Five Minute Fantasies 2

by Cathryn Cooper

  Marisa, on the other hand is ample, something over 180 and hitting almost 6' 2'' what with those slides she wears. She paints her toes mauve. You wouldn’t think something so small would make me flub my words. She stands close to me when she talks, and I get hard of hearing around her what with that full mouth of hers. Her hair cascades in honey blonde locks like some Medusa Colossus. She had to be older than me but you couldn’t tell by the way she dressed. Take this morning for instance: she came in wearing a crisp cotton shirt – not a blouse – a shirt. White. Starched. Open to the third hole. My height gave me an advantage: fucking teal lace bra barely held it all in. I could feel those scalloped edges between my legs. Damn if she didn’t have a tiny mole just up to the right of her heart. She tucked all of this in black linen slacks which did a good job making everybody know she had enough back you could strap luggage onto. I coulda shaved with the crease in her pants. Okay, you could say I was scoping her out.

  As if on a whim, she threw us a party. On the pretext of calling an emergency meeting she informed us to join her in the conference room. We all squeezed through the door to find the room transformed with holiday decorations and Christmas lights. The room length table was overwhelmed with all sorts of fowl, meat and sweets, and the caterers were at attention ready to dole all of it out.

  The DJ kick started the spot playing Christmas tunes. I mean, c’mon, in July? It was around my second eggnog when she threw in Modern Jazz Quartet and some other shit she must’ve gotten off some smooth jazz radio line-up. Then, dumped right in the middle of that mix – a little Teddy. When Turn Off The Lights filled the room Marisa strutted towards me wearing a leopard print scoop neck and black pleated mini. For this occasion she had her locks erupting out of an ivory barrette. I could sense her legs before I saw them. Toned, creamy – no hose mind you – she rubbed them down with something that filled my nose and imagination. All of that teetering on the most precarious slides. Toes wriggling fucking red nails. They were tickling the edges of my retinas. I had to force myself to breathe.

  Marisa grabbed me by the hand and led me to the floor. Things were just about to get really going when she broke from me, signalled the DJ to stop and made some speech about how what we were doing was good for the company and her rep. Of course we’d heard all this before, but these pronouncements came with bonuses and shit. After that, after the whoop, whoop and applause, the DJ put Hey Pocky Way on and cranked it up to 11; it looked like everyone just up and started rubbing against each other, we were so happy. An octopus couldn’t have served the drinks fast enough. Still it was hard to get into the scene what with taking in all the drama Marisa was flexing. I can still smell her from our embrace. I can still smell a lot of things.

  She came back to me and we resumed dancing. I did what I could to show her I knew what I was doing. She didn’t take it lying down and gave it right back. And whenever we looked at each other it was almost impossible to look away. I’d try and, instead, became mesmerized by the way her chest shimmered under the Xmas lights. Before I could regroup the song ended. I thanked her and went back to my office on the pretence of grabbing my shit and heading on home. But I didn’t. I went to hers.

  Now it may sound like I know what I’m doing, but I wasn’t thinking with the right head, if you know what I mean. Even though I went to her office I still wondered if I got the signals right. I was so nervous I didn’t know whether to stand or sit. Like, I couldn’t decide whether to leave the lights off or turn them on. If I turned them on, what if someone barged in? What reason could I give for being there? On the other hand, if I left them off and she came in, she’d probably wonder why I was standing there in the dark. How could I stay there? How could I leave? What was I doing? My mind wandered. I began to notice all the LCD’s that dotted her desk. It was like I was looking down on a little dark town. But all those thoughts flew away when the click-clack of high heels ricocheted down the hallway. Even though I knew it was her I was still relieved when she appeared at the end of that cadence. She closed the door, locking it even. I didn’t think my heart could pound any harder than when she came over to me. We grabbed each other with our mouths. I couldn’t feel my tongue but could tell what hers tasted like. She was hungry. So was I. I felt her up as we moved across the room, kissing all the way. Couldn’t get enough of those lips. Reached into her top but couldn’t decide which breast to suck on, so I did them both. Those nipples! Man, I sucked them till they could stand up all by themselves.

  I wanted her up on the desk, legs up on my shoulders but she didn’t submit that easily. Instead, she turned around. Teased me by ceremoniously lifting what little skirt she had on to her back. All I imagined was staring right at me. The sound of my zipper made her look over her shoulder and told me to hold up. Said she could get that at home. Bigger even. She needed something else.

