The Wholesome Satyr

She had slipped in before reporting for work. The taste of her lipstick still lingers-on like a lost thought on my mouth. I have been calling her desk and telling her how much, how deep, how high...how sighing, how slow and what, when she is here for her lunch break. She has ummmed me silently too and I recognize the sybaritic swooning to the hinted suggestions of the delirium and ecstasy that will be ours soon.

The receptionist winks wisely at me as I climb the stairs, wooden and creaking to her light tread as my footfall compounds each aberration. Togetherness is making a lot of noise while being discreet ~ generally. I wink back since I am so pleased being here. Even if she does know, so what? I have loved and loved purely, without fear, without shame and such love needs consummation ever so often to recharge and sustain itself.

In the room,I feel her and am secretly glad she is warm and wet. She grabs me and I have this raging hard-on in no time at all and as we kiss my fingers are busy tearing at her dress. She strokes me,up and down, and up, up, up and the skin moves with her deft fingers, down, down and down.

Unzip, unfasten, unhook...and she is nude before me as the day she was born. And as beautiful. I cannot but help think how she smells like new office stationery - crisp, cool and virginal. Her eyes remind me of the interplay of sunlight and shadow on a silent stream as it passes through a wooded glen. Shining, then demure, then sparkling again with renewed desire.

"Missionary", she manages to whisper and I am over her supporting myself on endorsing elbows, so that the distance is never too much as I enter. But with characteristic and oh-so attractive impatience, she draws in a lungful of breath and swings me down below her. I oblige , as I love it when she is on top and I can see her in all her mastery, her panache for lovemaking and her unsurpassed elan.

She is on her haunches, her back arched like a buzzard ready to swoop on a hapless victim. Her near-perfect back visible to me in the watery reflection of collated sunshine. My fingers embedded in her fleshy buttocks, my hands tracing her wanton contours ,raking a white line on her symphonic smoothness, tracking her bobbing breasts like a compass seeks North. I cannot have enough of her. All the while her eyes are looking at me, with the same mysterious and helpless smile as I enter and re-enter in ravaging pleasure. Often they flicker and close and a spent sob escapes her mouth.

And finally, there is nothing else to do, but kiss the white insides of her wrist, turning my head as she looks down upon me and caresses me with that one look. Much like a loved one is caressed and put to bed and rest....