Lust

by Violet Blue

  “No, definitely not.” He grinned and clutched at the edge of his desk as he stood up. “It probably just needs a new part. I’ll check it out now.”

  Perfect.

  He followed close behind me and as we wended our way back to my cube I felt his eyes boring into me. I gestured at the desk. He sat in my chair. I put my hands on his shoulders, stood behind him and peered at the computer alongside him. I could feel his shoulders grow taut under my hands. The sexual tension was ratcheting up with every moment. He blinked several times before continuing. He was a loaded weapon about to blow.

  Wriggling the mouse, he shook his head. “Yup, it’s dead. I’ve got a batch of spares back in my cube. I’ll fetch one now.” Reluctantly, he stood up, one finger adjusting his collar as he glanced over me again.

  Oh, the sweet combination of arousal and discomfort was too good. “You’re the expert, but I should probably mention it happened before and Belinda found the connector had dislodged.” This time I’d ensured that the connector had dislodged. “Maybe you should check that first?”

  “I guess I should,” he replied, while his eyes dropped to the floor. He was staring at my shoes and feet in a kind of mesmerized trance.

  After a moment, I gestured under the desk with a smile. He got down on his hands and knees, giving me a look at his tight buttocks. Nice. When he crawled under the desk, I sat back down in the chair, trapping him in there.

  Leaning down, I flashed him an eyeful of cleavage. “Take your time,” I murmured.

  He shuffled around and his whole body jolted when he caught sight of me. His head whacked the underside the desk and it shuddered. “Shit. I mean, sorry.”

  I bit my lip, containing my urge to chuckle. “Is it okay if I sit here while you are underneath…?”

  “Yes…please do.”

  I sat back, easing the chair in and shifting my legs nearer him. Even through my stockings, I could feel his breath hot on my skin. I had got him well and truly trapped. Rubbing one calf with the toe of the other foot, I noticed that it was very quiet under there. It was working. I moved my legs into different positions, sometimes brushing against him. Not a sound or a move came from underneath the desk, but the intense heat welling from under there was the signal I needed. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my swivel chair back, lifted one stacked heel up and pivoted it on the edge of my desk, flashing the underside of my thigh and stocking tops at him.

  He was scrunched in the same position, his eyes glazed as he stared up at me in disbelief. He didn’t look like he was trying to go anywhere in a hurry, in fact he hadn’t budged since I’d sat down.

  My pulse was racing. “Is it okay down there for you, Carl?”

  He gave a hoarse laugh. “Yes, I’m um…just admiring the view.”

  Brave. And now that he’d bitten, it was all systems go. Our very own network was up and running. “You can touch me if you want to.” I could hear voices in the distance outside the cube, but they were fast zoning out, my attention fully harnessed.

  With hardly a second’s hesitation, one hand reached for me, but it was the foot still on the floor he went for. Stroking it with his fingers, he moved slowly over it, then under its arch and around its heel. With tentative fingers, he stroked the top of my foot with such adoration that my head dropped back and my hands gripped the arms of my chair. I’d hit gold! The man was a pure sensualist. He slipped his fingers around the back of my ankle and lowered his head to kiss the toe of my shoe. What a rush! Sensation shot the length of my leg; my pussy prickled with anxiety, needy for contact. I had to hold tight to stop from squirming in my seat.

  He ran his mouth up my shin, and then kissed my knee. Using both hands, he stroked my inner thighs, reverently embracing my stocking tops. I was starting to tremble. Tension and need thrummed just inches from his hands, and he was closing. I watched the glossy surface of his hair as he moved in. He stroked one finger down the surface of my panties, pushing it into the groove of my pussy, tantalizing my clit. I gasped aloud. My foot skidded against the desk, my right leg twitched and bounced against him. I was about to urge him on, desperately, when he snuck a finger down one side of the fabric and thrust it underneath.

