Archive-name: Working/chriswak.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Chrissie's Awakening


My name, dear reader, if you must know, is Christine, though everyone calls 
me Chrissie. I'm probably not someone you'd notice. I stand all of five 
feet two-and-a-half-inches tall, but I'm so skinny all my friends used to 
call me Olive Oyl, which if you think about it is kind of mean I mean, 
maybe they weren't really my friends, right? But I grew up in a really 
small town here in the Valley, and it wasn't like there were a lot of 
friends to choose from. I have tried to compensate for my height by 
collecting really tall heels--I look good in red, with my almost black hair 
and fair skin, and people who make good high heels really seem to like red--
but the rest of me I can't do much about. I despise falsies, so I'm almost 
as flat as an ironing board, and my nose is too long and my mouth is small, 
but I do have large, clear brown eyes, so that's something. 
    I have always managed to live a _crisp_ life. Simple clothes, but good 
materials. Clean. Extraordinary housekeeper. If my girls had runny noses, 
nobody ever saw it. I have the effect of people around me that they should 
watch their language and mind their manners, without making them resent it. 
A "lady" in the old sense of the word, and in my small town that had its 
advantages. I was a virgin when I married, and yet managed to catch good 
money, a big house, and a kind man to snuggle up to on cold winter nights. 
But there was something missing, and I knew it inside, and took to reading 
books (when the house was _done_, mind you) that tried to explain to me what 
the problem was. Since I was all alone during the day, I got the hang of 
exploring my own body, which I should have done when I was a girl, but 
_that's_ water under the bridge. I found out, with my own furtive fingers, 
what was missing from my married life, but there was something about my 
husband--well, it was a subject I _knew_ I couldn't bring up with him! 
    I work one day a week in an office with a pool of women who are, well, 
more experienced than me. Marie and Tess are always whispering about things 
that sound too embarrassing to think about, and there's something suspicious 
about the way our boss, Laurie, acts when she's talking to Tom--and they're 
both married to other people (and Laurie's husband, who works here too, 
watches her like a hawk and yet doesn't _see_ this!). Because I only come in 
once a week they always make like it's a big occasion, especially Tom, the 
Southern gentleman, who still thinks he's supposed to offer to take your 
coat and doesn't mean anything by it, if you know what I mean. But the 
interesting thing is the way Bud and Walt act. They find a huge amount of 
work that needs to be done in our section, even though their desks are 
halfway across the building. I saw boys act this way about girls in high 
school, but I wasn't one of the girls this happened to. Frankly, I can see 
why they put up with it! It's flattering to receive attention, the more so 
if you grew up thinking of yourself as a fencepost. 
    So now, about my life and the day it changed. I came in on a Tuesday (my 
usual) about a month ago and found a little crystal vase with a fresh 
rosebud in it on my desk. I love red roses, they go with whatever I'm 
wearing usually, like red on black or white on red. But I wasn't sure how to 
take the "secret admirer" bit or the ribbing I got from the pool. At noon, 
Laurie invited me out to lunch to discuss the upcoming convention in the Big 
City, and surprised me by saying she'd selected me to go this year. 
    "But, I'm only a part-timer. Less than one-quarter time right now, 
even." "Yes," she replied, "but you've been a steady and gracious worker for 
eight years, and you have had some of the best ideas for office efficiency--
in fact, every thing you've suggested has been tried and worked out 
beautifully. You plan to go back to full time when the girls go to college, 
right?" "So?" "So, Chrissie, I want you to have the same opportunity to 
upgrade professionally as the rest of us. We've all been there, one at a 
time from our section, but you--and, besides, each of us has had a lovely 
time!" "I've never even _been_ to the Big City!" "All the more reason. And 
you'll have a fine gentleman watching out for you--Walt, from the other 
section, is going this year, and he knows the Big City very well."
