As Freud once said, “When work is a pleasure, life is a joy.” I often thought of that quote in the morning as I walked up the massive stairs to the vast Beaux-Arts style museum I called my office.
Life at the museum was very different from the years I spent in various corporate jobs. There was far less stress, it was never necessary to work late, and in general, I was confronted with far fewer of the horrors of capitalism.
Every day I walked through the decadently decorated halls of the museum, passing priceless and thought-provoking pieces of art. I tried to enjoy something new every morning. Even if it was just a moment looking at a painting.
I worked in administration, which was a bit separate from the various workings of the curators and researchers, and security. I worked up on the somewhat hidden fourth floor of the museum and didn’t deal directly with the patrons or the art much.
While this did give me a few pangs of jealousy at those who got to work directly with the exhibits, it also meant I didn’t have the pressure they had. It also left me free to enjoy the museum and its curators, many of whom were lovely and brilliant.
A prime example was the buxom and bespectacled young assistant curator. I often found myself taking the elevator with her. I vaguely knew her. We’d been in a meeting together once a few months ago. Her name was Olive, which was one of the many charming things about her.
She worked in children’s programming and had something of a childlike look and demeanor. She had a high, almost cartoonish voice. She wore colorful skirts or dresses, various bangles, and playful affectations. And she always wore knee-high socks. Her cheeks seemed perpetually ruddy, with a youthful glow, though I guessed her age in the mid-twenties, as she certainly had at least a master’s degree.
That morning, I again found myself in the elevator with her. It was strange that it seemed to work out that way so many times since we didn’t work anywhere near each other. I assumed we just had similar schedules.
She wore a green dress, speckled with little squiggles and geometric shapes, which came down exactly to her knees. Over it was a cerulean cardigan, which matched her knee socks. As usual, she wore beautifully polished black Mary Jane’s. She carried, as she usually did, a very large coffee.
As always, I smiled at her and she smiled back at me, somewhat bashfully. I was just past forty then, and perhaps a foot taller than her. I was also somewhat high up in the administrative chain of command, though I in no way managed her or her department.
That morning there was something extra nervous in her energy. As we got on the elevator, the door opened and closed a few times and there was a somewhat rickety start to its assent. We looked at each other, sharing a moment of concern. I thought, dreamily, what being stuck with her might entail.
When the elevator got to the second floor, it crankily stuttered again and she spilled a bit of her coffee. When she looked down and saw the spot on her cardigan, she pouted and mumbled, “Fuck!”
“Language!” I chided, instinctively. It was a joke, though I didn’t quite modulate my voice to show that, and it came out as a somewhat loud reprimand. Her large, expressive eyes opened wide and she swallowed. I smiled and chuckled, but as her cheeks reddened, she didn’t smile back.
Then the elevator door opened on the third floor, and she bolted out, and that, I assumed, was that.
The second time I saw her that day was on the elevator again. She gave me a half smile and squirmed, her face immediately growing red again. I tried to smile kindly, to soothe over our last encounter. But as I watched her, her squirming didn’t seem to be uncomfortable, it seemed to be a giddy nervous excitement. An excitement that inspired me.
I told myself to shut up, but that instinctive part of me took over again. We were headed to the first floor. I assumed she was off to lunch like I was. From the corner of my eye, I saw her jaw moving rhythmically.
“Are you… chewing gum?” I asked. Her eyes bulged and her jaw stopped its chewing. She sucked on her bottom lip and nodded timidly.
I turned to her and held out my hand.
She looked at my hand, then up at my face, and then back at my hand. Then, very slowly, she reached up to her mouth and plucked the little wad of pink out of it. She looked up at me with those huge eyes and dropped the warm bit of gum into the palm of my hand.
“Good girl,” I said, turning back to the door of the elevator. Her eyes flashed and a wicked little smile appeared on her lips.
When the door opened, I held my arm out in front of it for a moment.
“If you’d like to talk more about what is appropriate in the office, you could meet me for coffee tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. At the place around the corner. No pressure, of course,” I said as casually as I could muster. Then I went off to find a salad.
The next day I wore one of my good ties. Cornflower blue with little paisley designs. An extra dab of cologne behind my ears.
I usually made my own coffee, but the cafe around the corner from the museum was not bad, especially with their espresso. I got there at twenty past eight and ordered a cortado.
She was already there, sitting at a table in the far corner, looking at me with wide, somewhat frightened eyes, her leg rocking under the table. I brought my coffee over and sat down across from her.