  Didn’t give me a second look as she put her elbows back on the desk, turning the lamp on and wiggling her ass in the process. Her telling me what to do sparked something inside of me and made me shiver. And since her ass was everything I imagined and more, what I couldn’t do with my dick I’d do with my mouth. I grabbed her cheeks – not an easy thing to do given their size. They were firm – but, I dug into them just the same. I’m sure I left marks. I held on to them when I dropped to my knees. Wasn’t too comfortable neither, those floors were concrete. But the way her thong fit in the snug of her crack made me forget how hard it was. I hooked the strip with my finger and pulled just enough of it away. My nose flared, the fragrance her legs gave off was even more potent between her cheeks and made for a heady mix. I pressed my face in there so far I couldn’t tell where I ended and her ass began. I tore it up, first her pussy, then, her ass, especially her ass. I sucked it, laved it, drew sustenance from it. The more I licked the deeper I dug it; her ass had a special tang. I plain wallowed in her.

  It’s unbelievable I know. Like how can I be on my knees with a face full of my boss’s ass? Well, finally, at last, unlike most situations, this time I made sure my ass was covered. I gotta hold of my phone, called myself and recorded the whole thing:

  Oh God I can’t believe I’m doing this. Show me you love it. I want to hear it. That’s right. Smell me. That’s right blow on me. Shit that feels good, yeah, oh God, use that tongue. Lemme back up onit. I’ma whore for that tongue. Yeah lick it lick it all around. Unnh, bite it, bite it bitch. Lemmee spread myself s’more I wanna feel it all at once. That’s right, run it around in circles. Don’t forget the other hole. You so good, bab. Yeah one finger, move it around. Lick that finger as it goes in, keep that up. That’s righ. Oh, oh, now, yeah, put two in, that’s it. Goddamn, those fingers. Get it in me. Your tongue, move it in and out, yeah! God you getting me so wet. Yeah, go deeper. I’m loose enough now; slow up, okay? Yeah, that’s it. Put two more in, yeah, open me up, spread me wide open, goddamn you nasty. Don’t stop! Don’t stop, yeah, move that tongue, sweet, yeah, this is so sweet, yeah tongue fuck me baby, get me juicy, oah I don’t want this to stop. Shit, this is good, stretch me muthafucka, yeah that’s it, give me more fingers; how many you got in me? Here, use soma this I want more in my hole. I love saying that. Goddamn, gimmee some more. I want to feel you in my guts. No no, let me take care of that part, you just keep doing what you doing. Shit, I gotta use my fingers now; can you feel it? Yeah I’m close. Don’t pull out harder I don’t know if I can take it. Yeah, a little more; here, let me help you. That’s it. Uummm, good, get in there, yes. A little more, God, now don’t move, gotta get used to it….okay, now move it in a little more, pull it out…yeah, that’s it, slooowly. Some more, yeah, keep that up. Oh God, yeah, fuck me, that’s it. I can feel you now. A little more! Faster, deeper, shit this some sweet shit, fuck me, deeper, faster. Yeah, fuck my ass. Fuck me nigguh give me all you got! Keep doing that, yeah, fuckmefuckmefuckme. Yes! Fuckme harder, fuckmehardermutherfuckahfuckme f. c . .!

  The rest of it don’t make sense. By the time I got up off that floor my pants were sticking to me. But you know wha
t? I must’ve done a good job because she invited me to her place. I savoured her taste in my mouth as I got in my car and followed hers. It was late. Had to think of an alibi. But that would be later. I was gonna get mine.

  Farmer’s Daughter

  by Landon Dixon

  When Mr Loewen handed me the Fraser assignment, I was about as happy as a pig in water. It was the dog days of summer – howlingly hot, with a hell-like forecast extending well into the foreseeable future – and the last thing I wanted to do was leave a nice, quiet, icebox of an office in Sioux Falls to go driving off in an unair-conditioned beater down a melting asphalt highway to some sun-scorched farm a hundred miles south of the middle of nowhere. But when you’re a first-year staff assistant (i.e. grunt) at Loewen and Loewen, CPAs, these are the kind of jobs you get.

  So, I yanked the Fraser box out of the file vault, pulled a ream of Federal agricultural subsidy forms from the supply room, and phoned Elmer Fraser down on the farm to confirm the firm’s bi-annual visit. Only, Elmer wasn’t ploughing gumbo anymore; he’d been ploughed under himself.