    When we got back to the office I sat at my desk feeling numb and 
confused. It took awhile to understand what the sensation was, because I 
took it to be just nervousness about travel. But then I realized the feeling 
was like the one when, at home, I know it's time to play with myself. I was, 
I think they call it, "turned on." About what? When Walt passed through on 
his way to Chuck's office, I realized what it was. Before a conscious 
thought had caught on to what was happening, my "bottom" was fantasizing 
about this huge man.
    Well, maybe not huge to you, dear reader; but I'm only a little more than 
two inches over five feet. So lots of men are huge from my perspective. Walt 
is very tall, very handsome, wide-shouldered, and also very, very black. 
He's so dark he doesn't look African American, he looks Nubian--but all the 
Africans I've seen here are small men, not much bigger than me. Walt has 
long legs, and strides around majestically in nice wool sweater vests and 
smells like pipes--I'm sure he smokes a pipe, but when, I have no idea--so 
it must not be a habit. Anyway, I now understood in a flash, as he went by, 
that I'd observed him more than I'd realized, and was, in some hidden place 
inside (a place that ached to be touched), _thrilled_ to be heading for the 
Big City on the same plane with him. Something, I suddenly knew, was going 
to have to be done about this. Ten years of an almost totally sensationless 
marriage had to be made up for. Understand me, I'm not saying I think what I 
did next was right--not in most of my head, anyway--but all I can tell you 
is that I found myself going about coolly and deliberately packing NICE 
THINGS for the trip. 
    At the convention I was well-behaved for two whole days, out of sheer 
shyness. I went to the meetings, and took notes, and collected handouts, and 
even stooped at every booth to ask polite questions. Walt was helpful about 
my inexperience without being at all obtrusive, and I could see that without 
some move on my part, nothing was going to happen--and something had to, or 
I'd die of shortness of breath or rapid pulse or something. So I invited 
myself to sit down with him at the luncheon, and it was then that I had my 
brilliant idea. OK, not brilliant I bet you've all tried it a dozen times, 
but remember I've had a kind of sheltered life all right?
    I spilled my entire glass of wine on him. Sweater, shirt, and lots and 
lots in his lap. Oh, he was so sweet about the whole thing (_knew_ he would 
be: our office has been lucky in its men), didn't even jump up out of his 
chair. This was my chance to fuss over him, and I didn't care if anyone was 
looking (which they were), just kept at him with the napkin, dabbing here 
and there, and then gave him a shot of oh-dear-me straight out of my big 
brown eyes, and he got it on the first try. Didn't smirk, either.
    "I do need to go and change," he said, "Though it won't take long at 
all. These things do happen; please don't concern yourself. Excuse me." But 
I rose too. "I'll leave too, I think," I said, "I'm not hungry, and I'd 
rather rest in my room. Why don't you stop by after you change, and I'll 
give you the handouts from session B?" Very formal talk, dear reader, but 
the air between us crackled with hidden fire.
     Once I knew what I'd have to do, I swung into action. I took the 
elevator to my floor, and walked briskly to my room. I found my hand 
actually shaking as I struggled to get the unfamiliar key into the lock. 
Once in, I kicked off my high heels and stepped over to the dresser. I 
rummaged about in the top drawer till I found what I was looking for: the 
azalea set of jacquard and lace coordinates with scalloped lace: front-hook 
underwired demi-style bra (32A, alas, but pretty!) and jacquard-panel 
panties, all very see-through. I dumped the things that I had worn all 
morning on the convention floor, and took a quick but luxuriant hot bath 
with the fragrant oil provided by the hotel, dried off under the heat lamp 
while brushing my hair, and made up a bit -- nothing fancy, especially about 
the eyes, as I remembered his saying something to Bud once about women with 
too much makeup. My mouth is so tiny, though, that I made a concession to 
its needs and selected a lipstick with a high gloss, and matched the azalea 
coordinates as much as possible. Then I packaged myself (that was the very 
word I thought of, sorry dear sisters, but I got really hot thinking about 
it, and it makes me dizzy even now -- I mean, did I really do all this? ME?) 
in the bra and panties, and even practiced with the hook, _unpacking_ the 
gift of what tiny breasts I have -- but they are all mine, mine to give, and 
I knew he'd appreciate the silky texture they still have (I'm not as young 
as I once was, but I've seen myself in his eyes, and in them I'm as young as 
I'll ever need to be). I even caught myself rubbing my nipples hard and 
popping them back into the bra to see if the difference was noticeable. Oh, 
my! 
