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

by Неизвестный

“You know what you need?”

  “Your cock.”

  He grimaced at me, and I said, “Oh, what? Girls in your world don’t say the word cock? Or maybe they don’t suck it. Wouldn’t want to spoil their lip gloss.”

  “Behind the shed. I was right before. That’s what you need. A long hard session with an old leather belt where nobody could hear you cry. Tune you up in no time.”

  “And then what?” I asked, though my pussy was responding to his words, juices dripping down my thighs. “Then I become one of those airheaded girls with the perfect flip? Someone you can control with a look?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t see you ever being under control,” he said. “I’m sure you’d need a pretty steady diet of discipline.”

  Had I thought I was wet before? I was making a silky puddle between my legs. But I would not lose my moxie. “And you think you’re the man for the job?”

  “I’m dead sure of it,” he said.

  “But what about the girls you date? Those princesses.”

  “I have a theory about that,” he said, and he stood and pulled me to standing, then led me toward the back of the shop. “You know what you can’t do?”

  I shook my head.

  He stopped me in the hall, tilted my chin so I was looking into his eyes. “When I ask you a question, you answer.”

  “Yes,” I said quickly.

  “That’s not how you answer.”

  “Yes, Tommy?” I tried, feeling less sure of myself now.

  “Oh, so you’re clever. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

  “I’m Janie,” I said. “Jane.”

  “All right, Janie.” He looked stern, like I’d disappointed him. “You, with all your tricks, all your fancy plans. You don’t even know what you need.” He pushed me down then once more, so I was on my knees gazing up at him. “When we’re alone, like this. I’m going to be in charge. And you’re going to do what I say. So you say, ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir.’ Shall we try again?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, and he continued down the hall with me following after in a crawl. When we’d reached the lounge in back, Tommy stood me up again. “The problem with princesses is that you can’t fuck them the way you’d like to. You can’t tie them up at night. Or use handcuffs. Or a butt plug. You can’t spank them when they’re naughty or flog them when they need it. You can’t wash the bad words from their mouths with a bar of soap—because they never fucking say bad words.”

  He was stripping me as he spoke, and I saw that there was a basin of water back here and a stack of towels.

  “So I’ve been thinking—as you have pranced by all spring in those too-short skirts of yours—that I don’t need a princess.”

  And then he had me up on the table on my back and he was spreading thick lotion over my pussy using one of those sexy bristle brushes.

  “What I need is a bad girl, like you.”

  He started to shave me. I closed my eyes. I was in heaven, the way he pinched my nether lips as he worked. The way he paid such careful attention to whisking away every last stray bit of hair. My fantasy had definitely come to life.

  “Why do you think I’m a bad girl?” I panted.

  “Because you’re the exact opposite of every good girl I ever dated. You know, I came this close to getting married last fall.” He kept working. I watched him as he focused on me.

  “It was…” he said slowly, “a close shave.”

  I was surprised as he spoke, because I’d almost married a man who wanted a Barbie girl. I’d escaped. Like he had.

  When he was done, he used a wet towel to rinse me, and then he used those fluffy towels to dry me off. He tested his work with his tongue, and I said, “If you keep doing that, Sir, I’m going to come.” I thought it was the right thing to say.

  “Fine,” he said, looking up at me with his chin wet with my glossy juices. “And then I’ll punish you.”

  My whole world seemed to freeze as he slid two fingers into my pussy.

  “How? How will you…Sir?” I managed to tack on at the end.

  “We’ll start with my belt.”

  I sighed. I wanted to feel his belt. Desperately, I wanted to, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?” I needed to hear the words.

  “Why will I punish you? Because you’re such a forward, pushy tart. Demanding that I take care of you. Not waiting for me to make the first move.”

  “You didn’t. You never did.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. But I had waited. God, I had waited for months.

  “I would have,” he said. “I was biding my time.”

  “You were driving me fucking crazy.” I didn’t care that I’d forgotten the proper words. I was telling him the truth.

  “Maybe that was part of my plan,” he said, and then he refocused his attention on my split and I came in a flash; the way he made sweet circles over my clit was too dreamy.

  In seconds, while I was still lost in that haze of bliss, he had me flipped and bent over the table. I heard the sound of his belt pulling free from the loops of his slacks, and I tensed my thighs in anticipation of the first blow. My ass was still warm from the hand spanking he’d delivered in the front room. I was pretty, pink and primed.

