Margaret

I have no idea why I took this job.  A private school? Could I care *less* about anything than raising money for spoiled little rich kids? No, not really. However, this job has its advantages. Like I have to go all across the country for visits with parents, which is fun.

I’m headed to meet a parent now.  I don’t know much about this one – her son is new to the school. I hope she’s not the most conservative of parents.  The airline sent my beautiful (and appropriate) Jil Sander suit to Maui without me.  I’m glad I got into Nashville a day early so I could go shopping.  I wound up with the most amazing suit – even though, I must confess, it’s not the most professional thing I’ve ever worn.  But, GOD, it’s gorgeous.  I have a thing for blue clothes so, of course, it’s dark blue. Not quite navy, but a really beautiful blue.  The skirt is longish, but that’s okay, it’s much sexier than any short skirt.  It’s slim fitting, comes nearly to the end of my calves and has a slit up the left side so that I can walk.  Oh, the slit? To mid thigh.  The jacket is sort of 40s style, belted with a peplum and buttons up the front.  It’s the sort you don’t wear with a blouse beneath it.

Here’s a secret for you. I always wear the most slutty of underwear when I have parent visits.  I swear to GOD the mothers all have a committee meeting at the first of the year and decide what that year’s look is.  Straight out of a Talbot’s catalog.  Bor-ing.  Me? I’m all about sexy lingerie.  I’m wearing this one today.

The parents never know that, though.  All they see is my (usually) fairly boringly conservative fundraiser clothes.

I’m meeting this mom – Margaret Brenson. Doesn’t *she* just sound like a priss ass? She’s a tax attorney.  Good Christ, really? I just *know* this is going to be one of my more boring meetings.  Too bad there’s not Mr. Brenson. I could flirt *him* out of much more than the $5,000 I plan to ask her for.

I give the receptionist my name and she tells me to wait. “Ms. Brenson’s assistant will be down to get you shortly.” Nice.  She can’t walk me up herself? This is going to be a treat. I can tell.

The assistant arrives and walks me up to Margaret’s office. As we approach, the door, Margaret ends a phone call and stands up to meet me at the door.

Interesting.

She isn’t the usual mom.  She is a dyke as sure as I am. She’s wearing a black pantsuit, a brown & cream striped shirt and great wingtip-like shoes.  Nice. Blonde short hair, really beautiful eyes. She’s smirking at me. I’m guessing that’s her normal expression, actually.  I introduce myself, she shakes my hand, thanks the assistant.  But her eyes never leave mine.

The assistant leaves the room and closes the door.  Rather than sit behind her desk, Margaret walks over to the sofa in her office and sits there. Which leaves me no choice but to sit next to her. Oh, damn. You know me … I can’t resist a little flirting.  I sit closer to her than I should and cross my legs.  “Thank you for seeing me today, Ms. Brenson. As I told you on the phone, we’re ….” I stop, not because I’ve lost my thought but because Margaret gets up and locks the door.  She comes back and sits even closer to me than she was before. “So, we’re establishing …”

I stop this time because Margaret’s hand is on my thigh. I look at it.  My heart skips and my tummy flutters. I look at her.  She doesn’t say one word. She just kisses me.  It’s not a sweet, gentle kiss. Uh uh.

She kisses me as if she hasn’t been kissed in months, her tongue in my mouth, one hand holding my head, the other on my hip. Fuck. I’m a sucker for the holding my head thing. Then, I have no idea how, I am lying on my back, with Margaret on top of me.  One of her legs between mine, the other beside me.

Kissing is one of my favorite things to do and Margaret? She is very good at it. Her hands are everywhere – my hips, my breasts, everywhere. I can barely breathe.  She stops kissing me. I start to protest but the look she gives me shuts me up.

Oh, God, yes. She’s a top. A fully dominant, straight up top.  I get wet. More accurately, I should say, more wet.

She unbelts, then unbuttons my jacket.  She raises her eyebrow at me when she sees the corset. But, oh, lucky me.  The top doesn’t have straps, so she just pulls it down a bit until my breast are exposed.

She can tell I’m already hot, already wet, already wanting the “more” that generally only comes from lots of foreplay.  She sucks my nipple into her mouth, using her teeth, pulling hard. I moan and arch my body into her. Oh, God, that feels good. Oh, GOD, that feels good. She continues that until I can no longer see straight. I’m pressing my hips against her, I’m moaning, I’m completely beside myself. “Harder,” I moan and she does. Harder. Fuck.

“Oh, God. Please. Baby, please.”

“Please what?” she asks. “Stop?”

“No! I want you to touch me.”

She looks at me as if completely confused. “But I am touching you.”

“No. That’s not what I mean!”

“Can you be more specific, then?”  I have no idea why but, sometimes, when I’m with a woman who can fully top me, I get shy.  Just a little bit reticent.  However, I know that she won’t do what I want unless I tell her specifically what it is.

“I want your fingers inside of me.”  She looks at me.  Nope, that’s not what she wants me to say.  I gather myself.  “My pussy is so wet, Margaret. Please, please, I need you inside of me.”

“Good girl.” She lifts my hips up and slides my underwear off.  Good thing I put the panties on the outside of the goddamned garter.   Without the slightest bit of warning, she is completely filling me, at least 3 of her fingers inside of me.

“Yes, oh, my god, yes!” I am barely capable of coherent thought. This feels so good, was so completely unexpected.  My eyes are closed, my head back, and I feel her move down my body.

When her tongue touches me clit, it feels an electric shock.  She does this perfectly – exactly the way that I like it.  Slow, but not too soft, using her whole tongue, not pointed. Oh, God.  Oh, God.

What I actually say is, “fuck. Yes, Margaret. Oh God. That is so good.”  She plays – she stops to kiss my thighs. She makes me wait and wait until I can’t stand it anymore and then I’m not waiting anymore.

I can feel my orgasm building and I am not ready for it yet. I want this to take longer but I don’t have any choice.  Her tongue on my clit, her fingers filling me, I can’t hold back any more and I come, my juices flooding onto her face, my pussy clenching her fingers, drawing them farther inside of me, my hips raise, pressing against her face, my hands are in her hair, pulling her closer.

And when it’s done, I fall back against the couch and cover my eyes with my arm. I want to laugh or something. Did I really just let a parent fuck me, right in her office? I did. 

Margaret kneels on the floor next to me. I look at her out of the corner of my eyes, arm still across my face. I’m lying there with my jacket open, corset lowered, skirt up around my hips and my panties who knows where.

“How did you know I was a lesbian?” I ask her.

“I didn’t until just now.”