    Just as I'd done this, there was a knock. I nearly jumped out of my 
skin. I threw on the hotel robe--white, unfortunately, would have preferred 
pink (or azalea!)--tied the sash on as I went to the door, and, wouldn't you 
know, blushed like a schoolgirl with my blood buzzing in my ears. It was 
Walt, and I invited him in, and touched his arm with my hand shaking so 
badly that without a word he just swept me up in his arms, carried me over 
to the chair, and gently set me down. I must have looked like I was going to 
cry, because he quietly knelt in front of me, as if I were a princess or 
something, and said something about going away if that would be better.
    I managed to squeak out that it wouldn't be better at all, and reached 
up and played with his hair a bit. It wasn't going quite as I had imagined 
it ( he should be sitting, and I should stand in front of him and _unpack_ 
the present, with slow music), but I managed to make the first move, by 
taking the end of the sash and shyly putting it in his hand. Walt understood 
me and pulled slowly, letting the slipknot fall apart, and I opened the robe 
and let it slip down my shoulders. He reached up--to my surprise, his hands 
were shaking, too--and lightly caressed my left shoulder, then traced across 
my collarbones (easy to do, I'm so bony) to the right, then brushed his hand 
softly across the lacy cups of my bra. I could really feel my nipples 
straining against the fabric after he did this. Looking him coolly (almost) 
in the eyes, I sat up straight and, just as I'd fantasized, unfastened my 
bra, and felt his warm palms close comfortably over my breasts. They were 
too small to fill his big hands, but he seemed to like them as much as they 
liked him. He leaned forward to worship them with his lips and tongue, and I 
leaned into his kisses, nuzzles, and sucks, first with the left side, then 
the right, and he gently took each nipple in his mouth and sucked until I 
almost thought I'd freshen and give milk. The tingling, between my legs, as 
this went on, became like a fire that seemed like it could never be put out. 
I reached hesitantly out to his top shirt button, and he came up for air. I 
allowed him one gasp, and went for his large mouth, enjoying the pipe-
tobacco mustiness of his salt-and-pepper beard as it seemed to surround me. 
His lips seemed salty and very warm, and I opened my mouth and felt his 
tongue, lively and masterful, explore the inside of my mouth. It was a very 
long kiss, and all the while I worked at his shirt buttons and shirttail, 
and fumbled at his belt buckle, and soon we collapsed in a heap of 
disheveled clothing, tossing shoes, socks, robe, and panties into various 
corners of the room.
    Walt, naked at last, lay on the shag carpet on his back, and I straddled 
his right leg, now wearing nothing but my nylons, wedding ring, earrings, 
and lipstick (somewhat smeared). I looked him up and down in triumph. The 
man must weigh twice what I do, and I hadn't anticipated the size of his 
"equipment." It was already standing at attention, pointing at his navel, 
which it reached to easily. Compared to Gerald's, it seemed no bigger 
around, but very, very long (to me), and had a lot of skin around the end of 
it, which Gerald's doesn't have. At its base was an enormous sac of black 
puckered skin with two heavy testicles dangling way down, and covered with 
long hairs, some white and some black. The shaft of his penis was bouncing 
in time to the beating of his heart, which I could actually see in the 
glossy black skin of his chest and in the pulse in the arteries on either 
side of his throat. Beneath me was an absolutely magnificent man, but also a 
terrifying one. I had definite knowledge of only one man's body, and 
couldn't be sure if this one would be too much for me. I reached out and 
stroked the bobbing shaft, admiring the contrast between my own untanned 
skin and his. He moaned and shifted his hips. I wrapped my fingers around 
his penis and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Ahh," he said, but then he sat up. 
