Improvisational Fucking At Work - Part Two

He 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.