Get Me Off

by Penny Wylder

  “Look at me when you suck my cock,” he says in a graveled voice weighed down by desire. I look up to meet his gaze. My eyes start to water from having my mouth opened so wide, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “Your mouth feels so good,” he says.

  I relax enough to where I don’t gag. I take all of him, my throat stretching to accommodate his size. When he finally pulls out, I gulp down a greedy breath, drool sliding down from the corners of my mouth. I lick my way down his thick shaft to his balls, taking them in my mouth and rolling them around with my tongue, making sure to keep eye contact with him the whole time. He shoves his dick back down my throat again and vigorously humps away.

  He stares down at me, eyes wild and wanting. “I need that pussy,” he says, and slides out of my mouth.

  He grabs me by the armpits, hauling me to my feet. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight for a week,” he says.

  I love the way he talks dirty to me. It makes me feel slutty and sexy, and extremely turned on.

  He turns me around and bends me over the desk. He reaches down to his pocket and hurriedly takes out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth and sheathing himself with shaking hands. He then yanks down my jeans and panties so my ass is bared to him. He gives it a hard slap and I yelp from the sting of it. His fingers reach between my legs. I look over my shoulder to watch him. He takes the juices running down my leg and slathers it over the head of his dick before taking aim. With a hard thrust, he slams into me so hard I nearly buckle under the weight of him.

  “You like that big cock filling your pussy?” he says.

  I’m barely able to get any words out between his thrusts. “You feel so good inside of me,” I say breathlessly.

  He pulls out and spins me around to face him, pushing me back down to my knees. “Suck it. I want you to lick off your juices.” I open my mouth wide, taking him in. I can smell and taste myself on him, thick and sweet. He strokes the base of his dick while I polish the head. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

  All I can do is nod as he continues to push in and out of my mouth. A few more minutes of me giving him head and he pulls back out, bending me over the desk again. I’m like some kind of puppet, my body twisting whichever way he likes. And as it turns out, whichever way he likes is the way I like it as well. I love it when a man takes control in the bedroom. I’m more than happy to submit.

  With my ass facing him, he takes my left leg and props it up on top of the desk, spreading me wide open. When he pushes into me this time, he’s all the way in, practically pushing into my womb. As long as I relax it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels divine. I’ve heard of cervix orgasms before, and have always wanted to have one, but unfortunately never had a boyfriend big enough to pull it off. Telling by the building pressure in my center and the way my pussy muscles are starting to contract, I may just experience my first one ever. I’m more than excited about it too, pushing back into him.

  “Fuck me hard,” I cry. “Don’t hold back.”

  I’m almost there, but not quite. I can feel myself right on the cusp, and it’s stellar, but for some reason that orgasm is just out of reach. He starts to fuck me harder, to the point where my body is slamming against the desk, clit furiously grinding into paperwork scattered across the tabletop. His thumb touches my asshole, massaging. I don’t resist. It feels too good. I think he spits either onto his hand or onto the hole itself because suddenly it’s slippery wet and his thumb slides right into my back entrance.

  That’s it. That’s all my body can take. My orgasm slams into me and I’m howling with ecstasy, screaming out his name. “Oh, yeah, oh fuck.” The lewd words spill out of me as my pussy contracts, milking his cock.

  He lets out a fierce growl and slams into me two more times before his entire body stiffens and stills. I feel his stiff rod start to spasm inside of me as he releases his load. He grabs onto my waist, holding my ass tight against his hips so I can’t move as he comes, and bucks into me.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and hugs me from behind, kissing the back of my neck.

  “I’m surprised that as loud as we were, no one came in to check on the noise.”

  “We got lucky,” he says. “But you know who’s not lucky?”

  He massages my ass cheeks as he speaks. If he keeps doing that, I’ll be ready for round two in minutes, maybe seconds. If that’s the case, he might be right about not being able to walk right for a week. I really took a beating, and what a glorious beating it was.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “The poor bastard who gets to clean this up.” He starts to laugh and I know the poor bastard he’s talking about is Corbin.

  7

  Heath drops me off at home. We’re both exhausted. I offer to let him stay the night, but he has to be to work tomorrow and the commute is terrible. He’d have to leave Brettsville three hours early just to beat traffic.

  After we kiss goodbye, I go to my room and flop down on my bed with a happy sigh. A two-night stand is better than one. Maybe this will become a regular thing with us.

  I’m lying in bed, just about to fall asleep, when my computer chimes. I recognize the chirping sound as a Twitter message. The only person who ever sends me private messages on Twitter is Heath, but he only left a half hour ago and it takes an hour to get back to San Pedro County, so he would still be on the freeway.

  I click on the icon and bring up the app. When I click on the message, a picture instantly comes up. It’s from Heath’s account, but the photo isn’t of him. It’s of the Latina girl from the bar tonight. In the photo she’s blowing a kiss to the camera in front of the bar. Corbin is in the background serving someone a drink. I know it’s from tonight because I recognize several people who were there.

