Larry's office was hardly an office at all, really; it was a small cubicle separated from other small cubicles by plasterboard dividers painted get-active colors, reds and royal blues. His at least, was in the corner, so he got a little extra space. Still, it had no door, only a doorway.
He had his desk catty-wampus, angled to the corner, so he had scoot-back room; his desk formed the base of a triangle. He liked it that way; it made him feel more spacious, as if he was master of all he surveyed, such as it was: a calendar on the wall, the bulletin board tacked full of notations to himself, a pastel print, some degree-like certificates, a file cabinet.
Through most of the day Larry made telephone calls, filled out forms and worked on his laptop. Occasionally he was called in to personally meet clients, but that was at most once a week. The little cubicle was home to him, almost more than home itself was. Again: such as it was.
He was on the phone with a client, assuring her that the she would get those supplies when the intent money arrived, and that was policy, he couldn't do anything about it, she had understood that and he was sure she could understand that now.
Then his doorway was filled by a black and lovely presence. He looked up and saw her standing cant-hipped, one arm up on the top of the barrier. "Get off the phone," she mouthed.
Larry mumbled a few more words to the woman on the other end and then hung up, all the while looking his vampiress woman up and down. Tits high and small, today tightly wrapped in thin burgundy silk, above a black knee-length skirt. Her dark hair was curled in a pert businesswoman's flair, and she carried a briefcase.
She looked on the outside like a member-in-good-standing of some relatively huge conglomerate, paying a visit to a business associate. Her dark eyes smoldered a different story. When the phone hit the cradle, she spoke clearly: "Mr. Montgomery, how nice to see you, do you have a few moments?"
Larry cleared his throat, then manufactured: "Ms.... Ms. Bartles, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
Then she came toward him, her step that of a panther's. She put a ruby-nailed hand on his desk. "So this is your office," she purred. "Somehow I'd pictured something like this. How correct."
Larry couldn't tell whether she meant him or her. He decided she meant him. "It suits me," he said stiffly.
"That it does," she said, and drifted her hands toward her stomach, drawing long, slow circles around her navel. The red nails mesmerized Larry for a moment as he watched them circling, circling... then he watched her fingers move up to caress her budding nipples, just now poking out from beneath the silk.
He glanced behind her; nobody in the corridor.
The woman's other hand moved to the spot on her skirt that covered her pussy, Keeping her arm fixed, her fingers pushed in, creasing the fabric, pushing on her pussy lips. From behind, she would look like she was simply talking with Larry, since her briefcase was on his desk, not yet opened, but clearly being readied.
He relaxed and enjoyed the show, enjoyed knowing that the risk of being noticed was slim, and that even if it was, most of the other people on the floor were men, and would simply be jealous of this exquisite woman touching herself in front of him.
But then she got serious. She began to pull up the front of her skirt, inch by inch, gathering it in her hand just above desk level, pulling it up in such a way that her fingers pushed at her pussy with each fold. Her other hand was now busy at her tits, pinching her left nipple, rolling it through the fabric, pushing the firm flesh hither and yon.
Even from behind, nobody could mistake what was happening. It was no longer something that Jack or Wayne would smirk at; they would have to talk about it. What if Mr. Higgins walked by? What could he possibly think that wouldn't damage his chances of promotion? Jesus, he thought, I could lose my job!
"Look," he began to say, but she cut him off.
"Shut up. Scoot back in your seat."
"Now wait just a minute..."
"If you don't I'll simply continue. There's nothing you can do to stop me that wouldn't cause more trouble than following my instructions."
Larry was indignant. "Just because of what we did together," he whispered, "doesn't give you the right..."
She was smiling wickedly. Her fingers began again pulling up her skirt, the bunch of folds clearly rubbing against her pussy lips. He was angry at his hardening cock.
He could imagine the scenarios. What could he do? Call her crazy? Haul her out of here physically? That certainly wouldn't go unnoticed. He could find no way out. His cock wished it could find its way out of his constricting underwear. He readjusted his seating.
"Just push back in your seat," she said in satin tones, and I'll take care of that cock of mine." She moved to the side of the desk. As Larry looked to the corridor, she slipped behind it. She got down to her knees.
He scooted back. She moved into the knee-hole of the desk, backing in without taking her dark eyes off his. Grabbing his calves, she rolled his chair back toward her.
She unzipped his pants gradually, stroking his bulge as she did. He took a deep breath, keeping his eye on the corridor. Then he realized that only a very sharp eye could possibly catch what was going on beneath his desk, which reached almost to the floor. And her skirt, which hid her legs, was black as shadow. As long as he kept his face impassive and looked like he was working, nobody would bother him.
So as her delicate fingers wormed between the waistband of his underwear and his skin to haul out his erection, he picked up a pen and brought it to his lips, as if thinking about the report in front of him. His cock, cooled by the air, swelled even stiffer, almost poking up past the level of the desk. He leaned forward to angle it downward just as she hauled it down the to face her.
Her hands slipped up and down its length, grabbing shortly, then releasing. He bit the pen with each grasp. Then her fingers seemed to begin to move independently. Each finger became a butterfly, fluttering its wings against the tight skin of his shaft and shiny cockhead. He look down for a moment, watching her hands move like an accomplished violinist's.
It was incredibly erotic. His cock seemed more hard than ever, since his pulse was racing, expecting at any minute for Mr. Higgins to walk in just to chat, as he sometimes did. He could be in here for twenty minutes then, with her fingers playing arpeggios on his prick.
Yet she wouldn't seem to use her mouth. He wanted her to take it in her mouth, to tongue it warmly, slickly, to swallow his weapon of pleasure, but she wouldn't. He tried edging forward on the wheels of his chair, but she wouldn't take it in her mouth. Hip thrusts did nothing, since he was sitting down.
Her fingers were nearly as good as her mouth, delicately tracing patterns of swirly dimensions on his prick. Almost because he knew she wouldn't suck him, it made him want it all the more, made him want her all the more.
The skin of his cock almost hurt, it was pulled so tight. The purple head ached with pressure so great that he almost winced whenever her fingers would stroke it.
