The bets are placed

I'm sitting and looking out the window at Nevsky Prospekt. Breakfast. Chapeau à la Royale, hmm interesting, does the chef of this cafe know that "Chapeau" is a French breed of chicken? And quite large at that... The one I'm eating with appetite looks quite domestic... Heh... Of course, having breakfast like this is not good, but well, I'm far from dietetics))

I'm in a good mood. An hour ago I sent an SMS to )

She told me in detail how to get to her office. The whole piquancy of the situation is that we work for the same company, though she doesn't know it yet 😉 We've been chatting on ICQ since spring.

When I entered she was standing in the center

of her office and her eyes were tied with a dark green scarf. I silently walked around her. Click, click, click... My steps sounded like a metronome, echoing off the laminated floor... For some reason, I thought about tap dancing at that moment)) She turned her head following me.

I sat on the desk and admired her lips a little. P. is positively beautiful and quite appetizing. I like that she paints her lips with a very light matte lipstick.

We are silent.

I take some documents from the desk, roll them into a tube, and tap them against my knee, beating out the rhythm of Bob James' "The Magic Paintbrush"... exactly what I'm listening to right now. She stands hesitantly. I approach her and run the rolled-up papers along her right leg. From the knee upwards. The skirt obediently rides up following my movement, revealing the edge of flesh-colored stockings. I press against her from behind and, it seems to me, I can feel with my stomach and chest how her heart is beating. P. turns her head, as if looking over her shoulder — her lips are slightly parted. She listens to my breathing and, judging by the movements of her butt, clearly feels my erect cock. Her left hand slightly squeezes it.

I slap her hand with the papers and gently push her away from me. She takes two steps forward and leans against the desk. Arches her back and throws her skirt over it. P. is wearing white panties. Honestly, I expected there wouldn't be any. I move closer to her and my palm slides in from behind, along the inner side of her thigh from the edge of the stockings upwards. She sighs. I close my eyes, make an effort over myself, and remove my hand. P. lost. Once again)) The stakes are rising and I write my desire on her lower back with a gel pen. While I'm writing the letters, she shudders all over.

I left her office, leaving a white carnation on the desk. I think she'll be in a pretty good mood today.;) I wonder if she'll hold out until home or maybe she's reading right now what I wrote on her skin, contorting in front of the mirror in the bathroom, shuddering when someone passes by the door...

Author's e-mail: nakedknife@mail.ru