This is another fantasy about Ingrid; some time has passed since the last one, and as Fate might have it, each of us is now single—Ingrid to someone who waited months before telling her the truth of his life, and myself to someone whose expectations of me were higher than I could achieve, and made me doubt myself. In truth, there’s more to that latter story than I’m telling, but for now, that’s all there is to know.

*** *** *** ***

I’d always read about this sort of thing in the adult magazines, but I’d never had anything like I’d read happen to me. Until last week…

Ingrid and I are coworkers for a small law firm. There are only five lawyers, and eight paralegals, of which Ingrid is one. Me, I happen to be one of the filing clerks. What that means is that, technically, according to the general hierarchy of the firm, she was my "boss", so to speak. Realistically speaking, the only difference between us, in particular, was that I was hired as a clerk; I just happened to miss out on the paralegal hiring, by only two days. I really wanted to get my foot in the door, so I decided to grab the next position. Because of my experience, I get paid the same as Ingrid does, even though the typical clerk earns about 10K less than a paralegal. There are about 12 of us, for a grand total of 25 people in our office.

On many nights, after the lawyers—who in all honesty are a good bunch, unlike the usual masses of their type—finished with their work, the paralegals and clerks would settle in, to type up briefs, look up case files, that sort of thing. It wasn’t unusual for any of us, on those nights, to end up leaving the office well after nine p.m.

Last week, we had one of those nights. If I remember correctly, it was a Wednesday night; most of the clerks and paralegals, ironically, wanted to race home to watch "Law & Order", and weren’t very keen on watching it in the conference room at work. Ingrid volunteered to stay behind, and work on a couple of depositions that needed to be processed, and to draw up a number of summons in what looked to be some sort of class-action suit. The others were more than glad to leave those last things to her at eight p.m. I volunteered to stay behind and help her, since I knew that it would be easy, but mind-numbingly repetitive work. Having another person to talk with might help make things easier.

Now, mind you, my only reason for staying wasn’t simply because I was a nice guy, or because I was concerned for her safety. That was never the reason, and to be quite honest, with one or two exceptions I always stayed late when Ingrid did. The times when I didn’t was simply so that Ingrid wouldn’t think that I was stalking her, or, more correctly, that I had a little lusty crush on her. Let me tell you about Ingrid.

Men who go for women who are "tits-on-sticks" like Pamela Anderson wouldn’t go for her. Men who liked to have some meat on their bones, and some cushion for the pushin’—and all other such lovely terms—would fall to her feet to worship her. Ingrid is rather petite, at least to me, being that she’s about 165 cm tall, to my six feet. She looked as though she might weigh about 100 kilos, maybe a little more, and it was put in all the right places, in my estimation. She had plentiful breasts, not huge and grotesque, but beautiful, with just enough cleavage. She had well-rounded and well-defined hips, thick thighs which were proportioned to her legs—which themselves were proportioned to the rest of her—and an ass I could happily kiss and lick for an hour or more. She had a very pretty face, curly brunette hair, and dark brown eyes. Her hands were small—I’d had an occasion to notice them—as well as her feet, and she carried herself lightly. On this particular evening, she was wearing a white blouse—although, on a second look, I thought it looked more like a man’s shirt—a tan vest, and a slightly lighter shaded skirt that fell to about mid-calf length. In my eye, it was a very fetching ensemble.

I most certainly didn’t think I had a chance with her, even assuming I’d worked up the nerve to let her know how I’d felt. I didn’t fear her proclaiming sexual harassment; I’d seen one or two of the other clerks, and at least one of the other paralegals, summon the courage to ask her out to lunch, or on a date, and she politely but unmistakably turned them down. Being the only black male in the office, I figured that I would have even less of a chance with her, if for no other reason that because I stood out among everyone else.

Nonetheless, that night I decided to stay, even knowing the futility of my desires, because I still did have enough general-purpose kindness to help out and watch out for a colleague.