  Another message pops us right after the first. It says: Look who got him in the end. He’s desperate to fuck me. Have a good night. I know I will.

  I have to sit down because if I don’t I might throw up. My breathing starts to become erratic and all sense of reason goes out the window. My heart punches so ferociously at my ribcage that I can feel it pulsing in the back of my eyes, to the point where my vision blurs. I start to jab at my computer keys.

  Me: Enjoy my sloppy seconds, bitch.

  I look up from the blinding computer screen and stare at the wall. He went back. And now he’s with her. I’m so stupid. I actually believed him when he said he had to be to work the next day.

  I’m shaking with rage and not thinking straight when I pick up my phone and dial his number.

  He doesn’t answer. I try a second time and again it goes to voicemail. The third time I dial, I decide to leave a message. But instead of going to voicemail, someone answers.

  “Hello?” says a woman’s sultry voice on the other end of the line.

  “Put Heath on the phone.” My anger gives my voice sharp edges.

  The woman makes giggling, mewling sounds on the other end before saying, “Sorry, Heath can’t talk right now. His mouth is a little busy.”

  I hang up and throw my phone across the room. It shatters into pieces. I’m too pissed to care.

  How could he be with me then go straight to her? Had they been flirting that entire time at the bar while I was there and I just didn’t notice it? Did he fuck me in that office just to get me off so he could send me home?

  Questions scatter through my head in spinning fragments like debris during a hurricane. I can’t keep any of my thoughts straight. It’s all just questions only Heath can answer, but apparently his mouth is too busy to extend that courtesy.

  A tear trickles down my cheek. I swat it away. Then more tears come. There are too many to brush off so I let them fall. Big deal. It’s not like there’s anyone here to see how pathetic I am for crying over someone I just met. So I just let it happen; wracking sobs, ugly crying, snotty nose and everything.

  The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and go to work. My face is swollen from crying all night and my eyes burn. I didn’t bother to ch
ange out of the sweats I slept in. No makeup, hair unwashed. I’m quite the sight.

  I’m like a zombie, hardly talking to anyone, mindlessly going through the motions, animated by muscle memory. All day Stephanie asks me what’s wrong and I tell her nothing, I’m just not feeling well. She knows me better than that and won’t let it go. So finally, during our lunch hour, I break down and tell her everything.

  We sit in the women’s bathroom against the wall under a row of sinks. We work in an office full of men so there’s plenty of privacy.

  “What a dick,” she says. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve gone to that bar and beat that bitch’s ass. I still carry my hockey stick in the trunk of my car.”

  I want to smile, but my face stays the same wretched empty thing it’s been all day. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

  I shake my head, unable to completely wrap my head around the whole thing. “I can see him going to a bar and having sex with this women after me. Some guys are in it for the game. He’s young and hot and … whatever. But he just doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would let some random chick at a bar use his phone to torment another girl he’s sleeping with. Why would he do that? That kind of behavior is going to give him a bad reputation with women, and that’s not going to get him laid. No girl is going to tolerate being harassed by a side chick no matter how good the orgasms are.”

  Stephanie pats me on the shoulder. “Maybe he wants two women fighting over him. Guys can be dicks like that.”

  I sniff and wipe my nose with the wad of toilet paper in my hands. “Well, it’s not going to happen. If he wants her, he can have her, but I’m not going to wait around for my turn.”

  She sighs. “Things will get better. Trust me. I’ve been through this same shit a million times. What you need is a distraction. Maybe you need a night with the janitor more than I do. Or maybe we can share.”

  I look sideways at her.

  “Just a thought,” she says.

  “I don’t think I’m going to the Christmas party tonight,” I say. “I’m not up for it.”

  “No, you’re not getting out of this one. You know Hank will never let that happen. He’ll hunt you down and shove his Christmas cheer so far down your throat that you’ll asphyxiate on it,” she says.

  This is true. My boss never lets anyone get away with not attending his annual Christmas celebrations. The man is insane, high on yuletide and merriment. Once he even showed up at my apartment when I was recovering from a stomach virus and dragged me to the party. Nearly everyone who attended ended up calling in sick the next day because they were puking their guts out.

  “You’re right,” I say. “A distraction will help. Even if it’s in the form of Christmas carols sung off-key and stale sugar cookies.”

  “Someone spikes the eggnog every year, so you know it’ll be a good time,” Stephanie says.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”

  8

  I meet Stephanie in front of the hotel where the Christmas party is being held. It’s one of those five star places where one night in their cheapest room costs more than my monthly rent. There’s a beautiful display in the lobby with a massive tree decorated with powder blue and white ornaments, twinkling lights, and ribbon cascading down from the top. There is tinsel and garland strewn on every surface, reindeer made of glass, and candy canes made from crystal. The whole thing is a winter wonderland and captures those whimsical feelings the holidays gave me as a child.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” I say.

  “Let’s take a picture in front of it,” Stephanie suggests. “We look amazing too.”

