Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail (21 page)

She
fantasised about him. About him jogging out to meet her in the street. About
him trying to chat her up while she played hard to get and pointed at the ring
on her finger. She thought about marching into his office, closing his door, of
accusing him of stalking her and then, once he had feigned innocence and begged
forgiveness, dropping to her knees in front of him, unzipping him, taking out
his penis, and sucking him dry.

Was
that okay? Was she allowed to fantasise like that? Was it harmless? What would
her husband say about a fantasy like that? Does everyone do it? Even happily
married people? Who was worse – him for so nakedly staring at her, so
lasciviously drinking her in every day? Or her, for encouraging him with her
revealing clothing, for letting him know she was watching him too?

He
knew that she knew he was watching her now. She had made that clear. He felt
they had established something – a connection of sorts. Once that has
happened, it is difficult not to want more. Now, seeing her from a few metres
away, from behind the glass, from inside his dark office, was no longer enough.
He needed something else. He needed to be closer.

The
thing he wanted was to walk past her. To be near her, to get a proper look, to
maybe even catch her scent as she ambled by. He arrived at work from the same
direction she came from, so, in order to achieve this wish, he one day left
home a little later than usual. His wife even commented on it, pointing out
that it was strange he should leave late, because he always liked to leave at
exactly the same time each day. He smiled back at her, unable to offer an
excuse or a reason.

That
day, he walked straight past his office. He walked another 300 metres or so up
the road, past the school. He looked at his watch. 8.51am. That should do it.
He scanned the area and did an about turn. To him, turning around on the
pavement and walking in the opposite direction always looked suspicious.
Probably to everyone else it just looked like he had forgotten something, or
gone the wrong way, but he still felt self-conscious doing it.

He
took a leisurely walk back in the direction of the school and his office. He
could see a small crowd of mums and dads and a few kids at the school gates in
the middle distance. No sign of her yet. He craned his neck to see if she was
approaching this group from the other side. Soon, he was getting dangerously
close. He wanted to see her there, at the gates. He might be able to take a
close look without her even seeing him. Was she running late? He couldn’t wait
to see what she was wearing.

Ah,
there she was. Joining the throng, bending down to kiss the little ones goodbye
before sending them inside. Now she was standing, talking, gesturing and
laughing with the other parents.

As
he approached the school he could see her in profile. She was dressed all in
white. Her long cotton skirt billowed in the wind, occasionally affording sly
glimpses of a tanned leg. Her top was tighter: elegant, yet sexy with thin
straps around her neck. At the top and around her waist, it was in a crochet
style, with small voids in an intricate pattern, keyholes with which to see her
sunshine skin contrast with the creamy fabric. The material was more solid and
tighter around her boobs, but right in the middle there was a large gap,
flagrantly exposing a tantalising glimpse of cleavage.

He
tried not to stare as he edged closer. He tried not to
drink in her hotness, her incredible, scalding sex appeal. He was
afraid she’d catch him. From behind the glass he could at least claim to be
looking at something else, to simply be staring, absent-mindedly, out the
window. This operation required more subtlety. As he approached her, he kept
his eyes nice and high. He flicked his glance between looking straight ahead
and looking at her, for milliseconds at a time. It took every ounce of his
strength not to look for longer, or to steal a glance at that perfectly round
booty. He was taking one last look as he was about to pass behind her when,
quite suddenly, she turned round. They looked right into each other’s eyes. Briefly
but unmistakably, she checked him out, her eyes running up and down his body.
It was a lustful look that none of the other parents would have noticed because
it was so quick. But he saw it. He was sure he saw it.

It fuelled his fantasies.

Over the next two weeks he would sometimes repeat this
trick. He would walk past the school then slowly stroll back, hoping to see her
at the gates. Twice he mixed things up by organising a brief meeting with a
co-worker at a coffee shop first thing in the morning before timing the walk
back to the office to coincide with her return from the school. Each time, they
exchanged a look and even a smile. This subtle flirtation became more brazen
each time they saw each other. They would hold each other’s gaze for longer and
longer. The look would become more overtly sexual, more obviously hungry.

At night, he found himself lying awake while his wife
slept, his cock growing at the thought of her. He imagined devouring her in an
alleyway, ravishing her in his office, fucking her at the back of a half-empty
cinema...

Every day she looked forward to seeing him, whether it
was by the school gates, near his office, or at his window. She never changed
her routine. It was always the same. She relied on him to find her, she
expected him to be somewhere where he could see her. She liked it when he was
somewhere different, somewhere he had not been before, catching her unawares.
Like that first time at the school gates, giving her that dirty, desirous look
in front of all the other parents. Or the time he was walking with a colleague,
an attractive younger woman, actually, but even while he was speaking to the
colleague, he stared at her. Right at her. Fixing her with those blue eyes
until she had blushed and looked away.

She wondered how this was going to end. Who would make
the first move? How would she react? Like him, she would sometimes lie awake
thinking about scenarios. She would imagine him secretly watching her in bed as
she allowed her fingers to travel down her body. She imagined him hiding,
thinking that she didn’t know he was there. She imagined him getting hard as
she masturbated. She imagined him jerking off as she watched her, and it made
her wet.

One
day, he timed his walk wrong. He tried the stroll past the school gates, but
she was nowhere to be seen. In front of him, a gaggle of parents moved off
together, laughing in the sunshine. She wasn’t with them. He was already late
for work. His occasional recent lateness had been commented on by the
secretaries, who teased him about it. “You always used to be first in, last to
leave,” they squeaked. “What happened?”

