Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  “Eric!” Amanda Pierce had barked, loud enough for the whole office to hear. “In my office, now.”

  Fortunately it was the end of the day and, as usual, Eric was one of the last “artist drones,” as she called her graphic designers, to still be lingering around his cubicle, feverishly working on another round of last minute, rush edits for the Coleman’s Coffee account.

  He hung his head on the way into the office, hearing the snickers of several of his coworkers as they rose to grab their coats, eager to be on their way home before the shouting began; again.

  “Yes, Ms. Pierce?” Eric stood at her open door, wincing as he saw his latest changes displayed on the oversized computer monitor that sat on her work station. A fitness nut, Amanda worked at a standing desk for most of the day and only sat at her long, spotless work desk for client meetings or to take video conference calls.

  She turned at the sound of his voice, whipping off her rectangular reading glasses to get a better look at him. “I thought I asked you to blur the edges of the sunflowers at the breakfast nook in this brochure draft.”

  Eric shook his head involuntarily. “I will, Amanda, but… I still have to import the wife’s handbag as well as shade in the father’s beard. Remember?”

  Her eyes grew wider with every excuse. “Are you kidding me, Eric? You haven’t done that yet?”

  Eric’s temples pounded. This bitch had been riding his ass for days, weeks, months, ever since he’d been promoted from the temp pool to a full-time graphics artist for Amanda’s graphics design firm, Visioneering, Inc.

  Ever since, she’d been on him to work harder, faster, better. He was always there early, never gone before 6 or 7 at night and could often be found, hunched over a cup of coffee and his keyboard most Saturdays.

  He’d noticed that, while steely and cool to all her employees, Amanda didn’t treat anyone as poorly as she did Eric. While not one to be easily offended, he’d have to be blind and deaf not to note that the boss had taken a special interest in making his life at Visioneering a living hell.

  She stood there, in snug burgundy slacks that hugged her endless thighs and a black turtleneck sweater that emphasized her long neck and small breasts, daring him to confront her.

  Her eyes, so green and predatory, bored into his. Her hair was up, held in place by two silver chopsticks, and she still held her reading glasses in the hand that now rested against her leaning workstation.

  He didn’t know why, but suddenly the thought of fucking her was overwhelming. He could picture it, his hands on those high, tight tits, grabbing her firm, round ass, spreading those legs as she begged him to take her, right there on her desk. Cliché? No doubt. Tempting? Fuck yes!

  She was waiting for him to answer her, her chest moving forcefully up and down with the power of her impatience and the tap of each high-heeled toe. He slammed the door instead.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, glasses clattering on the workstation keyboard.

  He took a step toward her, weighing the risk. If he kissed her, right then and there, and she wasn’t into it, he’d be fired, on the spot. Hell, she’d probably call the cops on his ass.

  Security, at the very least.

  He smirked. That’d be a win-win, he thought to himself. At least he wouldn’t have to work 70 hours a week for a towering, if tempting, shrew!

  “What am I doing?” he croaked, voice tight with tension as he took another step toward her. “I’m doing what it’s obvious you’re asking me to do.”

  He kissed her then, hard and fast on the lips. It was now or never. Either she’d knee him in the balls or have them between her lips in ten seconds flat.

  Well, he was almost right; she did a little bit of both, but not exactly on his timeline. “Get… off… of me,” she spat, pushing him away with one hand as she wiped her lips with the back of the other. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  He stood his ground, smirking at her. Eric Carlson didn’t have much in this world, a crappy apartment, a crappy car, a crappy job and a hot boss, but this much he knew: chicks loved his cock. He’d never wanted for female companionship, not in bars at night or some random coffee shop barista the next morning.

  Maybe it was his close-cropped black hair, his chiseled jaw or six-pack abs. Maybe it was his six-feet and then some status or his clear brown eyes, but mostly, Eric knew, it was his cock. He knew how to use it, he used it often and well, and chicks could sense that from across a crowded dance floor or lonely coffee shop.

  Or, in this case, a corner office.

  He walked with a swagger because he’d banged more chicks than most movie stars, and the more chicks he banged the more chicks wanted to bang him. Would Amanda? He could only hope so. She stood there, biting her lip and he knew, in that moment, she wasn’t going to knee him in the balls, wasn’t going to kick him out or call security.

  Amanda Pierce wanted him, wanted him bad. And was she going to get him. Every last inch of him. And she was going to like it so much, she’d be begging him not to stop.

  “Shut your blinds,” he ordered, slipping out of his jacket and tossing it onto the leather chair across from her desk. “Then lock your door.”

  “The hell you say,” she spat, standing her ground with a defiant look on her young, radiant face.

  “Trust me,” he growled, loosening his tie. “The quicker you do it, the easier I’ll be on you.”

  She smirked then, the color risking to her cheeks. “Who says I want it to be easy?”

  He locked the door for her, and lowered the blinds as well. The outer office looked empty, but what did he know? Hell, at this point, what did he care?

