Neil Forit - Lust Takes A Holiday

Suddenly she twisted her mouth away from his, and with her legs still locked around him leaned back at an angle, supporting herself with her arms behind her. Her luscious stiff-nippled breasts heaved with each breath she took, and her long dark hair dangled seductively over her shoulders.

"You didn't expect anything like this, did you?" she purred, a sultry smile flitting across her face.

"Hell no," he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

"They never do. Well, don't worry. There's more in store for us. I feel awfully hot, why don't you lift my top up?"

His hands trembling, the young scientist obeyed, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her skirt and slowly gliding the halter top upward over the tautly rounded flesh of her belly, slowly, inch by tortured inch. The lower curve of her breasts emerged, white and voluptuously uplifted and suddenly he knew if he went any further it would be all over, there would be no turning back.

"I… I can't," he stammered weakly. "I'm married. Besides, what would happen if somebody caught us in here? Christ we'd lose our jobs."

She did not reply but merely gazed at him, her lips slightly parted and glistening, as though silently challenging him to take her. You're not going to cop out now, she seemed to be saying, teasing him to go one step farther. How could he stop now, how could he possibly, even though he knew that his marriage and his PhD might be at stake if someone caught them in the act. The battle of his instincts against his conscience made him shake and tremble all over now, but finally his basest desires got the upper hand, and he rolled the halter top up so that it was bunched around her shoulder.

His eyes widened in stunned appreciation as his gaze fixed on her naked breasts. They gleamed like warm alabaster and were proudly upthrust high on her chest and her nipples were stiff with arousal. She drew him deeper in between her stocking-clad thighs. Her skirt had ridden up over her hips, revealing her frilly white lace panties and the bulging mound of her vagina contained within. Slowly she let her hand glide back along the edges of the lab table on either side until she was flat on her back, urging him on with her subtle gestures.

"Go on," she whispered. "Touch my breasts, touch them." Locked in her legs, his confined cock throbbing against her panty-cloaked loins, he bent forward from the hips and began gently running his fingers over her nipples. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she mewled with pleasure, slowly rolling her head from side to side and squirming her hips so that her vagina pressed even harder against the swollen maleness hidden in his trousers.

Jesus, he wanted to fuck her right here and now, but he hadn't completely lost his mind yet. His wife and his career still meant something to him, even though his will power was slowly fading away second by frustrating second.

"We… we can't do it here. It's too dangerous."

In response she began slowly moving her shapely legs up and down along his sides, her thigh muscles flexing and unflexing in a slow, sensual rhythm.

"We can come back here after work," she said. "It will be perfectly safe. No one will see us, of course, unless you don't want to."

His mind was boiling with mad confusion, his conscience and his lust tearing at him from both directions, his hands kneading and squeezing her soft pliable breasts, kneading them like dough and feeling the tight little buttons of her nipples pressing into his palms. Suddenly like an animal sensing danger, he jumped back and spun around toward the door of the lab.

"What was that noise?" he said nervously. He was positive that he had heard something, positive that he'd heard the door click shut.

Dinah raced through the deserted staff lounge adjoining the lab, through the corridors back toward her office on the ground floor, all the while fighting back the tears that were threatening to burst from her eyes.

She dashed inside and hurriedly seated herself at her desk, which faced away from the director's.

"My God, what's wrong with you?" Tomley called out to her in his booming voice. "What happened? You said you were bringing us some coffee and then you disappeared."

Even though Tomley's voice was powerful, she could barely hear the words he was directing at her. Nothing was real now but the shattering scene she had witnessed between her husband and the woman in the lab.

The image of the salacious spectacle bored through her mind like a hot firebrand, making her feel weak and dizzy. It couldn't be, it just couldn't. That awful woman with her legs wrapped around Fred's back, her breasts naked, mewling and grunting, as her husband massaged them with a vile, lecherous look on his face. She must be hallucinating!

Fred could never do a thing like that. It must have been someone else, though her eyes had told her differently.

How long had it been going on? How many days had it taken for them to build up the intimacy of lovers that she had witnessed in the lab? And then a thought struck her. It must have been because of this other woman, this free-and-easy libertine that Fred had insisted on her doing lewd things to him over the weekend. She had perverted him and aroused savage carnal desires in his body. There was something wrong with this place, something wrong with everyone in it. For now, mixed up with the scene in the laboratory, was what she had overheard earlier-the foul, leering conversation between Tomley and the man from the foundation, the horrible dirty things they had said. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into? What was going to happen to her marriage?

"Dinah, for God's sake, what's wrong with you?" the director demanded from behind.

She started at the concerned tone of the older man's voice, which brought her suddenly back to reality. She remembered now that she had come back to announce that she was quitting immediately, but now everything was confused. If she left Fred, she would need a job to support herself. She couldn't quit. But no, that wasn't the real reason that she had suddenly lost her resolve. The real reason was that out of some morbid curiosity she desperately needed to find out who Fred was carrying on with and why. She had to discover how it had all happened.

"Dinah?"

The director's hand was on her shoulder; he was standing very close, and slowly she turned around to face him, trying to keep herself from flying to pieces. She couldn't tell him what was wrong. No, at all cost she had to keep the matter to herself. Forcing her voice to be calm she replied with only a slight tremor: "It's… it's nothing. I just felt a little sick and didn't want to bother you. I feel much better now."

"Well, that's good. You had me worried for a minute. By the way your husband called a minute ago and asked if I'd give you a message. He said he'd be working late tonight and to go ahead and eat without him."

She knew exactly what the message meant, of course, and even before Tomley had finished the sentence she was sobbing uncontrollably.

Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks, and she didn't resist as the brawny director eased her up from her chair and enfolded her in his arms.

"Now, now, Dinah. Tell me all about it. It will make you feel better."

As she started to unburden herself she couldn't see the smile of smug satisfaction that crossed the director's face. She was convinced that his sympathy was genuine and was sorry she had thought such awful things about him earlier.

"Don't worry about it anymore," he said. "I'll help you find out for yourself exactly what's happening."

Myra Wilson reentered the lab at five-thirty when the building had cleared, catching Fred as he glanced down at his watch.

"I'm here," she said breezily, striding over to him.