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“I thought this was a team project,” I say. “I dropped everything to come in on a Saturday for an emergency team meeting, and it’s just you and me? That’s just awesome. I love this company.” I sling my laptop bag onto the armchair in the corner of your office, put my hand on my hip and pop the top off my coffee. Mercy, I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
“Barb told me last minute that she thought you and I could handle it,” you say, always trying to make the best of things. Always the team player. “Don’t be so pissed, maybe she’s looking at us for Ken’s position.”
“Maybe what she’s looking at is your ass. And you know she hates me, it’s no secret. So what? So here we are, on a beautiful Saturday morning, stuck in this climate controlled prison, doing quality control on these reports. It’s proofreading; they hire temps to do this crap. I feel really valued. I get the comfy chair.” I flop down in the armchair in your office, knowing my little corduroy skirt and crisp white shirt will be annoying the hell out of me by lunchtime, wishing I had worn more comfortable clothes to curl up in since it’s just you and me. I grind my teeth grumpily.
You spin towards me in your office chair, the good kind with the mesh seat, why do I still have an old clunky one? Because Barb wants to fuck you, and she wants to fire me, of course. But you spin towards me and say,
“Is there something wrong with my ass?” You half-smile, god, you’re always so relaxed, it’s infuriating. I pull up a little table and set my coffee on it after a few desperate gulps, cross my legs and open my laptop.
“You know perfectly well how cute your ass is, and that it’s the reason Barb loves you so much. You couldn’t ‘project-manage’ your way out of a wet paper bag. I have twice your experience and three times your leadership potential, and here you are getting curried for a promotion because you’re a strapping young lad who flirts with your supervisors. It’s sexist and it’s disgusting.” Boot, you stupid laptop. More coffee. More teeth-grinding. Tug on my skirt, put my hair up, take it down. Ugh. I’m looking forward to putting on some music.
“So I’m strapping, am I?” You smile at me over your shoulder and clackity clack on your keyboard.
“Bravo, genius. You’re hunky and young, and you have this gift for being both smug and charming at the same time. You’re the prince of the office, and I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.” I log into the system and then the internet, and scroll through my music for something that won’t make me want to slit my wrists or build a pipe bomb. No Ani today. “You’re the golden boy, and I’ll be in this position for another eight years while you’re flirting your way to vice president. Long live the corporate ladder,” I say, pulling up a report and starting my mind-numbing project. I wonder when the next season of Mad Men starts.
“You know,” you say, not bothering to turn around, “you have a lot of pent-up frustration behind those gorgeous breasts.” Oh, look at you, wanting to scrap. Well I’ve had my coffee now, so anything that will make this day move faster is fine with me.
“Someone missed sensitivity training,” I say, trying not to look up from my screen.
“So it’s not sexual harassment when you talk about my ass, but it is when I talk about your short skirts and your great rack?”
“I’ll let it slide because it’s just a fact that I have a great rack, but my skirts aren’t short.” Scrolling, scrolling, tired of Chili Peppers, tired of Counting Crows, seriously, I need some new music. . .
“There are men in this office who would disagree with that,” you say, typing typing typing.
“People don’t talk about my skirts, they talk about how big your cock is. It probably is big, isn’t it? Jerk.”
I look up to get the last of my coffee, and I almost spill it because you’ve spun around in your chair again, and you’re looking right at me, teen porno smiling. Not typing, not tossing out any witty comebacks, just leaning back in your chair, and smiling.
“Who talks about my cock? No one here has seen it. I don’t dip my pen blah blah cliché about sex with co-workers. Did someone tell you they saw it? Tell me.” You lean forward in your ergonomically designed chair and I shift in my seat, caught a little off guard. I shrug.
“Janey said she caught you with it out during the conference call last week. There, I said it. Jane should learn when to keep her big mouth shut, is the problem. Nobody believed her though. Who could get turned on listening to Naren drone on about quotas?”
“Maybe I wasn’t listening,” you say. “Maybe I was daydreaming about your succulent nipples.” You get up and cross to my side of the room, getting something off of the shelves full of the junk that’s in an office but nobody ever uses. I mean really, alligator clips? We have that crazy machine that binds everything like a spiral notebook. Who needs that crap?
“Give me a break,” I say, and focus back on my sluggish laptop. “Aaargh, stupid slow computer…man, I have so much junk on my hard drive.”
“I’ll give you a hard drive.”
“You should relax,” you say. And you reach down and put your hands on my shoulders.