After everyone else had left for the evening, I decided to turn on a little music, so that it wouldn’t be so damned quiet. I flipped through a couple of radio stations, letting the dial rest for a moment on an R&B station I liked listening to. Then I remembered that Ingrid was in the office, and turned the station.

"Hey," said Ingrid, poking her head out of the conference room, "turn that back; I like that station." She wasn’t forceful about it, or angry-sounding; in fact, she smiled sheepishly at me, as if she were embarrassed to have been so direct. What else could I do? I turned it back, and went back to the conference room. I sat down at the table, across from her.

We ordered food in, and when it was time for "Law & Order", we took a break to watch it, occasionally conversing. This was the usual way of how we worked together, when we worked together; it wasn’t very often that it was only she and I, but this was our usual way. Ingrid wasn’t the type to isolate herself from people. Or, at least, she’d never seemed that way towards me; I didn’t pay much attention to how she acted towards some of the others in the office.

We were talking about the relationship between the ADA and his female assistant—I forget their names—and how alike, yet how adversarial, they were together, when Ingrid surprised me.

"I kinda have a confession to make," she said, dropping her eyes. I might have been worried, except for the small nervous smile that played on her lips. Nervous? Uh-oh; this was something important. I steeled myself for whatever she was planning to say.

"I’ve seen how you’ve noticed me," she said. The unspoken words hung in the air for a second, until my brain understood them. Great. Next she was going to tell me that she was flattered, but that she didn’t—

"And…..I’ve noticed you, too…" her voice trailed off. It took a full five seconds before I realized what it was she’d just said.

Of course, I had an intelligent, well thought out response handy, too.

"Really?"

She nodded, looking up at me for the first time.

She stood up, and began walking around the conference table. I stood up as well. When she reached me, she stopped, and looked up at me nervously. After a moment, she hesitantly reached for my hand. I held it out for her, meeting her halfway.

"I’ve never done anything this bold before," she said coyly, her voice just above a whisper. Her voice seemed to catch in her throat; I knew there was more for her to say, but she seemed unable to speak for a moment.

"And what would that be?" I said, my voice no louder than hers; whatever was about to happen, I didn’t wanna spoil it.

"I want…." she hesitated, then tried again, "I want…you…to…" again, her voice trailed off; the hand that was holding mine dipped, and then I felt the heat of her smooth thigh against the back of my hand; a moment later, my hand came in contact with her skin. Warm, silky, wet, liquid and sensitive, with a bit of fine fuzz; without thinking, almost on instinct, I pushed a finger deeper within the place my hand now occupied. She let out a constrained whimper and gasp.

"Yessss…" she hissed as I began moving my finger, throwing her head back and closing her eyes for a moment, "that’s what I want."

I smiled, the sexy Barry White part of me dropping into place. "Is that all you want?" I said, softly, deeply. She opened her eyes, half glazed as they seemed, to look in my direction; her hearing was still tip-top, and she blushed at my question.

She shook her head, no, and with the smile on her face and the curls in her hair bouncing around, she was just too cute for words. She reached up, with her free hand—she still had my hand, my right hand, by the way, captured in her left, and between her legs—reached up to my shoulder, and gently began pulling me down towards her.

Our lips met, and I felt an electric jolt flow through me, and making my erection throb that much harder; when had I gotten hard? I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t care enough to try to at that moment. She must have felt the same jolt, for she stiffened all over for a split second, then ground her cunny into my hand, and her lips against mine.

I added a second finger to the first, absently noting the fact that I wouldn’t be able to put in a third finger even if my life depended on it; she was very tight. Her wetness was probably the only thing that let me get the second finger in, in the first place.

And she was wet, very wet. After a moment, I could feel it beginning to run down the length of my fingers, and drip off the back of my hand. Ingrid began moaning into my mouth, her arm not letting me go; suddenly it was her arms, as she released my wayward hand and wrapped her other arm around me, pressing her body up against mine and her cunny down even further upon my fingers. After another moment, she wrapped her legs around my thigh, pressing her body even closer to me, pushing my hand even more deeply within her.

