1. Putting in the Overtime - Part One


    Date: 8/22/2015, Categories: Group Sex, Author: henrygatewood, Rating: 8, Source: LushStories

    edged with lace. Any rumours that I was wondering feverishly if she wore matching underwear are surely greatly exaggerated. Vanessa sighed and pushed a strand of long brown hair away from her face. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms high above her head. The movement caused considerable strain on her shirt buttons. The face , Alex, concentrate on her face ... Vanessa was beautiful. Her skin was slightly dusky, her features Mediterranean and her smile like a sensual massage. She spoke with a warm, polite home-counties accent that verged on upper-class, but when the mood took her she had a filthy sense of humour. She dropped her arms and leaned heavily forward onto the desk, looking exhausted. The half-open shirt revealed her breasts pressing together like two planets trying to make a moon. The deep shadow between them had all the fatal attraction of a black hole. I realised she was looking at me in the same moment I realised I was staring at her. I dropped my gaze quickly to my work and scribbled a few random words on a piece of paper. “Alex?” said Vanessa softly. “Mmm?” I replied, staring intently at the paper and feeling my face start to flush. “Were you just looking at my tits?” I looked up at her, some disingenuous protest already forming on my lips, but her wide eyes pinned me like something small and helpless. There was no lying to that face. “Yes,” I said. “Yes I was. Sorry.” She held my gaze a few moments more than was comfortable, her expression a mix ...
    of fascination and pity. “Summer,” I blurted out, mouth oblivious to my brain's command that it remain firmly shut. “The heat and everything, you know... makes me a bit... um... frustrated.” “Ah,” said Vanessa, nodding slowly. “Yes. That must be it.” She shook her head and laughed quietly to herself, then returned to her work. “Don't you find that makes it hard?” she asked, looking at me again. “I'm sorry?” “Hard,” she repeated, drawing the syllable out in her honey-like tones, making an already four-letter word seem more so. “To concentrate. You know, with the heat and everything. Is it hard?” “Oh,” I said, swallowing. “Yes. Very hard.” We both returned to our work, and I made a surreptitious crotch adjustment to even out the strain in my trousers. The strain eased a little as I managed to concentrate, and the stupefying pointlessness of the task in front of me resumed its work liquefying my higher brain functions. “It was quite hot yesterday too, wasn't it?” said Vanessa after a while, eyes still on her work. “Yeah,” I said vaguely, looking up. “I guess it was. Why?” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and my heart skipped a beat. “Because you seemed to be finding it... ah... hard to concentrate then as well.” Recent memory rose eagerly to the forefront of my mind. The long meeting with Finance in the afternoon. Vanessa's indecently low white vest-top. The short skirt that rode practically up to her chin every time she sat down. “Don't recall,” I said, face burning. “That's a ...
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