  I heard him groan and saw him shuffle, and then I grew light-headed when he moved the pad of his finger into my groove, more fingertips following. My eyes clamped shut. He paddled his fingers against me, maddening my clit and the sensitive folds surrounding it. The contact was too good. My hips were rolling into him and he worked me harder, each of his fingers moving independently. Like strumming a guitar. The thought echoed through my mind as a sweet, sudden orgasm hit me.

  I heard his voice in the distance. Opening my eyes, and I saw him smiling up at me from between my open legs. “I said I better get back to my desk now, but…um, perhaps we could go for a drink after work?”

  I pulled myself together. “Yes, I’d love to go for a drink. I have to work until six, why don’t I come over to you when I’m done?” An idea was already ticking over in my mind. “Could you plug my mouse back in before you go?” I winked.

  He stared at me for several moments until recognition registered in his expression. “You did that to get me down here?”

  “It was all that talk about networking.” I could tell he thought I was joking. Little did he know.

  He ducked back under the desk and I stood up, letting him emerge without further hindrance. As he did, he adjusted the bulge in his pants.

  I snatched at his wrist, holding his hand on his cock. “I’ll help you with that when I come over to your cube, later.” I wanted to see what he had in his pants soon; we could go for the drink afterward.

  “I can hardly wait,” he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose with his free hand. His eyes were glazed; he was in a bad way.

  Power rushed in my veins. “I’ll send you a message every hour from now until then, just to be sure that you don’t forget I’m coming.”

  His eyes flashed shut. I felt his hand tighten on his cock. I moved away when I heard voices passing and he grabbed a file to cover his crotch—practical and quick-witted too.

  Once an hour I sent him a message, questioning him about male-to-female connectors and spare parts. His replies assured me he would be pleased to look into any needs I had as soon as humanly possible. I couldn’t help touching myself under the desk, thrilled that my scheme had worked. My pussy was heavy and sensitive from the orgasm he’d given me, my cunt aching for more. He was good with his hands, his attention to feet and shoes an unexpected bonus. Each time I sent him an email I thanked him for his kind attentions and told him how much it was appreciated. I felt his responses in his words coming over the network and in the atmosphere across the office. The clock ticked on, arousal building with every moment.

  At five past six, the only other person around was the cleaner, who was vacuuming each cube starting on the far side. I shut down my documents, grabbed my bag and headed over to Carl’s cube.

  He grinned when I leaned over the wall. “Hello,” he said and eased his chair out from the desk.

  I stared pointedly at his crotch then sidled into the cube. “We’re all alone here apart from the cleaner. She won’t get over here for ages.” I bent over him, my hands on the arms of his chair, trapping him in it, and kissed him on the mouth. His body was rigid and he moaned under me. “I’ve been hot for more ever since this morning,” I said as I pulled back. Glancing down at his crotch I could see that his bulge had gotten bigger. Reaching for his belt I looked him in the eye. “I want to sit on your cock.”

  I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. He about managed to nod, fumbling with his fly, helping me. His dick bounced out. “I’ve been hard most of the afternoon,” he muttered. “Seeing you come, earlier,” he added, as if he needed an explanation.

  I leaned over him and then reached for the condom packet I’d tucked into my cleavage.

  “Man, that is so hot,” he groaned as I pulled it out.

  “I thought you might like
it.” I chuckled and then bent to run my tongue over the head of his cock. He shuddered vigorously, his hands clutching at the arms of his chair. I rolled the condom down the length of him. “I’m going to grind your cock until you come, right here and right now.”

  He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh, lifting his hands in the air nonchalantly before clutching at the arms of the chair again. “Feel free.”

  I pulled my skirt up and he stared, wide-eyed. I’d taken my panties off this time. I turned around and forced his legs shut with my knees, straddling them, my skirt up around my waist. Behind me I heard him cursing under his breath.

  “Oh, I’m doing this on one condition,” I said over my shoulder. “You’ve got to talk dirty to me.”

  The look on his face was priceless. “Dirty?”

  I nodded. “Tell me about networks again, Carl. Tell me about plugging into the central supply, tell me about system routing.” I winked over my shoulder and lowered myself down, guiding his cock inside me.