I began stirring my fingers inside her, adding to the deep in-and-out slide, and brushing my palm against her clit with each pass. Her moans turned into gasps and squeals; a gasp with each intake of breath, and a squeal with each exhale. Listening to her responses was turning me on in a major way, and I could even feel myself getting wet; pre-cum was oozing out of my cock at a rate which under any other circumstances would have been alarming. My boxers were quickly becoming as soaked as I thought Ingrid’s panties must have been before she took them off.

I broke the kiss, and pulled her closer, if that were possible. She began kissing my cheek and neck fervently, still gasping and squealing, still rocking her hips upon my hand. Her hands began roaming across my shoulders and up and down my back, as if they’d been suddenly freed from her control and had no idea of what to do.

Her hands stopped roaming after a minute or so, as I could feel the approaching orgasm in her body. The muscles in her legs began tensing, squeezing my thigh in rhythmic pulses. Her breathing became faster, shorter, and her squeals turned into high-pitched moans bordering on cries. Her fingers began tightening their hold on my arms. Her head tipped back, almost by itself, so that she would have been looking up at the ceiling had her eyes been open, so she could breathe… or maybe scream? I smiled at that thought.

Suddenly she tucked her head down, and pulled herself into my chest.

"I’m gonna cum," she said in a husky, breathless voice, slightly louder than a whisper. Her hips slowed down a bit, as though she wanted to make the moment last, to draw out her approach to ecstasy. She ground herself just a bit more on my fingers, on my thigh, for just a second. Her breath caught in her throat, and then she came. Again, her head tipped back, her eyes closed, and she wailed in orgasm. Meanwhile, her hips had gone on automatic, pumping against my hand, against my thigh, like a well-oiled piston. Her hands were balled up into fists, clutching the sleeves of my shirt almost tightly enough to rip. I could even feel her orgasm in her cunny, as it spasmed, vibrated and pulled against my fingers, and washed my hand in her feminine juices.

She trembled throughout her orgasm, which lasted for nearly three minutes. Finally, she relaxed—a little too much, as she stumbled back; my body in front of her and the conference table behind her kept her upright. I put my arm around her, and she leaned into me. We shared a brief kiss, then she all but collapsed against me.

"If you don’t mind my asking…" I let my words trail off; she looked up at me questioningly. "Has it been a while?" I smiled. She nodded, smiling tiredly for a moment.

"So," I continued, "is all this pent-up, too?" and I paused, pulling my fingers from her cunny; the sounds of liquid heat and reluctant removal sounded in my ears for a moment, and I watched as Ingrid shudder and heard her squeal for a second with the renewed sensations, "or is this all for me?" I held up my hand, showing her just how wet it was. She looked surprised, but looked also like she was trying to hide it, then looked down at my pants as I shifted my position. She wasn’t able to hide her surprise this time.

There was a large wet spot on my leg, from about mid-thigh to just below my knee.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her by holding up my hand, the one I’d just had fingering her wet cunny, the one that was soaked and still wet and thickly coated with her juices, and began licking off her essence. She watched, fascinated—and probably not a little embarrassed—as I lapped up her cream; not quite as thick as honey, and clear, but definitely sweet. Not too much so; just enough- sweet, salty, tangy, musky.

I turned to her as I finished, and in as deep and as husky a voice as I could manage, I said, "I love the way you taste. Would you mind if I…?" I let my voice trail off again, as I simply sank to my knees, between her legs, and lifted the hem of her skirt. She looked as though she wanted to tell me something, but she also looked like she wanted me to just hurry up and get to it. A small smile played on her face as she lightly bit her lower lip, as I disappeared beneath the dress.

The material of the skirt wasn’t very thick; had she worn it outside, in strong sunlight, it would have been quite easy to see her legs, and very likely other things, as well. I could see well enough for my purposes.