  She stood next to her desk, nearly as tall as he was in her expensive black heels. “Take them off,” he commanded. She leaned down and did as she was told. “Now the rest of it.”

  “Don’t you… don’t you want me to do it slow? Take my time?”

  He inched forward, dropping his voice a notch. “I want you naked, hot and ready, and I want it now,” he growled. Just saying the words almost made him come!

  She slid the turtleneck over her head, revealing a maroon bra to match her expensive linen slacks. They fell to the floor, and she folded them, carefully, before sliding them next to her jacket on the cabinet behind her. Her panties were black and tight and small; college girl panties.

  He was already hard, and didn’t think he could get any harder. But seeing her thick snatch pressed against the panties made his tongue literally dart out and lick his lips.

  “Funny,” he said, inching toward her, fingertips eager to touch every inch of her trim body. “I always figured you for a thong girl.”

  Her voice was a small thing now, but still full of fight. “Never on a Thursday. I thought a player like you would know little details like that.”

  He laughed and took off his tie. “Lie down,” he commanded, clearing her massive desk of a blotter and name plate.

  She opened her mouth to dispute him but slid back onto the desk instead. He could tell from the way she winced it was cold on the back of her bare thighs, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long.

  She lay back, her body one long, taut muscle. He grabbed her hands, roughly, and yanked them back over her head. She gasped and, thinking he’d been too forceful, he was shocked to hear her moan with pleasure, ass already grinding into the heavy wood of her desk and moistness spreading from the crotch of her tiny panties.

  He smiled to himself and tied one end of his neck tie around her wrists, anchoring the other to the foot of her desk. He tested it and found it solid. She tugged, too, and the tie gave little room for movement; just the way he wanted it.

  Her arms were long and he admired the way her small, firm breasts heaved against her silky maroon bra. Her ribs were clearly visible above her long, narrow waist, made even longer now by the way her taut body stretched tight along the surface of the desk. His mouth ached to swallow each nipple, to gently lick around each mound, to taste her firm,
white skin, to smell her exotic perfume as it oozed out of her pores.

  He found a letter opener and, bending close, snapped the bra in two in the middle. She gasped again, the material falling away to reveal two tender buds that had never seen the sun. The nipples were pink and tight and stiff as he bent to them, tongue firm as he toyed with each one, watching them rise even higher and glisten with his saliva as his tongues danced around the hard, firm skin.

  Her mouth was parted and he kissed her, passionately, feeling her arms straining against his tie but holding fast. She panted and murmured beneath him, desperate for more. He left her lips open and wanting and used the letter opener to slowly slice off her black panties.

  As the first strap snapped and the material fell to one side he could smell her velvety musk fill the entire room. Her snatch was covered with thick, black luxuriant hair that crinkled against his lips as he gently kissed them while cutting through the second strap of her damp black panties. He yanked them off, tossing them haphazardly into a corner while, still dressed, he bent to one knee and feasted on her slick, pink snatch as if he was a desperate virgin getting his first taste.

  It was ripe and hot beneath his tongue, a molten fire pit that melted as his lips pressed against the inside of each firm, white thigh. She was panting, moaning, writhing beneath his tongue, and Eric enjoyed the power his expertise gave him. She was not the first to lay, legs spread and quivering before him, but he could honestly say he’d never felt this close to coming just from oral sex.

  He stood, roughly, yanking off his shirt and reaching down for her panties. “You’re too loud,” he insisted, shoving them in her mouth. She gasped with surprise and he gently took them back out. “You want someone to come in here and interrupt this?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide, breasts heaving, flat soft belly quivering. “Then keep it down,” he chuckled, tossing them to the floor. “If you can.”

  She spread her thighs at his return between her long, parted legs, eager, greedy for more of his expert tongue. He bent to one knee and kissed her belly instead, teasing her thick, juicy clit with one deft fingertip as he peppered the soft white skin just above her pubic hair with soft, gentle kisses that found her panting for more even as her bare ass ground into the surface of her imported Italian desk.

  She came wildly, extravagantly against his fingertip, her juices coating his hand as he palmed her quivering pussy lips between spasms as he forced two, three, four more climaxes from her throbbing clit.

  She gasped and moaned, and he could have cared less who heard. Her whole body was alive and trembling, legs spread wide and feet pressed against his belt as she tried to undo his pants with her surprisingly agile toes!

  He helped her, cock thick and greedy for her lips but there was no time. He would have her now, here, on this desk, legs spread and ready for him and, if he survived, he might one day feel her lips on his cock.

  It sprang to life as he yanked his underwear down, fat and thick and long as it slapped against one thigh. She tried to sit up, eyes wide as she caught sight of it, or at least most of it, before he reached down and grabbed her around her narrow waist, a hand on each side.

  With a grunt he turned her over, but he couldn’t have done it without her help. The tie was looser now and yet she used it, clung to it for purchase as he bent her over at the waist, cock thick against her back as he positioned himself between her legs.

