by Mimi Strong
Her Teddy Bear #2 - Take Your Teddy to Work Day (Erotic Romance)
© 2012 Mimi Strong
Description: Naomi wakes up with a big, tall man in her little double-sized bed. What's she to do with him? They start with breakfast, enjoying each other in the sunshine of the breakfast nook. Trevor takes her to his work, and they "play house" in the show suite at a new housing development. Later, Naomi takes him to her work place, where he helps her make some very special photocopies. Somewhere in the midst of all the smoldering sex, however, feelings are starting to burn. These feelings will not be denied.
Length: 14,700 words, or 60 book pages long. This is the second of a 3-part series.
Spice Level: Erotic. This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.
Part 1: Won't You Stay for Breakfast?
My big teddy bear, Trevor, knew what was good for him and so he stuck around until the morning, even though his feet hung off the end of my double bed.
“Good morning,” I said as he nudged my butt cheeks with his erection.
He grabbed me tight from behind, spooning me while also, um, trying to fork me through my panties.
I tried to pull away from him, but he growled in my ear and held me tighter.
Squealing, I said, “Coffee! Coffee first, then I'm all yours.”
He nuzzled my ear and neck from behind, his chin scratchy from a day's worth of beard growth.
Truth was, I had a bit of a sticky situation in my panties (only getting worse by the minute) and I wanted to freshen up in the shower. Guys always assume we're sweet and delicious and lovely, like fresh peaches down there, but it does take some effort!
I gently bit him on the arm until he yelped and released me. I scrambled out of the too-small bed and scampered to my bathroom.
I peered back over my shoulder at him, the big teddy bear in my bed.
Trevor was older than me, early thirties, and divorced. He claimed to have some baggage and a lack of desire to talk about it, but he seemed okay to me. He worked with my big sister, her boss at a real estate development company. Nikki set him up with me because she has an aversion to body hair, and Trevor had a gorgeous trail of curls leading from his neck to … all the good parts. It was hard to tear myself away from him, looking so awkward in my pink sheets, but I ran to the shower and tried to rush the job.
I was just climbing out when he came into the bathroom. “I put the coffee pot on,” he said, giving me a kiss. “Should be ready for you, and I'll be right out.”
I gave him another kiss, and a hug, and let him take over the shower.
Out in my bedroom, I threw on a robe and looked for something clean and comfy for Trevor to borrow, but who was I kidding? A petite girl like me wouldn't have anything for him to wear. I straightened up the bed and smoothed out his clothes from the night before.
Following the delicious scent of brewing coffee, I made my way to the kitchen. My parents were away, at our cabin by the lake, and I felt like such a bad girl, having a man sleep over. Bad in a good way.
I immediately called my sister, Nikki. I brought her up to speed on the awkward date Trevor and I went on the previous night. I'd sorta forced him to take me to a movie, and then after, he'd confessed that not only did I look just a little bit like his ex-wife (and by a little bit, I mean a lot), but that he wasn't a big fan of talking about his feelings.
Nikki snorted into the phone from her side. “Men love to talk about their feelings. The problem is, they only have two, and they're hungry or angry.”
“Or the third,” I said.
“Oh, right, horny.”
“Hah! No, I meant hangry. That combo, where you get mad because you're low blood sugar. Like how Dad gets if dinner's late.”
Nikki laughed at this (it was funny because it was true), then said, “Listen, Naomi, I know you haven't dated a divorced guy before—”
“Neither have you!”
“Let me finish,” she said, sounding exasperated. I could picture her making one of our mother's facial expressions, which made me want to strangle her through the phone. “People going through a divorce have a lot of stuff going on. They're in transition.”
I tapped my fingers on the sunny breakfast nook table, frustrated by her beating around the bush. “Nikki, try. Try to make a point.”
“This is a transitional relationship,” she said.
“You mean like a rebound thing?”
“Yes.”
“So?” I said sullenly.
“It's a good transition for you, too,” she said. “Have your fun, but don't get too attached.”
My mind raced ahead, putting together words and ideas. “Nikki, did you intentionally set us up so that I could be his rebound girl?”
Silence.
“Nikki?”
“What? Sorry, my cell phone just cut out. What are you trying to say?”
“Do you really want Trevor for yourself? Did you set him up with me to get his rebound over so you could get your paws on him?”
“Of course not! I'm offended you would even think that,” she said.
I shrank down in my chair, feeling very small and foolish. “Uh, sorry. I just … I have all these weird feelings.”
“Promise me you'll take it easy,” she said, sounding once more like my sweet, supportive big sister.
I felt like a total asshole for being suspicious of her. “The horses are already out of the barn.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Farming metaphors. This is not good.”
“Transitional is good,” I said. “Do you know how many times he transitioned me last night?”
“Naomi, he's my boss. I have to look him in the face at work, you know, so please don't tell me anything too detailed.”
“Okay.”
There was a pause, then finally she said, “Okay how many times?”
“Three times.”
“That's a lot.”
“I know. It was so good. I think I want it three times a night now.”
She squealed then sighed. “Ugh, I need a boyfriend. You have to set me up.”
“All my friends are gay.”