I ran my hands up and down her legs, for a moment. I could feel the beginnings of razor stubble, and for a minute enjoyed the perverse delight of feeling the slightly scratchy feeling of the tiny hairs in contrast to the smoothness and softness of her skin. I knew that at some point—hopefully soon—I would want to feel that same scratchy/soft silky sensation of her legs wrapped around me. For now, I wanted her soft and smooth thighs pressing around my head, as I tasted her.

I brushed my nose up against her pubic mound, and she let out a soft moan. Her legs moved a little farther apart. I twisted my head from side to side, lightly brushing my nose back and forth across her furry mound, moving slowly lower. The moment I brushed my nose across her swollen, hooded clit, she moaned again, much louder than before. I kept it up, hearing her moans cycling higher; at one point, I heard her muffling her squeals; I could tell that she was biting her lip, just a little.

Finally, I introduced my tongue to her clit, and she cried out, very briefly, before she cut it off. Her legs spread apart even more widely, and her hips pressed down upon my mouth more urgently, as if I’d threatened to stop what I was doing. I had no intentions of stopping.

I slid my tongue all around, inside and out, tasting her as she went from wet to wetter, her juice now starting to dribble out of her. Her legs began trembling on either side of me, and I knew that she was close, very close to cumming, that quickly. Her cries became fuller, then, as she opened her mouth completely; I imagined that her head was tipped back, as well. Her hands were now pressing my head into her cunny, helping me reach every part of her, helping me taste all of her.

"Stop," she sobbed suddenly, although her hands didn’t stop pressing me against her. After a moment more, I did.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, still catching stray errant drops of her nectar on my tongue. On impulse, I pulled off my tie, and unbuttoned my shirt.

"Well…" she hesitated. I simply waited, giving her an occasional lick, making her moan each time.

"I- ooooohh…stop that…when I- uungh- cum, I- ooohh- I cum…a lot." she said breathlessly, her words punctuated by moans created by licks from my tongue.

"And that’s a problem how?" I asked, stopping for just a second. I felt like a kitten lapping up a bowl of cream. The only thing here was, I wasn’t a kitten.

"No, I mean, a lot," she emphasized.

"And that’s a problem how?" I repeated. I didn’t give her time to answer; instead, I went back down on her again, licking in earnest, this time. She’d opened her mouth, presumably to give me an answer; a strangled cry flew forth instead, as her hands again pushed my face up into her, and her legs picked up where they’d left off, quivering with a vengeance.

"Oh! I’m gonna cum!" she whispered hoarsely, trying not to scream. I poured on the effort, knowing now that I could make her scream. I wanted to hear her lose control like that.

Her legs were trembling hard, and I thought about it long enough to think that she might be on the verge of falling down. So, I slipped my arms around her legs, and began lifting her. She’d been leaning against the table, and so all I did was push her up onto the table, on her back.

Now that she was so completely exposed, I could use my tongue in places I hadn’t been able to get to before, and I did. That pushed her over the edge.

"Oh!!" she cried out, not a whisper this time; she cut it off, but only for a second. Then a full-fledged wail poured from her mouth, as her thick cream flowed from between her legs. I didn’t stop for a moment, licking and lapping at her honey, drinking from her cunny as it poured forth. Her hips bounced up and down uncontrollably, and I latched my lips and tongue to her wetness to ride out the waves of orgasm pounding through her.

It was a good thing that I had decided to unbutton my shirt; I could feel her wetness on my face, dripping down out of the hair of my goatee, and even having soaked into the collar and upper part of my t-shirt. I’d have her scent in my face all the way home, even if I did wash my face, although I had no plans to. I also made a quick and silent vow not to wash this t-shirt for at least a week.

After a few more moments, she began to calm down; her hips stopped thrusting into my face, now only trembling; her thighs relaxed, allowing me to hear again; her breathing began slowing down, now only panting; her cunny stopped its relentless spasming, only clenching now and again, as the last of her cum dribbled out onto my tongue. I lapped at her, very slightly, very softly, until I believed she could take a bit more. I lapped at her sex again, intending simply to clean her up; she didn’t protest.