"No, Chrissie," he said softly, reaching up to touch my short brown hair. 
"You first." He stood up and lifted me easily in his big arms and carried me 
over to the bed, depositing me on my back in the middle of it, and knelt 
between my feet. I thought he was just going to come right on into me, like 
Gerald does, and I spread out my legs to take him in, feeling a little 
disappointed, though I wasn't sure what about, and also worried that I might 
not be wet enough yet, but then he surprised me by getting down on his 
elbows and sliding his hands under my fanny, so that the mound of my pussy 
was pointed right at his face. I had read about this, I admit, but certainly 
NEVER done it, and didn't quite recognize what it was at first. He seemed to 
sense all this, and nicely as you could please, asked if I didn't want it, 
but, oh, I did! And said so, too, though in such a small voice I thought I 
was twelve years old again. He gently kissed me right on my pussy, and I had 
the presence of mind to put a pillow under my bottom to offer myself to him 
better, and grab a couple of other pillows, one on each side, to hold onto 
for dear life, and he started in doing things to me with his tongue that I 
hadn't known were possible. He had a rhythm that was slow, then faster, then 
slow and then fast, that he seemed to time just right by listening to my 
breathing. I felt as though I were in a raft at sea, in warm sunshine, with 
the waves just getting bigger and bigger, until I knew one of them would 
come crashing down. It was frightening. I felt for his hands, and found 
them, and held onto his hands with mine and gripped his head with my thighs 
and threw back my head. Everything then seemed to go all silver bells at 
once, and I said, "Yahhh-uhh-hahh!!" or something like that, and felt his 
tongue go still and just be there feeling the little thumps in my sweet 
spot. I kind of jerked around a little bit, grunting, and lay still, 
breathing noisily. It couldn't have been graceful, but he seemed to like it. 
He climbed up beside me and wrapped me in his arms, and then for some reason 
I started to cry. I cried for a long time, and Walt just lay there and held 
me like goodness personified.
    I eventually sat up and blew my nose, and tried to explain about the 
crying, but he wasn't bothered. I could tell by his penis, which was still 
interested. So I said, instead, that I wanted him to come into me, and he 
softly repositioned me on the bed, knelt between my knees, and did just 
that. I put a pillow behind my head to see better, because I felt a 
compulsion to watch this man (having hardly ever seen Gerald, who prefers to 
do his business quickly under cover of darkness). My mound was swollen, but 
not sore, and very wet, and he slipped in easily. He seemed unable to go all 
the way in at first--I could feel him bumping against my cervix--but somehow 
little me made enough room and he was able to put that whole long black 
thing inside me, and began to rotate his hips in some way so that my sweet 
spot could feel him, and began to feel like silver bells again. I stuck both 
my feet in the air and he held me by the ankles and moved faster inside me, 
until I stiffened up and started that silly grunting again, with my eyes 
closed. Then he slid out, and put my ankles down, and put his knees outside 
my and knee-walked up to my waist. I finally caught my breath and looked up 
at him. Walt was straddling my belly, and I could feel the weight of his 
testicles on my flat tummy. His penis pointed between my breasts, which were 
so flattened, with me lying on my back, that they were little more than two 
brown aureoles with nipples sticking up out of them, set on two 
insignificant white mounds of soft flesh, with ribs showing all around them. 
I wanted to be able to wrap them around Walt's long shaft and let him slide 
in and out between them, like in a book I'd come across, but I'm no Dolly 
Parton. Walt seemed to like me just as I was, though, and inched up till his 
penis rested on top of one breast. He took his shaft in one hand, and with 
the thumb and forefinger of his other hand squeezed my breast so that it 
stood up, and rubbed the underside of his penis on it, back and forth 
caressing the nipple with his glans. I found this terribly exciting, and, 
knowing only from reading what I ought to do next, gestured to him to inch 
the rest of the way up to my tiny face. 
