Free Seduction by Various

pulse beating fast and crazy in my pussy. ‘Samu–’
    â€˜Shh,’ he said. He looked up at me and smiled. Inch by inch, I watched him lean in and place his mouth over my pussy. His breath seeped through the flimsy fabric of my skirt, snaking through the grid of my fishnets, the crotch of my panties, to invade my swollen sex. My head lolled back on its own and my heart beat so hard it hurt. I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling him breathe against my cunt.
    His lips moved in a barely perceptible motion over my mound, effectively sealed over my pussy lips. I could feel the heat of his mouth through what felt like mountains of fabric and I was giddy with it. ‘I . . .’
    â€˜Shh.’ The vibration of his shushing worked through me and my cunt flexed, so very ready to come and then come again. But it wasn’t going to happen like that today. I could tell already. Something like intuition told me that he was toying with me. And I liked it. His fingers fanned over my ass and he pressed himself more firmly to my pussy, the ridge of his teethlending a sharp pressure that was painful and pleasant all at once. ‘I need fabric samples. Can you bring them?’
    I was nodding, nodding like a lunatic and running my hands over the wide shoulders of his suit jacket. I had thought they were padded. They were not. That was all him.
    â€˜Can you bring them for lunch tomorrow? On me. We’ll write it off.’ He nudged my clit with his thin, sharp nose and my knees did a flimsy little curtsy that threatened to spill me onto the floor.
    â€˜Yes.’ My voice was little more than a whisper.
    He held out his hand to help me down. I took it, still feeling the moist warm spot between my legs left by his humid breath. ‘And Jillian?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Don’t bring me those little one-inch squares. No one can tell a damn thing by a one-inch square. Big pieces of fabric so I can really see. OK? I’ll pay if I need to.’
    â€˜Big pieces,’ I repeated. I was slightly dazed and doing a piss-poor job at hiding it.
    â€˜Good girl.’ He leaned in so his lips touched my ear like the first time and he reiterated, ‘Good, good girl. Now I’ll heat up your soup. You need to eat.’
    While he heated the soup, I went into the ladies’ room and hiked up my skirt. I braced my heel on the wall of the stall and shoved my hands down into my panties. One shaking hand stroked hot, eager circles over my clit. With the other, I finger-fucked myself until I sagged against the cold wall and had to bite my tongue to stifle my cries. I relished each honey-sweet contraction that worked through my cunt, the memory of his hot mouth over me there. So close and yet so very, very far.
    This man was driving me crazy and I was loving every minute of it.
    I had handkerchief-sized swatches of the brown, crème and blue fabric and another of the barn red with off white. They were stashed in my purse with my lipsticks and my BlackBerry and perfume. Six outfits! Six wardrobe changes before I settled on my taupe and black wrap dress with yet another pair of tall boots. No fishnets today, nothing but back-seamed black stockings attached to my garters. Something about old-school garters and hose made me feel undeniably sexy. Like a sinner with no hope of redemption.
    â€˜There’s no way. He’s married. I mean, she is like twenty and her boobs are clearly fake and she probably gives a killer blowjob. He’s just fucking with you. He just wants to turn the tables. You started this and he’s going to teach you a lesson. Like one of Aesop’s fables or a morality play. Don’t fuck with the married man or you’ll get burned.’ I muttered all of this to myself as I walked briskly to The Tarnished Spoon from my mid-day appointment.
    I should have been super-excited about having landed the design job for Blow Out. The salon was going to be fantastic in chrome and