"Oh, wow," she said, half in a daze, "I haven’t been eaten like that in too long." I smiled at her words; it seemed that her shyness had vanished without a trace.

"Do you want more?" I asked, almost wanting her to say yes. Almost. My love of oral sex was only challenged by my desire for penetration. I’d had the first, and right now, I wanted the other more than I wanted a repeat of the first. Now, I was so hard, and so aroused, that I could barely wait for an invitation to slip between her legs. I unfastened my pants, and removed my belt. My pants promptly slipped to the floor.

"Oh, no! Not right now!" she said, sounding just a tad afraid that I would do it anyway, "Maybe later."

I stood up, and in one motion, pushed her skirt up higher on her hips, and grasping her hands, pulled her up into a precariously-balanced sitting position, with her ass on the very edge of the table. I leaned over her, and pulled her closer. Her eyes were half-focused, a good sign that she had been pleased, and very well. I slowly brought my face closer to hers, and her lips against my own.

She let out a low, throaty whimper as my tongue pushed between her lips, and she answered in kind, her arms suddenly flying up and grasping my face, trying to pull me even closer. She kissed me with abandon, tasting herself in our kiss, and she couldn’t seem to get enough.

She broke away from me for a moment, long enough to whisper in my ear. "Damn, I’ve wanted this for ages."

"Oh, really?" I asked softly, "what have you wanted?"

"You, ya lunkhead," she said, smiling; her hands drifted to my shoulders. "I’ve wanted you for…for a long time."

I was flattered; I’d never known she’d thought of me like that. And I was a little amused. "How long?"

She seemed to think about it for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. Remembering the thought, she looked back at me again. "At least since that night we worked together on the Seaberett case." She smiled, and so did I, remembering that night, almost eight months ago.

"That long?" I said, suddenly thinking about it. She smiled coyly, looking up at me. "Why didn’t you say something before now?"

"I didn’t know that you were interested," she said, trying to look at my chest instead of looking me in the eye. With my right hand I tipped her chin back up, so that she was looking at me.

"And when did you notice that I actually was interested?" I couldn’t help the smile; I’m sure I looked like a cocky, arrogant fool. But I was curious; I just had to know.

"Only a few weeks ago," she admitted, "but I never thought anything would happen. I mean, why would you want me? Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought."

"And what do you think now?" My voice dropped back down into the "Barry White" octaves.

"Well, while your mouth may say one thing," she said, and her left hand left my shoulder and drifted downward, "this," she said, grasping my erection through my boxers, "can’t lie to me. I believe it means that you’re attracted to me."

"You bet that gorgeous ass of yours that’s what it means," I said softly, lecherously. She giggled in response.

"This," she said, giving my penis a gentle squeeze, "is what I want right now."

I chuckled. "And how do you want it? I asked.

"I want this inside of me."

"Where?"

"In between my legs."

"What do you want, and where do you want it?"

She glared at me, the seriousness of her stare completely ruined by the smirk on her face. "Do I have to say it?" she asked, almost pleading with me. I simply nodded. "Okay," she said, "I want your dick, up in between my legs, and stuffed inside my cunt." She paused for a second. "Are you happy now?" She pretended to be upset now.

"Not yet," I said, and with a slight adjustment and a quick shuffle, slipped inside of her.

Damn, she was hot, and so very wet, so wet that I pushed as much as I could get inside of her in one shove. The only counter to all of her wetness was how tight she was; if she hadn’t been so wet, I might not have been able to get inside of her at all.

Her hands, once again back on my shoulders, tightened up, clenching almost into fists; she bit down on her lower lip, and fought the moan which was forcing its way up from her throat.

"Oh, damn," were her first words. She was silent for a moment; I didn’t move; then she looked at me, almost sadly.

"I almost don’t wanna do this," she said, "but take it out." Huh? I was baffled. She must have understood the look on my face. "Well," she said, "I have to return the favor, don’t I?"

