Nine-to-Five Fantasies: Tales of Sex on the Job

by Неизвестный

  “Good to see you too,” he said as he came closer. “You look amazing.”

  “So do you.” It was the truth.

  When he was within reach, I caressed my thumb over one of his nipple rings, tracing the tiny O. He shivered.

  “They’re sensitive,” he told me. I continued my exploration, following my fingertips with a flick of my tongue. He inhaled sharply then captured my hands and turned me around so my back was against his chest. “I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since this morning.”

  He slid my dress up my hips, leaving it bunched about my waist. A warm hand caressed my bottom. “No panties. I like the way you think.”

  “Yeah, well, I aim to please.” Smiling to myself, I rubbed my bare bottom against his crotch and felt the evidence of his arousal.

  He buried his face against my neck and inhaled my scent. “Mm. Why don’t you take off this dress?”

  No games, no pretense. I could appreciate that.

  I caught my dress by the hem and pulled it off over my head. He waited until I’d tossed it onto a tool chest with an open bin of what looked like bottled oils and sex toys before he reached for me again.

  His hands were work roughened, but his touch was gentle as he caressed and squeezed my breasts together and captured one of my nipples in his mouth. He flicked the tight nub with his tongue, and a shower of sparks rained through me.

  I sighed with pleasure, and he went down on his knees behind me. Leaning forward, I braced myself against one of the raw I-beam supports that ran from floor to ceiling and widened my stance. Starting with my asshole, he darted his tongue against me, then licked a path along my slit. Finally, he reached my aching clit and tickled it with his tongue. I shivered and melted against him.

  “Wait a second.” Joel stood up and steered me toward a mechanic’s rolling board on the floor nearby. “There.” He dragged the board closer with a foot. “Kneel down on the creeper.”

  I slipped off the clear stripper sandals I’d worn just for him and carefully knelt down on the board, clutching the sides for balance.

  Holding on for dear life, I allowed him to pose me ass up, head turned to the side and resting on the “creeper.” He knelt behind me then and parted my pussy lips. Cool air struck my most vulnerable places. I was incredibly wet.

  He worked a finger into my cunt and another into my asshole. Despite how slick I was, his fingers were large and calloused and it took me a moment to adjust to the double penetration. When he combined sucking my clit with finger-fucking me, I worried I wouldn’t last.

  Whatever his plan, my gentleman gearhead didn’t try to rush me. He flicked and sucked my clit with perfect patience and precision skill. He never let up, not even when he had me teetering on the edge and every delicate touch had me squirming.

  Heat scorched my face when I thought how I was probably drenching his tongue, but if it bothered him, he didn’t say a word about it. I was grateful for that. With or without a round of messy oral sex, after a full day of waiting, I desperately needed to come.

  And then I did just that.

  I climaxed in a hard, sudden rush. Flashes of light pulsed behind my closed eyelids, and I heard the roar of my blood pulsing in my ears. Through it all, Joel crooned praises and continued to finger-fuck both my slick holes. I shuddered and shook. He stayed with me until my body stopped quaking, and I’d collapsed onto the creeper board in a panting, boneless heap.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.” His voice was deep, raspy and ripe with lust.

  After the orgasm he’d just given me, I definitely wanted to return the favor. Judging by the bulge in his jeans, getting me off had obviously done its part to turn him on. Still jittery from peaking, I sat up and began unbuckling his belt. I had it all mapped out in my head. He’d just earned the blow job of the century, and I wouldn’t rest until I’d tasted his come.

  I’d just unbuttoned the top button on his jeans when he laid a hand over mine to stop me.

  I looked up at him. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s perfect.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come with me. I have something else in mind for my turn.”

  We didn’t go very far, only a few feet away. He let go of my hand when we reached my car, and at first, I had no idea what was going on. Then I saw the red tool chest behind him and remembered the bin of sex toys I’d noticed earlier.