Knowing he couldn't pretend concentration forever, Larry picked up the phone, pretending to listen to a client. His cock ached with an exquisite pain, a yearning so intense that it became almost orgasmic. She was now stroking circles on that head, like the laps of a tongue tip, yet dry, vaguely abrasive. He closed his eyes tightly, wincing, gripping the phone tightly, focusing on the sharp pleasure building like crystals in the pit of his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Winston was standing in the doorway,
Panic struck Larry. Winston looked bemused, as if in on the joke. But then Larry realized that Winston must be thinking he had a wince-able client on the phone, and that Larry was stuck. He put his hand over the receiver of the phone. "This will take a little while," he mouthed, "I'll buzz you when I'm done." Winston smiled, nodded, and waved as he left.
The adrenaline rush from the panic was helping put him over the edge: her fingers still danced lightly on the drum-tight flesh. He wanted contact so badly he was trying to buck without moving, damn whoever came by, he needed that touch. Each stroke became more and more painful, when suddenly she grabbed his cock with both hands and pumped up and down hard, milking his shaft with firm practiced hands.
He was helpless before her. He fought it back, trying to stave off the orgasm, but her hands pulled it out of him almost effortlessly. She hissed in a breath through her teeth, and kept milking for a few more strokes, then tightly squeezed, solidly, while the after-convulsions of orgasm rocked his body.
He pushed back on the wheels of his chair, not quite out of reach of her grasp. Her face was dotted with jism, sparkling now that her face was in the light. She was smiling again, still wickedly. "That cock of mine did well," she whispered.
Keeping hold of his softening tool with one hand, she used the other to wipe his cream from off her face, into her mouth; she sucked her finger, lapped it, mouthed it just as he wanted her to do to his cock. "My come tastes good," she said, "taste it." She wiped off a gob from her temple, then held her hand out of the cubbyhole.
He looked stricken. Someone could see her hand. Quickly, he moved down to her hand, mouth open. When her finger was in his mouth, she crooked it, taking his cheek between finger and thumb. She pulled him down to her.
"I can have my cock any time I want it. I have taken possession of it." She looked straight at him with dark black eyes. "You merely carry it around for me. Do you understand?"
He surprised himself. Usually after coming he didn't give a shit about sex either way. Now, he cared very much. He could feel the beginnings of another hard stirring his prick.
"Good," she said. "Now scoot back so I can get out." He did, and she stood, swiftly moving to the front of the desk. Again her back was to the doorway. She put her hand on the briefcase, ruby- tipped fingernails slipping between handle and case.
She smiled her smile again. "Until the next time I want it," she said. "Until then."
Then she turned and walked out of the doorway.
After a few numb minutes, Winston walked back in, saw his stricken face, and shook his head. "That bad, eh?"
Larry looked up at him. "Yes," he said, slowly, "Quite a call. But you know how some people are."
"Lunch?" Winston asked.
Larry realized that his cock was still hanging out of his pants, luckily hidden by the desk. "No, I, uh, I've got to get a little more finished on this report. I guess I'll take a raincheck."
"Okay," Winston smiled. "Next time."
Alice stood in front of the refrigerator, hair still wet from the shower, contemplating food. Her legs were spread, because her pussy and ass both burned with a delicious heat from the workout that afternoon. Larry would be home soon, and while she wasn't expected to fix him supper, it was a nice gesture when something was laid out for the microwave.
And somehow she wanted to be nice. She thought perhaps it was a way to stroke her guilt over her affair, yet the feeling was more wholesome than that. She felt forgiving toward him, ready to be acceptant.
She pulled out the container of chicken teriyaki, dished two servings onto the plates, spooned rice from another container, and then put hers into the 'wave. Three minutes later it was
steaming, and she sat down to watch "Wheel of Fortune reruns."
During the second round she heard Larry's car pull into the driveway. She rose to greet him at the door.
"Hi, hon," she said to him as she leaned forward to kiss him. He met her kiss. Tongues tentatively reached out, then tangled.
"Hello," he said finally. "What a nice greeting."
"Mmmmm," she replied. "Chicken's waiting in the kitchen."
"I thought I's shower before dinner. Too hot out there today."
"I just got out from mine. Hope there's enough hot water," she said sincerely; she'd luxuriated in its spray, touching herself everywhere she could remember her lover's caress.
It was all new to her, this covert behavior, the cloak of secrecy. She'd never really considered an affair, much less one of these dimensions...
Well she'd considered them, she admitted to herself, but not seriously. Only in the abstract, as something exciting somebody else does. Reading erotica when Larry was away, she had the sense of reading a tale of a foreign land, nowhere she'd ever visit. Yet here she was in her own home after having been tied down and royally fucked by what amounted to a perfect stranger.
It was so shocking she couldn't help but smile. So out of character, so unlike the cooly efficient woman she was. Who would think she'd get jelly-jointed at the memory of straining at her bonds while his thick cock plunged into her--who but perhaps Maddy. To everyone else she was staid, predictably competent Alice, who wouldn't dream of such things.
Yet she found she had been dreaming about them. Confinement had taken on a new meaning to her, and the fuzzy definition kept trying to clarify itself in her unconscious. A butterfly darting in beautiful patterns within a glass enclosure, she was in one recent dream. A windless space where she could truly test her wings, test her ability without having to compensate for gusts of disruptive breezes.
She heard the water running upstairs, and could imagine Larry undressing as he waited for the hot water to rise from the basement heater. She leaned against the stove, her right hand toying with the square fold in the crotch of her tight jeans, just below her clit, pushing that little fold inward and up, the hardness chafing deliciously against her pussy lips. She remembered the ridge of her lover's thick cockhead strumming the top of her pussy opening as he dipped the purple helmet just barely in.
Her fingers pressed harder, beginning a circling motion. She closed her eyes, imagining her lover's hands touching her intimately, caressingly, and her left hand moved up to cup her breast. She squeezed, and gripped her hardening nipple between thumb and forefinger, through her shirt; she rolled it back and forth, twisting, feeling the nerves wincing in the wrinkles of the fabric.
She opened her eyes; the house was quiet, except for the water running for the shower upstairs. Setting her mind to notice when Larry shut off the shower, she pulled out the tail of her shirt so she could slip her hand beneath it. Her flesh was cool beneath her warm hands; she stroked the soft skin, circling her nipple with a trailing finger.