  ‘Dad died two months ago, Allan,’ his daughter told me, a hint of a southern accent other than South Dakota in her husky voice. ‘I’m running the farm now, and frankly, I could use all the help I can get.’

  I rolled my eyes, picturing a festering pile of unfiled documents and unpaid bills, a painful lesson in accounting 101 to come. ‘Okay,’ I gritted. ‘I’ll be out there at nine tomorrow morning.’ She agreed and hung up, and I slammed the phone down. Then I was jolted by a shoulder slap of commiseration and derision from my buddy in the adjoining cubicle; he was flying off to a fishing lodge in Canada on Friday.

  Early the next morning, with the temperature climbing into the mid-nineties, and the sky the limit, I let my backbone slide into my furnace-hot ’85 Monte Carlo, started it up, and hit the open road. One fractured fan belt and two steam breaks later, I pulled off the highway and drove down a long, dirt road that led to the Fraser place.

  I’d never been there before, but it was typical farm fare – white, three-storey clapboard house, long metal Quonset in back, sprawling fields of sun-ripening grain in all directions. I shut off the spluttering car and peeled myself off the torn leather upholstery, hoisted my audit bag out of the spring-sprung backseat and trudged across a yellow lawn to the front door of the farmhouse. I knocked on the screen door, the blazing sun firing up my charcoal, polyester suit like I was a mobile solar panel. A woman eventually answered my knock, opened the door of the house and walked out on to the porch. And that’s when things really got hot.

  ‘Allan?’ she asked.

  ‘Nadine Fraser?’ I replied, heavy audit bag slipping out of my sweaty hand and thumping down onto the stoop, along with my jaw. Even through the dense, wire mesh of the screen, I could clearly see that this was one good-looking babe, with a figure that really added up. And when she pushed the screen door open, giving me an unobstructed view, my body temperature bubbled up to a new daytime record.

  The forty-something lady was tall and tanned and full-figured, with sky-blue eyes and straw-blonde hair pulled back in a blue-ribboned ponytail. Her over-ripe physique strained every stitch of the plain, white tee and faded pair of blue jeans she was wearing, the voluptuous farmer’s daughter all mouth-watering hills and valleys – the exact opposite of the surrounding flatlands.

  I stumbled inside the house, followed Nadine’s round, twitching butt into the kitchen, where she invited me to set up shop while she busied herself whipping up some lemonade. I fumbled files onto a table already groaning under the weight of numerous accounting records and ledgers, my eyes glued to the blonde sexpot’s body-in-motion. Sure, she was close to twice my age, but I’ve never held that against a lady – especially one I’d love to hold against me.

  She carried a pair of tall, sweating glasses of lemonade over to the table and then sat down next to me, her boobs brushing the edge of the Formica top. Sweet perfume filled my head and clogged the pores in my brain, and I shrugged off my sweated suit jacket to better feel the heat of the five-alarm hottie.

  ‘It’s been rough since Dad died,’ she stated, looking me in the eye, breathing into my face. ‘But I’m determined to carry on where he left off.’

  There were crow’s feet etched into the corners of Nadine’s eyes and mouth, but they only added to her well-seasoned attractiveness. ‘Uh, you don’t have a husband… to help you out?’ I asked, glancing at the ringless third finger on her left hand.

  ‘No, I’m divorced,’ she said. ‘My daughter helps out when she can, and I hire men when I need them.’

  I choked on a mouthful of lemonade.

  ‘Shall we get to work?’

  I vaguely nodded, picking up my mechanical pencil and fumbling my calculator to zero, my eyes resting uncomfortably on Nadine’s rising and falling chest.

  By noon, we had most of the subsidy forms filled out and her father’s antiquated books almost up-to-date. My libido had been throbbing like a John Deere tractor all morning as a result of working so closely with the gorgeous MILF, and when she came up behind me and rested her warm brown hands on my shoulders, I just about spontaneously combusted. ‘You better clear off your stuff, so I can set the table for lunch,’ she said.

  ‘S-sure,’ I mumbled. I scrambled up out of my chair and took a step to the left, directly into her path. Her bodacious bumpers bounced against my chest, my tent-city cock striking her jeans.

  She laughed. ‘Shall we dance?’

  The sexual tension inside me snapped, and I grabbed her and planted my lips on top of her startled, scarlet pucker. I clenched her hot, soft body against my hard, sweat-soaked body and chewed on the mature mama’s lips, my steel ruler of a cock pressing into her stomach.

