I joined Waterman’s at the turn of the year craving managerial advancement, a pay hike – naturally – and fresh pussy. Having found myself going nowhere fast career-wise at Forster Clark, having dated just about every eligible girl in the office and in need of extra cash to fund an ever extravagant lifestyle, I felt it was time to move on.

Well, two out of three wasn’t bad. The boss at Waterman’s was only too pleased to advance my career if I put in the hard work, he almost doubled my pay in one fell swoop but, with a team of just seventeen, most of whom were guys, something told me it was time to put career above sex life. First appearances can be so deceptive!

I wasn’t reckoning on the one beacon of hope on the female front, in the shapely guise of Eve Palmer, fulfiling my fantasies. She was, after all, way out of my league, and then some. In her mid twenties, a few years my senior, a horny single single guy like yours truly couldn’t help but fancy her from the very start. A stunning curly-haired brunette with killer tits and arse and the most gorgeous pouty blowjob lips, Eve was the girl every other guy in the department wanted – but could never hope to get.

I remember that first lunchtime in the bar with the guys well. Being the new guy, everyone, it seemed, wanted to be my friend. I was plied with drinks and bombarded with questions, mainly about what I thought of my sexy female co-worker. Come two o’clock, each and every fantasy of the half a dozen other guys I shared the department with had been imparted. We shared a common bond: we all wanted Eve.

Sat opposite, Eve was given the task of teaching me the systems and working practices and generally taking in hand my initial training. There were, of course, other things I wished she’d take in hand and I soon found myself embroiled in the kinds of fantasy my fellow colleagues indulged in. As the first afternoon wore on, it became harder and harder to contain myself. I craved so much to touch her, I had to link my fingers tightly together on my lap. A dual purpose, they concealed a raging erection.

As the days went by quickly like passing trains, things became ever harder. Seemingly a perfectionist, Eve had office chic down to an art form, each day finding new exotic outfits with which to tease the senses. Her breasts would strain against sheer pastel shirts, constricted and seemingly aching to break free whilst her nipples retained a permanent nub, owing to the air conditioning. As time went on and spring arrived, the shorter her skirts became, revealing soft, creamy thighs and the most angular legs outside the catwalk. Rarely was she without heels, always black, always high, always sexy as hell.

To put it crudely, I wanted to lift Eve onto the desk, pull up that little skirt, and fuck her brains out. She was my permanent wank fantasy and I craved her like nothing else, coveting our times together and savouring every moment and joyous for a glimpse of out-of-bounds flesh. And it wasn’t just physical. Eve abounded with joie de vivre, was rarely down in the dumps and always able to see the positives even in the most negative situations. I’d never thought of any girl in those terms before, but Eve was wife material.

(…)
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