Nine-to-Five Fantasies: Tales of Sex on the Job

by Неизвестный

  I couldn’t help myself. I drove my fingers into his thick hair and tugged a little. I ground my pussy to his mouth and wished upon a million stars that the fabric would simply disappear. But that didn’t happen. What did happen was David grabbed the sides of my hose and panties combined and yanked. With the two bunched up around my knees, I was unable to spread my legs. So when he buried his face between my thighs and started to lick me with gentle but brutal laps of his tongue, the friction was almost unbearable.

  “Jesus,” I sighed. My mouth was moving now. Spilling out words I hadn’t intended to say and he was just eating me out, licking me so I was slick and shivering, until he took one of his thick workingman fingers and shoved it into my pussy, pressing my G-spot expertly.

  I came. Back pressed to the cool white wall, my hose binding my knees together, my hair hanging in my face. I was sure anyone in the hall could hear me because I wasn’t being quiet. Not at all.

  “Hurry, hurry,” I said.

  “Hurry for what?” He chuckled again. I loved the sound of his laugh. It was molasses drizzling over warm pancakes.

  “I want you to fuck me, that’s for what,” I blurted, trying to push my hose down so I could move.

  When I said it so matter of factly, he grunted, his eyes darkening.

  His cock twitched and I took my turn now, dropping to my knees, sliding my lips along his shaft, licking greedily at the crown to taste the sweet bite of precome on my tongue.

  If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought I was hurting him. But one of his big hands settled on top of my head and the other cupped the back. He anchored me, thrusting fluidly forward without gagging me or going too fast.

  I sucked a deep breath in through my nose. Relaxed my throat. Took him down as I relished the thought that this was happening. Finally happening! It almost seemed surreal but there he was when I touched his thighs, his skin under my fingertips, his cock thrust deep in my throat.

  “Stop, stop,” he grunted with a strangled laugh. David pushed me back onto the foyer carpet and ran his hands over my belly, the tops of my thighs. The thought of those hands, busted up from work, coated with grime from dusty construction, now skimming my skin, had me panting.

  I put my arms around his neck and pulled him in, kissing him. I swirled my tongue over his and trembled when he nipped my tongue. When I gasped, his teeth found the fragile skin of my clavicle and nipped me there.

  “Spread your legs for me, Lenore,” he said.

  The way he said my name—a name I often hated—had me on the verge of coming.

  I did as ordered and he pulled back for a moment, finding his pants, his wallet, a condom. The snap and scent of latex filled my head, and then he was running the tip of his cock along my soaking wet slit.

  I arched up, trying to hurry him along.

  He tsked me good naturedly. “Patience.”

  If you had any idea how long I’ve waited…

  Instead I said, “I am patient. Mostly…”

  He slid into me with one sleek thrust, surprising me and stealing my breath. Then he stilled, staring down into my eyes as he filled me but didn’t move.

  My pulse pounded in my throat and head. My heart hammered my chest and the tom-tom beat of it filled my belly and cunt too. I groaned and gripped his thick forearms with trembling fingers.

  “Please, move. Please!”

  So he did. Giving me that half smile again that reminded me of the King of Rock and Roll, of course. But somehow it was a bit more rakish. A bit more dangerous on his pretty, pretty face.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist, opening my body to his, and it was his turn to groan. His forearms shook as he lowered down to kiss me again. “You’re a challenge, Lenore.”

  “I am?”

  “You make me want to just let go.”

  “Funny, I know that feeling.”

  I knew it was bizarre, but for once I was going to take a situation at face value.

  When I drove my body up to meet his thrusts, his face seemed to change with the pleasure. Becoming more feline, his cheekbones more chiseled.

  “Hands up,” he said, and then he made a low sound when I readily obeyed.

  He clasped them above my head with his strong hands and ground his hips back and forth, back and forth before thrusting deep over and over again. He watched me closely and when I came, he kissed me quiet.

  My pussy filled with one sweet flutter after another.

  “Turn over for me,” he said.