  “That’s so good,” he moaned, as I drove myself down on to him. Each time I lifted up higher to thrust deeper again, I could see the cleaner on the far side of the office going about her business, oblivious to what we were up to. Ah, the network of intrigue that can exist in open-plan offices.

  “Tell me, Carl.”

  “Jesus, I thought you were kidding.”

  I squeezed his cock tight, grinding my hips. “Oh no, I wasn’t kidding. It really turns me on.”

  “Networking is…essential…for a company to function at… full capacity.” He staggered his way through the sentence, his fingers biting into my buttocks.

  “Oh that’s good.” Leaning forward, I clutched the edge of his desk and then began to pump. His cock felt good, rock hard and burning hot from waiting. I rode it, squeezing it tight and milking every drop of pleasure out of him. “Go on.”

  “It maximizes…return, by using all available…power…resources as and when needed.”

  When I lifted up, he moaned behind me mumbling something about how good it looked. My cunt started melting and my knuckles went white as I gripped on to the table.

  “Key basic factors include”—he groaned—“accurate server configuration.”

  I was close to coming, and then I noticed movement at the periphery of my vision. “The cleaner’s on her way over, hurry,” I blurted, anxiety hitting me. We were both so close, I didn’t even know if I could stop. I didn’t have to think about it for long, because suddenly my view shifted and my feet left the floor. Carl shoved me bodily over his desk. My breasts were crushed on the surface; my hands clutching at handfuls of paperwork, bits of hard drive and other computer gear on the desk as I grappled for purchase.

  He leaned over my back, his cock still wedged deep and getting deeper still as he banged into me. “A solid, working network ensures no loss of packets in transfer,” he said against my ear, with a hoarse laugh.

  That was too good! My cunt was on fire, my cervix crushed and throbbing. I moaned and bit on my wrist as I came, my body spasming uncontrollably, release flooding me. “Do you think this…network…is secure enough?” I urged him on to his completion, my lips drawn back as hot wave upon wave of pleasure shot through my cunt.

  “We’re about to find out.” He wedged himself deeper, lifting my hips from the desk, and shot his load.

  With a show of efficiency and nonchalance that stunned me, he rocked back into the chair, lifting me bodily to my feet, and pulled my skirt down around my hips. By the time the cleaner appeared by his cube, he’d zipped up, straightened my skirt and was leading me through a network directory on his screen.

  “Good networking is the key to quality IT systems. An international organization such as ours would be useless without one.” He waved at the cleaner as she passed by and then stopped me swaying with one hand. “Now, how about that drink?”

  I nodded, laughing, and rested against the edge of the desk to steady myself. I needed that drink, just like I needed a good IT man. I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, my fingers meshing in his hair. I savored that kiss and so did he, meeting it openly, his tongue tasting me slowly, reverently.

  “Can we do this again?” I asked when we drew back.

  He nodded and slipped his hand between my thighs, stroked my damp flesh, applying pressure in all the right places. His thumb resting on my oversensitive clit was too good. “A good network needs regular maintenance,” he replied, one eyebrow lifting.

  I think I fell in love with him in that moment. “In that case, it’s a good job I’ve found me such an expert,” I replied, and pulled him into my arms.

  COFFEE SHOP BOY

  A. D. R. Forte

  Coffee Shop: Her

  Yeah, I stare. I stare, hoping he’s just a little bit freaked out. He knows he’s hot, that he gets stares from the fags to the hags and everybody else in between. Even if he’ll never let on that he notices the attention and likes it.

  He’s the consummate secret-fantasy slut. And I’m not above that bandwagon.

  He comes in every morning, sometimes at lunch. And it’s either latte or a cup of the extra-rich brew. Cream, no sugar. Yup, that about describes him to a T. Not a hint of sweet in his walk, his designer polo shirts and flat-front trousers, ubiquitous Pocket PC/phone at his hip.

  He gets his liquid fix, gets a napkin sometimes if the counter guy’s dribbled coffee down the side of the cup. He takes a sip, maybe two, and then he’s out the door and off to conquer the world. No wasted time. No lingering over the paper in an armchair and staring at the college girls like his fellow yuppies. Nope. This boy’s got a purpose.