I gave her a brief shrug, as if to say, ‘Only if you want to,’ and took a couple of steps away from the table, pulling out of her in the process. She closed her eyes and shuddered briefly at the sensations, then reopened them to look at me for a moment, a mischievous smile on her face, as she slipped off of the table, and onto her knees.

She reached out and grabbed my erection; gently pulling me forward, she held me long enough to give me a light squeeze, and without much in the way of teasing, sucked me into her mouth.

She wasn’t able to take me all the way into her mouth, partly because of my size—I consider myself only slightly larger than average, at about 21 or 22 cm long, and maybe 6 or 7 cm thick—and partly because it seemed she wasn’t able to "deep throat" me. I didn’t care, especially with what she was able to do with what she did have in her mouth. She used her tongue all over the most sensitive parts of my manhood, and had just the right mix of slickness and friction.

I loved what she was doing—it felt so good—and I understood what she’d meant when she said that she almost didn’t want to stop me in what I was doing. But if I didn’t, she’d make me too sensitive to do anything else.

But I endured the torture of blissful agony for a whole ten minutes.

Like I said, I almost didn’t want to stop her.

Giving a slight tug, I pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop, just as she was pulling back. She looked up at me; this time it was her face that was wearing the mask of bewilderment. I didn’t speak; I simply pulled her to her feet, leaned down, and kissed her. She melted into the kiss, her body molding to mine, her arms slipping up around my neck.

I slipped my hands down, to just underneath the curve of her cheeks, pulling up her skirt along the way. As I finally touched skin, I broke the kiss for just a second, long enough to squat down—coincidentally, putting myself at eye level with her—and picked her up from the floor.

Now her hips were just above mine. I brought my face to hers again, and caught her up in my kiss.

I let her slide down, slowly, until we slipped together. She let out a slight squeal, which quickly dropped down to a moan, her lips still locked together against mine.

I could hold her like this, but not forever, so I steered us to the only armless chair in the conference room, and sat down. As I sat down, she broke the kiss.

"Damn, I think I’m gonna cum," she gasped hoarsely, as she began slowly sliding up and down my length. The feeling was exquisite, and beyond simply enjoying the sensations, all I could think of was "again?" in a silent response to her question. But of course, I wanted her to cum, and to cum as many times as I could help her to cum; that didn’t mean I couldn’t be surprised at how responsive she was, though.

Her breathing sped up rapidly, as she slowed down her hips; the more she slowed down, the more she seemed to grip at me from within, the more she seemed to feel every bump and ridge within her sliding over every bump and ridge that I possessed. Again—delightfully so—she was unable to hold back her cries, as she came, wetting my lap in a wash of her juices.

The same oversensitivity that had my nerve endings all afire had since shut them down; fortunately for me, I was now slightly numb, or I might have shot off right along with Ingrid. It didn’t affect my ability to perform in the least, however.

And Ingrid was far from finished; I let her ride me for another ten minutes and three orgasms, before I turned the tables on her- or rather, turned her on the table. I laid her out on the table, and slowly slipped inside her.

I moved softly and surely within her, enjoying every push forward and pull back. My senses reeled at her heat, completely surrounding me, pulsing into me; I groaned with each push and pull within her body, feeling her wrapped tightly around me, both within—and now without, as I felt her legs come up and wrap around my legs, at mid-thigh level, pulling me deeper within her, pulling her more surely onto me. I could hear her, hear us, as we moved together, pistoning back and forth; her juices lubricating our joining, dripping out of her, onto both of us, onto the tabletop beneath us. The tv, forgotten, was turned down very low; the sounds of heavy panting and liquid heat were the only intruders to the silence of the room, occasionally punctuated by a gasp or moan.

For nearly half an hour, I repeatedly plunged inside of her, enjoying every minute of it. I kept her on the edge of orgasm for almost as long, slowing down whenever I felt her tightening up, feeling her about to climax, and even stopping when slowing down didn’t help. I would abruptly change my rhythm, throwing her pending excitement off; she realized this about halfway through, and when she tried to speak, I would simply increase my actions, overwhelming her desire to speak.