  His hands caught up in my hair as I went. Wound it tight, used it as a lead. It made my skin prickle with arousal the way he manhandled me. That was what I wanted. To be handled. Touched. Told and taken.

  He spread my legs to his liking, found my slit again and drove into me, using my hair as a rein. I cried out as he hit my G-spot without mercy and when I came a third time, he let my hair tumble loose around my face, grabbed my hips and thrust deep and hard until he was crying out harshly.

  Outside something boomed and the building rattled a bit. “Ahhh, shit,” he laughed. But he hadn’t moved, and his palm was smoothing over the swell of my asscheek. His calluses rasped on my skin, and I pushed myself back into the palm of his hand.

  I thought I could have stayed there all damn night if he kept touching me that way. Fantasy fulfilled, I thought. But now…oh now, I wanted more.

  “I guess I should go,” he said, finally pulling free.

  “I…oh…” I’ll admit it. My heart sank. But this was just a onetime thing. A fling. A quickie. A steamy fuck with a stranger. Something to cross off my bucket list… He interrupted my internal pity party to say, “I’m not even supposed to be gone. I took a quick break to ‘get coffee,’” he said, making air quotes.

  “Oh…”

  He stood, pulled off the condom and put it in the trash when I pointed the way. Watching him walk bare-assed was a pleasure I wouldn’t soon forget. Then he yanked on his jeans and leaned in to kiss me. “Can I come back later tonight? Maybe be a proper gentleman? Bring some wine? A pizza?” He looked down at himself. “Maybe not be so dirty.”

  I smiled, everything in me lifting up a little and soaring. “I’d be curious to see you not dirty.” It might be more than once, after all.

  “Same goes for me, Lenore.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’d like to see you not dirty. You were pretty dirty just now.”

  I gaped at him and he smiled. “Just kidding. But I did actually like how dirty you were.” He touched me once, touched me twice. “Shy girl with the big, brown eyes,” he said, winking, and then like a shot he was out the door.

  I shut the door softly. I’d finally done it. And the best part was, he’d be back and I’d probably—hopefully—get to do it again. And I’d remember to ask him about that sticker on his hard hat.

  BONANZED

  Kate Pearce

  The dude ranch wasn’t quite how I’d pictured it. Sure, there were cowboys and horses, and a big barn, and all that stuff, but it was no Bonanza. I’d grown up on TV cowboys and booked this vacation to get up close and personal with them—if you know what I mean. I’d obviously forgotten the whole ranch part and focused too much on the dude, because there were horses and rides and cookouts.

  By day two, I was exhausted in a healthy outdoor kind of way, and eating like a horse as well as riding one. When my name was called to mount up, I couldn’t get my foot high enough to reach the stirrup. One of the ranch hands, a cowboy called Chase, came over and offered me a boost into the saddle. He had big square hands. I liked the way his fingers curled around my knee as he settled my foot into the stirrup. I flexed my muscles and pointed my booted toe, aware of his longest finger inching up the seam of my jeans.

  “Is that better?”

  He wasn’t much of a talker, but I was okay with that.

  “Thanks.”

  I couldn’t see his face, only the top of his Stetson. His fingers tightened for a brief moment around my uppe
r thigh and then let go. I almost came in my jeans.

  “I don’t suppose you give private lessons, do you?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  He looked up at me, his narrowed blue eyes the same sun-washed color as the hazy morning sky. His skin was tanned, his mouth lush and his lower lip full.

  “On what you’re willing to learn.”

  “How about you meet me in the barn after dinner and explain your strengths?”

  “And miss the s’mores around the campfire?”

  Was he laughing at me? But, god, I did love s’mores, almost as much as I did cowboys… “After that then.”

  “Sure.” He patted my horse’s butt and sent me on my way.

  The s’mores were good, the communal singing god-awful. He caught my eye over the flickering fire and nodded toward the barn. I pretended to yawn, stood up, smoothed down my denim skirt and smiled at the nearest campers.

