This happened a few years ago, but it’s one of those memories that stays with you, sharp as ever. Not just because of the sex itself, but because of how it all unfolded — the tension, the build-up, the moment it stopped being a fantasy and became real.

Back then, I was 26, fresh out of uni after finishing a post grad, and still struggling to land a good job and I still lived at home. I took a temp gig in the mailroom of a public finance office. It wasn’t glamorous — mostly just sorting envelopes, delivering paperwork — but it kept me afloat. I didn’t expect anything exciting to come from it.

Then there was Christine.

She worked next door, in invoicing. Mid-30s, divorced, two kids, sharp as hell, and gorgeous in that quiet, understated way that makes you stop what you’re doing. Short dark hair, always neat but never overdone. Toned legs, a trim waist, a petite frame that was tight, firm, and just naturally sexy.

It wasn’t just how she looked, though. Christine had a presence. She wasn’t loud, she didn’t try to be the center of attention — but when she spoke, you listened. When she laughed, you felt it. There was something magnetic about her. Something that made you want more.

She’d pop into the mailroom often. At first, it was simple office small talk — “How’s it going?” “Any mail for me?” Just the usual. But over time, we got more comfortable. I’d wander into her office to drop something off and stay a little longer than necessary. We’d talk about movies, weekend plans, office gossip. She had a dry, quick wit and a knack for throwing out comments that made you laugh and think at the same time.

And then there was the way she looked at me. It wasn’t every time — just enough to notice. She’d smile, hold my gaze a second longer than she needed to, her eyes dipping ever so slightly before meeting mine again. It wasn’t overt, and it wasn’t constant. Just enough to leave me wondering, but she was way out of my league and that was ok.

I learned bits and pieces about her life as we talked. She’d been married young, had her first child not long after. She got divorced years before I met her, and she’d been dating here and there. Nothing steady. She had a younger boyfriend for a while, and though she didn’t get into graphic details, she’d mention him in a way that made you picture them together. I’d respond with my own stories — Tinder dates, casual flings, messy breakups. It was never outright dirty, but there was always a flicker beneath the words. A tension that neither of us addressed head-on, but both of us felt.

Then I got moved to another job. We stopped seeing each other every day, but we kept talking. Snapchat, Facebook, the occasional late-night message. The energy between us didn’t fade — if anything, it grew. Still nothing explicit, but each comment, each joke carried a weight that wasn’t there before.

One night, she was out in London with friends. She messaged me after a few drinks. “Wish I had someone to do stuff with tonight…” I smiled at the screen, not sure if she was being serious. “Whoever he is, lucky bastard.” Then she replied: “We should do suff when I’m back.”

I stared at my phone. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted it to be real, but part of me thought it was a tease. Still, I answered, “Hell yes,” and waited.

The next morning, she sent me a hungover selfie. Still gorgeous. Then a second snap — her hand in her panties, just enough to leave no doubt.

“Can’t wait…”

We made a plan. Her place. Midday. Her kids would be at school. Even as I drove there, I didn’t fully believe it was happening. I half-expected her to laugh when I knocked on the door.

She opened it wearing jeans and a loose off-the-shoulder sweater. Barefoot. Hair up, no makeup, but still stunning. That same quiet confidence, that same calm gaze that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft and easy.

I said “Hey” back, trying not to sound nervous. I walked into her kitchen, she was tidying up. She smiled faintly, stepped in close, and kissed me. Slow, certain, deliberate. Her hand rested on my neck, and she stood lightly on my toes, pressing just enough to make me feel the weight of her. Her lips were warm, soft, tasting faintly of tea.

When she pulled away, she looked me in the eye and said, “You looked nervous.”

I laughed shakily. “I thought this might be a trick.” She tilted her head slightly. “Still think that?”

I didn’t answer. She took my hand and led me upstairs.

Her bedroom smelled of warm linen and perfume. The bed was unmade, the afternoon light streaking across it through the blinds. It felt real. Simple. Nothing staged or artificial — just two people in a quiet room, about to do what they both knew they wanted.

She turned to face me and kissed me again, standing close, her hands sliding beneath my sweater. I lifted it over my head, and her fingers found their way to my skin. Her touch was light, deliberate, making me shiver as I felt her warmth sink into me. She stepped in closer, stood lightly on my toes as she kissed me deeper — soft lips, full contact, pulling me into her world. We lay down on the bed, kissing and bit of rolling around, she was losing a bit of clothing with every roll. I was still waiting for someone to jump out and shout surprise! This could be real could it?

Black lace bra, hugging her small, perfect breasts. My hands were already shaking as I touched her, fingertips tracing her waist, her back. She undid my belt, slid down my zip, slide off the bed and dropped to her knees.

I watched her hands work, slow and confident. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my boxers and pulled them down. My cock sprang free — hard, already aching. She looked up at me, smiled — and then she took me into her mouth.

No hesitation. No buildup.

