The legs on that one

Conference room. He slouches, looks off into the distance, appears in thought. Perfect view of a black high heel.The other shoe crossed behind the ankle. He hears the nylon rub as she moves one leg unconsciously against the other.

He wants to crawl over, run his lips against  the stocking-clad calf. Tear with his teeth at the fabric, exposing bare skin. Sniff the jasmine scent of her bathsoap.

He crosses his legs to press a stiff prick between his thighs. The smile and nod give a look of attention to the conversation. Lost as he is in this coworker fuck-fantasy, he knows nothing of what is being said.

Mouth moves up the leg, licking. A hand on the ankle, he works his way to the hem of black skirt, above the knee. Like a dog, he noses under. Takes in the scent of her sex. Beneath the pantyhose, he knows, is her wet pussy.

His cock throbs for her hole. His lips ache, inches away form the crux of her softer than soft, fleshy, shaved snatch.

Hand in pocket, brushing against his hard-on, he uncrosses then recrosses his legs.

In his mind, on the floor in front of her, he rips away the barrier, hears her say, “yes,” breathy. She shakes with desire. A hand on each knee, he spreads her legs apart. Digging his face into her, he is lost, blissful, devouring. Fingers spread her lips, making room for his tongue. His nose against her clit, she moans. Her hands on his head pushing him deeper. Convulsing, she screams and releases an orgasm into his mouth. He laps at their wet lips.

His name is called twice before he realizes he’s been asked a question he hasn’t heard. Smiling he apologies. Says he’s unsure, but will check and let them know. The meeting moves on.

He glances at her hand, notes the diamond. Too bad. Or perhaps not.