  My downstairs neighbor works at his firm, and she gives me the skinny. Not that there’s much to give. He’s a bit of an ass, she tells me over pasta and a bottle of cheap wine as we sit in my living room painting our toenails blood purple.

  “Don’t know why you’re so interested in him. Guys like that last about five seconds.”

  “Peh! I can make him last as long I want.”

  I’m confident in that boast. I have a weakness for taking an uptight, intellectual nazi or a clean-cut prep-boy and turning him into a dirty, sweaty, inhibition-free fuck toy.

  Hey, I want to do my bit for humanity and make the world a better place too. And I’m damned good at it.

  So I tell Stefany, “Give me one night with him. Betcha he’ll call in sick the next day.”

  “Not a chance.” She shakes her head and slurps up a mouthful of spaghetti. “Never does. And if he’s not there, he calls ten times to check on his team. I’m so fucking glad I don’t work in that department.”

  I’m not deterred. “Well what else do you know about him? What’s his fetish?”

  She shrugs, purses her lips, shakes her head. “No idea. Told you, he does nada for me so I haven’t paid attention.” She pauses, thinking.

  “Oh, he likes jazz.”

  “Jazz?”

  She giggles at my wide-eyed disbelief.

  “Yep. Boney James, Gerald Albright; that kinda thing. Has a ton of modern art and sculpture stuff in his office. Pretentious little fruitcake.”

  This from Stefany, who considers manga the be-all and end-all of artistic expression and everything else “pretentious fruitcake.” But I’m having a hell of a time trying to get my head around the idea of Coffee Shop Boy having a sensuous side. It doesn’t quite add up, and I’m still sitting there with my mouth open while Stefany sips her wine and looks at me with her head tilted to the side.

  “You’ll pretty much scare the shit out of him,” she says.

  At work I think about Stefany’s comment and chuckle. Tonight I’m trying to determine cause of death for a crack addict: all bone and skin. The body almost looks like a modern sculpture. It’s hard to decide on homicide or overdose with what I’m looking at, a matter of interpretation. Much like with art.

  I wonder if Coffee Shop Boy would see the humor in that comparison. Probably not. But that just makes me want him more.

 
; After work, Evan and I wash our hands, hang up scrubs and lab coats, and head for Barista Bob’s.

  “Juicy java. That’s what I need,” Evan says, looking at the menu as we stand in line. He’s not talking about coffee of course. My lab assistant spends most every night lamenting the dearth of romantic liaisons in his life.

  “You need to get laid,” I reply.

  “You volunteering?”

  I snort. “You couldn’t handle it, babe. I’d have you screaming for your mommy in about a minute.”

  Evan folds his arms and pouts.

  “Yeah, I probably would, knowing you. Kink Queen.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  As I shrug I catch the sound of stifled laughter behind us; Evan and I aren’t exactly the most soft-spoken people. I turn.

  And he’s standing right there, not even a foot away; the closest I’ve ever been to him. He smells like Givenchy Blue and his hair is still just a little wet from his morning shower. A copy of Barron’s is tucked under his arm—light reading I’m sure—and he’s smiling, thoroughly amused from his eavesdropping.

  What else can I do? I smile right back.

  I extend my hand, Champagne and Strawberries soft, showing no trace of last night’s work. He takes it. Strong, unhesitating Wall Street grip. He makes eye contact and I meet him gaze for gaze.

  “Good morning, I’m the Kink Queen. Pleasure to meet you,” I say.

  At that he laughs outright, and I don’t care what Stefany thinks: this man could make a woman melt if he wanted to. Using nothing but that laugh.

  “I’m honored,” he says.

  He keeps hold of my hand just a fraction longer, and then Evan’s finished ordering. I release him and turn away. Just a silly, random moment between strangers. But even as I order and move on down the line, as he moves forward to get his Hawaiian blend, I’m thinking about that moment of touch. Thinking about that laugh.