of his fingers in my
mouth, sucking them down to the back.
“Ah, Monica,” was all he said as he pulled them out, slowly, and
pushed them back in at the same pace. I cupped my tongue around them and
sucked. Not too hard, just enough. I knew I was doing it right when his eyelids
closed just a little, and he opened his mouth for something between a gasp and
an aah . He
rubbed them over my bottom lip, curling it back, then put them back in my
mouth. I took them eagerly, tasting his skin, feeling his warm breath on my
face.
He slid his fingers out and stepped back, taking his crotch away
from mine. I suddenly felt exposed and started to close my legs, but he pressed
them apart. I reached for his buckle, but he pulled away.
“I want to touch you,” I said.
“Not yet.”
“I’m going crazy.”
“No, you’re not. Not enough.”
With that, he moved the crotch of my panties to the side and put
the finger he’d just removed from my mouth onto my wet folds. We both gasped.
Then he slid two fingers into me. Slowly.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
He slipped them out without a word and put his thumb on the thin
strip of cotton covering my clit. Lightly. Barely touching it. Just enough so I
knew it was there, and he leaned over to kiss me, flicking his tongue in time
with his thumbnail as it gently scratched the fabric of my underwear.
I thrust my hips forward. His fingers went deep into me, but the
thumb wouldn’t press down any harder. It just grazed the cotton as he glided
his two fingers in and out.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Now?”
His fingers worked my body while he bent down to whisper into my
ear. “You have three minutes of break left.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m going to spend hours fucking you.”
My hips pushed against his hand, but he kept control: a light
touch of the thumb and a slow grind with the fingers. I was on fire. I thought
I had known what that meant, but I didn’t.
“After your shift.”
“I have a gig right after. We have to do it now.” He might have
considered it for the next three thrusts, but he didn’t give my clit more than
a stroke through fabric. I couldn’t decide if that was pleasure or torture.
“After your gig,” he said. “I have a dinner meeting anyway. Meet
me at the hotel tonight. Room 3423.”
“I have to take care of my roommate.”
“Figure it out.”
He pulled his fingers out of me. I felt the loss of them and his
tormenting thumb so deeply I moaned. Sitting there, splayed and nearly naked on
Sam’s desk, I felt foolish and exposed, not to mention ravenously aroused.
“Don’t.” I didn’t have anything more to say, except don’t stop
there; don’t leave me like this. My eyes must have pleaded with him for some
release, because his face, with its parted lips and heavy lids, shone with a
lustful satisfaction. He knew I wanted him to fuck me for hours, starting on
that desk. “You are despicable,” I said.
He pulled my skirt down, and when he leaned down to kiss me, I
returned it with no little anger on my lips. “Too true. And tonight, you’re
mine.”
“What if I don’t show?”
“You’ll show.”
After opening the door as little as possible, as if to protect my
destroyed modesty, he was gone.
***
I had another three hours to work, and I couldn’t keep my mind on
the task at hand: pouring drinks. A moron could do it. First example: Robert. A
hunk by any measure, but dumb as a post.
He slid the tray over the service bar. Each had the requisite
alcohol as listed on the order ticket, clockwise from twelve o’clock, where
he’d put the ticket. My job was to fill each glass with mixers from the soda
gun and juice bin.
Like I said, a moron could do it. But I stood there, with Debbie
next to me checking stuff off the inventory list, and I put soda in a whiskey.
I stared at the glass and watched it over flow and why? Because the pain
between my legs
mouth, sucking them down to the back.
“Ah, Monica,” was all he said as he pulled them out, slowly, and
pushed them back in at the same pace. I cupped my tongue around them and
sucked. Not too hard, just enough. I knew I was doing it right when his eyelids
closed just a little, and he opened his mouth for something between a gasp and
an aah . He
rubbed them over my bottom lip, curling it back, then put them back in my
mouth. I took them eagerly, tasting his skin, feeling his warm breath on my
face.
He slid his fingers out and stepped back, taking his crotch away
from mine. I suddenly felt exposed and started to close my legs, but he pressed
them apart. I reached for his buckle, but he pulled away.
“I want to touch you,” I said.
“Not yet.”
“I’m going crazy.”
“No, you’re not. Not enough.”
With that, he moved the crotch of my panties to the side and put
the finger he’d just removed from my mouth onto my wet folds. We both gasped.
Then he slid two fingers into me. Slowly.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
He slipped them out without a word and put his thumb on the thin
strip of cotton covering my clit. Lightly. Barely touching it. Just enough so I
knew it was there, and he leaned over to kiss me, flicking his tongue in time
with his thumbnail as it gently scratched the fabric of my underwear.
I thrust my hips forward. His fingers went deep into me, but the
thumb wouldn’t press down any harder. It just grazed the cotton as he glided
his two fingers in and out.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Now?”
His fingers worked my body while he bent down to whisper into my
ear. “You have three minutes of break left.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m going to spend hours fucking you.”
My hips pushed against his hand, but he kept control: a light
touch of the thumb and a slow grind with the fingers. I was on fire. I thought
I had known what that meant, but I didn’t.
“After your shift.”
“I have a gig right after. We have to do it now.” He might have
considered it for the next three thrusts, but he didn’t give my clit more than
a stroke through fabric. I couldn’t decide if that was pleasure or torture.
“After your gig,” he said. “I have a dinner meeting anyway. Meet
me at the hotel tonight. Room 3423.”
“I have to take care of my roommate.”
“Figure it out.”
He pulled his fingers out of me. I felt the loss of them and his
tormenting thumb so deeply I moaned. Sitting there, splayed and nearly naked on
Sam’s desk, I felt foolish and exposed, not to mention ravenously aroused.
“Don’t.” I didn’t have anything more to say, except don’t stop
there; don’t leave me like this. My eyes must have pleaded with him for some
release, because his face, with its parted lips and heavy lids, shone with a
lustful satisfaction. He knew I wanted him to fuck me for hours, starting on
that desk. “You are despicable,” I said.
He pulled my skirt down, and when he leaned down to kiss me, I
returned it with no little anger on my lips. “Too true. And tonight, you’re
mine.”
“What if I don’t show?”
“You’ll show.”
After opening the door as little as possible, as if to protect my
destroyed modesty, he was gone.
***
I had another three hours to work, and I couldn’t keep my mind on
the task at hand: pouring drinks. A moron could do it. First example: Robert. A
hunk by any measure, but dumb as a post.
He slid the tray over the service bar. Each had the requisite
alcohol as listed on the order ticket, clockwise from twelve o’clock, where
he’d put the ticket. My job was to fill each glass with mixers from the soda
gun and juice bin.
Like I said, a moron could do it. But I stood there, with Debbie
next to me checking stuff off the inventory list, and I put soda in a whiskey.
I stared at the glass and watched it over flow and why? Because the pain
between my legs
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