I had meant to write a proper review of the new wing. It just opened, and I was eager to see the changes to the old rooms I had wandered through on my own not so terribly long ago. Back then, I loved the gardens, and the hovering guards, who were nonetheless eager to chat as I excitedly rolled back the protective velvet covers to read letters written by Napoleon himself. It felt a respite, on a grey day, I remember. And I hoped for the same as I waited for my turn to enter the new building on a cold March morning.
It was a lot of glass, I recall. You arrived first, and I managed to park, at last, then arrive on time with the tickets. The gardens were still there, yes, and as we wandered around the halls, among the crowds of art-lovers, guards–and apparently all other employees–were far more interested in protecting the artwork itself than in watching over the office space.
Yes, the new wing. It is my face upon the cold tile of the men’s room stall as you reach round my waist to unbutton my jeans and unzip them. Your cool fingers push aside the wet pink lace from my pussy, fingers plunging, pushing, before you yank down my panties, your gleaming cock magically displayed before I notice your pants open, cock quickly feeding my cunt, deep, alabaster, work of art, fuck, yeah I want it, your hot juice shooting deep inside me so quickly before footsteps distract us back into reality.
Stay, you say, wait, and I am here alone, my heart pounding as the door opens again, as I pull my panties back up, zip my jeans, wait, wait. The coast is clear, quick, now, you say, your hips pressed against me, trapping me up against the wall, kiss, as you yank down the slutty blouse I wore today. You squeeze my tits, and I feel my clit jump again, want more. Our reservation is ready in the cafe downstairs.
The pinot grigio is crisp, cool, chatter and clinking glasses in the airy room. I look down to sip the wine, look up at you, your filthy grin. I squirm in my chair, and the stream of your hot come soaks my panties, my jeans, which stiffen as they dry, and we meander more through rooms of virgins and crosses, then out into the street to coffee, to lust, to next time, undress, spread wide, fuck, slow, long, loud, soon.