She began breathing rapidly. Her pussy was warming to the pressure even more now, and she unsnapped, then unzipped them with tantalizing slowness, imagining her lover's hands performing the undressing. Her fingers moved into the forest of her pubes, pulling the hairs in pinchfulls, until finally a finger slipped into her moist slit.
Abstractly, she heard the shower running, and wondered if Larry was pulling himself off. They hadn't had a good bout in the sack for months now, but at that moment his wet, naked body seemed attractive to her, just as she imagined her body would be for him. She felt alluring, with one hand in her pussy and another beneath her shirt.
Round and round her middle finger went, circling the opening of her pussy, rising up to stroke her love button, moving down to caress her pussy again. A gentle rhythm revealed itself, and she went with the beat. Around twice, then on the upstroke, a twang on her clitoris, then again into her hot twat to swirl around in her pussyal fluids twice again, in almost a spiral, moving deeper into her quim.
"Honey, are we out of sham...." Larry's voice echoed, then stopped; Alice's eyes flew open, and she saw Larry, skin dewdropped with water, a white towel loosely around his waist, bulging at his crotch. She saw the bulge twitch, and took a chance.
"Screw the shampoo," she said slowly in a voice that sounded almost like her lover's to her. "Drop that towel and come fuck me. I want your hard prick inside my pussy. I want to wrap it in my hands and stuff you into me."
With each word the bulge in the towel had gotten bigger. By the end, his prick was making a tent of the white fabric. Larry had never heard his wife talk like this, though he was not surprised it excited him. Seeing her unabashedly masturbating, gazing at his hardening prick with undisguised hunger, he didn't think twice.
He dropped his grip on the towel, which fell to the floor. His hard-on bounced for a moment, then continued its upward climb.
"Oooh," Alice breathed. "Bring it here. Bring that hard cock to me."
Something clicked in Larry's head, and he played right back to her. "First tear off your shirt. Don't unbutton it. Tear it off those tits of yours."
Alice smiled, and pulled her juice-covered hand from her tunnel, pulled her other hand from around her tit, grabbed her open neck, and pulled. Buttons spun away as her shirt flew open. She was glad she wasn't wearing a brassier, for her mounds felt the breeze, and her nipples stiffened even further, standing out like thimbles.
Alice pushed her tits together, pointing them like eyes at Larry. "Here they are," she said, "just waiting for you. Come suck on them, lick them, then fuck my hot pussy."
They both looked at each other, thinking how strange all this was. Their sex life had always been the utmost in normalcy. Larry thought that Alice would be offended, insulted, if he talked dirty to her, or was too graphic with her. Alice was afraid he'd think her a slut if she expressed more than a mild interest in sex.
Now, as they faced each other, there was a frightening moment when both could have destroyed the other, by laughing, or by acting like it was all a pretense, a joke that hit too close to home. They looked at each other, the eight years they'd known each other passing before their eyes in clear contradiction to this erotically charged moment, a married lifetime of sexual protection and fear, and both stood paralyzed, afraid the other would laugh. Would sneer. Would destroy the other.
But there was too much lust in their eyes for either to ignore. Larry took a breath, as did Alice, and they lunged at each other like two panthers fighting over a prize. Alice gripped Larry's naked buns to pull his hard prick against her lower stomach. Larry had one hand on a bare breast, the other on her butt, pulling for the same reason. Their mouths locked, tongues battling each other, trying for more depth, more contact, more stimulation.
Alice moaned, moving one hand up to pull Larry's face to hers even more tightly. His face was rough, but his lips were strong and soft, his tongue, molten. He thrust against her stomach with is pelvis, pushing his hardness at her, feeling her jeans against his thighs.
He broke away from her: "Take off your pants. I want to see that pussy of yours open. Open your pussy to me, spread your lips, I want to see your finger inside your pussy, and then I'll shove this hard prick into you."
Alice smiled, relaxing still further; this wasn't so difficult. She never would have thought it possible, but here they were talking the language of lust to each other. "Yes," she said to him, backing away, pulling down her tight jeans and bikini underwear slowly, rolling her hips lewdly, as if backing onto a prick behind her.
Then she was down on the kitchen floor, only the ragged, torn shirt on her body, legs bare and wide, and she pushed first one, then two, then three fingers into her pussy right in front of Larry, moaning as she did. Her pussy was brimfull with juices, sloppy and wet and she wanted more than what her fingers could do.
"Oh god, Larry, stick that cock into me, I want you now, push it in me." Her legs were up in the air, and her free hand beckoned toward her twat.
He moved down to the floor and put the swollen head of his prick against her embedded fingers. "Pull me in," he said, and she grabbed his prick with slick fingers and pulled him down into her.
As he sank into her, she reached back to hold onto something, and found the broiler pan handle on the bottom of the stove. She held on as he began to pump, and imagined that her hands were tied to the stove, that she was helpless and willing, then realized that she hardly needed the fantasy; she was willing, and could choose helplessness to her desire.
His hard rod pistoned into her love channel, and she made mewling sounds, driving Larry to greater efforts: he pumped into her, changing his angle with each thrust, rubbing the tight skin of his prick against her pussyal walls. Each thrust felt new, as if it was the first dip into her pool, and he could feel the pressure building beneath his balls.
"Yes, I'm fucking you now, aren't I?" he asked, "Yes, fucking you, and you're loving it. You like having my cock in your hot pussy, you want me to fuck you hard...."
"Yes, fuck me, keep fucking me, I love that cock, give me all of it, shove it in, yes, fuck me, keep fucking me, fuck me, keep fucking me...."
And her thighs clamped against his sides and she began to shudder and shake in a way Larry hadn't seen in six years; she jerked and bucked and screamed through gritted teeth as she came, pulling out the broiler drawer with a great clatter, shoving it back in, screaming again, thrusting back against that hard pole that was nailing her down, pushing her to the floor.
"God! Oh! Yes! Shit, fuck me, yes, fuck me, fuck me," and her voice went down to a hiss, sibilants essing out with each of his thrusts.