  Her ass was perfect, thick and ripe and flawless. He rubbed it, playfully at first, his fingers caressing her cheeks even as she trembled beneath his firm, insistent touch. He inched closer, thrusting his thick, moistened cock between the mounds of her velvety white ass, teasing tender cries from her lips as he gently slid inside and out of the crack of her ass, poking the tip through and then sliding it back in again.

  She had freed herself of her bonds now, the tie nowhere to be seen and yet she only used her hands to steady herself, inch herself down the desk until her ass was flush against his prick, her feet bare and flat on her office floor.

  He was intoxicated with her musk, her juices still thick and clear against his balls as, at last, he leaned back and slid his cock into her blindingly hot pussy. She gasped, her knuckles white as she clung to each side of her desk, pressing her ass against his belly as he plunged into her, deeper, deeper, until he could go on forever and she would only take more of him; more, harder, more, faster, more.

  He leaned forward, grabbing her breasts, teasing, squeezing her nipples as she squealed and slid against him, around him, the fit so tight he nearly came just from squeezing himself all the way inside her.

  As it was he found the resolve to hold out until she was squealing for more, and they were both sweating, the sound of their skin slapping against one another as he pounded her relentlessly, her tits small as they were jiggling in his hands, the nipples so stiff and erect they might as well have been pencil erasers.

  He grunted and came in a great gushing blast and still she wanted more, thrusting violently against him, fingering herself as she squealed and came twice, three times more.

  She lay there, covered in sweat, naked and prone on her desk, until he eased his limp, purple cock out of her and dried himself with a sheet of copy paper from her printer.

  She turned over lazily, glistening skin wet with sweat and cum, toying with the sweat gathered in her belly button and sliding one bare foot alongside his glistening thigh.

  Her breasts, tight like buds, gradually slowed their breathing as a stray lock of hair covered on eye. “Get out of here,” she croaked, huskily, voice thick with their sex. “Get out of here before I change my mind and call security.”

  He scrambled, suddenly the meek one, shrinking into his work clothes much as his dick shrunk against his thigh. He was gone before she slid off her desk. He didn’t look back…

  Now Eric stood, leaning against the counter in his grimy apartment kitchen, cock thick in his pants as he reached down to caress himself. The thought of her glistening pussy, writhing beneath his tongue, her velvet thighs clamped against his ears and her ass two feet off the desk made him sink into the nearest chair.

  He unbuckled his pants furiously, looking down at the thick cum stains stiff across the front panel of his black boxer briefs. He smirked, yanking them down as well as he feverishly unbuttoned his shirt and grabbed his cock.

  The tip was already glistening with pre-cum just thinking about her and, gliding it down over his long, veiny shaft, he closed his eyes to hear the slick sound of skin against skin. He eased back, the chair squeaking as he spread his legs wider, sinking down in the chair and spitting into his hand to grease the shaft of his thick, wet prick to a full, glistening sheen.

  He stroked himself, purposefully, the smell of her pussy still on his fingers, his waist, his thighs as it wafted into his nostrils, making him harder, the stroking more forceful. He was sweating in seconds, panting furiously, worn out from the day before, drained of cum but the thought of her, the taste of her, the smell of her driving him on.

  He stared down at the glistening cock in his hand, his thighs spread, belly quivering as he slowed down his rhythm, hand firm but gentle as the slick feel of his sweat and spit found him speeding up again, clenching his ass, biting his lips as he came, rocketing cum across his flat belly and onto his chest, emptying himself once more as he gasped, spent, just sitting there, pants around his ankles, jizz dripping onto the kitchen floor, wheezing like a dog in heat.

  Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, cleaning himself with a random fast food napkin, he saw the clock on the microwave oven. “Holy shit,” he gasped, standing up and promptly tripping over his pants-clad ankles. “I fucked the boss and I’m an hour late for work!”

  * * *

  The office was empty. Amanda Pierce wasn’t surprised. She was often at work earlier and this morning, of all mornings, she was earlier than usual. Her eyes were on high alert as she stalked through the office, briefcase in one hand, keys in the other, convinced that someone would be s
tanding there, a cell phone camera in hand, waiting to blackmail her after filming the entire, sordid incident with Eric the day before. But no, the office was dormant, silent; she was completely alone.

  She didn’t know what had gotten into her last night. She’d been a little hard on Eric of late, sure, but that’s only because she saw his vast potential and watched as, daily, he wasted it by joking around with his coworkers and dallying around the office break room. Amanda had been taught to give her best, 24/7/365, and never slack. But although they were roughly the same age, Eric obviously came from a different school of thought.

  Though extremely talented, he was cocky, taking every possible break to flirt with the other designers at the vending machines or make friends with his fellow cubicle mates while never missing an opportunity to hang out with the guys for happy hour after work.

  Sure, he was handsome. Okay, drop-dead gorgeous. At only twenty-nine he looked several years younger and Amanda was sure the whole office was convinced she’d hired him just for his strapping good looks and easy, affable manner.