    Walt very willingly did so, planting his knees firmly in my armpits, and 
towering above me, leaned his hands against the wall and rested his heavy 
sac on my throat. I could feel his pulse in the sac, and could smell the 
salty sweat of his crotch. The tip of his long penis, still wet with my 
cunny juices, hovered above my eyes. I reached for it and encircled it 
gingerly with the fingers of my right hand, and slid my hand down the length 
of it toward the base. This caused his--I guess, foreskin--to peel back from 
the tip, and I saw up close the glans that had rubbed my nipple. It seemed 
lighter in color than the almost blue-blackness of the snaky rod in my 
fingers--almost an angry red. Walt seemed to like the slowness and 
deliberation of all this, and closed his eyes and seemed to be in a far 
country. So I felt welcome to experiment. With my left hand I cradled his 
testes, which lay on my throat, and brought them over my chin, and licked 
them all over. He began to quiver, like a horse does when you curry it with 
a good brush, on the rump. I held the penis up by the end--the foreskin 
closed briefly over part of the reddish head as I did this--and flicked my 
tongue up along the dark streak of the urethra on its downhill side. Walt 
seemed to be beside himself now, all ice cubes and flames, and I could see 
goose bumps on his dark torso, and sweat, too, running down between his 
chest hairs far above me. Relaxing my jaw as much as I could, I opened my 
small lips wide and slipped the head of his penis into my mouth. Walt opened 
his eyes and looked down into mine. His seemed to say, "I'm yours forever." 
I gazed up into them, saying the same with mine, and managed to say "Mmmm" 
with my mouth full.
    Walt began to move his hips slowly, watching my face intently as his 
large penis slithered up and down in my by now very wet mouth. Every now and 
then he would pull all the way out and his hot, blood-pounding organ would 
just sort of hover just above my lips, and I would purse them and give its 
tip a demure little smooch, and he would lower himself and disappear into my 
face again, pushing in and out. I could hear the plopping and sucking noises 
my mouth made, and I wished I could take him all the way in, but I was 
afraid I'd vomit, and he seemed to sense this and didn't shove. Once when he 
pulled out, I reached up and stroked him a while with the tip just resting 
on my lips, I talked to his penis (something else I'd never done before), 
telling it I wanted come on my face, which seemed to drive him right up the 
wall.
    When he did come, it was with such discipline, no thrashing or carrying 
on, that I was caught by surprise. I was milking his shaft with my hand, 
with my lips giving it little tip kisses, when suddenly his testes seemed to 
leap in their sac against my chin, and something seemed to rush along 
underneath my fingers and gush right onto my mouth. There seemed to be a LOT 
of it (which wasn't an impression I'd gotten from my limited experience), 
and it ran right down my cheek and into my left ear and hair. And that was 
only the first gush! I still had the pulsating meat in my right hand, and it 
was still pointed at my pursed lips, when another gush, hot at first, then 
surprisingly cool, covered the whole area between my nose and mouth, and I 
couldn't breathe. I gasped, I suppose, because then on the third gush I got 
a lot of slimy liquid in my mouth, all the way to the back, and quickly 
swallowed so I could breathe. The taste was pungent, like blood, and sweet 
at the same time, and also indescribable. I suppose an acquired taste, but I 
didn't dislike it at all, and the feeling, due to my strict upbringing, that 
I was doing something particularly wicked, made me decide I liked it very 
much. I held away the tip for a moment to see what was happening, and 
involuntarily said, "Eeep!" as a white stream of liquid shot past my eyes 
and into my hair, dribbling onto my forehead, nose, and right cheek. I 
decided to do the rest of this as I had read, and popped the tip back into 
my mouth, where two or three smaller squirts added to the lubrication of all 
the salivating I'd been doing, and I raised my head and lowered it, 
shuttling the now somewhat softer shaft in and out between my by-now 
somewhat numbed lips. Looking up into Walt's eyes, I took him in as far as I 
could, feeling the head of his penis against the beginning of my throat, and 
swallowed, so that he could feel the motion of the swallow, like a kind of 
hug, along the four or so inches of his penis that was inside my head. Then 
I slid slowly down onto the pillow, and could see a wet and somewhat 
shrunken, though still very long, very black penis dangling above my chin, 
attached to it by a stretched string of mixed spit and come.
