Crescendo

I wake horny AF. Slipping my hand across the bed to my boyfriend’s warmth, it’s met with emptiness, the sheets cold. I take in the humidity and tang of mint in the air as acknowledgement that he’s already showered and left for work. 

Sliding my hands between my legs I’m greeted with heat. Working my fingers back and forth, I’m interrupted by the alarm sounding loudly from the bedside. I bat at my phone but notice the reminder about the imminent meeting with our largest client’s CEO. There’s barely enough time to get me to the office for the meeting, so succumbing to obligation, I groan in frustration as I head to the shower.

Some days the uniform creates a barrier to the outside world; plain black trousers and a cashmere jumper – inoffensive, professional. This morning, I dress in a skirt that borders on indecent and a low-cut satin blouse. The heels a paradoxical blend of don’t fuck with me and I want to be fucked.

Combing through the presentation in my head on the drive into the office, I try to memorize all the salient points. I’ve worked hard for this client over the past month, pre-empting their moves, and I need it to go in the right direction. My car music is louder than necessary, designed to soothe the growing restlessness that presses on me. My nails have been digging into the steering wheel the whole journey and my jaw aches from clenching. I slip my tongue between my front teeth, forcing myself to relax my mouth.

With practiced diffidence I swing open the car door and extend a leg, letting my skirt rise slightly, and as I look up, I meet eyes with an older man. He is leaning against his car, talking on the phone, a hand casually in his suit trouser pocket. The open, tieless, crisp white shirt and set jawline exude confidence. His salt and pepper hair doesn’t match the energy of his wolfish gaze. His eyes linger at my chest and rest for a beat longer than they should before taking in the rest of me. As his eyes reach mine, I raise an eyebrow, letting him know he got caught. Badness gets the better of me as I turn and reach into the backseat for my laptop bag, and I slide one knee onto the seat and bend much lower than necessary, knowing he is still watching. A smile plays on my lips, and I close the car doors, striding off without looking back. The smirk lingers until I enter the meeting room—then it’s all business.

The room buzzes with activity and low-lying chatter as I enter; the intern is hurrying past fetching water, glasses, trays of pastries, and coffee. The whole sales team is here and for a moment I forget I’m the only woman in the room. I’m up first on the agenda and as I bend over the table to plug my laptop into the projector, the room falls silent. I can hear the formal greetings playing out behind me. I’ve never met this CEO, and I need to make a good impression. Straightening up, I hear my name called and as I turn around, all liquid affability, I offer my hand in greeting before catching eyes with the most powerful man in the room. Salt and Pepper looks back at me, his measured smile accentuating both his crow’s feet and his cheek bones. A beat passes as he checks my face for any trace of embarrassment, and when he is met with professional courtesy, an almost imperceptible nod of the head tells me he’s impressed at my steel. A single stroke of the back of my hand with his thumb makes my breath catch audibly. No one else has noticed, but I catch his smirk as his side eye registers my panting. My body processes faster than my brain and I can feel something uncoil inside of me.

The presentation runs smoothly and after fielding a few questions, all eyes turn to Salt and Pepper; the sales team knows we can’t afford to lose this client. I can tell from the look on his face his delivery will have bite.

“Impressive presentation. The number projections seem a little on the high side, however, can you walk us through that?”

People look away, unsure as to whether I’m going to be able to pull this off, and shuffle uncomfortably, not wanting to go down with the sinking ship. I pull the slides back up on the overheard projector, talking through the calculations with confidence, throwing jabs and hooks in the form of questions back at the CEO, while keeping my guard up. The room huddles forward a few inches holding its breath, waiting to see if I will come away unscathed. He stands indicating that he is going to get himself a coffee and offers me one; the whole room watching the tennis match back and forth. I decline and wait for the conversation to resume, aware of my vulnerability. Before coming back to his seat, he leans in behind the intern who is rearranging the refreshment table and murmurs something in his ear. It’s a professional request and the intern nods and mumbles something back to him, hurrying off to run the errand. Caught in a momentary daydream I imagine him doing the same to me, leaning in behind me, ensuring I know exactly what is on his mind. I’m left wondering if he is a trousers-by-his-ankles or an urgent zip-only kind of guy; my skirt riding up around my hips, him kissing the length of my neck, one hand cupping my breast from behind while the other…

“I want it so badly.”

A strangled noise escapes my throat and my wide eyes and flushed crimson cheeks give me away. Glancing down, trying to compose myself, my traitorous nipples are straining against my blouse. 

“I’m sorry?”

A playfulness creeps into the corner of Salt and Pepper’s mouth. I feel my panties dampen as he slowly explains, “I want it so badly to work out, but even if we went with this option, it would take weeks to recruit agencies and get them up to speed. We would lose our advantage.”

I offer a sugar loaded smile, matching people’s underestimation of me.

“Just as well, all agencies were briefed two weeks ago and are waiting on a phone call from me this afternoon." I deliver the line loudly while packing away my things. I stop, the whole room watching the dynamics swirl like a mist. “Do I have your agreement to proceed?”

His stare penetrates me with the look of someone who is rarely surprised, and always used to always getting what he wants.

“I’ll get a meeting set up with you to sign contracts tomorrow,” he offers. I hand over a stack of pre-signed documents.