He
quickened his pace. He would see her tomorrow. Or maybe he would see her in a
minute, from his window. From the window, yes. She was probably a bit late. He
walked faster, wanting to make sure he was up the stairs and in his room and
looking out his window before she passed. His pace caused him to trip on a
loose paving stone.
He didn't fall, but
staggered forward, jogged, and regained his balance. Immediately, he heard
laughter behind him. He turned, and there she was, emerging from the school
gates, mocking him. “Were you trying to style that out?”

“Yeah, I guess I was. Did it work?”

“Not really.” She laughed again. She caught him up and
stood close to him. Very close.

“So... don't I know you?” he asked, smiling.

“Well, you’ve spent the last few weeks staring at me.”

“Staring?”

“Yes. Here, on the street. From your office window,
too.”

“You saw me in the office?”

“Oh yeah! Pervert!” she laughed.

“How could you be sure I was staring at you? How could
you tell?”

“I knew.”

“You wore all those… clothes,” he stammered.

“I did.”

“For me?”

“Mmm,” she covertly pinched the bottom of his tie between
her thumb and forefinger and tugged it, pulling him closer. She thought about
touching his chest. His shirt was agreeably tight in that area, around his
strong upper arms, too. “See, I'm not totally blameless in all this… I've been
perving at you too.”

“Have you?”

She nodded. Before he knew what he was doing, he had
grabbed her gorgeous body at the waist and pulled her into an alleyway. He
pinned her against the wall, their bodies pressed together.

“What would my husband say?” she protested, but her eyes
betrayed her innocence. He kissed her, softly at first, but then deeply,
hungrily, and with desperation as he felt her react, her tongue searching his
mouth, her hands at the back of his head. His hands scrambled up and down her
body. Their kissing increased in intensity. Her hand went to his trousers and
she felt him. Hard. Straining. “Oh God,” she murmured. She unzipped him, but he
stopped her.

“Not here.”

“Come back to mine.” Less a suggestion, more a demand.

He kissed and bit at her neck.
“
I can't. Work.”

“
Come back to mine. Fuck me.” He was desperate
for her. And here she was, in his arms, her tongue on his neck, her hand on his
cock, his fingers sliding up her skirt, feeling the soft, smooth, delicate skin
at the top of her thighs. He kissed her again. “No. Tomorrow?” She pushed him
away.

“I’m
not sure I can do tomorrow.” She slipped under his arms, and was back out on
the pavement, leaving him there, breathing hard, fly undone, hard-on raging. He
leant his head against the cold brick wall.

She
hurried home, replaying the moment in her head. Scalding herself for letting
him take her so easily, for giving in, for inviting him home before she knew
what she was saying. She shouldn’t have done that, but she was lucky that he
had refused. She congratulated herself for slipping away. It had taken all her
willpower to do that. She could have taken his cock out right there. She could
have made him come in that alleyway. She could have slid her thong to one side
and guided him inside her if she had wanted to. She could have let him fuck
her, metres from a busy road, up against the wall. Quickly. Feverishly. Anyone
could have seen them. But she had managed to get away. She had left him there,
gasping. She had won that round.

As
she lay in a hot bath that night she thought again of the incident. She
recalled his lips on hers and the feel of his dick underneath the material of
his suit trousers. She closed her eyes, sipped her wine and, with the door
locked and the kids asleep, she stroked her pussy until she shivered to the
orgasm her body had been demanding all day.

He was consumed with thoughts of her, too. Should he
have followed her back home instead of putting her off? He regretted that. But
it had seemed wrong. And he had to go to work. Images of his wife flooded his
mind. He stared at the TV from the sofa, but he couldn’t concentrate. He
thought about how close he had come to just yanking her knickers down and
fucking her in the alley. He slid a hand down his boxers and began
masturbating, praying his wife or kids wouldn’t suddenly come bounding down the
stairs. He pulled quickly, urgently. He thought of her in the alley, of lifting
her thigh to his hip, of pressing his cock against her panties and then
wrenching them to one side so he could enter her. He thought of her roughly
grabbing at his shoulders, inching her body up and down his hardness. Very
quickly, he came.

The
next day he needed to be in his office early. He was expecting a call. Still,
it allowed him to look out the window again. Unfortunately, the call came at
the wrong time and he missed her passing by in one direction. Desperately, at
9.18am, he was back at the window, hoping he hadn’t missed her completely, but
there she was, approaching at that same moment. She wore tight black jeans that
hugged and cradled that arse he had briefly got his hands on, and a tight white
t-shirt through which you could probably see her bra, if you were a little
closer – and if she was wearing one. He cursed his luck to be so far
away, behind the glass. As she walked by, she looked up at him for several
seconds. A wanton, lustful look. Using the hand in his pocket, he stealthily
brought himself to a full erection.

She
had been disappointed not to see him on the street. She suspected he did it
deliberately to pay her back for slipping from his grasp the day before, for
turning him on and then running away. But that had been his fault. She had
offered herself right there and he had refused. His work was more important.
Her husband was often like that. Now he was playing the game too, denying her
another touch, another kiss, another brief fumble, or more.

She
was glad when she saw him in the window, though. She knew she looked good that
day, several of the mums at the school had even commented on it and she caught
her son’s teacher sneaking a peek at her chest. Let him watch, she thought. She
looked up at him and smiled and hoped that she was teasing him enough to make
him want to go and jerk off in the loo like a horny, desperate teenager. Even
that lurid thought turned her on. She needed to be with him.