“Well, keep your eyes open,” she said.
My sister and I finished our phone call just in time. Trevor came out of the hallway, looking clean and scrumptious, albeit a little rumply in the previous day's clothes. Those eyes took my breath away, orange-brown and flecked with black and gold. When he talked to me, his pupils were dilated, big and dark with interest for me. His desire made me crazy for him. Even though he wasn't model-skinny, he was such a handsome man, with thick, dark, wavy hair, and such a nice jaw line and chin with the cutest cleft right in the middle.
“The walk of shame,” he said, rubbing at the wrinkles on his shirt with both hands.
Over the top of my coffee mug, I said, “I can run an iron over that for you.”
He shrugged away the offer and said, “I earned my walk of shame.”
I thought of the previous night, of him tirelessly taking me to orgasm after orgasm. “You sure did.”
I was sitting on one the wooden chairs in the kitchen's breakfast nook, overlooking the backyard, and he joined me with his own freshly-poured coffee. Unlike me, with all my milk, he took his black, which didn't surprise me. He was a manly man, after all.
We exchanged flirty looks and pleasantries about the variety of products and conditioners in my bathroom, and then, he patted his lap and said, “C'mere.”
I stood, walked the long way around the table to get a refill, then came back and sat down on his lap. “Like this?”
He nuzzled my ear and neck. “I used your razor,” he said.
“I can tell!” I reached over my shoulder and rubbed his smooth cheek. “As smooth as a lady's legs.”
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“Your razor is pink.”
I giggled. “But it did the job.”
He kissed the back of my neck while rubbing my thighs and butt.
I shifted position, feeling the heat and strength of his rising manhood underneath me.
He slid up the hem of my robe, running his hands down between my legs.
His voice low and growling, he said into my ear, “No panties.”
“It's Saturday,” I said. “No need to rush getting dressed.”
“No need to rush anything, except ...”
He used one finger to part my lips and ran his fingertip up over my sensitive nub.
I gasped in pleasure and surprise. We hadn't even been kissing, and already I felt the swelling and the readiness in my pussy. I reached down behind me and grabbed for him, through his trousers. He moaned into my ear again, then gently bit the back of my neck, under my damp hair, as he thrust against my hand.
We were seated near the bay window, with no curtains, and the room faced a tiny but somewhat private yard. The neighbors, if they were to venture outside, would see us, but perhaps not. There was a fence.
Trevor had both hands on my pussy now, one scooped under from behind, and one angled around the front, drawing circles around my clit. I no longer cared about the neighbors or the height of fences.
I moaned and rocked back and forth, seeking to ease the pressure that was building up as rapidly as a steaming kettle.
He said, “You like that? No rush. We can take our time.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just like that. Feels so good. Oh my god.”
“Don't come yet,” he said, chuckling. “You feel so good in my fingers. So slippery and I can't see it from here, but I know it's all hot pink down there, isn't it?”
I glanced down at his finger, stunned to see the thick digit, with its light coat of dark hair, working back and forth and up and down my soft, pink bits.
I leaned forward, putting my elbows on the table, so he could access me better from behind, with the fingers seeking to enter me. “More,” I said.
He added a finger and thrust in and out of me, steadily, unrelentingly.
“More,” I said. “I want your big cock inside me.”
“Mm, dirty talk,” he said. “Hang on.”
He fumbled with the latch on his trousers, then got them open. I felt his dick, all hot and heavy, against my backside, under my loose robe.
“I'll give you something to talk dirty about,” he said.
I leaned forward some more, and he guided his manhood with his hand, rubbing the head up and down my pussy, along my clean, freshly-showered ass, my vagina, and across my clit.
“You want this?” he said.
“Yeah.” I wiggled my ass and tried to move back, falling onto it, but he had his hands on my hips and wouldn't let me.
His voice was different now, even deeper, and his breathing was heavy. “Take that robe off, I want to see your back.”
I untied the robe and tossed it to the floor. I pushed back again, trying to get my aching pussy down on that big, throbbing erection, to slide past the head and over the shaft, but he kept me pinned, wouldn't let me back yet.
Instead, he dipped in and out of me with the head, filling me, then taking it away.
My urgency built up some more, until I feared I might have to beg, and then I got annoyed and frustrated, but pleasantly so.
“I'm ready,” I said, giving him what I thought was a pretty strong hint.
“I know.”
In and out with the tip again. Then across my clit with the head. In and out once more.
I moaned in a mix of pleasure and frustration.
“C'mere,” he said, and he finally guided me down, inch by inch. Because he's so long and I'm not that tall, I wasn't sure how far we could go, or what would happen when we did, but I ended up sitting comfortably on his lap, his legs supporting mine. His long, thick, hard cock was completely inside me, impaling me, but I didn't feel impaled at all.
I began to circle from the waist, riding him, feeling him slip around inside me.
“Damn,” he said, sending a thrill of pleasure through me, this one from my mind. They say the brain is the largest sex organ, and I believe it. Every time he said that word, and I knew how much he wanted me, it made me want him even more.
