Written by Secret Admirer

Fiction
25 Jan 2010


As she relaxed luxuriantly in the warm bath on that dull, wet autumn Saturday afternoon A*** wondered… should she go to the office Christmas party tonight? She certainly wasn’t sure she wanted to- would anyone notice her absence? She slid deeper into the water and contemplated what might be on TV instead and then dragged herself back to the unanswered question: OK, if she did go to the party, how long she would have to stay before she could leave. She also wondered if the wonderful D*** would notice her being there?

Mmmmm…D***…..

The bubbles frothed and fizzed gently, dappled by the fading sun. She sank further in, water lapping and cupping her breasts, and sighed. Neil the cat stretched and yawned on the bath mat; this is what Saturday afternoons were all about.

She was going to carry on reading an article in her magazine about minge topiary but at the thought of D***’s name her hand was inexorably drawn to her inner thigh, softened by the expensive bubble bath. The magazine slipped to the floor with a slap. Her fingers parted her damp lips and she explored further. Reassuringly expert in her own bliss, she gently extended her third finger and traced over her clitoris, slowly and hesitantly at first: after all, D*** was the forbidden fruit, but then she was sure he fancied her. He was always looking at her shyly across the office desks. She could almost imagine him standing there watching her now. She sat up with a splash, chastising herself. Oh god, the pull was too much. This time the fingers were harder now, wanting and knowing, desperately. Quickly her movements became more forceful and gained purpose and she anticipated the heavenly waves that would fill her body…..

“Aaaagh! she cried out as the forceful climax made her body arch as every nerve and muscle tensed with the power of her orgasm.

As she lay back wallowing in a post-orgasmic bliss, she thought again about D***. Why didn’t he make more effort to talk to her? He certainly had a wandering eye, or so it seemed. She was sure his constant visits to the bank and lunch ‘appointments’ with the manager S*** were not entirely ‘business’. Thinking of her rival for his affections spurred A*** into action and she leapt from the bath, narrowly missing Neil,

“You will go to the ball Cinderella and you will win your prince!”

Now then, what to wear.

“I really must tidy this wardrobe up”, she said to herself, leafing through the various hangers of haphazardly heaped clothes. She lifted up each and examined each closely to see whether they matched the evening’s ambition. She had to make a choice, either arrive as Miss Innocent and helpless and hope he fell for her (i.e. the white dress with a flattering cut) or be Miss Confident, outgoing, sexy and so desirable that he just couldn’t ignore her anymore (red dress with a deep split and cleavage to match). Without a second thought she knew the latter was the choice she had made; if it was wrong she guessed she would start to look for a new job on Monday.

She glanced at the clock as her mind raced as if planning a military operation. The party started at 7.30. To make the entrance she wanted meant arriving at 8.15, not so late as to have been written off but late enough to be sure that she would be noticed as she swept in. Just one hundred and fifty minutes to plan, prepare and travel.

She looked at herself in the full length mirror. If all went well, D*** would be here in a few hours in her bedroom admiring everything that A*** could see in the mirror! A fake tan would not have gone amiss. Her eyes glanced down, fantasising about him even having an opinion about her naked body. Would he prefer a neat pubic bush or a more radical shave? “Minge topiary!” she giggled to herself.

No time to be timid! As the curls fell victim to her razor she saw, for the first time, the beauty of her throbbing minge reflected in the mirror. Perfect. Now let’s get dressed. She rarely wore a bra, so tonight would be no exception: that red dress would emphasis her firm, petite breasts. As she fingered through the silky fabric, an idea struck her: lose the lining. Her heart racing, she cut the stitching that held the two parts together. As the last stitch broke she pulled the sheer fabric top away and held it against a heaving breast… Exquisite… “Let him see for himself just what I have to offer”…..

To be continued......