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| Blogs > MsStig2010 > Meanwhile Back At The Ranch |
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White Blank Page It's no secret one of Ms Stig's kyptonites is a man in a suit. A well tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men. I'm in awe of a man in pin stripe, crisp white button down shirts, closley knotted ties. It's a huge weakness. Muscle atrophy sets in, my mind is at complete ease as the libido does all the work, and next thing you know, the nice suit is casually tossed on the floor and my hair is being pulled. I was a very lucky recpient of a well performed strip show of a rather handsome gent sending me pictures of his various undress in his hotel room. Strip show via email? Yes please! Keeping all this in mind, when I worked at a large vet practice in downtown proper, a well dressed man on his way to work was no rarity. My favorite hands down has to be the end of the day look, sleeves slightly rolled, tie loosley hanging, and a few buttons undone. It was my pleasure to get to know my patients and , one being an incredibly handome strategist who worked not too far from my practice and had a rambunctious pup who he dropped off on daily basis. He was imbeccably dressed, well mannered, and always made the effort to come in early mornings happy. He also made it point to open doors as I often breezed through doing 1000 things at once, and insisted one night on walking out to my car as he was walking by the clinic with this as I was leaving. He commented one afternoon that I should really consider joining him for happy hour one day after work. I tossed that thought in the back of my head for a week or so. He showed up one Saturday morning, not part of his usual schedule with a latte from starbucks dressed down in jeans, a pull over, a hat with his alma mater on it, and his black framed glasses. He told me obviously happy hour would be out of the question since I was busy during the week, so how about dinner? That night? Sitting across the table from him that night, I was elated. He was charming, nervous as we now had the familiarity of the clinic lobby no longer available. The nerves loosened, and soon we were drinking wine and talking up tp closing time. I did not sleep with him that night. For one reason: the suit. I texted him that following week asking him to meet me for happy hour at a bar across from his office. We planned on my day off which would allow me time to properly shower, shave, doll myself up and such. I got there early so as to establish a keen spot when he sent a text saying he would be late, he was swamped with a few more projects and how sorry he was. Off the cuff, he joked I was more than welcome to come do his work for him and he'd sub for me at my job the next day.Thinking fast, I darted down the street to the liqour store, grabbed a bottle of bourban and headed to his building hoping there weren''t a million security hoops to jump through. I told the girl at the front desk I was suprising my guy, and please please please let me go up to his floor unannounced? She gave me a sly grin and let me in. The office was quiet and I found his office. I knocked once opened the door, and entered. His jaw dropped, and he had to pick up his phone he dropped. I closed and locked the door. I walked over to his desk where he sat in a sharp blue shirt, gray trousers, hair tossled. I leant in and kissed him. Still on the phone, I sat the bourbon next to me, sat on the edge of his desk, and did a complete Sharon Stone with my legs.Catching a glimpse of my<b> lacy </font></b>black panties, he scooted his chair back. He playfully pointed to his bulge, scolding me. I didn't give a damn. I cracked open the bourbon, drank a bit, and eased back on the desk even more so. Doing so, my skirt lifted, exposing more skin. Using this to my advantage, I lifted my shirt showing off the super sexy, super<b> lacy </font></b>push up bra I was wearing. I grabbed his hand and placed it on my shoulder. Still on the phone, his finger traced along the strap, stopping after he hit my collar bone. I nodded, and he traced along the silk. He stopped again when he felt my nipple hard and begging, and I slipped myself out of my bra. I lifted my skirt up more, flashed my panties. He watched. Feeling bold, I took another swig of the bourbon and slowly felt more body. I rubbed my hand down my stomach up my thighs, and slowly moved towards Priscilla. I ran my finger over my dampness, my lips full and sensative. He watched, mouth opened. I spread my legs further apart rubbing my finger up and down Priscilla. I stopped right at her entrance, massaging myself through my panties. I winked, moved the panties aside slowly. Exposing just a peek, I moved a finger towards my clit, moaning slightly. He shifted in his seat, panting. I rubbed myself, wetting my fingers with my juices. I brought my fingers to my lips and licked myself off. He had had enough. He hit the mute button, and stood up. He put his hands on my thighs, kissed me, and scolded me. He kissed his way down my neck, licking my nipples and rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. He made his way down to Priscilla, then brought his finger to my mouth. I licked the tip, and he found my clit, swirling little circles around her. He moved in closer, and was rubbing her in all the right places. I laid back as he moved in, licking me up and down. Left to right, in and out this boy had talent. He made me orgasm twice before he took his pants off. He slid in, thrusting sweetly. Rougher, I told him. Harder. He obliged, his conference call the sound track to this kink. He fucked me hard, he fucked me roughly. He did everything right, and when he climaxed he let out a growl that sounded so manly and animalistic, I was turned on even more. I laid there for a moment, his head on my breast trying to catch his breath. You might need to work late more often I told him. He smiled, and kissed me. In a dream world, love would have sprung from that encounter and I'd be telling you we had an epic romance. But we did not. We reached out to eachother only in times of sexual need, and only when his was stricken with cancer too young and too soon, and I was there to comfort him during the euthanasia. He kept the bourbon bottle in his office, emptied after some time. And as life does, he moved on and eventually met a nice girl who would never dream of desk sex. But when she discovered the genesis of the bourbon bottle, not knowing who the extact slut was that had fucked her man in his office not once nor twice but three times until the janitor caught them mid coitus, she stormed into his office and threw it out. In it's place is the first sonogram picture of their , who was a result of a " lapse" in her birth control. But tell me, is 2 years really that significant lapse? Surely not. All this comes to surface after I saw him tonight at dinner. He waved to me, and I the same. But I didn't reach out to him, didn't flash a coy smile or walk up to him. I could tell he was enjoying his time with his friends, drinking his bourbon. I closed my eyes, felt the polished wood on my back, and came back to the present. I ordered a Manhattan, and lifted my glass towards him in a silent toast. Cheers. All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be. |
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This makes me wonder if I want to know what my exes think of me... Smart as a horse and hung like Einstein.
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I absolutely love reading your blog! Great story - that is a memory worth holding on to!
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