Wicked Desires (Vol. 1): Three Erotic Shorts

by Jennifer Simms

  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 standing 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 offi
ce 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.

  She’d told herself she hadn’t but, after what had happened the day before, she could no longer trust her instincts. Any of them...

  It had started innocently enough. She’d been perusing the new Coleman’s Coffee account well after hours, checking up on Eric’s progress when she’d called him into her office for a simple update.

  Okay, so it was late and she had been a little hard on him, but somebody had to be. She’d asked for the changes two days earlier; 48 hours had been plenty of time for a talented graphics designer like Eric to make such simple changes.

  He’d walked in all attitude, a gleam in his eye that made her weak in the knees despite her firm resolve to keep things professional between them. He stood a few inches taller than her, all 180-pounds of him, that closed cropped skull gleaming under the fluorescent lights of her office, his rich brown eyes mischievous and eyeing her provocatively.

  She’d tried to keep her cool, tried to stay in control, discussing fairly but firmly the changes that needed to be made when, out of nowhere, his posture… changed. She couldn’t help but notice the erection growing in his tight khakis; and growing and growing.

  She tried to keep their discussion professional but, she knew, she should have sent him away right then, before the thickness in his pants was so distracting she could hardly keep from licking her tongue and reaching down to stroke it.

  Already she could feel the dampness spread between her legs as he ordered her to shut the door and lower the blinds. It took the last of her will, the last of whatever dominance she was hoping to maintain, to refuse him. When he kissed her, so suddenly, lips warm and soft and firm and wet all at the same time, she could barely stand.

  It was almost a relief when he ordered her out of her clothes. She stood there, small and half-naked before him, his glistening brown eyes alive and alert as he devoured every inch of her exposed skin. She had nearly come just from the way he looked at her, shoulders broad, waist narrow, young face smooth and unlined and hollow cheeks darkened by an extra day of not shaving.

  By the time he had her strapped to her desk and was cutting away her underwear -- her two hundred dollar underwear! -- she was panting for him, desperate and greedy and unashamed. Boss or no boss, she was a woman and he was a man. Her pussy ached to be full, to be crammed and pounded in a way it never had before.

  And even as he tongued her nipples until she was literally dripping, even as he moved her body around the desk like a butcher sizing up a piece of meat, his eyes were still hungry and adoring. Even in his roughness he was still boyish, a kid playing with his dad’s tool box, barking orders even as he begged for permission to touch, tease and taste her.

  Which didn’t meant to imply he wasn’t all man. He had her right where he wanted her, from the minute he walked in the office. She was ripe and wet and willing and pliable beneath his expert tongue, to say nothing of his long, thin fingers. He made her come so forcefully, so quickly, she was still hoarse from moaning in pleasure and abandon, from the silent screams that threatened to burst her straining vocal chords.

  And that was just with his fingers. Scratch that, with one finger. She had openly gawked when at last he’d had enough and stripped off his pants, thick, fat cock straining from his shorts and then they, too, hit the floor. His naked body was nearly hairless and unflawed. He stood between her legs, not an ounce of fat on him, six-pack abs glistening from where he’d pressed against her thick, wet pussy and come back covered with her juices and the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin.

  She didn’t care. Even when she had finally broken free from his pitiful bonds, the sensation of powerlessness, of being taken, of being unable -- forbidden, even -- to touch him made the anticipation and sensation that much more intense.

  At last he’d rolled her over, so sodden she could feel the juices drizzle down her legs as she lay, trembling, face down on her own desk as he slid his long, velvety cock in and out of her moist ass cheeks. She had wondered, idly, if he’d poke her there but even in teasing her he had been respectful, if forceful.

  When he finally slid into her, all six, seven, eight, had to be nine inches of him, she had nearly choked with passion, with pleasure, with sweet, tender pain. Her hands gripping the side of her desk, his fingers toying with her thick, puffy nipples once more he had plowed into her until she’d come who knows how many times.

  They’d both been covered in sweat and still she craved more as she slid, down and down his cock, her ass grinding against his flat stomach as he pounded into her, again and again, until at last his gushing geyser splashed against the walls of her glistening cave, and she lay there, frightened by her abandon, threatened by his forcefulness.

  When she’d rolled over, taking in every inch of his glistening, naked body, wet and slick with sweat as if he’d just stepped out of a pool, his beauty had overtaken her. She’d yelled at him, swore and threatened until at last he’d come to his senses and, dressing quickly, retreated through the door.

  She’d sat there, naked and sated, until her sweat dried, until his cum and her juices thickened on the inside of her thighs, until the air conditioning kicked on, and brought her back to her senses. She had dressed quickly, panty-les, bra-less, driving home feeling naked and sure she’d be stopped by the cops for enjoying herself so damn much.

  She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even had so much as a glass of wine before tumbling, naked, spent, ruined, ravaged, blissfully into bed.

  Now she sat down heavily at her desk, panting just thinking about him, pussy wet -- again! -- from the thought of his fat prick pounding inside of her. She’d never been a fan of rough sex, but the thought of being ordered around, pinned face down against her desk, hands tied and powerless to stop him as he took her, roughly, from behind made her squirm against her leather chair all over again.

  She’d worn a skirt today, gray and pleated and chaste and knee length, but with her Friday thong panties hiding playfully underneath. The blinds still lowered, the door shut firm, she hiked up her skirt and played with her luxuriant, wet pussy hair. She couldn’t believe how moist she was already, how greedily she spread her own thighs and teased her already throbbing, wet clit into a frothy lather.

  She could hear the slick sound of her wet fingers against her moist pussy lips as she gathered that moisture to spread across her feverish, quivering mound. She yearned to have his cock in her mouth, to feel his balls in her hands, to have his hands all over her, inside her.

  She’d never wanted anyone, anything, so badly. She put her feet against the desk, legs up high and spread wide, ass off the chair and hovering in mid-air as she fingered herself with reckless, wild abandon.

  How could he be better at fingering her than she was at fingering herself? With endless years of empty beds and ex-boyfriends who found her too demanding, masculine or forceful, she should have been an expert at pleasuring herself by now. But until Eric, sex had never been a big deal to her. Not this big a deal, where she sat openly at her desk like some live webcam hottie toying with her own pussy. And, well, after Eric… he had ruined her for her own hands.

  She bucked and seethed, trying desperately to find the rhythm as at last she applied just the right pressure, two fingertips back and forth against her grinding mound, faster, faster, slower now, gentler, then faster, faster until she burst, biting her lip, bucking wildly as she came two, three tim
es before she finally came back to her senses.

  Her eyelids fluttered as she slid her cotton panties back over her dripping wet snatch, drying her inner thighs with tissue from the bottom drawer of her desk. While it was open, she slid several items from her briefcase inside, tongue licking her lips wildly in anticipation as her drawer quickly filled to where she was afraid it might not close.

  When at last she squeezed clear sanitizer onto her hands and pulled back her hair, she was shocked to find she hadn’t even bothered to check her email yet!

  * * *

  The day seemed to stretch out forever. Even having come in nearly two hours late, a first for him, Eric watched the clock tick by in endless agony. His cubicle mate, Phillip, eyed him curiously just after lunch.

  “You okay, bro?”

  Phillip was forty-ish, balding, with dandruff on his glasses but insisted on acting like a forever-twenty-one-year-old.

  “Sure, why?”