by Mimi Strong
Nikki finally stopped laughing and said, “Okay, tell me about his you-know-what.”
“I thought you didn't want to know. That it would be icky for you, since you know him.”
“Yeah, but now I wanna know. Like, does the hairy part … does the hair go up onto his you-know-what?”
“His penis? Yes, a little bit.”
“Doesn't that scratch your vagina?”
“Not if I'm really wet, no. And he gets me really wet.”
At that, she pretended to throw up in her mouth. “Okay, enough details,” she said. “No more, that's enough.”
After a moment, I said, “Do you think he still loves his wife?”
“Wouldn't it make you respect him more if he still cared about her?”
“That's not what I asked.”
She twisted her lips, and then, finally, said, “He mentioned, once, that he'd always love her, no matter what. That he would always want for her to be happy, which was partly why he let her go.”
I shrugged and said, “Oh well, whatever. At least the sex is totally hot and I'm going to have a good time for now. Transitional phase, right?”
She rolled onto her stomach on my bed, put her chin on her hand and said, “You look more grown up now. I like this thing you're doing with your hair, so natural. I'm glad the weird blue dye is gone, and you look really healthy and happy. I think Trevor's been good for you.”
“Not been good. Is good.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Feeling annoyed, I said, with consternation in my voice, “How come you think this is a rebound and Mom thinks we're going to get married? How can our perspectives be so vastly different?”
“I don't know,” she said. “Relationships, sis. Who knows!”
On Monday, I talked to some of my work friends about dating and divorce, but nobody told me what I wanted to hear. They said it would take years for a person to get over a marriage.
To cheer myself up, I tilted my monitor away from the door of my cubicle and read celebrity gossip on the internet all afternoon. Hollywood people didn't take years to get over a marriage. They were always getting right back into the dating scene. Not that Hollywood people are excellent role models or anything, but it did cheer me up to see people rushing headlong into new relationships.
I hadn't heard from Trevor, so I got out my cell phone near the end of the day and started to send him a text message. At first, it was just a boring hello, and then, inspiration struck, and I sent him a snapshot down my shirt, of my cleavage and bra.
I got a text back immediately.
It read: Panties?
I sent him back a text: Not wearing any.
(I was actually wearing some, as well as corduroy trousers, but that didn't sound nearly as flirty.)
Trevor: Damn.
Me: I wish I had something to suck on.
Trevor: Like what?
Me: I could go for a toe right now.
Trevor: Damn.
Me: You should come visit me at my work.
Trevor: Yeah.
Me: Yeah. I saw an interesting side of your work, and now I should show you mine.
Trevor: Your sister keeps asking me questions.
Me: Tell her to mind her own beeswax. What are you wearing?
Trevor: I've got your address.
Me: … so ... you're coming here?
Trevor: Maybe.
Me: I actually am wearing panties.
Trevor: I will take them off. I will bite them off.
Me: !!!
Trevor: On my way.
I put away the phone and immediately the butterflies started up in my stomach. I was off work in fifteen minutes, and based on where his office was, he'd be arriving just as everyone was finishing up for the day. It wasn't at all unusual for people to have friends come by, because the place was interesting. Not the office, of course, but the theater and the backstage areas, the costume departments, and even the control rooms.
When I'd texted Trevor to suggest doing naughty things with him at my work, I'd been joking! And now he was coming over.
And I'd promised … toe sucking.
Oh, Naomi, you silly girl.
He was a little later than expected, which was a relief, because most of the people were gone from the office and half the lights were turned out. He was dressed up way more than I'd ever seen him. On our dates, he'd been in casual but stylish clothes. Today, he wore an actual suit. A big, tall suit.
As he leaned down to give me a friendly, lingering kiss, I felt the pang in my sex, the desire. I ran my arms along his sides, under his suit jacket, and up his back. I nuzzled his chest and said, “You smell nice. Are you always dressed like this for work?”