  “’Night everyone. All this fresh air is killing me!”

  Everyone laughed, and I strolled away, taking a more circuitous route back to the barn and coming in through the other side. A big blackboard with all our names and the names of our horses took up most of the wall. The lighting was dim. I could hear the occasional snort and clatter of a shoed hoof on the cement floor. I inhaled the intoxicating scents of hay and leather, and smiled.

  “Ms. Pattison.”

  He was over by the tack room, one shoulder propped against the door frame. I couldn’t quite see his expression, but I hoped it was as anticipatory as mine.

  “Mr. Chase.”

  He smiled. “Chase will do just fine. What can I do for you?”

  I strolled over to him and placed my hand flat on the front of his denim shirt. Close up, he smelled of marshmallow, chocolate and the smoke from the fire. I wanted to strip him naked and lick the flavors off him, one by one.

  “It’s Denise and you can do anything you want to me.”

  He caught my wrists and drew my hands behind my back.

  “Anything?”

  He made it more of a statement than a question, his gaze assessing, and his hands firm on my skin. He yanked me closer until we were pressed together from knee to shoulder, breast to chest, cunt to cock. I rolled my hips against the hard rod of his erection, and his hand clamped down on my ass.

  “Hold on.”

  He picked me up, shutting the door with the heel of his boot, and dumped me on a stack of hay bales. I stayed put while he locked the door and then turned back to me, his smile predatory. The faint sounds of “Kumbaya” filtered through the ill-fitting wall planks. He took off his gloves and flexed his fingers, his gaze on my crotch. Helpfully, I eased one knee to the side and drew my booted foot up.

  “Do you like what you see, cowboy?”

  “Better if you lift up your skirt.”

  I complied and his breathing hitched as I displayed my bare, shaved sex. Just to make sure he was paying attention I swirled my finger around my clit.

  “Look, I’m already wet.”

  “Must be all that singing.” He came closer and sucked my finger into his mouth. “Mmm…and you’re all creamy like the s’mores.”

  He went down on his knees, and this time I was the one who was holding my breath as his tongue came out and licked a slow lascivious path from my clit to my ass. Two broad fingers penetrated my cunt, and I moaned.

  He looked up at me. “Is this what you want, lady? A quick fuck?”

  “Well, not the quick part.”

  “It’s going to have to be. I have to get back and round up the happy campers and make sure the fire is out.” His thumb circled my clit and pressed hard and I came just like that. He eased a condom out of his jeans pocket.

  “Would you like to put that on my dick?”

  “I’d love to, but not quite yet.”

  He grimaced as I tried to unbutton his fly, the thick wedge of his cock making it difficult. I hummed in anticipation as his shaft was revealed inch by slow tantalizing inch.

  I leaned in and sucked the crown into my mouth, enjoying the taste of leather and man and precome swirling over my tongue. His hand slid into my hair urging me on. I drew him deeper and sucked harder.

  He groaned and his hips rolled as he fucked my mouth, taking control away from me.

  I pulled back and looked up at him. “Quickly, then, cowboy.”

  He grinned, one hand already wrapped around his cock as he expertly covered himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

  And then he was shoving himself inside me and I was wrapping my legs around his pumping hips and we were coming and coming and…my ass was being poked by straw. I surged away from the pricking sensation and impaled myself on his prick instead, forcing another climax and a corresponding grunt from my compliant partner.

  We disentangled ourselves and he cleaned up, tossing the condom into the trash and buttoning his jeans. I stayed where I was, skirt rucked up, legs splayed wide, my nicely throbbing cunt exposed to the cool night air.

  He gave me a regretful glance. “I really do have to go.”

  I licked my well-kissed lips and thought about his cock. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

  He unlocked the door. “I know.”

  “So this is my last night.”

  He sighed and turned back to face me. “I’ll fuck you as much as you like after I’ve settled everyone in.” He hesitated, his gaze on my mouth. “Hell, you can come back to the bunkhouse, there are four of us in there.”

