Improvisational Fucking At Work – Part Two
Thursday, May 31st, 2007He runs his hands through my hair, delineating the backs of my ears and the line
of my jaw. The jeans fall to the floor and I pull them away from his feet, as his
knees relax him into the chair, and he starts reaching for my breasts.
My hands start tracking towards him. “Oh no you don’t” he commands, and lifts my
whole body by my upper arms to a standing position, my mouth losing contact with
his cock. He holds me in front of him, leans me closer, kisses me with fire then
grabs my bottom lip with his teeth. His hands slide down my arms to my wrists,
which are suddenly held behind me by just one hand. He’s strong — I could escape
but I won’t. Can’t. Don’t. The teeth in my lip press harder, the sensation and
the association of the imprisoned arms sending signals my Pavlovian response is
helpless before. I moan as the endorphins start to take, losing track of what
he’s doing.
He’d taken the belt from the jeans as he lowered them, and it’s now being
fastened around my arms, restricting my arms and holding them behind me. He
releases my lip, looks at me with craving, lechery, desire… “Now go back to
what you were doing”, he decrees. I obey, gladly, dropping to my knees in front
of him and taking his manhood once more into my mouth.
I feel inspired, inflamed, inebriated by the changes in his body. His breathing
starts to catch as I apply my lips up and down the sides of his cock, then around
the top, brushing it as if with one long, absorbing kiss. Running my tongue
around the base, I start to trace the lines on the scrotum, then gently take each
ball in my mouth and let my tongue play with it as I savour the taste of him. My
tongue draws a thin line right under the sac, as he slumps in his chair and
abandons himself to the feeling. My nose precedes the mouth back to the cock, and
I then lick from bottom to top, finally taking the whole in my mouth and staring
the longed-for in-and-out motion he so desires.
I have to concentrate on not overbalancing without the use of my hands when his
hands gently come to land on the back of my head and urge me in a faster and more
intense rhythm. His groin raises to meet me, and he starts uttering small moans,
almost inaudible yet as clear to me as a summons to further action. I relax my
throat, and gradually work his thickness down as far as I can, as his groans
metamorphose into higher, almost distressed cries and he compels me deeper,
farther and faster. His cock becomes solid and utterly erect, and his whole lower
body is climbing to meet me — when he removes my head with an unintelligible
entreaty and slumps to the chair, sweating, panting, not yet satisfied.
“Not yet”, he gasps, then takes better control of himself. “Not yet”, he repeats,
“We have a long way to go tonight.”
He leads me back to his office, and stands me in front of his computer, facing
the screen. He then sits in his chair behind me, and starts running his hands up
and down the sides of my body. Gradually, his hands start edging around to the
front, where my breasts stand cocked and tender. Deliberately llingering, he
slides his hands up and around the edges of the breasts, then towards but not
quite to the nipples. The palms of his hands brush oh-so-lightly across the
nipples, and I lean into the sensation, seeking a more certain touch.
“Naughty!” he declares. “I’ll have to teach you to behave.”
He takes my plait, which hangs down my back to below waist level, and wraps it
around my wrists, fastening the end inside the belt. My head is tilted upwards,
unable to move or see what he is doing. One hand seems to be at the computer,
while the other roams randomly around my front, with no set purpose or
destination in mind — or are both hands there? I can’t tell — my traitorous
body is losing its ability to tell individual touches in the surge of stimulation
being provided.