"You're so hot," Larry whispered in her ear, "your pussy is hot and slick, you're coming for me, coming with me, you love being fucked, don't you, yes, you're my whore, my pussy, yes, you love it, god, I'm fucking you hard, fucking you..."
The pressure beneath his balls increased; he could feel his jism building up, and didn't want to hold it off any longer. "I'm going to come inside you soon, I'm going to come in that hot pussy of yours, wide open, yes, wide open pussy, I'm coming, I'm coming...."
Alice fell over another edge, and her pussy wall clamped down on his pistoning prick like a velvet vice, milking it, uncontrollably, as she came with him. He hollered out "Yes! God, yes! Oh, fuck, yes!" as he came, and her words echoed with his:
"Yes, fuck me! Fuck me! Aaaaah! Yes! Yes!"
Then Larry collapsed limply on top of her, lungs heaving, prick throbbing, throbbing as it slowly shrank out of her quim. They quietly held each other, still amazed at what had happened. Yet how could they talk about it? Did they need to?
Alice's questions were answered when Larry snorted a chuckle. "Wow," he said, "and all I wanted was shampoo."
They both laughed, the kissed each other as they rolled apart. "Dinner will have to be nuked again," she said. "Another explosion took its place."
"Mine's been waking up; he's losing the context that closes him down."
"Good," he said. "So has mine. Such ripeness, such sweet lust waiting to be unleashed. Such an exciting game. A certain conclusion, but exciting nonetheless."
"I was certain of it," a third voice murmurs in the darkness. A rustle: a body shifting, then a second moving in accomodation.
"You were right," the first woman's voice answers. "Both were just waiting to awaken. Two, perhaps three more scenes and anything we want they will want as well."
"Mine would do that right now," the second voice rumbles pleasantly. "But then, women are naturally more erotic than men, wouldn't you agree?"
The third voice purrs in reply: "Let's try again, and see."
As soon as she saw the envelope on her desk, she knew it wasn't part of the morning's mail. Pale white, like all envelopes, but there was no window with the firm's name in it, nor any return address.
Simply "Alice" on the front, in block letters indistinguishable from that anybody else would make. Impersonal, untraceable. She felt excitement burble in her stomach in anticipation.
Maddy had already returned from her break, and was sitting engrossed in working on the computer. Alice knew that Madeline would soon find out what was inside the letter. After their session of lovemaking days ago, the two were now secret-sharers.
For Alice, some friends were chat-partners, others were philosophy-traders, and the last, rare category was that which Maddy now fell into.
Oddly enough, she and Alice hadn't much altered their behavior from the aftereffects of intimacy. Perhaps a few more touches, but not anything illicit. They smiled more now, had more warmth in their voices, but neither, as far as Alice could see, expected an affair to develop from the interlude.
It was as if the sex they shared had been time out of time, separate from the events of mundane reality. Something like what she felt with the man she was fucking--or being fucked by, she corrected herself.
The separateness was what surprised her. Before the last week, sex had been an extension of the everyday. Now, even with Larry, she was able to be sexual in some manner that had no necessary connection to any routine she could recognize, and so seemed to have no effect on her self-definition.
And Maddy seemed the same way. They might make love again, and Alice thought she might start it next time; she longed to taste Maddy's honey again, to savor the sultry sweetness lingeringly, sucking on her slick clitoris, lapping at the folded interiors of her soft pussy.
But wanting to eat her didn't mean that Alice had to touch her, or speak romantically to her. All Alice felt required to do was be herself. It was refreshing.
Just as it was refreshing to know that with easy intimacy, when Alice had read the new instructions, she could show the letter to her and laugh with shared knowledge; even with shared anticipation, since Maddy would also hear the details as well.
The last time Alice had been only slightly graphic, growing increasingly so as it became clear that Maddy was enjoying it. She had felt a bit excited by using words like "thick cock" and "tits" and "aching pussy," and looked forward to trying out many more when she regaled Maddy with the juicy tale of her tete-a-tete.
With a steady hand she reached for her letter opened and slit the seam of the envelope. Inside was a typed note:
"You will go to Sears at 3:00 today. Walk through the lingerie, touch the fine silk, stroke the sleek softness made to excite the skin's nerves. Imagine yourself in them, being watched by ten men, undressing slowly, sensuously, in a strip tease for their eyes alone, without embarassment, without fear, a striptease in each of those silks, ten times, and each time you imagine it in a particular garment, I want you to touch that garment to one private place on your body. Imagine the men invading that spot, with fingers, cock, and tongue.
Then go to the men's department at 3:24. At the suit rack, go to the corner without the mirror. Investigate a suit in the corner. Do not turn around when I approach you.
You will be directed from there."
Alice dropped the note on her desk. She looked at the desk clock: another hour until she got off, at noon.
"Maddy," she said, surprising herself. "Have lunch with me. I want to eat you."
Madeline looked up expectantly, as if Alice would laugh at the Freudian slip. She didn't. When Madeline realized that, her full lips curled into a smile.
"I'll get myself prepared," she said, licking her lips and bringing a hand from the keyboard up to her left breast. She gave it a squeeze. Then she saw the note open in front of Alice.
"A hot letter?"
"Another set of instructions from my mystery lover," Alice replied. "He's directing my fantasies now. I think he'll be watching."
"Watching where? Doing what?" Then Maddy laughed. "Not to pry, or anything."
"Just a moment, and I'll tell you." She pushed a button on her phone. "Jerry, this is Alice. Maddy and I will be taking an early lunch if that's all right. We're caught up on today's work, and I stayed late yesterday..." She nodded to the receiver. "Oh, and I'll be locking the door, since we're both out. Can't be too careful." She nodded again.
Then she wrote a quick note saying "M and A are at lunch. Back 12:15. She took a slip of scotch tape and taped it to the door, glancing into the hall to see that nobody would see her, then locked the door from the inside.
"Now we can eat in peace," Alice grinned. She could hardly believe they were her own words coming out of her mouth. But it felt right. "Take off your shirt. Let me see those pretty tits of yours."
Maddy looked surprised, but began undoing her buttons. "My, but that man must have awakened a tigress." She pulled off the blouse, and arched her back to unsnap her bra; when the hooks came loose, her melons sprang free, and she slipped the straps down her long arms.