“You seem nervous, Olive,” I said with what I hoped was a warm grin. Her eyes bulged. “You know my name?”
“Of course. We’ve been in meetings together. I see you around the museum. I assumed you knew my name.”
“Henry Lloyd, Head of Internal Communications,” she announced very officially. I laughed. “Correct.”
“Are you married?” She asked seriously, her light brown eyebrows raised as she looked down at the ring on my finger. I studied her a bit before answering.
“Yes. I’ve been married for ten years. My wife is quite aware of this… meeting. We have a very open marriage, and she was tickled when I told her what happened on the elevator.”
She seemed to take a moment to process that. “I’m in an open relationship, too. Only my partner is long-distance right now,” she said with a little frown. “Why was she tickled?”
I sipped my drink. “Well, I told her what happened on the elevator. She found it both hilarious and intriguing. She said I’d mentioned you before. I talked about a meeting we were in a while back where you wore thigh-high socks instead of your usual knee-high socks. They are both something of a fetish for me. I called you, ‘that saucy little Olive.’”
Her leg stopped shaking. Her eyelashes fluttered a bit and her wicked smile returned. “I like that,” she whispered.
I finished my drink in one quick hit. “Of course you do,” I said with a chuckle. She narrowed her eyes on me in faux menace.
“So, little Olive, what shall we do about your infractions? I think mumbling obscenities and chewing gum in the museum are outside the department’s jurisdiction. Still, I take a personal interest in the moral standing of our fine institution’s personnel.”
She eyed me. “That seems like a lot of words to say you want to spank me or something,” she said, her voice rising into her more playful cartoon register.
I eyed her. I eyed her long and hard, narrowing my eyes and studying her. She squirmed again under my gaze.
“I think it was the appropriate number of words. It was exactly as many words as I intended to use. You, young lady, seem to have a little bit of the brat in you. It might take more than a spanking to fix that.”
She swallowed and straightened up. I saw that her legs pressed together rather tightly. “Maybe,” she whispered.
I chuckled again. “I think I might live a bit dangerously and get another espresso. Can I get anything for you? Something sweet perhaps?”
She looked over at the display of treats. “Trying to bribe me with candy?” She asked, and then she bit her lip with a wicked little grin.
“Something tells me that won’t be necessary for you, but why not? Isn’t that the easiest way to get a little girl to come home with you?”
Her eyes bulged again. “Like, your home? With your wife?”
My chuckle turned into a laugh. “Now that would certainly be interesting, but I don’t think any of us are quite ready for something like that. No, my wife has a date this evening. A date that I imagine will last until the morning. If you are free, I would like to continue this conversation tonight. But again, no pressure.”
She considered it. “Well, I guess I’ll have to see what kind of sweets you get me.”
Touché. I got another espresso and perused the baked goods. I opted for a rather garish pink cake pop and a small frosted vanilla scone.
I took a beat, as I waited for my drink, to consider the various factors. She was pretty young. She worked at the museum. There didn’t seem to be any direct HR issues, but any fraternizing has some degree of drama.
Looking back at her, I eyed the bit of skin between her knee-high socks and her skirt. Her cleavage, slightly more exposed than her usual dresses. She bit her bottom lip again and looked at me from under her thick eyelashes. Who was I kidding? I was in.
I brought back my drink and laid the prizes out before her. She looked at them judgmentally and then picked the cake pop.
“I guess this one’s okay,” she said, taking an experimental nibble. She seemed pleasantly surprised at the taste.
“Well, I checked my calendar and I do happen to have a bit of free time this evening. Though I need to get home by nine,” she explained.
“Is that your bedtime?”
“No! I’ll have you know I can stay up as late as I want,” she said with a gloating little grin.
I nodded, giving her another judgmental stare. “Interesting.”
“Well, perhaps you can give me your phone number and I can send you some details. I wasn’t serious about bringing you home. It’s a first… date. Maybe dinner?”
She cocked her head and considered that. “But you were going to spank me and teach me some manners, weren’t you? I don’t think we can do that in a restaurant.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I supposed not. Perhaps Pizza and a paddling after work, then?”
Her eyes widened once more and she swallowed dramatically. “Paddling?”
I downed my espresso and looked at my watch. “We can work out the details, I’m sure.” I handed her my phone, opened the texting app and she dutifully entered her information. Then she got her own phone and texted me.
“I schedule my mornings so that I’m on the elevator with you,” it read. Which, I admit, was a lovely surprise. I smiled at her and she bit her bottom lip and blushed.
