Mental Stimulation Ch. 2

Okay, so, obviously, that first fantasy was all about him taking control. Admittedly, that's one of the things I'm heavily into, but I am not too sure the same is true for him. For the sake of keeping these within the realm of possibility, sometimes my fantasies are more about him losing control. You see, he can be so... unflappable. Like, I can make pointed comments, clearly designed to rile him up, and he doesn't blink an eye. It's maddening... The only thing that keeps me sane is the memory of the few times I've seen his carefully polished facade slip, and I've gotten the satisfaction of seeing that maybe this isn't as one-sided as it seems. One of my favorite moments to revisit is the first time this happened...

We'd had a function at work where we got to dress up and let our hair down. I had been wearing a 1920s-inspired dress, rather form-fitting and pretty deeply low-cut. It being a work event, I had a shawl around my shoulders so as not to be inappropriately revealing, but I knew that under the cover, my tits looked great, which is always a confidence-booster.

After the formal function was over, we all ended up at the hotel bar and spent the evening drinking and socializing. He and I found ourselves next to one another at the bar, chatting. As the night progressed and the drinks kept flowing, I could feel the nature of our banter veering toward the flirtatious. At the time, this was the first occasion since I had started this new job where he and I had really gotten to spend time one-on-one, and I was definitely enjoying it. We talked about all sorts of things, sometimes others joining the conversation, sometimes it being just the two of us. Eventually, people started to break off and head to bed. As the environment got quieter and I had fewer people competing for his attention, I felt myself really start to relax. We kept talking, and at some point, my shawl slipped so it was no longer covering the swell of my breasts. I noticed but chose to do nothing about it, curious if he would notice, too. I wanted to see whether the flirting I was perceiving was all in my head. Needless to say, I was absolutely thrilled when I looked up a few minutes later and caught his gaze lingering on the newly exposed curve of my breast. My breath caught, and I was instantly turned on. Although this lasted only a moment, I found it endlessly exciting.

As I said, I very much enjoy thinking back to this little encounter, and sometimes I like to imagine how the night might have ended differently had we not decided to go our separate ways... Though chances are he doesn't even remember it.

---

Maybe I'd call him out: "Like what you see?" as I traced my finger along the fabric covering my breast, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard by the few remaining coworkers hanging out at the bar.

He'd quickly bring his eyes up to meet mine, eyebrows rising in surprise at being caught, before smoothing his expression into one of nonchalance. He'd bring his glass up to his lips, taking a small sip while regarding me over the rim of the drink.

"So, are you enjoying the job so far?" he'd ask, his face a perfectly schooled picture of innocence.

My eyebrows would furrow, confusion flashing through me at his dismissal before I narrowed my eyes at him. I hadn't made up that reaction... had I? I'd decide to push, to see if I could get another reaction out of him.

I'd wrap my fingers around my beer bottle, slowly moving my hand up its neck as I maintained eye contact, cocking my head to the side, observing him.

"I am just loving it so far; thank you so much for asking," I'd say, my hand beginning its deliberate journey back down the bottle.

His eyes would flicker briefly to my hand as it moved before coming back to rest on my face.

"I'm so happy to hear that! Is this the kind of job you thought you would be doing?" His smile would remain placid, generic, his tone barely more than friendly, suggesting only idle curiosity.

I'd glance over at the person sitting nearest us, lowering my voice as I replied.

"Actually, there are all sorts of jobs I've pictured myself doing..." I'd trail off, removing my hand from my beer bottle and tracing a finger slowly down my bottom lip.

He'd hesitate before responding, and I'd note with growing satisfaction the slight clench of his jaw before he spoke.

"Really?" he'd ask, maddeningly composed. "Anything interesting?"

I'd exhale through my nose, taking a swig of my beer while suppressing the urge to roll my eyes.

"Oh, I don't know..." I'd say slowly. "I've always been fascinated by psychology. Finding out what makes people tick... You know?" I'd blink a few times as I finished my sentence, a small smile curving my lips.

"Ah," he'd say softly, and I'd be sure I could see the beginnings of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. He'd clear his throat quietly before continuing. "And do you consider yourself good? At figuring out what makes people tick...?"

At this point, I'd be unable to stop the grin spreading across my lips. "You tell me..." I'd say, moving my hands to my shawl and intentionally spreading the sides out so that the entirety of my cleavage was exposed to him, breasts rising as I took a deep breath.

I'd watch as his nostrils flared, his knee giving a quick, involuntary jerk. He'd clear his throat once again, slightly louder this time, rearranging himself in his seat, bringing his glass to his lips to take a large gulp. His Adam's apple would bob as he swallowed before speaking.

"It's a fascinating topic, isn't it? I've always enjoyed observing others in an attempt to understand them." As he spoke, he'd once again adopt his unbothered expression, but I would know what I had seen in those brief moments before.

It would be my turn to swallow as I considered the meaning of his response. Perhaps I hadn't been as clever or in control as I thought I had.

Before I could respond, one of our coworkers would amble up to us, a slightly drunken smile on his lips.

"Hey, guys! What a night, huh?" he'd say, words slurring together. He'd look between us expectantly while chugging what must have been his seventh or eighth beer.

We'd glance at each other, exchanging small smiles. I'd settle back into my seat quietly while letting him engage with the interloper, satisfied that I wasn't wholly delusional.

---

Alas, even in my fantasies I'm a realist. Sigh.