Alice was topless now too, and as excited by her own bravado as by the eroticism of the scene. Brazen, she thought to herself. Outright whorishness. I love it.
She felt lucky to have someone like Maddy to be whorish with, who she could trust not to mind, or laugh. Maddy had the same streak of detached sensualism that had indeed been awakened in Alice over the last week. It made her an almost perfect office mate.
Alice pinched her nipples, pulling out, making her skin tight as a tent's. As if offering them to Maddy as she approached. She kicked off her shoes.
"Stand up now," Alice said, and Maddy complied, smiling, clearly enjoying being told what to do. Her face spoke of both amusement and arousal. It was new to her, but that newness only made it more titillating.
"Move away from the desk," Alice told her. "Now take off that skirt, and unroll those nylons. I want to be able to get at your pussy while I tell the story."
Madeline followed her instructions to the letter. She stood buck naked in the fluorescent light, legs slightly spread, arms to her side. The slight dew of nookfluids sparkled on her pubic hair.
"Now take off my skirt for me. I am wearing no underwear. Once my skirt is removed, I want to you to breathe hotly on my pussy, without touching it, while I begin to tell you the fantasies I'll have."
Slowly, sinuously, Maddy moved across the floor. Her hands reached out, shaking slightly, wending their way through the air toward the belt that held Alice's skirt to her hips. Still Alice massaged her own tits, and Maddy kept her eyes on them. Her breathing was already deep and quick.
"Yes," Madeline murmured, "I want to smell your pussy, breathe on it, then when the sap is running, I want to lap at your twat, tell me how to tongue you, order my mouth around your creamy darkness."
Maddy was on her knees now, talking directly to Alice's pussy. With all her fingers, like kneading bread dough, Alice massaged her breasts. "Yes, I will tell you. Stretch your tongue out, but don't touch. Lap the air like you would my folds. Show me your technique."
While Maddy tongued her imaginary pussy not more than an inch from her real one, Alice began her tale:
"My lover directs me to Sears, where I am to go immediately to Lingerie and begin my fantasies. Ten times I will pick up a negligee and imagine taking it off for a different man.
The first is a black silky thing, frills around my collarbones, frills around my pussy, sheer around my tits." She reached down, put her fingers in Maddy's hair, and clenched her fingers together. "Now do the same to my hot pussy. I need a tongue flicking there."
She leaned back against the desk, feeling the sharp corner against the flesh of her buttocks. Maddy inched forward, still on her knees. She looked up past Alice's tits. "Does mistress wish to tie her slave's hands?"
Stifling her surprise, Alice smiled. "A good suggestion, my sweet slave. One moment."
She retrieved Maddy's nylons. Maddy's hands were behind her back. With a few deft wraps, then one around the middle, and a neat bow, Maddy's hands were bound. Alice felt a surge of adrenaline as she saw Maddy's aroused submission. Naked knees on the carpeted floor, she was trying to push her pussy down onto the floor.
Alice took her place again, leaning against the desk, spreading her legs even wider. Maddy hungrily lunged at Alice's crotch, her tongue slipping from hole to bud and back, slathering her nether lips with saliva.
Alice continued: "Yes, my sweet slut, suck on me, yes, stick your tongue down deep, lap at it like a dripping ice cream cone. Oh, yessss...
"When I find my first negligee, I begin my fantasy, knowing that my mystery lover's eyes are upon me from somewhere in the store, and imagine his eyes as looking through the man in my fantasy, a black pimp appraising a potential girl.
"I shrug my shoulders out from the frilly straps, letting the black silk gradually slide down the mountains of my tits. He raises an eyebrow in healthy respect. These are tits that can work, he thinks.
"I hold them out for him to see, showing off the creamy whiteness, the soft skin, the delicate wrinkles around my erect nipples. I can see beneath the zipper of his tight pants that even with all his experience with women, he is becoming aroused.
"He is tall, this black pimp in my mind, tall and lean, the muscles well defined, smooth, his face is broad-cheeked, with deep hollows. In his left nostril is a tiny gold ring, almost invisible.
"As the negligee moves lower, he thinks of running his tongue about the roundness of my belly, homing in on my navel. His prick is hardening, and I think it will be like he is, tall, thin, well defined. I know I am getting to him, the tough veneer is fading beneath his desire. He wants me, he wants this white chick, and I let the black silk finally fall to the floor.
"My pussy is on fire, just like it is right now, my slave, your tongue is velvet, suck me, ah, ah yes, suck on my clit hard, yes, hard, ah, yes, yes...." And she grabbed Maddy's hair and mashed her face against her own pussy, rubbing Madeline's lips hard against her lips. She could feel teeth; she could see lightening inside her lids, and she came with a wrenching groan.
The smell of her juice was in the air, and strong on Maddy's face as Alice took it in her hands to kiss her. Their lips met, followed immediately by their narrow tongues, dancing, parrying, like joyous swords.
She broke the kiss, looked into Maddy's eyes. "Now lean over, put your cheek on the carpet."
Maddy closed her eyes, and nodded, angling over until her face touched the floor. Her butt was in the air, her big jugs rubbed against the rough carpeting, and her hands grasped at nothing behind her back.
Alice sat comfortably beside her, enjoying the mastery completely. She didn't need to worry about positioning. Whatever she wanted was what happened. It felt wonderful. By doing exactly what she wanted, she knew Maddy would get exactly what she wanted as well. The feeling was one of liberation.
"The pimp will be unable to keep his hands off me, though I make the time move slow. I prance around the chair he sits in like a throne," she said, and put a hand on Maddy's rear end.
Maddy back up to it, pushing her ass against Alice's hand. Her fingertips began to trace the outlines of Maddy's pussy.
"I wiggle my tight rear end toward him. He reaches out, but can't touch yet. His shaft is ready to burst his tight black pants, and I know it, and taunt him with it.
"Take it out if you want, I say to him. Let me really show you how hot I am. And so he does take it out. Long it is, the veins like black rope curling around a dark flagpole. Stiff as steel. I see it, and know I want it deep in my pussy, but will make him want me even more.
"I put a finger in my pussy in front of him," she continued, pushing a finger into Maddy's heat. Maddy responded with a whimpering moan.