  I waited while he fished through the box. He seemed to know what he was looking for. When he pulled out various bottles of lube and a strap-on with a large black dong attached to it, a frisson of worry danced down my spine. I knew he intended it for me, but I’d never—I mean, I didn’t want him to think I was inexperienced, or simply being a smart-ass, but I had to ask. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s how I like to get off,” he said as he unzipped his jeans. “I like to be penetrated. Preferably by a hot willing woman.”

  And if I asked you to fuck me?

  His eyes devoured me as he sat down on the edge of a tool chest and began to strip off his boots. “I also like to keep things discreet—in the garage, I guess you could say. Of course, I get it if you don’t think you can handle fucking me. Just say so now if that’s the case.”

  My mouth went dry. He was so straightforward and nonchalant about it. Was he challenging me or offering me a chance to leave?

  I’d always suspected Joel was the type of man with whom you had to scratch the surface to see what’s beneath, but I never would have guessed he had a kinky side. I didn’t know what to say, but I was flattered that he trusted me enough to ask me to fulfill his needs.

  “So I take it we’re still game on?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Like I’d really skip an opportunity to have him any way I could get him.

  Mischief glittered in his pale eyes as he stood up and shucked his jeans. His cock was thick and rock hard. Everything I’d hoped for.

  “Have you ever pegged a man before?”

  My speechlessness must’ve revealed what he already knew. He laughed softly.

  “Well, I consider it an honor to be your first.” He tossed his jeans into a plastic chair. “Come here and I’ll help you buckle up.”

  I was glad he offered since I’d never worn a strap-on before and wasn’t exactly sure what leather strap went where. I watched his deft fingers work the straps free of the buckles. I ran a finger along the length of the dong. “Whose strap-on is this, anyway?”

  “It’s mine.”

  I blushed at his firm tone, but I was relieved to know it didn’t belong to someone else—an ex-girlfriend, maybe.

  It took a few minutes, but once he had me buckled in, he stood back and admired his handiwork. I now stood before him in nothing but sheer, thigh-high tights and his strap-on. I took the massive licorice black dong in hand as if it were a natural cock and posed for him.

  “Damn that’s hot.” He leaned down to nibble my tiny nipples, first one then the other.

  My breathing quickened. I wrapped one hand around his hard cock and cupped his balls with the other. He had such an incredible body, all hard muscle, tattooed abs and pierced nipples. Remembering his piercings, I leaned forward and flicked one of his silver rings with my tongue. A hiss of air rushed from his lips.

  We chose a clear jelly from the bin and lubed my artificial cock together, our hands making slick noises over the black flexi vinyl. The dong seemed slightly thicker than average, and was probably a good nine inches long. The shape was like a real cock, veined, with a well-defined mushroom tip. He guided my hand over it as if it was his mission to teach me how to jerk off.

  “Fuck.” He blew out a breath. “I love watching you do that.”

  One glance at his raging-hard cock and I knew he meant it. Weak-limbed and shaky, I held out my hands for more jelly.

  The amount of lube we used made his skin glisten. His eyes blazed down at me as I squeezed a final dollop of lube into my hands and slicked it between his parted thighs. I’d already glossed his balls and his coc
k. This time I massaged jelly against the rim of his asshole before breaching him with my fingers.

  Joel spread his legs apart. I penetrated him with first one finger, then two, and I didn’t stop until I was able to finger him the way he had my cunt earlier that day. It wasn’t long before his breathing grew harsh and his eyes slipped closed. I pressed my thumb firmly against his taint while working my fingers inside him, and he wavered a little on his feet.

  I tugged at a pierced nipple with my teeth, and Joel’s asshole clenched around my fingers. He tangled his hand in my hair, jerking my head back. Firm lips crashed down on mine, and as he kissed me, the spicy flavor of my pussy on his lips made me think of leather, cinnamon and unspoken secrets. Kissing him brought back memories of every dirty fantasy I’d ever had.

  His calloused hands kneaded the cheeks of my ass. Glancing down between us, he brushed his jutting cock back and forth against the strap-on dong. “I want you to fuck me hard, Katy. No holding back. Can you do that?”

