by Неизвестный
His hips pumped harder and my finger slid past the tight ring of his rear entrance. “Come on, Ty, let go,” I urged. “Feel me. Fuck me hard.”
He grunted, once, twice, pulling me down hard as he thrust so deep pleasure and pain blurred and I came.
“Oh yeah,” he gasped. “Oh yeah, oh yeah.”
“Ohhh,” I cried out, shuddering and melting on top of him.
There was silence for a few moments, then I heard that smooth, deep voice of his. “I’m sorry,” he said.
That puzzled me. I struggled to come back to myself, to think, to make sense of his words. “Why?” I mumbled. “Why are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry my lecture was so boring as to put you to sleep, Dr. Barrow.”
My spine snapped straight and my eyes flew open to see Dr. Tyler standing directly in front of me, fully clothed, still in the now-empty theater.
Heat crept up my neck, and I debated what to do next. I knew what I should do, and it wasn’t what I wanted to do. “I wasn’t sleeping, Doctor,” I replied, hoping he’d take the bait.
“What were you doing?”
I stood, a small smile playing at my lips. “Fantasizing,” I said, then walked away.
Come on, come on, come on, I thought as I neared the theater’s exit. Don’t let me down, Dr. Ty.
JUST A LITTLE TENDERNESS
A. M. Hartnett
The part of my job that I hated the most was covering the reception desk. I’d plunk my ass at the front desk for an hour and avoid making eye contact with the couriers and walk-ins. The pest-control guy made small talk with my breasts. The guy who delivered office products grunted at me. Occasionally we’d have an actual client walk in, but that was rare.
After an hour I’d return to my desk, bitchier than ever over the time I had lost doing something as irritating as reception. I had paper to push, numbers to crunch and about seventy blogs to read when I was sure no one was looking.
Fridays were different. Friday was the day Eric delivered the water.
Ah, Eric.
He was a brown-haired, blue-eyed, bearded dream. He’d come charging through the front door with one or two big jugs propped on his shoulders. His muscles strained and sweat popped out on his brow as he zoomed past me toward the kitchen. When he came back, he’d make flirty small talk with me and I’d be lit up for the rest of the afternoon.
From the boyfriend who had dumped me for a neighbor he had once cruelly referred to as the Bearded Lady, to the online date who had waited until after we had sex to tell me he wasn’t feeling it, to the bus driver I had seen for eight months who seemed to appreciate teenaged girls a little too much, some real winners had come and gone while Eric had been the only male constant in my life since I’d started working at C&E.
He was reliable. He knew I had named my car Shirley. He knew I liked books about Vikings. He always looked me in the eyes when he talked to me, even when I was wearing a V-neck.
Eric, who made my insides squishy.
Eric, who on that Friday hobbled into the office with a cast on his leg and a crutch under his armpit. He had one bottle of water precariously perched on his shoulder.
“Eric, what the hell?” I shot around the desk, but he held up his free hand.
“I’m good. I’ve been doing this all day.” He let the bottle slide to the floor and propped his crutch against the desk. Huffing, he lifted his shirt and wiped his face.
I was momentarily disarmed by the sight of his brawny upper body, but curiosity trumped horniness. “What happened?”
“Soccer. There was flipping involved, and a little bit of flying.”
“Why are you even working?”
“They couldn’t get anyone to cover my shift,” he said, then grinned. “Besides, you’d go thirsty if I didn’t show up.”
“You’re the one who looks like he could use a drink. Come sit down for five minutes.”
I quickly transferred the phone to the break room and helped him along. I figured I could keep an eye on the door, but I doubted anyone would come in. In addition to being the highlight of the week, Eric was also usually the last service guy to come into the office for the day.
“Here. Sit. Sit.” I made him put his ass in the task chair that sat in front of the staff computer. He winced as he went down. “Please tell me you don’t work the weekend too.”