“No need. I’m satisfied with a gentleman’s agreement.” I proffer my hand and dare him with my eyes, knowing the whole room is watching. He shakes it professionally, but the slow release means we graze fingers, and I excuse myself to the bathroom to run cold water over my wrists. 

~~~

The day passes in a blur of phone calls, conference calls, emails and when a reminder for a massage flashes up on my phone I sigh; I’m both not in the right headspace, and desperately physically need it.

I make it to the spa and begin to undress, shedding layers that seem to heighten my need. But the room is dark, the candlelight soothing my loud brain. The aromatherapy oils hang heavy in the air, and I breathe in deeply, letting my breath out as a slow sigh in a bid to slow down. As I slip on the paper thong, I realize how drenched my own is and decide it may be less incriminating to just go without. I toss the stringed paper in the bin and hop onto the table. My face is sinking into the warm headrest as the gentle knock comes. I smile at the attention to detail of the floating flower in a bowl of water within my limited eyeline and let the massage therapist know to come in. 

She starts around my shoulders, pulling at the knots, her hands gliding over my skin, the warm oil slick underneath her hands. She is highly attuned to my body’s responses and as she moves further down the arch of my back with gentler stokes, I know she can feel me melt under her hands. She moves to my sides and my mind wonders at how someone so petite can have such strong hands. Her hands feel like they are bewitching my body, it’s a blur of pleasure and I can’t tell where one hand stroke finishes and the next begins; almost like there are two people massaging me.

She continues to massage the length of me, her hands curving underneath me, taking my breasts in her hands, and my nipples go hard. I squirm at the rough rub of the towel on them underneath me and she lets me reposition myself. She grabs my ankles and repositions my legs to ensure my thighs don’t touch, and the emptiness between my legs makes me silently beg for its opposite. 

She goes straight in for the quads and the determined control of her hands makes me moan. But she must sense me tense, as she changes tact, and her hands become a waterfall of flesh. My whole body tingles in response to her. Her hands begin to work circularly, lengthening their strokes; rising up the inside of my thighs, pressing deep across my buttock and down the outside of my leg. The minute her hands leave my cheek, my body is aching and craving for them to touch me there again. As she slides up this time, her fingers graze me, but she carries on, unaware of my desperation, healing the outside of my legs with her palms. This time as her hands rise, I feel myself dip involuntarily towards her fingers. She simply continues for another stroke and changes sides. 

Building up again, this time when her pinkie strokes the outside of my lips, I bite mine in response. I hear a sucking and squelching noise and realize as her hands land back on my skin, warm and wet, that she has reapplied massage oil. Her hands move up to the center of my back indicating the massage is coming to a finish and I feel like I’m going to implode. She lets me know she will be waiting in reception for me and to take my time getting changed. 

As I hear the door click shut, I’m up on my knees, my fingers struggling to get friction against my wetness. I come quickly and silently, my whole body spasming in catharsis. I lay for a moment letting my body catch up and slowly dress. I can’t look her in the eyes as I tap my card, add an over generous tip, and climb into the car.

I arrive home and lean against the doorway of the living room. The fire is lit, and two large glasses sit on the walnut coffee table, an uncorked bottle of red accompanies them. The smell of something home cooked and delicious is emanating from the kitchen, enveloping me, like a blanket. My boyfriend’s arm slides round my stomach, and he kisses behind my ear murmuring a hello. He spanks me playfully as he walks past, the sting of pain makes me gasp and laugh. He pours the wine and sits back and as I slip my heels off and lower myself to the couch, he grabs my waist and flips me to face him. I land, not-so-accidentally straddling him. He smiles at me lasciviously, giving away that he knows he’s on to a sure thing. As his hands slide across the tops of my thighs, he caresses my neck with his lips and inhales deeply, giving a low growl of appreciation for the aromatherapy oils. As we kiss, his fingers slide from behind, under my lace, and he raises a playful eyebrow at what awaits him. I’m beyond the point of playful though, and I slide to the floor, kneeling in front of him, undoing his zipper, urgently. I breathe in his scent, wrapping my hand around him and licking him at the same time; a sure way to get him hard. As my mouth slides over his tip and he fills my whole mouth, he groans, and I feel his fingers through my hair. The control he exercises with his hands tells me he wants to go harder, but he won’t. I take him to the brink and slow down, standing abruptly, sliding off my panties and guiding him inside me as I spread my legs. I grip the back of the sofa pumping at him, and as I wrap my arms around the back of his neck I’m lost; my moaning louder than I intend. Hearing me cum turns him on and despite my eyes being tight shut, I know he is watching me bounce and spasm up and down on him, surrendering. I slow and he kisses my shoulder, the inside of my thighs are trembling with the exertion.

He holds my shoulders down and thrusts up into me gently and I recognize his blunt, pressing desire. As I move to the end of the sofa and look around at him, unnecessarily coquettishly, he slides right into me. I know he is being gentle since I’m sensitive after I cum. But I push back against him, panting the word harder. My skirt has ridden up around my hips and he is gripping them, pumping away. The feeling of being filled entirely turns me on, and with his last thrusts, he pulls me back to sit on his knee and reaches between my legs, the sound of my gasps taking him over the edge.

We lay, sipping the wine, his full body in contact with mine. He strokes the side of my waist, his hands brushing over my breasts and asks me about my day. 

“You have no idea how horny I’ve been,” I smile into my wine.