“Are you seriously giving me a neck massage? I’m telling you, HR would love thisaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Ohhhhhh, ummmmmm hey, wow uhm.” No seriously, wow…
“I hit a spot, didn’t I? You’ve got your shoulders up to your ears all the time. Normally women with breasts as big and lush as yours carry their tension in their lower back.”
“I want to yell at you but I can’t because I’m incapacitated.” I sit up straighter as your fingers continue to search and destroy. I hate myself a little, but I’ll sort that out later.
“Because it feels nice, doesn’t it? It feels good to have my hands on you, so just shut up for a minute and relax. And by the way, I would make a really excellent project manager.”
You’re digging right into this kink in my shoulder, I haven’t been able to turn my head all the way to the left for a couple of days, Deep breaths, deep breaths…oh my god, is my chest heaving? My chest is heaving. I look up and see you admiring my cleavage, nice view isn’t it, I never knew you were such a breast man. I always thought you’d go for the flat skinny blond girls who go to Houlihan’s after work for shots. Your hands sneak away from my shoulders and trace the line of my collarbone, hey, okay, deep breaths, your fingers gently stroke around my jawline and up to my ears, you bury your fingers in my hair and lightly rub there, I can feel my face getting warm and see that my chest is flushed, which means my face is too, and my skirt is riding up from the way I’ve been shifting in this chair. Both of your hands move to the right side of my neck, sweeping my hair out of the way, and you lean down and nudge my ear with your nose. I can feel your breath on my neck. I move my laptop to the little table, knocking my empty coffee cup to the floor. Your fingers are tracing my neck again as your lips touch my skin there, softly, I can just barely feel your tongue making its presence known, you bury your face in my neck and one hand snakes its way down the front of my shirt into my bra.
“Um,” I say.
“Um,” you say hotly into my ear, pinching my nipple and massaging my breast and kissing my neck. You’ve managed to open three buttons on my blouse, your other hand invades my bra as your tongue slips into my ear and I draw my breath in sharply. I slide forward on the seat a little more and my skirt is now hiked up far enough that I can see my panties peeking out, pink and black lace, and I wonder which god I owe my debt to for making me think to wear cute underwear today.
“Janey did catch me with my cock out,” you travesti porno say, “I was looking at pictures I grabbed from your Facebook and I got hard. You in that retro bathing suit from your vacation, you out dancing in that hot red dress, you as a sexy cat at Halloween. . .”
“I like that bathing suit. . .” The words barely come out of my mouth, the thought of you getting hard at your desk, looking at my pictures, is enough to put me over into that place where everyday common sense has no jurisdiction. That place where I’m turned on against all my better judgement, where I can’t tell myself not to touch you, where I can’t think of repercussions and protocol and workplace propriety because my head is buzzing with the scent of you and my nipples are tingling and my pink and black panties are soaked through.
You slide around in front of me and settle between my legs, pull me close to you and your lips are on mine, seeking, hungry. You kiss me harder and slide my skirt up and your hands are on my thighs, working their way slowly up to my hips, ahhhhhhh, then to the groove at the top of my thighs, your fingers skimming my mound.
“We don’t really have to look at any reports today, do we?” I say, then shudder a sigh into your ear.
“I’ve been trying to get you alone for months,” you say. “I realized that subtlety was never gonna work with you.” Your lips on my neck, my shirt is unbuttoned, your hands make their way around me and unclasp my bra, freeing my heavy, tingling breasts. “The last couple of days I couldn’t get any work done because all I could think about was fucking you hard on my desk.” You yank my panties down and stroke my thighs as I pull your shirt out of your pants, you take your hands off of me and stand up and sweep everything off of your desk… it occurs to me you must have been pretty sure of yourself because there isn’t much to sweep. That makes me smile.
“Over here,” you say, patting your desk. My skirt is still around my waist, my shirt open and hanging off my shoulders, my breasts bare and my nipples stiff. I sit on your desk and open my legs.
“God, you look good,” you say, taking me in, looking me over. I unbutton your red collared shirt while you work on your buckle and open your fly, and finally show me your straining, rock hard cock.
I let out a little gasp, struck by how sexy you look with your incredible erection sticking out of your work pants, your shirt unbuttoned and your face a little sweaty, and this crazy lust in your eyes. I know it’s in my eyes too. I run my hands over your hairy chest and down so I can feel your stiffness in my hands, I pump you with my right hand and touch my pussy briefly with my left, the switch so you can feel what you’ve done to me, moistening your cock with my wetness, stroking up and down.