  “No pictures,” I say. Smiling feels like a chore right now.

  “Come on. It’ll make you feel better. You are the ultimate vixen in that dress. You shouldn’t keep all that to yourself,” she says, making hand motions toward my body.

  I decided to go with a silver mini dress with a low back and black stilettos, even though it’s a big risk with the slippery sidewalks. So far so good.

  Heath ending up with that sexy Latina woman from the bar last night has depleted my self-esteem. My last chance at redemption is this dress and these heels. My boobs and legs are my best assets and this dress displays them perfectly without being slutty. At least I know the I.T. nerds at the office party will appreciate them.

  “All right, one picture,” I say.

  Stephanie finds a bellhop to take our picture in front of the tree. “Make sure to get her legs in the picture,” she says to him.

  He nods, gaze sliding up my body, smiling his approval. “Of course.”

  “Now smile,” Stephanie says to me. “Fake it till you make it.”

  I do my best. When Stephanie gets her camera back from the bellhop and sees the picture of us, she squeals. “We look hot! This is going to be a great party this year. I can feel it.”

  I hope so. All the different branches of the company will here, so it won’t be the same stiffs I see day in and day out, but still, it’s a computer logistics company whose techs spend 90% of their lives in their office running diagnostics and playing World of Warcraft. How fun can it be?

  “What are you doing with your phone?” I ask, as she types away.

  “Tagging you and sending it too all our social media.”

  Fantastic. Another photo for the No-O file.

  “Let’s get in there and get a drink before I change my mind,” I say.

  The party isn’t half bad, actually. Hank liked his gift and the food is good. Last year it was an unfortunate potluck where everyone brought dishes. There were a whole lot of deviled eggs to the point where the entire room smelled like an outhouse. This year it’s catered, and there’s champagne. And, as always, the eggnog is spiked.

  I’m getting plenty of attention in this dress. Several men stand around me, telling me that secretaries are the backbone of the IT business, and without us, the system would fail. All the while their eyes never leave my breasts and legs. I feel like a roasted chicken on display at the grocery store in front of a hungry mob. Maybe this dress wasn’t such a good idea after all. I can’t have an actual conversation with anyone.

  While I’m showered with attention, Heath remains in the back of my thoughts no matter how hard I try to push him out. This party was a bad idea. All these men vying for my attention is just making the situation worse because the only man whose attention I want doesn’t want me in return.

  I look around the room for Stephanie to tell her goodbye before I leave.

  Instead, I find Heath.

  He’s next to the door, watching me, a head taller than everyone else in the room. He looks incredibly sexy as usual with his mussed up hair, bomber jack, and that serious gaze. At first I’m confused, like maybe somehow that’s not really Heath, just an image my mind conjured out of the blue from thinking about him so much. Why would he be at the company IT party too?

  “Excuse me,” I say to my audience, my legs already moving toward Heath before my words are done leaving my mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand when I’m in front of him.

  He swallows and runs his hands through his hair as if he were nervous. “I need to talk to you.”

  “How did you even know where to find me?”

  “The same way I found you last time.” He says the words, but immediately looks as though he wishes he could take them back. Head down, he scrubs his hands over his face.

  “What last time?” I say. “You mean on the subway?”

  He cusses under his breath.

  I shake my head, confused, mad, and intrigued all at once. “That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” I say.

  “Yes …” he says, hesitant, then, “and no.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Please explain. I’d love to hear how that could possibly have a yes and no answer. Also, you’re kind of freaking me out right now.”

  “Can we please talk somewhere else?” he asks. “I can’t think straight with all this Christmas music an
d your hoard of admirers staring me down.”

  I glance behind me and see the men I’d been talking to dog-eyeing Heath. That’s exactly how I’d felt with all those women looking at me at the bar last night. Serves him right.

  “Fine. Let’s go out into the lobby,” I say.

  Once we’re alone, he reaches out and pulls me into a hug. I stiffen in his arms. When I don’t hug him back, he steps away.

  “You look incredible,” he says.

  My hands shake. I wish I had pockets to hide them in.

  “Thanks.”

  He looks incredible too, but I’m not about to return the compliment.

  He stands there watching me. I start to fidget. “If you’re not going to explain yourself, I’m going back to the party,” I say.

  The muscle in his jaw flexes. There’s tension in the set of his mouth. “I was in Brettsville the day we met on the subway. I was checking in at the restaurant I own, going over the new menu with the chef. Then I saw you were tagged in all those ‘No-O’ posts at the subway station. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I thought I could follow you and bump into you on the street, make it look like an accident. But then you needed my help.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So you were stalking me.”

  Words stumble clumsily out of his open mouth. Every time I’ve been with him he’s been so self-assured. Not now. “What? No. Okay, kind of, but I’m not normally like this. I don’t need to stalk anyone to get a date. It’s just, I wanted to meet you and I knew you wouldn’t agree to go on a date with me because of the whole sex with strangers thing. I figured if we met in person, I wouldn’t be a stranger anymore and I could win you over.”