“Had some important meetings,” he said. “But that's all dealt with, and it's time to blow off some steam.” As he said that, his hand scooped down over my buttocks and below, squeezing me and pulling me up to meet his lips for another kiss.
The sound of the cleaning lady's cart and its squeaky wheels broke us from our embrace. I felt light-headed again, woozy from the kissing and from my excitement for him.
I showed him around the now-empty office, from my modest cubicle, which he didn't seem too impressed by, to the shared kitchenette, which impressed him even less. “Laminate,” he said, squeezing one of the cabinet doors in his big hand.
“This is the art world,” I reminded him. “This little kitchen cost us less than your suit, I bet.”
He smiled at me, as though suddenly remembering his manners. “No, I like it! It's cute. Everything's really homey, and I like all the colors and art.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You don't have to fib.”
“No, I'm not. It's not fancy, but it's not a show suite. I get that.”
“Come on, I'll show you what you came for,” I said, grabbing his hand.
“Wow, you don't waste any time,” he said, looking appreciatively down my body.
“The theater,” I said. “I'll show you around backstage.”
He chuckled. “I knew what you meant.”
Trevor had his hands all over me as I showed him around, explaining that a proscenium theater is the style where the stage is under an arch, the proscenium arch.
“Sounds sexy,” he said as he kissed my shoulder, through my fuzzy fall sweater.
“Not as sexy as a thrust stage,” I said. “That's the kind that thrusts out into the audience.”
“Thrust,” he said, grabbing my hips and grinding against me from behind.
The techies who were checking the sound for the evening's show stared our way. I knew most of the staff at the theater, even the ones who weren't in the office much, and I swear that when they saw me with Trevor, their eyes all bugged out of their heads.
I wanted to say to them all, I know, right? I mean, come on, look at this big teddy bear!
Trevor leaned down and whispered into my ear, “I need to have you.”
I'd been thinking about getting a nice dinner together, somewhere cozy, but his deep voice in my ear sent a vibration through me, stronger than any sex toy.
I whispered, “Say that again.”
He nibbled on my ear and pressed his hard cock into my back. “I need to have you. I'm going to fuck you, Naomi. Right in front of all these people in their black T-shirts.”
I giggled and put my hand over his mouth. My voice loud and business-like, I said, “I guess I should show you the props.”
He pinched my bum. “Sure, the props. Show them to me. I want to see all the props.”
We have a number of little rooms and areas backstage, but as I showed Trevor around, none of them were suitable for doing what I wanted to do to him. Everywhere we went, either the doors were locked and I didn't have a key, or there were people using the spaces for vocal warmups or stretches.
Finally, Trevor said, “It's okay, I think I got it to go to sleep.”
I reached for his crotch, but he jumped back quickly. Laughing, he said, “Let's get dinner, we can play a
fter.”
I'd left my purse and cell phone up in the office, so we ran back up to get them. As we returned to my cubicle, he had his hands all over me again. The lights were mostly off now, with only two safety lights on in the entire office. Row upon row of cubicles were quiet and empty, the monitors turned off to save power.
“It's so quiet,” I said.
He embraced me from behind as I leaned over to grab my purse from my drawer.
I stood, turned around, and he lifted my sweater up over my head. I had anticipated this and raised my arms to make it easier. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed them once, kissing the tops of each, then he unfastened my bra. It dropped to the floor as he took one breast in his mouth. As he sucked the nipple, hard, a jolt went through me. He turned to the other nipple and sucked it, teasing it with his teeth and tongue.
A flush of warmth went to my pelvis. He smelled so good, so musky.
He pulled back from me long enough to remove his jacket, lay it over the cubicle wall, and loosen his tie. As he moved in again and clinched me in his arms, my fingers scrambled to undo the buttons of his shirt.
As the pinstriped shirt came off, he transformed from businessman to beast. My beast.