It didn’t hurt that everything I did to her to hold off her climax also helped me with mine; being inside of her felt soo good, and she was so tight, yet so slick, that even though I was still a little numb, I’d almost cum twice, already.

I could feel her tightening up yet again, her cunny going into gentle spasms, as I sank into and withdrew from her. Her legs tightened around me, and her breathing sped up.

I slowed down.

She whimpered, and tried to move faster, bouncing her hips up into mine. I kept my slow pace, right up until I could feel her insides squeezing harder; suddenly, her lips parted, and her breathing was quick and heavy. I knew that she was on the very brink, and I couldn’t let her cum, so I stopped moving.

It took her a moment or two to realize that I’d stopped, and I could feel her orgasm fading off, slowly, not going away, but going into the background. She tried valiantly anyway, for another couple of seconds, then stopped.

"You’re a bastard," she said between breaths, her chest heaving, her breasts softly bouncing in the rise and fall of her lungs. Her face was a mixture of emotions, frustration being the most present, but closely followed by pleasure too. She might be upset that I wasn’t letting her cum, but she was getting the most out of it, in any event.

"And why is that?" I said as softly and deeply as I could, which was actually a little tough to do; I wasn’t too far from the edge of my own climax, either. And I think she knew it.

"I’m climbin’ the walls, here," she panted, "You make me feel like, if I don’t cum soon, I’ll fuckin’ explode- Poof! be gone!" Her hand left my shoulder for a second to gesture in the air. "Please, let me cum," she pleaded with me, pulling her hips up to mine, making me slide so silky smooth slow, deeper inside her.

"Is that what you want?" I said, grinning.

"Yes, " she whispered, "but I want more."

"What else do you want?"

"I want to feel you cum inside me."

"I think I can do that," I said, feeling a thrill course through me at her words; my restraint faltered for a second, and I felt even closer to orgasm than before.

The entire time, our hips were moving, our bodies knowing what to do even without our minding; I took enough control to pull out, until just the tip of my slick, wet erection was settled between the lips of her cunny. Then, in one determined push, I sank all the way within her.

We both moaned at the renewed sensations, and all the more so because we both knew that ecstacy was but a moment away, for both of us, and the anticipation was finally catching up to us.

With the both of us hanging on the edge of a spectacular climax, having our nerve endings stimulated for nearly 30 minutes, it was no surprise that when we—when I—finally began moving our bodies in earnest, that we would be so quick to climax.

It was also no surprise that Ingrid was first to climax, although I wasn’t far behind.

"Oh, shit," she screamed through clenched teeth, then opened her mouth for a full-fledged howl as she came. I could feel her grasping tightly onto me, both with her hands on my shoulders, her legs around mine, and with her cunny around my manhood. The grasping and squeezing sensations from within her were what pushed me over the edge of my own climax, and I didn’t fight it. I growled, my voice blending with and nearly carrying over hers; I’m sure if anyone had been on our floor, in our part of the building, they couldn’t have missed our cries, nor mistaken them for what they were.

After what seemed like another half hour, we both drifted down from our climactic high, and spent a few minutes holding one another. But soon—too soon, it seemed—the hard surface of the conference table started being uncomfortable, and so I withdrew from Ingrid—and I was still hard!—and before she could get up, I slipped back down between her legs, and lapped up our combined juices.

Ingrid had one more, smaller climax as I lapped at her, and I get to once again taste her sweet/salty/tangy cum.

"So," I said, as we were pulling our clothes together, "is that the end? or the beginning?"

"Well," she said to me, "I’ll say this: it damned sure ain’t the end!" She paused to grin at me, "Would you like to come over to my place, and maybe pick up there? where we can be more comfortable?"

"Sounds good to me," I said, "Lets go."

We spent another moment, straightening up—the scent of sex heavy in the air, and her cum quickly drying in the carpeting on the floor and into the leather of the chair we’d sat in—and, turning off the lights, left the office.