"I swirl it around, and tell him how much I want his cock. I tell him my mouth is watering for it, that my tongue will bathe it, smooth it, lick around the dark head until his spunk is ready to shoot, and then I will consume him with my tunnel.
"In a rage of lust, the black pimp leaps from the chair and grabs me by the shoulders. He throws me down on the floor. His pants are around his thighs, he doesn't have the patience to take them off, he has to have me now, and so he roughly spreads my legs and without waiting a minute more jams his black cock into my pussy hard!
Three of Alice's fingers thrust into the wet heat of Maddy's cunny. Maddy arched her back involuntarily, letting out groan. Alice's fingers pulled out, then shoved in, "and the black pimp fucks me, hard, fast, his speed building, and I feel him in my pussy deep, his black shaft is battering my cervix, punching the far wall, going deep, I can practically feel him in my throat, and faster he goes, and faster..."
Her hand was a blur as her slick fingers machinegunned into Maddy's fuckhole. "God!" Maddy cried, "Oh, godyes, oh, fuck me you black motherfucker, stick it in, yes, you love it, you love it don't you, my white flesh, fuck me, god, oh shit fuck me harder you bastard, yes fuck me, fuck me now Aaah yess AAAaaargh!" Maddy flopped up and down on the carpet, trying to push herself into Alice's fingers even deeper, coming with a power that amazed even Alice.
With one last shove, Alice buried her fourth finger in Maddy, and kept her hand there, still, tight, feeling Maddy's pussy walls convulsing on her fingers and knuckles. Maddy shuddered for what seemed like minutes, a ratcheting sound crackling from her throat.
Then Maddy went completely limp. Her breaths came in heaves, and she toppled to the floor onto her side, knees brought up to her tits. Alice took her fingers out, and Maddy, though practically unconscious, let out a ragged sigh.
After a moment of gentle strokes of Maddy's flanks, Alice untied the bow of nylon binding Maddy's wrists. Madeline smiled, and rolled on her back, one hand moving unconsciously to her twat. Finally she opened her eyes.
Her smile was broad. "And you say you have nine more of these fantasies? I hope I can make it."
They both laughed, and kissed gently. "I still haven't gotten lunch yet," Alice said. "Stay there, my sweet friend, and let me massage those battered lips of yours down below."
As Alice's tongue began its wandering path down the inside of Maddy's thighs, she wondered how she could have been doing what was happening. Such a tale she had woven--if she hadn't said it all out loud, she never would have admitted that she could have such a fantasy.
And to be able to keep it up while being eaten out by a beautiful woman! Something had happened to her that she couldn't name, something about her mind and her pussy, and about getting laid in general. No longer an eyes-closed affair, she thought to herself. It was now with open eyes, and open mouth, and open pussy that she welcomed sex.
Her tongue finally encountered what it was drooling for: Maddy's come-sloppy pussy. Like the liquid center of a cherry cordial, it oozed with sultry sweetness.
Things certainly were different. But she wouldn't have them any other way.
She walked into Larry's office again, this time in lavender cotton top (clinging to her firm small tits) atop tight black pants. No longer looking the businesswoman like she had the last time, she seemed more a vision from a wet dream, standing there in her spike heels brazenly, a look of wanton pleasure already on her face.
Larry for a moment panicked: what if someone saw? What would they say?
Then he stopped that thought. It's just a job, he said to himself. Jobs can be found. Fucks like this can't always. I'll look back on this for the rest of my life. The risk is worth it.
Just over the partition on either side were coworkers, so blatancy wasn't the ticket. Subtlety, double-phrasings were in order.
"Sophia," he said, his pen still on the paper before him. "I was just thinking about you. How's Peter?"
He smiled as much inside as out. He felt wicked in a delicious way.
The woman, "Sophia," smiled back. "I imagine he's recovered by now. I'll be finding out how recovered soon."
She strolled in, rolling her hips. Her thighs were tightly encased in black fabric, her pussy lips held apart separate by the seam. Larry watched unabashedly as she approached.
"In fact," she continued, in lower tones, "I'm meeting him for lunch in an hour. Care to join us?"
He thought about his rapidly-enlarging peter, which obviously wanted her to lunch on it. He grinned more broadly.
"That sounds good. Where?"
"Here, let me write the address down." She picked a pen from the jar on the desk, and jotted some words down on the paper she took from his desk top.
From her tiny black purse dangling from the thin cord on her shoulder she took a black tie. "Here," she said, giving it to him. "Wear this. Peter will get a kick out of it."
Larry draped it across two fingers as he took it from her. "Any particular style?"
Sophia put her palms on the desk, and leaned over to him. Her breath was hot in his ear; he shivered. "You will wear it over your eyes. Once it's on, you must not take it off unless I take it off. Should you, then I will immediately leave. I will remove it when it's appropriate." She backed away from his ear, looked in his eyes: "Peter will be so surprised," she said out loud. "All right then, see you at twelve."
She turned toward the door. Then, her tightly-clad and tightly-packed butt facing him, she reached down between her legs. Long fingers stroked her bulging pussylips through the denim. She wiggled her ass, straightened, looked over her shoulder, winked, then was gone.
Larry blinked, then looked down at the tie on his desk. With a quick motion, he swept it up and wadded it into his pocket. His stiff tool lurched as his fingers grazed it; he smiled, and almost murmured Soon, buster, soon you'll be getting some more.
On her tenth negligee, her fantasies had taken on a life of their own. Alice knew that the salesmen were curious about her, the way she'd hold up the fabric to her firm body, as if testing the fit around her breasts, between her legs, with slow strokes. Most of the action took place beneath eye level, so they weren't too curious, or so Alice hoped.
She was in ancient Rome, letting Caesar bury his stiff prick into her virgin asshole. Vidi, Vici, Veni, she heard him say in her fantasy, as he came like a firehose deep in her bowels. His teeth sank into her shoulders, and she rubbed the silk against her drenched pussy.
She'd been concentrating on the fantasies, just as she had been instructed to. When her mind would begin to wander, she forced it back to the topic at hand: sex. Men fucking her in all the places she could be fucked. Between her tits had been a biker, in black leather. In her mouth was a football player, his muscles shiny with sweat from practice.