Just warm, wet pressure, slow suction, and the heat of her tongue wrapping around me. She moved with ease, rhythm — her hand gripping the base, stroking in sync with each bob of her head. Her tongue flicked the underside as she came up, then pressed flat as she sank down again. She didn’t moan for show. She didn’t stare up theatrically. She worked me like she’d been dreaming of it. I groaned, hands resting lightly on her head, feeling the soft pull of her lips, the pressure of her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. I was still gripping the last threads of disbelief — right until I saw the glint of spit stretch from her lips to my shaft, and the way she swallowed me again like she owned every inch.

That was it. No more doubt. No more pretending this wasn’t real. If this was a trick or a joke, I was all for it.

She moaned faintly, sending vibrations through me, and I let out a long, low groan. My hands rested lightly on her head, and she picked up the pace, her cheeks hollowing slightly, her movements fluid and unhurried. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was sensual, controlled, and so intensely real that I forgot about everything else. I just watched her, felt her, let myself go.

She pulled off, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood. Kissed me again, lips glossy, tongue sliding into mine.

“Your turn,” she said, voice husky.

She lay back on the bed and pulled her jeans and panties off in one smooth motion. She spread her legs, and the smell of her arousal hit me like a drug.

I started slow. Kissing up her thigh. Teasing. My tongue trailed along her inner skin until I reached the folds of her pussy. I licked her once — long, flat — tasting the heat and wetness of her. She gasped softly.

I licked her again, slower this time, then flicked the tip of my tongue over her clit. Her hips twitched.

I started to alternate — long, slow drags from bottom to top, then sharp, rapid flicks right on her clit. She moaned, her legs pulling in closer. One hand slid into my hair, and the other gripped the sheets.

Then I pushed my tongue in — deep, firm, fucking her with it. She let out a broken gasp. “Oh… fuck…” She let out a soft, trembling sigh. I pressed my mouth fully against her, licking her in one long, slow stroke. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as I circled her clit with my tongue, then flicked it faster.

I loved it. The taste of her. The way she moved with every stroke. Her fingers grabbed tighter, pressing my face into her pussy like she needed more of me.

I gave her more.

I sucked gently on her clit while circling it with the tip of my tongue. Then back inside — tongue deep, curling. Her thighs squeezed around my head, her hips bucked, and she whispered a breathless, “Don’t stop…”

I didn’t.

Her hips moved with me, her breathing growing heavier. I pushed my tongue inside her, felt her warmth and wetness, tasted her as I moved deeper. Her legs tightened around me, her moans turning into breathless cries. I shifted to her clit again, sucking gently, and she gasped. Her hands gripped the sheets, her body shaking as I kept the rhythm steady, letting her ride each wave of sensation.

She was shaking when she finally pulled me up to her. Her face flushed, eyes soft. She kissed me again — tasting herself on my lips. Do you have a condom?” she asked. I nodded. But before I could reach for it, I hesitated.

“I need to feel you first,” I said, my voice husky. She paused, searching my face, then nodded. I guided myself to her, pushed forward slowly. She was hot, tight, soaking wet, and I groaned as I slid into her. Her body welcomed me, gripping me snugly, and I stayed still for a moment, just breathing, just feeling. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me in deeper, and I started to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts. Each one felt like it carved out space between us, every inch more intense than the last. Her hands roamed my back, nails dragging lightly, her breath warm against my ear. I kissed her neck, her jawline, her lips, every motion in perfect rhythm with my hips.

Her moans grew louder, sharper. I tilted her hips slightly, finding the angle that made her cry out. I stayed there, grinding into her, each movement sending shockwaves through both of us.

“You feel so good,” she whispered. “Don’t stop…”

I sped up, each thrust now deeper, more urgent. Her legs tightened around me, and I could feel her body trembling again.

“Oh god… I’m gonna cum…”

Her voice broke as her orgasm ripped through her. She clung to me, her pussy spasming, her cries echoing in my ear as I kept moving, slower now, letting her ride the wave.

When she relaxed, she turned over and pushed me toward down on the bed. I reached for the condom, slid it on, and entered her again. We moved together harder now, her hips meeting mine, her breath mixing with mine. I felt her shudder beneath me, and her moans turned into soft, desperate gasps.

I was close.

I pulled out, panting, and she slid down between my legs again mouth open, lips wrapping around me. She took all of me, then ripped of the condom. She started slow, sucking me in deeply, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. I groaned, body tensing.

Then her hand slid lower, fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. She traced softly, then pressed against me, exploring upwards towards my cheeks, until I felt her finger slide gently in.

The sensation was new — unfamiliar, electric. My head fell back, and just as I tried to process what she was doing, I exploded.

I came hard, my body jerking, my cock twitching in her mouth. She didn’t stop. She sucked me through it, taking everything, swallowing every drop as her fingers stayed in place, sending aftershocks through me.

When it was over, I collapsed beside her. She lay next to me, her fingers still trailing softly over my chest.

We didn’t say much. Just lay there, catching our breath, basking in the glow of everything we’d done.