She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, dark haired, and athletic. She had a line of small tattoos coming from just behind her ear that ran down her neck, ending somewhere beyond her cleavage. A scar ran along the underside of her left jawline. I didn’t see it in the interview, but noticing it now gave her more experience than I had figured on.
She usually wore form fitting clothes. Her shirts were usually unbuttoned, a tank top or plain T-shirt hugging her chest, her breasts just large enough to stare at while she moved boxes. Capris were her favorite pants, yet when she wore leggings, I fought to keep from staring at her ass.
Our work frequently left us alone and away from others. Inventorying the warehouse was a year long task that we took in daily cycle counting bites. As we wound our way around the building, we’d sometimes go a day or so without seeing another person, so we became well acquainted with one another’s lives.
Her husband was a toad. Worked part time hours opposite of her, frequently leaving clues to his promiscuity in the garage trash, and played video games all day instead of helping out with anything. He often told her she was a waste of his time and only needed her for the insurance. Thank God they had no kids.
My ex-wife had run off with her personal trainer. He needed her worse than I did. The divorce was quick, but I’d lost interest in relationships.
We joked often that we were a work couple. Innuendos were common, often times we broke company harassment policy while talking about what we would do with one another. She was descriptive, but pretty straight forward most times. I enjoyed telling her about the latest position I’d found on Reddit. I’d had more fun at work than anywhere else as of late. We’d even joked about moving in together.
She worked hard and often had to take off her over shirt by noon. Today she’d worn a white tank top, but something was different. The weather was nice and she had chosen a pair of yoga pant capris.
After replacing a counted part, as she was coming down the ladder, I noticed she had no panty line. Her foot missed a step and she tumbled into me. I caught the most of her across my chest and midsection, but we still hit the floor.
Standing, I asked, “You alright?”
“Yes, but my shirt isn’t.”
I looked at her tank top, the neck had ripped down to her lower rib cage. I finally realized what was different. No bra. Her breast was beautiful. Softball sized, with a perfectly round nipple. Embarrassed, she covered up. I reached for her overshirt, but caught myself.
Turning back, I looked her in the eye as I reached out for her arm. Moving it to her side, I grabbed her shirt and finished the rip. Her body was perfect. I held her breasts in my hands, kneading and massaging them as she leaned toward me.
I slid my left hand up her chest, grazing her collar bone on my way to hold her head. We kissed long, deep, passionately. Her hands began on my shoulder blades and made their way to my waist line. A million thoughts ran through my mind as she fumbled with my jeans and zipper.
Would this be as fantasized? What did her toes look like? Any other tattoos? Moles or birthmarks? Would we get caught? If so by noise, or pure bad luck? What minty flavor was her gum?
She broke from our kiss as my penis popped loose. She cooed. “It’s nearly as perfect as I’d hoped.” She dropped to her knees and kissed the base of it near my scrotum. I stood there as I watched her ponytail bob around while she kissed and nibbled the underside of my penis. I could feel my heartbeat in every part of my body.
She looked up at me as she wrapped her lips around the head; one hand on me, one on her breast. Her mouth was warm, her tongue massaging me as she worked from tip to base, teasing my balls with her hand. I could feel them dancing together as she sucked and licked. I grunted my pleasure as my seed blasted to her throat. She pulled back from me, allowing me to see the last ribbon of goo land in her mouth. She stood and we kissed again, my flavor in both our mouths.
I knelt down, pulling her yoga pants down. A small patch of fur above her vagina was kept trimmed close, the rest of her bristly from two days worth of growth. I kissed the inside of her legs as I leaned back and brought her down to sit on my face. My tongue danced about her pouty lips, darting in and along her seal. Her juices spread along my cheeks and her thighs as I focused on her clitoris. Her hips ground into me, I nibbled on her, her thighs quivered and she squirt on me, covering my jaw and neck with excitement.
She dismounted, kicked her feet free of her pants, and kissed me again. She leaned her warm body against mine on the cold concrete floor. She played with my recovering dick while telling me she had never been tasted before. I looked at her body, taunt from work and exercise. Her tattoo ended above her belly button. A cluster of moles by her left hip. Another tattoo on her upper thigh.
As I began to harden again she rolled me onto my back, kicking her leg over to straddle me. She pressed her wetness against the base of my shaft, the soft bristles of her pubic hair tickled my scrotum as she rode me, ever so slowly.
Her breasts swung with each dip and bounced with each thrust back up. I watched her close her eyes as she gyrated in time with some song I’d never hear. I placed one hand on her hip, the other sneaking down to flick at her clit as she slid up and down.
I was harder than I’d ever been, my cock engorged with blood. I shifted a bit on her up stroke and I slid into her on her down motion. She opened her eyes and placed her hands on my chest as she moved to feel me in every corner of her inside. Her moans and stare brought me to orgasm as she struggled to finish again.
Collapsing on me, she held tight. I exhaled slowly, contentedly.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/7pmg0p/falling_for_each_other_mf