“A crush? How very adorable. I have to be off to work now. But, I’m sure I’ll be thinking of ways to use that crush all day long,” I said, standing and hoping my erection was not too obvious.
She sank down in her seat both embarrassed and giggling. It was perfect.
There are few things more gloriously wonderful than learning your crush has a crush on you. I considered that and the way she smiled with an electric joy. The thought of cupping my hand around one of those breasts I had fantasized about made me unable to focus on my work.
“What time should we go to your place? After work? Where do you live? I usually take the bus home. Sorry if this is a barrage of questions. I’m a bit nervous,” she texted. It was charming, the difference in tone her texts seem to have.
“If you’d like we could meet after work at five. If you’d like to go home first we could meet a bit later. I live very close by, it’s about a ten-minute drive north. I’m also happy to drive you home afterward if you’d like. This is not too many questions at all. Please do not stop being nervous. I like making you nervous,” I wrote and smiled at my own wit. Then I texted her my address, just for safety’s sake.
She texted back a little string of emojis. One of them being a nervous sweating face, then water squirting, then a blushing face. “Five works for me. I’ll meet you by our elevator.”
When I had originally planned on asking her out, I assumed I would have time. I only vaguely thought we would end up at my house and I certainly didn’t expect to go there directly after work.
When I met her at the elevator, I could tell she was trying to act casual, as some of our co-workers were milling about. I did the same and she just sort of followed me out and to the parking lot.
As we walked to my car, I felt the dominant confidence wane for a moment. I pondered the very banal questions of whether my house was clean, if I had any wine good enough to serve a date, and if my bed was made.
I checked my text and saw that my wife had indeed left for her date. “I made the bed and left another set of sheets in the top drawer. Something tells me you’ll need both,” she wrote with a smile. “Don’t wait up! Love you!” Hearts and kisses, which I returned, along with my love.
When I looked up, Olive was looking at me with her large curious eyes. “Everything cool?”
I chuckled. “Very cool. Now, are you hungry? Shall we order a pizza?” I said, leading her to my car. She tilted her head. “It’s a bit early. I think I might be a little too eager to think about food right now.”
I smiled and opened the passenger door for her. “Good to know,” I said and got in on the driver’s side. I looked at her for a moment and enjoyed the way she squirmed under my gaze, then I started my car and drove.
The ride was mostly silent. Olive looked very nervous and I tried to think of ways to get her to relax while still teasing her and keeping her tense. “Tell me three interesting things about yourself,” I said, as I turned onto the freeway.
I watched as her nervousness gave way to her desire to show off. “Well, when I was nineteen I won a Rocky Horror Picture Show costume contest as half-Columbia, half-Magenta. I’ve ridden horses on three continents. Annnnd, I was once part of a ‘face bang,’ where me and like ten other people sat on someone’s face for their birthday,” she said and then leaned forward giggling.
“Each one of those is very impressive in a different way,” I said with a smile. She shimmied a little with pleasure.
I turned into my driveway and her eyes widened. “Ohh, nice house,” she said as we got out of the car and headed for the front door. My mind raced for what messes might be waiting, but when I opened the door I saw that my wife had straightened up, which flooded me with love. To have a wife that makes the bed for you when she knows you might be fucking someone in it. What a decadence.
Olive predictably went to the bookcases and looked adorable bending over to peruse the titles. I watched her as I took off my tie and blazer and rolled up my sleeves. When she looked back her eyes widened. “Rolling up your sleeves. That means trouble, huh?”
“That means I’m getting ready for your lesson. Are you ready?”
I walked to the couch and sat down, then I patted my lap. She put her hands behind her back and shuffled over to me. I stopped her and pointed at the floor. “Could you kneel down for a moment so we can talk a little more first?”
She swallowed and knelt, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m not-” she started and then seemed embarrassed. I reached out and pulled her chin so that she looked up at me. “Use your words, Olive.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been hit. I like it a lot. I mean I really really like it a lot a lot. I’m just kind of a wimp, I think. I mean, these days-” she was going to go on, but I cut her off.
“You are perfect and we are going to have a very lovely time. Would I have a crush on a wimp? You are going to learn your lesson and it will be all kinds of fun. You’ve just been without a proper lesson in a while. So we are going to take you to the edge of what your body can take and we are not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”
She nodded, weakly. I sighed. “Use your words,” I reminded her.
“I’m not a wimp, I’m perfect, and you have a crush on me,” she said, and her wicked smile returned. I gave her a smile in return.
