Homecoming

He called once while he was gone, about a mundane work matter. I found it amusing, because there was absolutely no urgency in the matter he called about. He called just to talk to me, the what didn't matter. We exchanged emails, and when we do this, I write stories for him, like the one you read in the last post. I am labeling them as stories so that you'll know the difference between what I send him and what has actually happened.

Friday morning, he came to our end of the building to tie up loose ends from his trip. He did well while he was gone, and this brought benefit to me and my department, and I gave him a casual hug, as I would nearly anyone else in that same situation. Back at our respective desks, we did what we do every day that both of us are here- we worked and chatted, chatted and worked, and inevitably, worked ourselves up. Sometimes we get worked up and nothing comes of it. Circumstances aren't right. And, as he's put it to me before, playing the game, in some ways, is as much fun as winning it.

Yesterday, though, there was an undercurrent of urgency. I don't know if it was his absence, or his homecoming, or the words that flew between us while we were separated. What I do know is that we picked the best time for him to come to my office, and when he entered, he made a comment for any audience's benefit, shut the door and locked it behind him.

Standing behind me at my desk, he traced the nape of my neck with his fingers. I felt his touch from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and as his fingertips traced down my collarbone, and down further, first in between my breasts and then grasping one in his hand, I sat up in my chair. Raising my whole body up and more within his reach. I looked up at him, with longing in my eyes, and he kissed me. Kissing him is like sticking your finger in a light socket- the current of our desire runs through me at a wattage my body almost wasn't intended to endure.

He unbuttoned my jeans, and guided my hand towards the opening. I obliged, happily rubbing my clit and trying to get a good angle to slip a finger into my dripping, aching cunt. My jeans, however, were not accommodating of this, and after seeing me try and fail, and my resulting frustration, he slipped his much bigger, rougher hand into my jeans and past my thong and had the same problem. We kissed a little more, and he got ready to head for the door. I buttoned my jeans (better to do it when it occurs to me!) and stood up to stop him. I stood in front of him, not as close as I would have liked, but he's fearful of smelling like me when he goes home to his wife, and leaned in for another kiss. The kiss I got was our deepest and most intense yet, and he grabbed my hips and pulled me to him. We stood, kissing, wound up in each other, until he broke our embrace and turned away from me.

The first time he did that, I freaked out a little, thinking he was having regrets, that he wasn't enjoying himself. I have learned, though, that the reality is that if he doesn't turn away from me, he will fuck me right then and there, and he knows that this is not the time or place to lose control.

In doing this, he makes it my mission to make him lose control.

I can't be sure, but sometimes it seems like this, all of it, is by his intricate design.