“Fuck no; we have a crew for that.” His hand flew up to his mouth. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. The office is empty. Besides, no one ever comes back early on Fridays.”
The water cooler gurgled as I filled a glass. Upon handing it over to him, I looked down at his cast. “That’s pathetic. It’s not signed.”
Once he drank down every drop, he passed the glass back to me. “I’m not ten years old, and it’s too hot to wear pants over them.”
“I’m going to sign it right after I bring the water in here.”
“Dayna, don’t. That’s my job.”
“Quiet, you.” I ignored him and returned to reception. Moments later, I was back, rolling the water in front of me and biting down on a purple sharpie.
“Just don’t draw flowers or hearts or anything on it.”
I rolled my eyes as I went on my knees in front of him. “I’m just going to write get well and maybe draw a penis.”
Eric laughed, a sound that just wonderfully rumbled on and on. “You know, I’ve never said anything because you might think I was an asshole, but I’ve always wanted to see if you would hang out one night.”
I uncapped the marker. “Why would I think you were an asshole?”
“I’m a water guy. Why would you want to hang out with me?”
“Jesus, what do you think I do here? Crumpets and tea while I boss around my peons? You probably make more than I do.” I rocked back on my knees. “Where do you want it?”
The suggestion in my words wasn’t intentional, but just the same heat rushed into my cheeks while his smile turned curious.
“Middle of the thigh,” he said quietly. “You’ve got lots of room to write.”
I poised the marker over the hard plaster and for a few seconds chewed my lip. “I just drew a blank.”
“It must be my animal magnetism paralyzing you. That or the proximity to my cock.”
I frowned. “That is inappropriate and shocking office language, though now that you mention it, this is a little porny, isn’t it?”
“I guess so. The secretary and the delivery boy, empty office, you on your knees like that…”
Tingles started at the base of my neck and danced over my shoulders. “With you helpless and in need of some TLC.”
His proximity had only been somewhat distracting up until this moment, but now it was heavy and all around me. That creeping arousal moved through my body. My breath came in short bursts. My nipples tightened against my bra.
“What kind of TLC did you have in mind?” he asked.
My cheeks pricked with spots of heat. “I think we both know what I have in mind.”
The marker dropped to the floor as Eric reached forward. He wriggled the top button of my blouse free, and if I hadn’t already been on my knees, by the time he’d opened up my shirt to the belly button, I would have dropped to the floor.
Eric slipped his hands inside the gap and fingered the black lace edges of my pink bra. “I figured you wore something like this under your clothes. Always a great fantasy to jerk off to.”
I slid my hands over his thighs, over hairy flesh on one side and cold plaster on the other until I reached the hem of his shorts. “You want to know what I jerk off to?”
“You bet I do.”
“The thought of you jerking off.”
The thin bra straps slipped and the cups buckled just enough for him to get his hands inside. Rough fingers tugged my nipples and the sting drew a throaty curse from deep inside me.
I felt a little desperate as I continued up his thighs to the bulge that threatened to split his zipper. “I’d picture you standing at
the foot of my bed, stroking your hard-on while you watched me do the same to myself.”
The rough play with my nipples had amped up all the hot energy running through me. I wanted his cock loose and in my hands and I wanted it now. I could hardly focus as I worked his fly.
Another pinch. “Do you wear anything while you do that?”
“I’m a masturbatory drama queen.” I split open his fly and reached up under his shirt. “I wear the same thing I wear if I’m going to be fucked: bra and panties, garters and stockings.”
Eric lifted his ass. I yanked his shorts and boxers to where the cast met his thighs. A good six inches of utterly mouthwatering flesh sprang up.
“That’s how I pictured you,” he said, and leaned back in the chair, “only when I’m thinking about it, I’m rubbing you through your panties instead of watching.”
“This is definitely inappropriate workplace language,” I teased as I took hold of his dick, “but since no one is around to hear it…”
I swirled my tongue around the smooth head, licking the whole circumference and then repeating the action in the opposite direction. It didn’t even occur to me to shush Eric as he hung his head back and moaned. After all, Friday was dead day. I figured we would have the office to ourselves for an hour.