  ‘Wow!’ she exhaled, when I finally pulled my head back to catch my breath. ‘Someone has worked up quite an appetite!’

  ‘Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to –’ I started to stupidly stutter, till Nadine quickly shushed me by cradling my red face in her hands and mashing her mouth against mine.

  Mercury rising! We clung to one another and kissed hungrily, ferociously, my damp hands travelling all over Nadine’s all-woman body, sliding down onto her jean-clad bottom. I squeezed her plump ass cheeks, and she moaned into my open mouth, her fingers roaming through my hair. Then she slid her tongue into my kisser and we frenched like a couple of high-schoolers, slapping our slippery tongues together over and over, our strangled breath steaming out of our flared nostrils, our frantic hands gripping and groping.

  She pulled her tongue out of my mouth and stared at me, her blue eyes blazing and her thunder chest heaving. Then she kissed me once more, wetly and deeply, before breaking away and clearing the kitchen table with a sweep of her arms, files, forms, and accounting records flying all over the place. She yanked her T-shirt out of her jeans and pulled it up over her head, and I stared, open-mouthed and bug-eyed, at the luscious lady’s freckled, sun-burnished chest, her big, bra-cupped titties.

  She wrestled her tit-holder open in the back and flung it aside, and her bare, brown jugs dangled directly in front of me, thick, caramel-coloured nipples jutting straight at me. Those tawny mounds sagged more than a little, sure, but whatever their slippage, they more than made up for in volume. I grabbed on to them, began feeling them up with my nervous hands, revelling in the smooth, firm texture of that heated tit-flesh.

  ‘Yes!’ Nadine cried, tilting her head back. ‘Suck my breasts!’

  I’d learned long ago not to argue with my elders – especially when they’re built like brick Pamela Andersons – so I quickly hefted Nadine’s left hooter and bent my head down and licked at her fat nipple.

  ‘Fuck, yes! Suck my fucking tits!’ she dirty-mouthed me.

  I swallowed her rubbery tit-cap and urgently sucked on it, swabbing the underside of her boob with my tongue as I did so. Then I popped the one gleaming nip out of my mouth and wet-vacced up the other honey-dipped nipple. I bounced my head back and forth between the g
roaning lady’s awesome hangers, sucking and licking and biting meaty nipple, squeezing and kneading mountainous mam, righteously milking her jugs with my hands and my mouth.

  ‘Fuck me!’ she screamed, when she could take my wicked tit-play no longer.

  I reluctantly unhanded and unmouthed her glistening floppers, watched them bob and bounce around as she peeled off her skin-tight jeans, pulled down a pair of pink panties and tossed them aside with a flick of her foot. She showed off her searing bod for a moment in that superheated kitchen, then jumped ass-backwards up onto the table and spread her legs.

  Her pussy was old-school – plenty of springy, blonde fur for a guy to cushion his balls on – and soaking wet. She plunged two of her fingers into her gash and started pumping, as I somehow managed to untangle my belt buckle and zipper, my feet from my dropped dress pants and drawers, my eyes never straying from the sexpot’s pistoning hand. And when I was as rudely nude as she was, she unplugged her dripping fingers, briefly showed them to me, and then stuck them in her mouth and sucked on them.

  My rock-hard cock vibrated with anticipation, a seven-inch spear of pulsing, pink flesh with an eye intent on stabbing Nadine’s moist pussy. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth and grabbed on to my throbbing dong, tugged on it with her hot little hand, my body jerking at her warm, wet touch.

  ‘Fuck me!’ she hissed.

  I pushed her back onto the table, shouldered her legs, and split her pussy lips wide open with my dickhead. She cried out with joy, and I grunted with satisfaction, sinking shaft deep into her twat. I started churning my hips, sliding my pole back and forth in the woman’s amazingly juicy, gripping sexhole. She held on to her jouncing boobs and rolled her flared nipples, as I licked and bit her calves, pounded cock into her cunt like a man possessed.

  And just when I was about to blow my load, salute the MILF’s ultra-hot body and lovin’ with a shower of sizzling sperm, she decided to switch positions. She jerked my prick out of her pussy and jumped down off the table, spun around and bent over and stuck her big, bronze ass out at me. ‘Fuck me now!’ she demanded, gripping the edge of the kitchen table.