“You’re going to bend over my knees like a good girl and you’re going to hold my hand. If the spanking is getting too intense, you are going to squeeze my hand. Do you understand?” She nodded, a little more enthusiastically.
“Good girl,” I said and the words seemed to invigorate her.
I patted my lap again. “Alright, up you go,” I said and she hopped up and then over to me with a smile. She crawled over me and I was enveloped in the soft scent of her shampoo and I felt the delicious weight and heat of her body.
I had to steady my hands from shaking with delight as I pushed her colorful dress up and inch by inch revealed the expanse of her thick thighs. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I saw her bright blue panties, which complimented her socks and cardigan.
There are few things as arousing as a cohesive aesthetic.
I let my hands smooth over the backs of her thighs and sighed with pleasure. “Isn’t life funny? Two people on an elevator who harbor crushes on each other. A little spilled coffee and a slip of the tongue and just like that, they’re on a couch doing something dirty,” I said, letting my fingers move all the way to the edge of her panties. Her breath caught.
“Now, I’d prefer if someone as pretty and sweet as you didn’t use profanity. Not in the office and certainly not here in my home,” I explained and then gave her large, round, delectable ass a soft swat. She jumped a little and I rubbed the spot I spanked.
“You… um… you can do it a bit harder,” she whispered.
“I’m well aware, Olive. I’m warming you up. You’ll find I’m quite able to hit very hard,” I said and gave her two more measuring swipes with my hand. One on each cheek. She squirmed and purred. The next few were harder, solid, and I pressed my palm against her skin after each one. Her breath caught and I waited as she breathed through the pain.
“Good girl. Now the chewing gum. Honestly, Olive. We’re in a museum with priceless works of art and beautiful marble floors,” I said and proceeded to give her five hits on each cheek. The last few causing her whole body to rock forward.
For the first time, her hand tightened slightly on mine. I reached up and patted her head, brushing her hair with my fingers. “Good girl. We’re going to have a few more big ones. Do you think you can take them for me? Then we’ll give you some cuddles.”
She looked back at her over her shoulder, pouting prettily, and she nodded. “That’s my brave girl,” I whispered and she smiled weakly.
With a practiced hand, I doled out what I calculated to be as much as she could take. Three rocked her body again and the fourth brought a squeeze of her hand.
“Alright,” I said, and turned her around, hugging and soothing her. She wrapped her arms around me tightly.
When I finally let her go, her eyes were dreamily far away. Her face was red and both her nervousness and brattiness were gone. There was just a soft squishy puddle of a girl. I sat back on the couch and she laid on her back with her head in my lap.
“Did you learn your lesson, Olive?” I asked and she nodded, looking almost hypnotized.
“And did your brain go bye-bye?” I asked and she nodded again, with only a weak smile.
“Oh, good. Does that mean I get to use your pretty body now that your nervous little brain is gone?” Her eyes widened and she nodded again, more adamantly.
A rush went through me. Permission was euphoric. I sighed as my hands moved down her side and then up to those tits I had coveted for so long. The decadence of a new pair of breasts. The illicit feel of a stranger’s body. Exploring a fresh and undiscovered country.
I groaned as I felt the delicious weight of them. I winced at the softness, the heavenly feel of them. Finally having the pretty girl I had sat across from in boring meetings. Touching the daydream fantasy.
She sighed at my touch. She was sensitive and receptive in a way that doubled my arousal. I groped and enjoyed her breasts, letting my fingers close around them and slip over them until they met at her nipples. The tiny points were fat and hard and when I squeezed them her back arched delightfully.
“You are a sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” I laughed.
The question seemed to pull her out of her blissful daze. “Is that bad?” She asked and looked worried.
“It’s perfect. It’s hot. It’s turning me on a lot,” I explained and her smile returned.
“Good,” she said simply and closed her eyes again. I squeezed her breasts, massaged them, and reveled in the feel of them. My thumbs and forefingers finding her nipples under the thin fabric. When I pinched her nipples, her back arched.
She shifted against me, giving me more access to her body, her eyes still closed. She turned for a moment, her lips against my inner thigh. I felt her hot breath through my thin slacks. She moved up and sucked gently on the material of my pants, looking up at me. I pet her head and pulled her away by her hair.
“Before we go any further, I have to tell you about some rules I have. I mean, with first dates. This is going well, in fact, faster than I imagined. But, I just wanted to let you know that, well, my pants will stay on tonight.”
