When I first met her she was obnoxious and almost fat. I don't mind plump, but she was just enough beyond plump to turn me off, even enough to overcome the obnoxious, which usually turns me on. OK, I'm weird, I'm a sucker for a good looking bitch. And boy could she be bitchy when she wanted to, which was most of the time. I understand, she was an overweight woman in a profession dominated by high-ego men; bitch isn't a bad response to that environment. I can say that easier than her husband or her kids; I don't have to live with her. Years after we started working together she took up rollerblading, leaving the office every day to skate a few miles. I didn't pay much attention to the changes in her appearance, there were enough gorgeous women in the office to occupy my thoughts. Then one Friday evening, as the sun began to set and the reddish-orange light streamed in through the top floor lunchroom window, we found ourselves locked in heated debate over the best way to solve a technical problem. As usual the conversation quickly turned nasty, with me impugning her judgement subtlely and eloquently, and her calling me an incompetent idiot to my face. Amused, and somewhat turned on by our increasingly heated exchanges, I began to look at her closely, possibly for the first time. The fat was gone, mostly replaced by muscle. Her legs, widespread and encased still in the lycra-or-something-similar pants she wore to skate, were firm and even shapely. Her fists were planted firmly on broad strong hips. Beneath the knit turtleneck sweater her stomach appeared to be almost flat, her breasts large and swaying, enough that I wasn't completely convinced she was wearing anything under the sweater. Her face was round and cute, especially with the little wireframe glasses, which I didn't remember seeing before. Behind the glasses her eyes were a dark brown, an angry dark brown, and her dark brown almost black hair hung down past her shoulders in two thick angrily lashing braided ropes. "Samurai Earth Mother" I thought to myself. She turned her back and stalked off, apparently displeased with what must have been obvious leering, giving me an excellent view of her firm round full muscular rotating buttocks. I kept leering, but she didn't stalk very far, just to the couch under the sunset-enhanced window, where she knelt, her hands resting on the windowsill, her back (and ass) still toward me, looking out at the darkening landscape. It was late, it was Friday, we were the last ones left in the office, we had families to go home to, and she had the gall to turn her back on me and walk away in the middle of a conversation. I was steamed. "Are you conceding? Are we doing it my way?" Her head snapped around whipping her hair violently. "What way is that, obnoxiously?" I stared at her. She was staring back over her right shoulder, her upper body turned just enough to hint at the outline of her right breast. Her strong back was poised and ready, her ass firm and round and high and utterly magnificent, her legs spread wide, her knees sinking into the soft cushions of the couch. It was an odd pose. Defiant, challenging, inviting. Defying me to take the three quick long steps over to the couch. Challenging me to touch her, even as she glared at me and cursed me with every invective she could imagine. Inviting me to slip my right hand between her thighs, directly under the swell of her ass, to slip my left hand around and up and under her sweater, to feel the moistness of her cunt through the pants and the hardness of her nipple beneath the sweater, to pinch the nipple, to rub it under my palm, to stroke her clit, to rub my whole hand back and forth between her legs faster and faster then slower and harder, matching the pattern of her breathing, staying just in front of her tension and relaxation, urging her up and on, cursing me wildly, one hand flying between her legs and the other across her chest, alternating between the fingertips and the palms through one, two, three almosts, the tension building and building and building until she came, screaming "fuck you" in a hoarse, animal, guttural scream, collapsing panting, shuddering, and spent, on the lunchroom couch and then, and only then, to go home to my family for the weekend. |
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