  Before I could answer him, he turned away and braced his hands on the hood of my car. I waited for him to get comfortable, then I stepped up behind him and prodded his glistening anus with the tapered head of my artificial cock. It slid into him quickly, easily, though for a moment he tensed up. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, so I gripped his hips and started fucking him.

  It was awkward at first, the motion of pumping into him. My rhythm was off. I braced my hands on his hips to steady myself. Even then we moved out of sync, and I had no choice but to go slow.

  “Fuck me harder, Katy. That can’t be all you’ve got.” His displeasure stung my pride.

  Heat flooded my face. I froze. Almost chickened out. But I didn’t want to fail him—not Joel, the object of my filthiest daydreams. Besides, I’d sort of made a promise.

  Instead of pulling out, I slapped him hard across the ass and slammed into him, balls deep. Joel went down on his elbows so fast, for a moment I thought I’d hurt him.

  When I saw he was okay, that he’d started to prop himself up, I pushed him down by the nape of the neck and pinned him against the hood. “Did I tell you to lift your head?”

  He went instantly still, and after I drove into him hard and deep a few more times, he shifted his weight forward and tipped his pelvis, the action lifting his ass higher to give me better access. I whispered how hot I thought he looked, and built a rhythm that had him pressing back against me. Gradually my thrusts became more even, more regular.

  “Fuck yes. Like that,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Deeper. Ah, fuck yes.”

  I raked my nails down his broad back. “You love that big dick in your ass, don’t you?” When he didn’t answer me straightaway, I gave him a hard hand across the ass and pulled out of him.

  A hiss of displeasure left his lips. He answered me then. “Yes. Yes, I do!” His hands clenched into fists against my car, and a strained noise left his lips. “Please, Katy, don’t stop!”

  I slapped the dong against his bottom for good measure, and smiled to myself when he spread his cheeks for me. I squeezed into him again, and he gave a soft cry of pleasure.

  This time when I penetrated him I gripped the tops of his thighs and held on. His strong muscular legs flexed slightly every time I pumped into him. To show my approval, I leaned forward and licked his back. Then I bit him. Joel made a soft sobbing sound and rested his head against his arm.

  I’d been fucking him for probably ten minutes when suddenly his muscles tensed and he groaned. His stomach muscles contracted beneath my splayed fingers. His cock bobbed slightly. He was close to coming, so I held him in place and fucked him harder, without mercy. Well, he said he wanted it hard. I intended to give it to him just the way he wanted it.

  I leaned over him so my breasts rubbed against his sweat-damp back while I thrust into him. The new position allowed me to reach around Joel and cup his balls. I massaged his sensitive skin, and he tipped his head back in ecstasy.

  “Do you want to come now, Joel?” I asked near his ear.

  He choked on a sharp breath, and his nostrils flared. A muscle ticked in his jaw. No man had ever looked sexier. Clearly he was hanging on by a thread. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. “It feels so good.” He hung his head and pushed back against me. “Please, fuck me. Make me come.”

  I wrapped a hand around his cock and began to jerk him off. His muscles tensed again, and his legs trembled. His asshole tightened around the dong. Joel braced himself against the car and made a move to take over jerking off, but I slapped his hand away. Resigned to let me take control, he bowed his head in submission.

  I jacked his cock from base to tip in slow, firm strokes, taking my time with him, just as he had taken his time with me. I kept a steady rhythm, timing the flow of the hand job with the thrusts of my fake cock. His breathing quickened, and soon I had him squirming beneath me—exactly how I wanted him.

  I continued to pound into him until finally Joel shuddered with release. A garbled string of unintelligible words came from his mouth as the first hot spurt of his come shot between my fingers.

  He thrust forward through the tunnel of my hand, still coming, erupting, spilling milky drops across the hood of my car. He uttered my name on a harsh breath. It was a heady experience. Completely sexy—and secretly, a recurring fantasy of mine.

  Only when he’d been reduced to a quivering mess of aftershocks did I slip out of his body. By then, my legs were tense, the muscles burning. Breath heaving, Joel collapsed against my car. Mindful of the come spot he’d just made, he rolled over onto his back and looked at me. “That was incredible.”