    Walt sighed deeply and reached up to caress my face, semen and all. I 
caught him by his long middle finger with my lips and sucked it, tickling 
the finger inside my mouth with my tongue. "Oh, God," he said, and reaching 
down with his other hand, caught mine and guided it back to his penis. As I 
sucked his finger, new life was flowing into his long meat. Suddenly, 
masterfully, he rolled me over and, with expert hands, set me on my hands 
and knees. Kneeling behind me, he poked about my fanny a bit with his now 
quite hard tool and found the still wet entrance to my little cunny. He slid 
right in, all the way, giving me that full feeling that I had always liked 
best, and began rocking his hips so that the penis was sliding all the way 
in and out in a hypnotic rhythm. I gasped and my arms collapsed, so that my 
face lay on its side on the pillow, and I could see us both in the hotel 
room mirror above the vanity table. My white bottom was high in the air, and 
Walt, in absolute command of my private parts, was upright behind me and 
pumping me full of penis, with one hand on each cheek of my buttocks, 
spreading them wide (or as wide as could be expected of what ass I've got. 
In this upside-down position his penis was sliding right over the sweet spot 
of my clitoris, and I began making the embarrassing grunts again. Walt 
reached around with one hand and gathered one breast in his palm (they are 
definitely more breast-like with gravity assistance) and caught the nipple 
between his fingers. This sent me over the top, and the silver bells went 
off like thunder in my head and in my bottom. I must have yelled, because 
Walt stopped gyrating. As my vision cleared, I looked back over my shoulder. 
"Are you okay?" he asked (but with a little bit of a grin this time--I 
forgive him!). For answer, I took his hand from my breast and popped the 
middle finger in my mouth, and began moving my behind up and down, felling 
his penis slide in and out as I did so. I sucked his finger and rode his 
long pole, and looked in the mirror and caught him watching there! 
    Our eyes met in the glass, and he shuddered and began to shake all over, 
and I could feel his penis doing, in my vagina, what only ten minutes before 
it had done all over my face. Slowly he slid out, and  before he could 
collapse on the bed I whipped around and cupped one hand under his sac and 
wrapped the other around the shaft of his penis. It fairly glowed with my 
juices and his come, most of which, I knew, was deep inside me. I pumped it 
a few times, and one last baby-spoonful of his thick, creamy semen ran out 
of the tip and down over my fingers. I bent down and licked it off, rubbing 
the head against my cheek, while his hands roamed over my breasts and sides. 
    When we fell in a heap of arms and legs onto the bed, I sensed that we 
probably wouldn't make it to the rest of the convention. Walt raised himself 
on one elbow, brushed back the come-plastered hair from my forehead, and 
kissed me deeply in my mouth. He pulled back to admire the crusts of white, 
flaky dried come on my cheeks, nose, and chin. "I always knew, little 
Chrissie, that you would be the best ever." "Oh? But you never said so!" 
"Well, sure, I did. Though I didn't know how you would take it, so I had to 
be kind of discreet." "When? What? Where? You never," I said, playing with  
his hair. "Oh, yes! That rosebud was from me!" We looked at each other for a 
long moment and both burst out laughing. "C'mere, big boy," said I, and 
wrapped both arms around his neck.

                                 --FINIS.--