  I sat up.

  “Four of you?” I pretended to swoon. “Sounds like heaven to a Bonanza groupie like me.”

  “We call them buckle bunnies these days.” His slow smile was catching. “Jeez, you sure do like your cowboys, don’t you?”

  I smoothed down my skirt and offered him my hand. “Yes, sir, I sure do.” He helped me down and I grinned up at him. “There aren’t many in Manhattan, so I have to stockpile when I get the opportunity.”

  O FOR EFFORT

  Delilah Night

  I’d picked mind-blowing sex with Paul over studying one time too many. See me had been written in lieu of a grade on the last page of my midterm. My hand shook as I raised it to knock on Professor Kumar’s door.

  Professor K’s was the last class I wanted to fuck up. I’d worked so hard to get noticed. Until this semester I’d been a diligent student who went above and beyond on assignments. I could always be counted on to add value to the class discussions. I’d been on the road to a personal recommendation for Yale’s history PhD program.

  That Professor Kumar was brilliant, gorgeous and British only motivated me further. My Anglophilia was such that he could’ve read the phone book up at the lectern, and I still would’ve paid rapt attention. However, he visibly burned with a passion for history. He paced as his voice rose and fell, showcasing his fierce intellect and tight denim-clad ass. He wasn’t afraid to crack a joke—usually relating to a Brit teaching American history.

  Lecture days often ended with my panties soaked. I’d miss the first fifteen minutes of my calculus class because I had to escape to the women’s room to relieve my aching clit. By my second course with him, I knew better than to schedule anything after class. My post-class routine that semester: back to my dorm room, lock the door, strip, grab a vibrator.

  On my knees in the lectern, sucking his cock while he lectured. Getting fingered in my research library cubicle. A spanking. Helplessly tied to my dorm bed. Ripping one of the endless parade of white Oxford shirts off his body. Him, licking my cunt. In the exhibit he’d organized a trip to, our mating reflected in the silver creations of Paul Revere. What he’d do to me under the pretense of “helping” me during office hours—over, under, on top of his desk, in his chair, up against the door, the bookcases, the window.

  I’d burned out the motors in four vibrators by the end of the semester.

  When none of his classes fit my schedule or my requirements junior year, I’d joined history club to get a monthly fix of my favorite
eye and ear candy. It hadn’t been enough.

  The Indian soccer player one floor below me had been the recipient of my pent-up lust on several occasions.

  I “accidentally” dropped my towel in front of him in the coed bathroom.

  “Like what you see?” I’d asked.

  He nodded.

  “Would you like to see me on my knees?”

  He nodded again.

  I led him to the shower stall and sank to my knees, focusing on his cock, worshipping it the way I wanted to worship Dr. K’s.

  A British banker I’d met in a bar had also been an attempt to satisfy my fantasies.

  Just fuck me from behind. I love it doggy-style. Talk to me while you fuck me.

  Both had been fun, but neither slaked my lust for Dr. K.

  “Ms. Cohen,” Professor Kumar said, as he gestured for me to enter and take a seat. “I asked you here to discuss the dip in quality of your work. Is there anything I should know?”

  “I should’ve asked for an extension. I got behind, and I left it until the last minute. I’m sorry,” I babbled.

  Professor Kumar leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “This is your third class with me. You’re aware of my no-extensions policy. You’ve been an exemplary student. So what could keep a diligent young woman such as yourself so busy that you skived off on the assignment?”

  “The sex,” I confessed, and immediately blushed.

  “The sex, Ms. Cohen? You have my attention. Please, continue.” His eyes took a slow inventory of my body as if he’d never noticed that I was a woman before. His gaze lingered at my breasts. I had skipped a bra today, when it became clear that laundry had also taken a backseat to Paul’s touch. My nipples hardened, impudently thrusting against the all-too-thin fabric of my T-shirt. I shifted in my seat, clenching my thighs together under my skirt as my clit swelled. I felt myself slicken between his unrelenting inspection of my body and my memories of the sex.