  He was sheened with sweat and looked exhausted. Totally fucked down. Inwardly, I beamed with pride.

  He was so sensitive from his orgasm he could barely stand it when I kissed my way down his body and sucked his softening cock into my mouth. His muscles jerked, and he tolerated my buff job for less than a minute before he grabbed a fistful of my long hair to make me stop. I bit my lip to hide my glee. Not a bad night’s work for shy little Katy.

  Joel made a subtle, chiding sound and pulled me against him for a kiss. Our tongues dueled, both flavored with each other.

  At last, I pulled away and stroked my hand across his washboard stomach, taking a moment to appreciate the view. I considered taking off the strap-on and tossing it back onto the tool chest, but I was somewhat used to wearing it at that point. Instead, I carefully crawled up Joel’s body and straddled him. I pretended not to notice how slick my inner thighs were. I was pretty sure he didn’t care about that, anyway.

  The way he looked at me made my skin tingle. I sensed him puzzling me over. Honestly, I’m not sure why. Maybe I’d surprised him. I’d definitely surprised myself.

  Amused, he watched me rubbing the fake cock idly against his bare stomach. “Having fun with that?”

  I dipped the head of the dong into his navel. “Absolutely.”

  He folded his arms behind his head and sighed. A thoughtful look crossed his face.

  “I’ll probably have your car ready by next Friday,” he said. “Maybe after you pick it up we can go over to my place. What do you say? Dinner and drinks?”

  Excitement blossomed low in my belly and quickly spread through me. “Sounds like fun.”

  I reached out to toy with the silver ring piercing his left nipple. We’d been so caught up in each other when I’d first arrived I hadn’t gotten the chance to play with his piercings as much as I would’ve liked. Oh well, it looked like I’d be getting another chance soon enough.

  Joel stroked his thumb along my lower lip, and the intimacy of his sensual touch lit me up inside. I felt radiant and glowing, and even though I was satisfied for the moment, I was already looking forward to next Friday. I could hardly wait to take his hot body for another joyride.

  UNDER HER AUSPICES

  Jeremy Edwards

  There were no figures in Vibeke’s museum. Every canvas, whether Impressionist, Postimpressionist or Fauvist, was a landsca
pe or a still life. Even the abstract paintings were always abstract things, never abstract people (though I had to read every plaque to make sure of this).

  And so when I entered the building each day at quarter to six, after the tourists had all gone, it was, as the romantics say, like I was the only man in the world—and Vibeke the only woman.

  I would have spent this daily interval—between leaving my office and catching my train—at the little art museum next door, no matter what type of person presided over it. It just so happened that the presiding official was a type of woman I would otherwise have wished for excuses to be near. She was a portrait of meticulous competence, tasteful sophistication and refined intellect, with an eager mirth in her eyes and a look of fresh-scrubbed vitality to her flesh, as seen in the two scoop-like servings revealed where her blouse gave the word. But under the circumstances, no excuses were necessary. I was here legitimately. I was “the public” she welcomed.

  “I keep my cityscapes in the northern gallery,” I heard her say on the phone one day, her testimony bouncing proudly out of the small skylit office she inhabited. “My” cityscapes. At other times, it might be “my” floral gallery, or “my” eastern corridor that I heard her reference. The sense of loving possession was like a caress to my balls: I wanted Vibeke to take possession of me somehow, too. The art belonged to the public, of course, as it should, but still I appreciated the element of benign, symbolic ownership that Vibeke’s curatorial love had earned her. It was as if I could taste the kiss of her cunt down the banister-like edges of each golden picture frame. In my mind’s eye, Vibeke’s pussy gilded as it glided, her juices an alchemist’s wet dream.

  Her voice, whether tickling my ears from the office or heating my cheeks when she spoke to me directly, was, like Vibeke in toto, a confection of aesthetic passion coated in elegant professionalism. Her Northern European accent made me think of tiny, beautiful pastries coupled with afternoon coffee, of unself-conscious nudity in townhouse hotels.