Now, as Caesar plumbed the depths of her ass, she pushed the silk against the lips of her sopping pussy. She was so wet it was embarassing: the crotch of her maroon pants was darkened with the ooze of her excitement.
She glanced at her watch: 3:35. She was late! Imagining all the men fucking her, imagining her mystery lover watching, knowing what she was thinking, had been more consuming than she'd expected. With fear chasing her steps, she hurried to the men's department.
What if he doesn't show up, she wondered as she reached the corner of the suitrack. What if I blew it, I'll never know what might have happened. Her hand came up, trembling, to touch the fabric of the suit in front of her, pretending to look at the buttons. Her heart beat fast, and it sounded in her ears like everyone could hear it.
She was so sexually charged she would almost fuck anybody who asked. A pimply-faced warehouse stocker, were he to smell her need, could have had her juicy pussy for the asking. He'd have a cock, she thought, and that's all I want right now. A cock to fuck, a cock to fuck me.
She put a hand in her pocket and fingered her pussy lips through the fabric. Her other hand stroked the long rough sleeve of the woolen jacket she was inspecting.
Then she heard his voice in her ear: "You're hot right now, aren't you, my little whore. You want my prick inside you?"
"Yes," she breathed, sinking back into him, feeling on one butt-cheek the firmness of his crotch. "Yes, that's what I want. I want you now, I want you badly."
"Then go into the dressing rooms. Past the last one is a utility room. The door says "Janitor." You will enter it and pull your shirt over your head. Keep your arms within the fabric, feel the tightness holding you in. I will join you soon."
Then he pulled away from her. She waited, wanting to turn to see him walking away. She hadn't seen him since that very first time at the party, and could barely remember what he looked like.
But she controlled herself. Getting fucked was too important right now to risk not having him just for satisfying her curiosity. She needed his hard shaft inside her, and that took precedence over everything else.
He sat on the bed, blinded by the fabric he'd tied around his eyes, wondering what was next. Her note had only stated where to go, to ask for a room reserved in his name. No information about what to do once he got there, besides wait. So wait he did, considering taking off his clothes.
Did she want him naked, or did she want to take his clothes off him? He didn't know; either possibility seemed to fit what little he knew about her preferences.
His skin prickled in anticipation; the hairs in the wrinkles of his ball-sack felt like they were trying to pull each other out. Larry pushed with his thumb at his nuts, then clasped his hands on his lap again.
It was miserable, this waiting. Not being able to see, he couldn't amuse himself by looking around. The bed became the only environment that mattered. Unclasping his hands, he felt the nubby texture of the bedspread.
Did people ever really nap here? The leer on the mousy face of the man behind the desk told a different story. He certainly knew that something sexual would be going on here.
Larry wondered if there were peep-holes. If so, then what an embarrassing position to be seen in: blindfolded, waiting, passive. Somehow with "Sophia" it wasn't embarrassing. As if they had made an agreement without saying the words: there can be no shyness here. Carnality is the goal; modesty has no place between us.
Larry heard something--perhaps a door opening? Was that a footstep on the floor? His hand came up almost independently of will to pull up the blindfold.
"Now, now," her voice sounded. "Don't make me turn around and leave."
He smiled, his hand stopped in mid-gesture. "I was afraid you were that man behind the counter."
There was a short silence. "Maybe he's here too," she said. "Maybe I brought other people with me. To watch. To watch your jism shoot out onto the floor."
"I'd have heard them," Larry said.
He heard a clunk. Then a click, and lazy funk jazz began playing. "Could you hear them now?"
The mocking tone of voice was laced with a kind of glee, like he remembered he'd felt once, years ago, when Alice had worn a blindfold, and he'd gone to the freezer and carried back an ice cube. As it had neared her nipple, he had felt that shivery power. Now he felt it in himself, but from the other end. Still, a shivery power, but the power of being the one pleasured.
"Why isn't my cock naked?" she demanded, almost in rhythm with the funky music. Her hand caressed his bulging crotch, then grasped at the roundness of his balls. "Take your clothes off."
Then she moved away. Larry envisioned her undressing herself, snaking a hand down into her cunny, watching him as he did his striptease. So he lingered as he undressed. He was a little proud of how well his body had stood up to his thirty-five years. No Adonis here, but he was still good-looking naked.
"Oh, yeah," she said when his shirt was undone, his chest stretched out of it. "Yeah, that's pretty, keep it going, now. Make me hot. Come on, my stud, my cock, show me yourself slow."
The music came in waves, based on a beat primal and pure. He couldn't resist almost dancing as he undressed. Leaned over, moving his ass, untying his shoes. Kicking them off on the beat; socks off in syncopation.
Then the zipper, slowly, in little zips, as if tantalizing. "Come on now, show me that cock of mine, I want to see that prick, show it to me hard and oozing. Ohh, you wicked one--you're making me wait," she said, when he pulled down his pants inch by inch, leaving his underwear on.
His cock strained against the thin cotton fabric. Thighs bare, the hairs straightened, enhancing the tingling his nerves were all feeling. His prick ached.
"I can't help myself, you fucking hunk, my hand's in my snatch, in my cooze, ah, god, two fingers inside. You'd love to taste my snatch, wouldn't you, but I won't until that prick is free, I want to see it bobbing in the cool air. Show me that purple head, I want you aching for my touch. I want your cock waiting, drooling, wanting into me."
Her words washed over him like erotic waves. This was carnality incarnate. No mincing words there, no innuendo. No hesitation. She knew what she wanted, and said so: she wanted him, and wanted him to want her just as badly.
As he stepped out of his slacks, crumpled at his ankles, he brought his hands up his ankles, his knees, his thighs, then caressingly brought them around his thick fucktool tenting out his shorts. "And what will you do to it if I let it out?"
"I'll touch it with my fingernails, sharpened like razors: I'll shave that cock with my nails. Then I'll rub my tits with it, around and around like that cock was my dildo, and I'm at home, imagining cocks all around, rubbing me over tits and arms and ass and pussy and hands and feet, cocks all for me, just as that cock is all for me. Take it out. Show me my cock, you fucking bastard stud."