Eyes closed, I sucked him like he was one of those fat Christmas candy canes. He was mine to play with, yet I didn’t want to tease him too much. I wanted him ready. I knew that as soon as I had him balls deep I’d be ready to explode.
“Phone,” he said in a grunt. I didn’t stop. The call could damn well go to the service.
His cock throbbed as I worked him deeper. In spite of the cast on one leg, he put all his effort into using the other to rise up out of the seat and meet the pace with which I bobbed my head.
Sliding him out of my mouth with a wet pop, I drew back and grinned up at him. “I’m convinced that whoever made these shitty chairs left the arms off because he knew they would get in the way during office quickies.”
“That sounds so promising.” He made a grab for me as I went around the chair, but sank helplessly back as I started to push.
Zoom, down the hall to my office we went. If anyone came in we’d be concealed, and I could explain my absence by saying I had to take a confidential call from an irate client; we had enough hotheads that no one would question it.
With the door closed and locked behind us, I lifted the phone from the receiver and selected a line as cover, then turned to Eric with a grin.
“Ready to see what else I have on under here, perv?” I did a little wiggle as I unclasped my skirt.
He placed his hands behind his head so his elbows stuck out like wings and he grinned. “I suppose a little striptease won’t hurt.”
The shirt crumpled at my feet. My skirt ended up over the file cabinet. I half-turned to show off my white and black thong, and Eric dropped one of his hands to his lap and his cock all but disappeared into his fist.
“It’s killing me that I can’t get up and undress you myself.”
His gaze followed me like a caress as I rolled my chair from the desk to face his. I slid down to mirror his pose, my back flat against the seat and my legs outstretched, and ran my hands slowly along my inner thighs. The closer I got, the more I could feel the damp heat coming from my pussy.
“I feel like I need to be gentle with you,” I said, my fingers brushing my wet crotch, “but I don’t want to get you too excited while I give you a show. Pace yourself.”
Eric wet his lips. “It would probably be best if it’s less of a show and more of a preview.”
Hotter than ever under his stare, I rubbed my finger around and around where my clit pressed against my panties.
A strange and wonderful feeling simmered beneath my skin. As much as I had imagined doing it for Eric and a dozen men before him, I’d never touched myself in front of someone else for this purpose. To get off while going down, yes, but never to show off.
Even as I heard the sounds of my coworkers returning, I wasn’t fazed. It was all about the delightful rings throbbing outward from my clit.
The second I slipped my fingers underneath my panties and went to the knuckle, Eric jerked upright in the chair. “In my left pocket, there’s a condom in the metal tin.”
Abandoning my solo play, I scrambled with the condom concealed in an Altoids tin, ripped into the wrapping, and snapped it on his dick. My panties landed on the mouse pad, bringing my computer to boring spreadsheet-filled life.
I straddled him, my fingers digging into his shoulders to steady myself until the fat tip plugged me.
“No moaning, no nothing,” I said in a hissed whisper.
I nearly broke the rule I had made when he grasped my hips and pulled me down.
“Sweet fucking Jesus.” Eric wriggled underneath me, but his cast prevented him from moving much at all. I had all of the momentum.
With my heels digging into the cheap carpet, I rode him hard and fast. I buried my face in his damp neck, moaning just low enough that he could hear it. The rustle of his clothes and the wet sound of my body taking his in seemed so loud. My lungs burned to keep from screaming as I fucked us both into white-hot oblivion.
The friction of that thick cock between my slippery walls was sweet enough, but the way I was seated meant every thrust down gave me the added friction of his pubic hair against my clit. I ground down on him faster and faster, my cunt so hot and throbbing I felt like a firecracker.
“Coming,” I groaned against his skin. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and closed my eyes as my pussy throbbed around his dick. My body echoed my words, igniting sparks that sizzled through my whole body.