I ran my hands over the dark curls on his chest and took a turn sucking on his hard nipples, tickling them with my tongue and teeth as he had done to me.
The air-conditioned air was cool on my exposed skin, making me shiver, but not for long. He stepped out of his suit pants and shoes and began to work on peeling off my corduroy trousers. “Damnit, why no skirt?” he said.
“Can't make it too easy for you,” I joked.
He growled, like a bear, and finally got them off.
I had barely stepped out of my panties and he had his hands on me, and in me. He rubbed my clit as he fingered me, probing me. It felt so good to have him touching me. He pushed me back so I was sitting on my desk, and he drove his fingers deeper as he sucked on my breasts at the same time. The intensity drove me wild. It was almost too much.
My hand flailed out, reaching for his cock, disappointed to find it was still stuck inside his shorts. He rapidly brought me to my first orgasm, and I moaned and squirmed around helplessly on my desk. I panted and gasped, sucking in air as he sucked on first one and then the other nipple, sending electrical jolts through me as my orgasm rocked my body with pleasurable pulses.
He took a break and pulled back slowly, smiling at me, lit only by a far-away light and my computer monitor, which had flicked on at some point, probably when I'd nearly sat on the mouse.
“Wow,” I said. “I've never had so much fun at work.”
“Just repaying the favor you did me at the show suite.”
My mouth watered for him. I sat up and grabbed him by the cock. He let me lead him closer, and I peeled down his underwear.
I said, “Still want me to suck your toe?”
“Not now,” he said, grinning.
“Want me to suck something else?”
He nodded vigorously.
“Take a seat,” I said, nodding to my office chair, a little black swivel number with no armrests.
He sat, and I slid off my desk and got onto my hands and knees. As he'd done for me at the show suite, I crawled toward him.
I nuzzled his legs, letting my hair trail along, up and down his legs. I doubted he could feel my soft hair much through his leg hair, so I resorted to biting him, giving little love bites all the way up both thighs. He seemed to shiver.
“You cold?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Good.” I grabbed his shaft in my hand and rolled my tongue around the head of his dick.
He groaned with pleasure as I took him into my mouth, licking and sucking. I got in close to him, squeezing my breasts against his thighs as I licked and sucked him. He ran his arms over my shoulders and up and down my back, telling me how nice it felt.
That aching sensation returned to my vagina, and as I bobbed up and down on his delicious rod, I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted him inside me again.
He seemed to be reading my mind, because he said, “Wanna climb up on me?”
I didn't wait for a second invitation, but stood and straddled him.
We had one problem. With my legs spread apart, I was too low to get him comfortably into my opening.
In a flash of inspiration, I pulled the lever on the bottom of the seat to lower the height of the chair.
Like magic, we were perfectly adjusted.
“You're so beautiful,” Trevor said, and his lips grazed my nipple. I leaned in so he could take me in his mouth as I slid his head into my opening. He sucked my breast as I lowered myself onto him, relishing every tingle of sensation. “So beautiful,” he said, bowing his head into me as he thrust.
I leaned back, looking up to the ceiling as he thrust into me, simultaneously rocking me back and forth. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and his mouth. I didn't understand what my arms and legs were doing, but we were locked together in a passionate rhythm, like dancers.
I didn't know why I'd been so afraid of his big cock, when it fit so perfectly inside me. I spread my legs wider, so he could more easily roll me back and forth on the length of him. His cock stiffened even more, and my back began to sweat as I got into the rhythm of my next orgasm.
I came before him, shaking and writhing and sweating. He seemed to drink in every bit of my ecstasy, coaxing me and telling me how beautiful I was when I came. He sucked on my nipples and rubbed my damp back with his strong hands.
As our rhythm slowed down, I said, “Do you want me to go down again? I'll finish you with my mouth. You'll like it.”
“Stand and move back,” he said.
I eased off of him, his cock springing up after I released it.
Standing before him, I covered my breasts self-consciously.