Caught up, his hunger for her directing his hands, he pulled the waistband out, and then down, exposing his mass of meat to the air. The coolness made him even harder; with one hand he grabbed it, with the other pulled down his shorts as fast as he could. No longer was the stripping what he wanted. He wanted contact, his cock yearned for touch.
"There it is, aaahhhh, yesss," she said, moving closer, "yes, that cock is a beauty, that cock is mine. Stroke my cock for me. Move that fist of yours down on my cock."
He began stroking his boner, beating himself off slowly, feeling each callous on each finger rubbing past the head, down the hard shaft. "Yesss," she continued, her voice coming from below, as if she were kneeling in front of him.
"Yesss. Oh, yes, I can feel your hand on my cock. It feels good, squeeze harder, oh, oh, yes, keep beating that meat, beat off, fuck yourself with your hand."
Larry felt lewd, beating off in front of this woman. The other time, he'd hardly had time to think about what was going on; this time, he knew how it felt, and he liked it. Delightfully decadent, a wickedly aberrant perversion. He imagined her face, talking to his cock, her mouth in an "o" as if it was a target for the arrow of his prick.
Electricity jolted him. Her hand was on his pelvis, inches from his cock and balls. Sexuality, like some powerful drug, was seeping from her fingertips into him. He arched his pelvis forward, trying to find her mouth with the tip of his prick. His fingers clutched at the nubby fabric of the bedcover.
But only air was stabbed by his pole. He clutched again at his cock, leaning back onto the edge of the bed once more.
"Suck me off," he said, "or fuck me, or do your tits, something, my cock wants you." He listened to his words after he'd spoken. He wasn't used to talking dirty, and the sounds felt alien.
"A mouth will be there, but not yet. First you must eat me. Eat me now. Get on all fours. I'll put my cock under your mouth. You will suck on my clit, lap down deep."
He heard scratching sounds, as if she still had her shoes on. Keeping one hand on the bed, he got down on the floor; his knees hurt at first on the wood.
Then the sultry aroma of cooze ooze wafted into his nostrils. He pushed his face down, still blind, and bumped his nose on her pubic bone. He quickly adjusted, delving into her moist cleft, pushing the curly hairs aside with his nose, his lips. Today, she tasted a bit different than the last time he had tasted her, but still she was like ripe fruit.
His tongue explored her slick folds of flesh, circling the numb of her button, then capturing it between lip-covered teeth. He mouthed her, chewing lightly on her thickening clitoris. He could hear her muffled moans.
"Oh, yes," she said when the moans stopped. "Keep that up, my stud. Lick me, taste me, make my pussy want my cock. It's getting hot, slushy, slippery waiting for you. I want that cock, fuck the blowjob, I want that cock in my pussy now.
Her hands pushed his head away and grabbed his prick, pulling him toward her. His cock throbbed in her hands, and then he felt his cock being twisted to the side; he shifted his body to accommodate it, and lost his balance. He fell on his side, and then was pushed to his back.
"I want to do this," she ordered, "I know just where that cock should go, and I'm going to put it there."
He smiled, and put his hands behind his head, while thrusting up his cock by tensing his buttmuscles. He wanted her hot pussy so badly it hurt.
Suddenly his prick was engulfed by molten lava, and with one downward drop, she impaled herself on his fuckshaft. Both of them groaned loudly in unison.
She was motionless. Her pussyal walls undulated over the taut flesh inside her, and it felt like butterflies were clustered around his prick, doing their mating dance. He writhed, but her weight kept his cock pinioned inside her, soaking. He pulsed his lovemuscle in response to her snatch-squeezes.
Then she raised up. His cock cooled, and it pulsed now of its own accord. He moaned, tried to push up, and then she slammed down on him again. "Yess, my stud, my cock, oh, yes, you're so big, so hard, you're deep in my cunny, deep inside me."
"Your pussy is grabbing me like a hand, what a pussy you have, and you're fucking me with it. Keep fucking me. Ah, shit, yes," Larry cried, pushing up into her. The words felt natural now, just as wicked as he felt. Fucking was all he wanted, to keep moving up into her, thrusting deep into that hot pussy.
"My cock is drooling for you, inside you, my jism is waiting for you, I want to come inside you..."
"Go ahead, then, you bastard stud, fuck me like I'm a bitch thrusting up my ass at you. Come inside me, give me that spume," she cried, jamming herself down on him over and over, like an oilwell's counterweight, a determined grind downward, as if squeezing the come out of him from above, sucking up from below.
Her pussy wrung his cock out, twisting, inexorably rising and falling in spite of his nearly frenzied thrusts. His hands were fists outstretched, beating at the floor.
"Shit, yes, I'm going to come," he cried, "I'm going to shoot, aahhg, shit, yes...."
"Give it to me, shove it in, pour it in, give me that come, come on, you stud, shoot it in, shoot it in..."
And with a wrenching twisting implosion, Larry came, pushing stream after stream of viscous come out into her liquid heat. He gasped, bucked, and let out a tortured yell, followed by the aftershock groans of his will-wilting orgasm. He reeled inside his mind, lost in wave after wave of sensation.
"Ah, shit, god damn, fuck, oh, shit, god..." he murmured, as she pulled herself free of his cock, squeezing at each inch with her pussy.
He lay on the hard floor, feeling the coldness for the first time on his back and butt. The music played on.
Then her voice: "You may take off your blindfold now."
Bringing his hands up to his eyes, he pulled the tie away. Sitting on the bed was Sophia, fully dressed. He sat up, and thought back: he never had felt her tits, or any part of her body, really, except her pussy.
But when he looked at her legs, they were encased in a one-piece full-leg leotard, gleaming in the afternoon light. Her crotch was darkened with pussyjuice, but he could see no hole that he could have penetrated. Was I out that long? he wondered.
She got off the bed, and leaned over. She kissed him, her tongue a thin moist dart invading his lips. He kissed back, and then she pulled away. "Until next time," she said, smiling that wicked smile.
She walked away; he turned to watch her leave. Her ass gleamed metallically in the leotard as she padded toward the door. He thought about calling out to her, stopping her, asking her how she'd managed to dress so quickly, but then thought better of it. There was no need. However she had done it, it had been one hell of a fuck.