  “What I need,” he said, and he stung me with a fierce stroke from the start, “is a girl who can put on a princess act every once in a while so my family will get off my back. A girl who can stifle the four-letter words over a Sunday-night dinner. What do you think?”

  “What do you mean, Sir?” I was having a hard time responding.

  “Most people I know playact in the bedroom. They try to be all kinky when they’re so fucking vanilla. I know who you are. I’m asking you to playact out of the bedroom. Pretend you’re vanilla when we go have a dinner at my grandmother’s house. But be the kinky fucking bad girl you are the rest of the time. Do you think you could do that?”

  He was landing the blows steadily now, and I was moaning and writhing, my hips beating against the edge of the table.

  “Can you do that, Janie?”

  I sucked in my breath, because he’d dropped the belt, and I anticipated what was going to happen next. To my delight, I was right. He had unzipped his fly and he was pressing his cock against me.

  “Yes,” I said, to two things at once. “Yes, Sir,” I said to his query and to his cock. “I can do that.”

  He was in me then, pushing forward so I felt his cock hammering all the way through me. I was so turned on I could hardly think. His cock was thick and hard and seemed to reach places inside me that hadn’t been touched before. And all the time Tommy fucked me, he had his hand wrapped in my hair and he kept whispering the things he was going to do to me. The things he couldn’t wait to do to me.

  “Oh god,” I whimpered. “Oh my fucking god.”

  “You know, I’ll have to wash your mouth out when I get you home.”

  “Why, Sir?”

  “Because you can’t seem to go two seconds without saying the word ‘fuck.’”

  “No, Sir, I fucking can’t,” I said as he made me come a second time. Tommy slammed into me even faster after that, thrusting so hard he moved the table, and us with it, several feet forward. Then he pulled out and came all over my backside, rubbing his semen into my heated skin with the palm of his hand.

  After, he washed me with a damp towel and dried me once more. Then he cleaned up the back room while I got dressed. I followed around after him, watching as he returned the shop to normal. The faded Playboys in their place. The blinds up.

  “Let’s go to my place,” Tommy said.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  “That’s right.” He smiled. “Whenever we’re with my family, you’ll call me Tommy,” he said as he led me to his car. “And you’ll wear a decent-length skirt and a pair of panties. But don’t worry, little girl, when I get you home after, I will take care of you. Exactly how you need.”

  He stopped at his car and lifted my skirt. He ran his palm over my mound and smile
d.

  “What do you think?” he asked. And I thought about everything I’d gone through to make it to this point. The waiting. The hoping. The near-disaster of an almost-tragic marriage. I’d survived a close shave, only to be given a kind I’d never truly believed possible.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said as I got into his car.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  LAILA BLAKE (lailablake.com) is a bilingual German native with an MA in applied linguistics, working as a translator and English teacher in Cologne, Germany. With a special interest in human verbal and nonverbal communication, she spends her evenings and weekends penning character-driven romance and erotica for modern women.

  HEIDI CHAMPA (heidichampa.blogspot.com) has been published in numerous anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica 2010, Playing with Fire, Irresistible and Best Erotic Romance 2013. She has also steamed up the pages of Bust Magazine. If you prefer your erotica in electronic form, she can be found at Clean Sheets, Ravenous Romance, Oysters & Chocolate and The Erotic Woman.

  ANDREA DALE (AndreaDaleAuthor.com) has been called a “legendary erotica heavy-hitter” by the über-legendary Violet Blue. Her work has appeared in 20 year’s best volumes as well as about 100 other anthologies. She no longer has a pool, much less a pool girl…but she often fantasizes about both.

  JEREMY EDWARDS (jeremyedwardserotica.com) is the author of Rock My Socks Off, Spark My Moment and most recently The Pleasure Dial: An Erotocomedic Novel of Old-Time Radio. His libidinous tales have appeared in over fifty anthologies, including The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica series.

  A. M. HARTNETT (amhartnett.com) published her first erotic short in 2006. Since then, she has been featured in several anthologies, including Cleis’s Going Down, Sudden Sex and Best Erotic Romance 2013.

  TILLY HUNTER (tillyhunter.co.uk) is a British author and newspaper journalist with a wicked imagination and a fondness for stories of good food, wholesome living and BDSM. Her work has been published by Xcite Books, House of Erotica, MLR Press and the websites Every Night Erotica and Oysters & Chocolate.