“Don't cover up,” he said, nudging my hands down. “You're perfect. Even in this office light, it's like the moon is shining on you.”
Then he stood and embraced me, the tip of his cock well up past my belly button.
I pressed my breasts together with my hands and gave him a coy look. “Like this?”
“I'm not that tall,” he said. Glancing over my shoulder, he said, “I see the perfect place.”
He grabbed my hand and led me over to the photocopier, a small one. He lifted me up, but I was too high, my vagina just touching the tip of his cock. “We could play just-the-tip,” I said.
He lifted me off the machine easily with one strong arm, flipped up the lid, and repositioned me on the glass.
I started laughing, then laughed harder when he pushed the green button. The machine trembled and shook itself from its slumber, and as I ran my hands over Trevor's muscular pectoral muscles, the light below me turned on and the bar under the glass purred along under my buttocks.
I barely noticed the photocopier after that, because Trevor yanked me toward him and slid the head up and down along my lips, getting everything wet and ready. He nudged my legs wider, saying he wanted to get a good look at me. A green light was on inside the machine, below the glass, casting an otherworldly glow on both of our naked bodies.
He pushed the tip of his cock to my opening, and though he had softened during all the mucking about with the photocopier, he was rapidly straightening out.
“Damn, you're pretty,” he said.
He kissed my shoulders, my neck, my ears. I tilted my chin up to afford him more access. He kissed around to the other side, his five o-clock shadow rasping against me pleasantly. He sucked my earlobe, and as I whimpered with confused pleasure into his ear, I felt his sex harden and enter me.
“You feel so good,” he said, thrusting deeper.
I grabbed onto his broad shoulders to pull myself closer to him.
First the dresser at the show suite, and now the photocopier. I spread my legs wider to encourage him in deeper, so that his hips weren't held back by my legs.
Deeper he plunged, the beautiful he
ad of his cock thrumming in and out of my pussy. I guided one of his hands down to my nub, and as he stroked over my clit, warmth radiated out and through me. I imagined my heat pulsing through him as well.
He pulled me forward, toward him, once, and then again, and then he had my legs up, in his arms, and I was resting partly on my lower back, my upper back against the wall. It shouldn't have been comfortable, and yet it was perfect. With his loving hand on my clit, stroking me as he pumped in and out, I closed my eyes and climbed up higher and higher, until I exploded, gasping. Fireworks.
His eyes were closed, his face intense, both focused and relaxed, in pain and in ecstasy. I quietly watched him as he climaxed, unaware I was watching. His face was so handsome, such a man's face, intense with those strong eyebrows and that sexy chin. His jaw muscles clenched and the tendons in his neck grew taut, and then his eyes flew open and he released into me.
He reached around and drew me to him, lifting me up, and he came inside me, hot and urgent, saying my name, over and over. “Naomi, Naomi, Naomi.”
As he slowed down, squeezing my ass and straining against me, I said, “Trevor.”
He kissed me, stopping me from saying his name, but I murmured it into his lips, as he murmured my name into mine.
As we got dressed after, I could have sworn I heard something, like the sound of keys tapping, but when I mentioned it and Trevor listened, we heard nothing.
With my clothes on, I dashed into the kitchenette, got some cleaning supplies, and gave the photocopier a good once-over, just to be courteous to my co-workers. A perfect imprint of my bare ass cheeks was on the glass of the photocopier, which Trevor and I both had a giggle over.
He took the photocopy of my butt from the machine, folded it several times, and stuck it in his pocket.
“It's so blurry,” I said. “You can't even tell it's a naked bum.”
“Yes, but I know,” he said. “And that's all that counts.”
“Oh, Trevor,” I said.
He kissed me on the cheek. “Dinner?”
I insisted we go somewhere casual. He took me to a fast food drive-through, as a joke, I think, but when we looked at the menu, we agreed the cheeseburgers and fries did look good.