head on my chest. She told me that she enjoyed hearing my heart beat so quickly and so loudly. I could still smell her pussy on my beard and my fingers. I kissed her forehead and told her that I was going to ask her a question and that she had to answer completely honestly. She nodded. I then asked why she had started the rumor that we were having an affair. Her body stiffened, then relaxed.

Her answer was that when she started working, many of the men made passes at her, so she made up the story. She explained that she and I had returned after lunch at the same time and I had opened the door for her and made some kind comment to her, which was witnessed by a female co-worker. Sam said the look on the woman's face said that she thought we had just made love, so later that afternoon, when another female co-worker asked if she was seeing someone, she answered that we were an item, but to keep it a secret, which meant that everyone would soon hear it, especially after the other women heard it.

I asked why she hadn't picked some guy who didn't work with her. Her answer was that I was known to everyone and that I frightened the men. I blurted out, "Frightened?"

"Yes, you just frightened me when you said frightened that way."

I asked, "Are you frightened now?"

"No."

"Good, never be frightened of me again or I'll get really mad."

"Okay, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Did you really mean all the nice things you said about me, about my body?"

I didn't answer but had her stand and remove her socks. Other than my tie, she stood completely naked now. I motioned for her turn around a few times. I then stood and gently held her head in my hands and said, "Sam. Lovely Samantha. A man could happily spend a lifetime worshiping at the altar of your body. From your head to your toes, your body makes my eyes, my hands, my cock so very happy. Sam, your damn feet and toes are super cute. I had hoped that wouldn't be, but they are. How I wish they weren't. I hoped that they were less attractive."

"Why."

"Because it kills me to think that all those times we worked together that lovely body of yours, including your lovely feet was next me and I didn't know just how lovely you are under your clothes."

"Do you have a foot fetish?"

"No, … well, only when I encounter truly beautiful feet and toes like yours, which is so rare."

"You know, when we worked on the Wilson project, I tried to dress more attractively for you?"

"No, Sam, No I didn't know that."

"Twice I was even braless."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Seriously, how could I?"

"Meg, think about how Meg would have done so."

Meg was the office's standard for female sexiness, always dressed expensively and sexily, without ever crossing over into sluty. Meg was also an expert flirt. I said, "Meg would apologize for not wearing a bra, explaining that her doctor ordered her not to until a rash cleared up."

She interrupted me and said, "Meg, fucking Meg, I bet Meg would have ask you to apply the medicated ointment to her make-believe rash."

We laughed and I was suddenly struck by a fact that I had failed to notice: Sam's body was tanned, completely tanned a soft golden color, with no tan lines. I asked, "Sam, how is that you have such a nice tan but no tan lines?"

"Oh, I was on vacation last month and I went to a clothing-optional meditation retreat for a week."

"Oh my God, Sam. Really, you were naked for a week? You were walking around naked! Okay, let's stop right here or I am going to have to fuck you again and I am due back at my real job soon."

"Are you sure you have to return?"

"Sadly, yes."

"Okay, but you know I would like you to fuck me again."

With great regret and sadness, I shook my head. We kissed and I finally had the willpower to stop thinking about her naked body and start getting dressed. She asked if she could keep my tie as a memento. My answer was that she could, but what would I get to keep from her? She went to the keyboard and picked up her panties. She sniffed them and apologized for the lack of scent, explaining that she hadn't worn them all that long before taking them off for me. I accepted them and then told her to put them on again. She did. I placed my open palm against her pubic mound and worked my overturned fingers into the bottom of the panties, clenched and rubbed briefly, and then asked for them. She smiled brightly and removed them.

I didn't have time to return with my report to my ex-boss, so drove home and called it in instead. I explained that Sam's job would be entirely altered when proper IT help arrived. I also praised the heroic effort that Sam had put in to make the bad situation work against the bad mess Magic Alex had left behind. I then showered, washing away Sam's intimate scent, which required lathering up my bread twice, using different shampoos. Once I was clean, I hid Sam's panties and carefully examined my clothing for blonde hair and made a mental note to check my car for blonde hair, as my girlfriend was raven-black brunette.

[Nylookingtoo]

Does this story continue?
I can see a series coming from it!

[TomG]

I always enjoy a good erotic story, and this was right up there with the best... bravo!

[NikkiMySunshine]

Thanks! Such a HOT story to read!