She opened her eyes again, back in her happy daze. “Oh, okay. I don’t have any rules like that. Can my pants come off? Oh, I’m not wearing any. I mean my panties.”
I chuckled. “If you like, certainly.”
“Can my dress come off and my panties come off and can you eat my pussy?” She asked in a playful dreamy voice.
My cock ached and my mind seemed to contract. “Yes. I think that sounds like a lovely plan, Olive.”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh, squirming around and slipping out of her open dress and then getting up on her knees and looking at me.
“I could tell you were one of those men who like to eat pussy. Who dreams about it. You are, aren’t you? Have you wanted to eat my pussy?” She asked, sitting up on the couch and finding the zipper on the side of her dress.
It was like I was enveloped by a tide of desire. I numbly nodded. “Since the first time, I saw your knee socks and saw those fat pretty lips. The question is, are you the kind of girl who enjoys it?”
Her bra matched her panties. The vivid blue contrasted her skin electrically. She reached back and pulled off her bra, exposing nipples much paler than I imagined and breasts even more spectacular than I dreamed. She rubbed her breasts as she watched me swoon over her body. She smiled at the effect she had on me.
Then she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and stood up, just pulling them down a little until just the top of her little bush peaked out. “It’s definitely in my top three most favoritist things in the whole wide world.”
“Well, once more we are a match, then,” I said, moving closer to her and cupping her breasts once more. Leaning down and sucking one of her nipples greedily. The heat of her skin and the taste of her made me dizzy.
The once nervous and submissive girl was suddenly empowered by her own lust. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me until I was kneeling in front of her. She stood up straight and put one foot on my coffee table.
“Good boy,” she purred as she pulled me forward and guided my face to her panties. I could see the soft somewhat manicured patch of brown hair under the mesh blue fabric. I inhaled the soft scent of her arousal. I felt the rough texture of the fabric on my tongue.
I gently grabbed her chubby pussy with my thumb and forefinger. It was deliciously plump and her thick outer lips buldged out as I played with them. She smiled as she let out a little half giggle, half moan. I teased her and myself by rubbing and squeezing and toying with her. Kissing her inner thighs and lightly biting them. I went on until her moans turned into begging little whimpers.
She reached for my hair, trying to get my mouth to the place she wanted it. I chuckled into her skin. Finally, she reached down and pulled off her panties, leaving me no choice.
Her soft brown hair grew in a little pattern, seeming to direct my eyes to the slit in the center. I rested my thumb on each side of her pussy and gently split her lips, to reveal lurid pink. Her breath caught as I just let my breath graze her most sensitive bits. I moved forward the last few millimeters and slipped my tongue around her fat clit, which seemed to throb with need for attention.
Around and around I went, circling and tracing as she whined. After a few moments, the room and the feel of her hand in my hair and everything but the taste of her pussy and the sound of her whimpers seemed to disappear. There was only the bliss of eating pussy. Nothing else mattered. There was only the driving need to bring her to orgasm.
She was so primed, it didn’t take long. I knew, from the rising cadence of her moans, that all I had to do was keep up the motions of my tongue. Not speeding up or slowing down until she asked for it. Not stopping. Even as my muscles started to burn. Even as my knees ached. Her moans rose an octave. Her hands grasped my hair harder. Her thighs closed around my face. Her knees were giving. And then, finally, with her legs shaking, she popped, she came, she pressed that soft pussy into my face and suffocates me for a moment before falling back onto the couch, gasping for breath.
I was drunk with her. I was blissed out and pussy drunk, as I crawled up onto the couch next to her. She weakly giggled and kissed me, licking my lips and groaning.
“Fuck, you are even more fun than I ever imagined,” she whispered, more to herself than to me.
“Fuck? Fuck? Really, Olive? Profanity, after all that we’ve done here?” I asked, with a shake of my head.
She covered her mouth, eyes wide, but a smile still visible. “Oh, dear. I did, didn’t I? I guess you’ll have to live up to what you said before. A spanking obviously didn’t do. You’ll need to get the paddle,” she said, getting on her hands and knees and pushing her pink ass up in the air.
“The paddle is quite intense, Olive,” I reminded her as I stood.
“I can take it, now. I’ve been properly warmed up. A paddling for my dirty mouth and then you’ll have to comfort me again by eating my pussy some more,” she said, confidently.
I stretched and tried to ignore my aching cock as I went to get my bag of toys.
It was going to be a long evening and we hadn’t even ordered the pizza.