Eric’s grip on my ass tightened. He lifted me up and down, up and down. Struggling through the haze of my lingering orgasm, I held on to him and kept up the momentum, riding him right over the edge of his climax.
His cock still throbbing between my slick walls, Eric sagged beneath me. Reality was an alien thing as I heard my coworkers settling into their seats.
When I caught the sound of the water cooler gurgling, I gave Eric a little shake.
He opened his eyes, but they had a far-off look to them. “This morning I hated my job,” he said, “now I love it. You’re a good woman.”
I blew out a deep breath and glanced around us. “I have no idea how in the fuck I’m going to get you out of here.”
“You want me to try and shimmy out the window?”
“Funny guy.” I carefully dismounted him and wobbled as I pulled on my panties. “I’m going to have to sacrifice myself for that fuck we just had. Can you hang in here for fifteen minutes?”
“I’m already running late, so what the hell? What’s your plan?”
“Just sit tight, and don’t forget your crutch out front.”
Twenty minutes later, I had the entire staff gathered in the break room after a coffee and cheesecake run to the delicatessen in the lobby and handed out the treats to give Eric the opportunity to disappear unnoticed.
As soon as I was sure he was gone, I lost all interest in being the social coworker and returned to my office. The receipt for the water was on my chair and there was a folded piece of paper on my keyboard.
You forgot to sign my cast. Took your cell number from your phone, hope you don’t mind. Pizza at my place tonight? Need more TLC later. Also, lots of sex. Eric.
I love Fridays.
CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’
Andrea Dale
I looked out my home office window at our pool, glittering blue in the Southern California sunshine, and thought, It’s just not fair.
I know, I know—how selfish and prima donna-ish does that make me sound? I work at home, and I have a pool, and I’m whining. First-world problems and all that.
In truth, I have little to whine about, and I’m honestly grateful. Trent, my husband, has a fantastic job with a film production company, which allowed us to move to L.A. and allowed me to work at home on my screenplays. Yeah, h
is job takes him overseas for a few weeks at a time, and I whine about that, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Or in our case, makes the loins grow needier. Our reunions are really, really good. Put it this way: the neighbors called the cops one time because of my screaming. I call that a win.
We joked that we’d become a typical California couple: we had Hollywood jobs, we were nominally open in our relationship and we had a pool complete with a pool guy.
And there was the problem.
Our pool guy was not the clichéd tanned, ripped stud muffin with sun-kissed shaggy blond hair that the movies had promised me. Oh, no.
Our pool guy was a grizzled older man, wiry, his face prematurely wrinkled and spotted from the sun. I’m not saying he was hideous, just that he wasn’t my cup of tea—especially because he smoked.
I managed to convince Joe not to smoke while he cleaned our pool, largely because my office window opened onto the pool, and he’d agreed. He was a good guy, albeit taciturn. We had our routine: I left the back gate unlocked on cleaning days; he arrived, cleaned our pool, and stuck the bill in the mailbox; I locked the back gate behind him. The end.
And then one day I looked out my office window, thinking It’s not fair because it was pool-cleaning day and I didn’t have a pool-cleaning Adonis to look forward to, when there she was.
A pool-cleaning Aphrodite.
She was blonde, and gently tanned, and lithe. Were she a cliché, I supposed she’d be wearing a teeny bikini. Instead, she wore a cute little pair of shorts (hey, it was a hot, sunny day), a faded T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and an enormous straw hat to protect her from the sun. As I watched, she slathered her arms and legs with sunscreen—in an efficient way rather than a deliberately sexy way, although my breath stuck in my throat and my groin went heavy with need—before picking up the pool skimmer.
I retained enough presence of mind to realize I should find out who the stranger in my backyard might be. I retained enough vanity to change out of my jammies, put on a bra, fluff up my hair and swipe on some gloss. Hey, had I gone for full-on makeup, I’d have been a cliché myself.