He tipped me up rather quickly, so he could slip his trousers all the way off. Now I was astride him, still with my back to him, with his muscular hairy legs between mine. I flexed my internal muscles and he grabbed onto my hips, rocking me back and forth on that hard, throbbing cock. Between my legs, I could see my pussy lips, hot pink and eager, and then his sac, in its cloak of dark curls. I reached down and stroked his balls, which he seemed to appreciate.
“Damn!” he said. “I'm gonna come.”
I wasn't near orgasm, not in this position, so I did something I might have been shy about before, but not with Trevor. I let my fingers roam up from his sac to my clit, and I rubbed away, exactly the way I like it for maximum efficiency, and soon my orgasm was ready to explode.
I used one hand on myself and the other for his sac, both hands getting wet and slippery from our combined moisture.
Trevor leaned forward and grabbed me around the waist. He pressed his face into my neck from behind and pulsed into me, rapidly. I felt him explode inside me, drenching my inner walls. As he moaned with pleasure near my ear, I climaxed, and my shuddering pussy squeezed his cock as the last of him spilled into me.
I melted into him, enjoying the warmth of him under me and his arms around me. We relaxed together, in the golden morning sun.
We didn't move or say anything for at least a minute, until finally, he spoke, saying, “Would you hand me my coffee?”
I giggled at this, which tightened my muscles and made his spent manhood tickle and ease out of me, which of course made him laugh, and only made the issue more noticeable.
Luckily, we had some napkins on the breakfast room table, so the next part wasn't too messy. A few minutes later, I was back in my robe and we were enjoying the rest of our coffee.
He declared that he was hungry and was going to toast up the bagels he'd scouted while making coffee. He insisted I stay where I was, relaxing, so I remained in the sunshine and watched him as he hunted through the kitchen for the bread knife, cutting board, butter, etc. He was such a big, tall man, and yet, he was also the cutest thing.
It was the perfect start to a Saturday.
Part 2: Farmer's Market
My parents weren't due back to the house until Sunday afternoon, so I suggested we stay in all day, clothing optional. Trevor didn't seem too thrilled with that idea, and I remembered what my sister had said about him, that he was a real on-the-go-go-go kind of guy, so I pulled out the paper and started rattling off various things going on in the city.
“Farmer's market?” he said, his face showing amusement. “Don't tell me you're the farmer's-market type, with fresh herbs and knowing your chickens by name.”
“Not really, but I could be.”
He seemed to ponder this for a moment. We were standing around the tall kitchen island, and even though he had his elbows on the counter, his lower body kept moving—feet tapping, legs shifting. “I suppose I could be too,” he said. “I know how to make pesto.”
“There you go. You're halfway there. With the gorgeous kitchen in that house of yours, it would be a shame not to make pesto.”
“The kitchen wasn't my design, it was ...” The shifting feet stopped moving.
I grabbed my purse and keys. I didn't want to know about his ex-wife, nor did I want him to shut down on me, thinking I was trying to get him to talk. I said, “We should get going to that farmer's market before all the good turnips are gone.”
He smiled. “Oh, no. Not turnips. I have a very rare allergy.”
“No you don't.”
“I could. You don't know me that well,” he joked.
For the second time in as many minutes, I felt uncomfortabl
e. “One day at a time,” I said, and I stood up on my tiptoes for a kiss.
We got to the farmer's market, and I got to know Trevor a little better, as well as strategies for crowded venues. For example, he said everyone turns right as soon as they enter a farmer's market, and they progress slowly around the circuit as a herd of slow-moving sheep. But, there are no rules saying you have to go that way, so he had us turn left and go mostly against the flow of traffic, so we were never stuck behind any slow-moving groups.
My parents usually spend two hours perusing the market, stopping to sample everything and chatting with friends and neighbors. Trevor and I “completed the circuit” in twenty-seven minutes.
We bought fresh ravioli for dinner, as well as plenty of greens, and a strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert. He also took three phone calls.
On the way out, he took yet another call, and I wandered over to a stand with jams and jellies. The woman working there was about my height and age, and her husband (so I assumed by the wedding bands) appeared to be cut from the same cloth as Trevor, right down to the constantly-moving feet.
As I tasted a spoon full of apricot jam on a slice of rustic bread, the woman glanced over at Trevor, a few feet behind me, and said, “How long have you two been dating?”
“Not long,” I said.
She gave me a sly look. “Nice, tall one like that, you'd better hang on to him.”
I laughed and said, “I've never dated someone over five-ten!” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I'm getting neck strain staring up at him all the time.”
She rubbed her neck as well and said, “You get used to it.”
I bought some of the apricot jam and some honey as well. I wondered if she'd been complimenting my date to get me to buy more of her food, but the jam was so good, and a line was forming behind me, so I was sure she didn't need to.
Trevor reached his big hand for mine, and we started walking to the exit gate, him still on his phone. I had mixed feelings about him being on his cell, because it was discourteous to me, but I also understood he had an important job. I could take half-days of personal time whenever I wanted, and the theater office would get along fine without me, although some customers wouldn't pay their bills on time without my friendly harassment. Trevor, however, was the boss of a fairly large real estate development company, and he had employees, including my own sister.