“Oh god, you are so fucking sexy,” I say, breathless, “I’ve wanted this since your first day of training with your little ‘Hello my name is’ sticker on.”
Your hands are back to my breasts and I’m soaking your desk, I slide forward just a little and you put your arm around my back and lean forward so that just the tip of your cock is up against my mound, insistent but not pushy, You’re rocking against me, looking down at us, admiring the way our bodies are meeting, I’m squirming a little to encourage you, my hands on your shoulders, then skimming the hair on your arms, urging your hands to squeeze my breasts harder, to really tug on my nipples. Your cock nudges more firmly, but still patient, and I am anything but. The friction on my clit is driving me crazy, we’re rocking, rocking, I put my hands on your face and kiss you hard, then I pull back and I look in your eyes so you’ll take me seriously for once:
“Listen to me: I need you to fuck me. Right now.” You draw in your breath and kiss me back harder, then grab me around the waist, and plunge all the way into me.
I tricky masseur porno scream a little, breaking the kiss, and hope that the cleaning staff isn’t in on Saturdays.
You’re spurred on by my scream and drive into me harder, my arms are around your neck, clinging to you, needing you, needing to feel all of you inside me, wrapping my legs around you, your face now buried in my shoulder, the sounds coming out of your mouth, the vibrations singing through my body, you reach down and stroke my clit quickly and urgently with your thumb, I grind on you harder, harder, then suddenly you pull all the way out and I don’t know what to do but then you grab my hips and roll me over face down on the desk.
My head is hanging over the edge, my breasts smashed flat against the cold surface. I struggle to pull my rumpled shirt off gracefully and hold on to the edge of the desk as you smooth your hands over my back, my ass, my sticky thighs. My hair is in my face, sticking to my sweaty forehead, but I’m grateful to have it off my neck, grateful to feel the air conditioning on my back, when suddenly you SMACK my ass with your other hand. Hard. I gasp, feel my eyes widen, feel my wetness flowing, you caress the spot, I can feel it getting warm, and SMACK your hand comes down again, oh my god my head is spinning and this time SMACK your hand slaps me again but this time you move your hand down quickly and stick two of your fingers inside my opening, I’m panting and sweating and arching my back. You fuck me harder with your hand, two fingers inside me and your thumb strumming against my clit, then you pull your hand out and SMACK my ass one more time before grabbing my hips and driving your cock inside of me, so hard so firm and filling me up, I think I might actually bruise from this but I don’t care, you’re so far up inside me it feels like you’re fucking my brain.
“oh my god yes I love it I love it,” I say, “mmmmmmmmm god please don’t stop please please please” and you don’t, you keep slamming into me, and you reach around with your left hand and just press on my clit as you’re banging away and that brings on the big O, the orgasm, the little death, your fingers not moving just pressing while you bang me on your desk, I am writhing and gasping and somewhere in the back of my head my instincts are keeping me from falling off the desk oh god that would be mortifying but right now I am soaked with your sweat and my sweat and my come and you’re still going, I’m like a rag doll at this point. Your hand is now on the small of my back a world away from your cock, doing these crazy sweet things, stroking, it’s like you’re petting me as you continue thrusting and thrusting and thrusting and I hear your breathing change and I wish I could see you but I don’t have the energy to lift my head and look back at you, watch you, see your face, but instead I feel you pull out and I hear you moan and you splatter hotly all over my ass and my back.
We lie there for a moment, I wish someone could have taken a picture, oh how perfect that would have been… a photo of us to go on one of those dopey ass motivational posters, us draped over the desk post-coital, covered in sweat and sex, with a caption like “SUCCESS! Is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.”
I look at your office stuff on the floor and I notice that your little dog that plugs into your usb port and humps your computer has wound up across the room with all the other desk paraphernalia. I kind of hope it’s broken.
I sort of crawl, sort of slither back to a sitting position, and you have collapsed in your fancy office chair, which is thoughtfully supporting your lumbar region. I am not really sure where this will go next and just enough time passes that it occurs to me to start feeling awkward, but you scoot your chair over to me and crane your neck up and touch my face and look at me in a way that makes me feel nothing but beautiful. I bend down and we kiss, full of exhaustion and relief. Then you lean back in the chair and I take you in with my eyes, breathing, breathing, face flushed, shirt open, pants falling off, penis softening tenderly on your thigh.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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