  CRYSTAL JORDAN is originally from California, but has lived all over the United States. Currently, she serves as a librarian at a university in her home state, and she writes paranormal, contemporary, futuristic and erotic romance. She has published stories with Kensington Aphrodisia, Harlequin Spice Briefs, Ellora’s Cave, Cleis Press and Samhain Publishing.

  SOMMER MARSDEN (sommermarsden.blogspot.com) has been called “One of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” by Violet Blue. Her erotic novels include Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door and Learning to Drown. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning author’s work runs the gamut from bondage to zombies. Current addictions include insane workouts and buying (too many) T-shirts.

  DELILAH NIGHT (delilahnight.com) is an American living in Singapore with her husband and young children. With unlimited time and money, she would become either a sexologist or a pastry chef.

  KATHRYN O’HALLORAN (kathrynohalloran.blogspot.com) was told to write what she knows; despite that, she now writes erotica. She finds the research grueling but she goes at it with guts and determination. She has recently released her debut novel, The Bad Girls’ Club.

  Award-winning author KATE PEARCE was born into a large family of girls in England, and spent much of her childhood living very happily in a dream world. Kate is also published by Signet Eclipse, Kensington Aphrodisia, Carina Press, Ellora’s Cave, Cleis Press and Virgin Black Lace/Cheek.

  DEVIN PHILLIPS only recently started writing naughty stories at a kinky boyfriend’s request. The boyfriend went away, but she’s addicted. Her stories have appeared in the anthologies Occupied, Frequent Flyers, Double Birdie and Swings Both Ways.

  GISELLE RENARDE is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, contributor to more than one hundred short-story anthologies and author of numerous electronic and print books, including Anonymous, Nanny State and My Mistress’ Thighs. Ms. Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

  ELISA SHARONE’s (elisasharone.tumblr.com) heretofore super-secret sex writing has soaked hundreds of thousands of panties across the globe. She’s wandering a new path, dipping into the deepest, darkest recesses of her imagination to bring readers brain-melting erotica that leaves them gasping for more.

  SOPHIA VALENTI (sophiavalenti.blogspot.com) is the author of Indecent Desires, an erotic novella of spanking and submission. Her fiction has appeared in the Harlequin Spice anthologies Alison’s Wonderland and With This Ring, I Thee Bed, as well as several Pretty Things Press books, including Kiss My Ass, Skirting the Issue, Smart Ass and Torn.

  Gifted with a salacious imagination, SASHA WHITE’s brand of Romance with Heat, and Erotica with Heart is all about sassy women and sexy men. With over thirty stories published by Berkley, Kensington, Samhain, Black Lace and Cleis Press, this Canadian author has become a reader favorite.

  CORA ZANE (corazane.com) lives in an area of northern Louisiana known as “out in the sticks.” She is the author of What She Doesn’t Know, Wicked Obsession and the Werekind Were-wolf series of erotic romance e-books. She has also published work in several anthologies, including Morning, Noon and Night; Coming Together: Hungry for Love and Dirtyville.

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Called “a trollop with a laptop” by East Bay Express, “a literary siren” by Good Vibrations and “the mistress of literary erotica” by Violet Blue, ALISON TYLER is naughty and she knows it.

  Over the past two decades, Ms. Tyler has written more than twenty-five explicit novels, including Tiffany Twisted, Melt with You and The ESP Affair. Her novels and short stories have been translated into Japanese, Dutch, German, Italian, Norwegian, Spanish and Greek. When not writing sultry short stories, she edits erotic anthologies, including Alison’s Wonderland, Kiss My Ass, Skirting the Issue and Torn. She is also the author of several novellas including Cuffing Kate, Giving In and A Taste of Chi.

  Ms. Tyler is loyal to coffee (black), lipstick (red), and tequila (straight). She has tattoos, but no piercings; a wicked tongue, but a quick smile; and bittersweet memories, but no regrets. She believes it won’t rain if she doesn’t bring an umbrella, prefers hot and dry to cold and wet, and loves to spout her favorite motto: You can sleep when you’re dead. She chooses Led Zeppelin over the Beatles, the Cure over NIN and the Stones over everyone. Yet although she appreciates good rock, she has a pitiful weakness for ’80s hair bands.

  She has worked as a popcorn girl, maid, personal assistant, salesclerk, page editor, ghostwriter, and receptionist. But she’s most proud of rewriting the Kama Sutra.

  In all things important, she remains faithful to her partner of eighteen years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume.