Copyright © 2015 by Tiki Kritzer Seger. All rights reserved.
The automatic blinds rumble as they shut out the bright sun; I am left in a cool, dim twilight of softly humming computers, printers and various types of telephones.
It's Monday morning and I have a busy week ahead of me. I'm standing in my office rethinking my schedule while I idly fondle my breasts. I rub gently at the raised nubs of my nipples as my mind wanders through the maze of issues with which I will be confronted throughout the day.
The office door quietly opens behind me. Before I can move, a deep voice growls "If you turn around, I'll leave immediately. As long as you stay the way you are, I'll take it as consent to continue."
Even as my mouth starts to form the words "Continue what?", large, well formed, very masculine hands slide around my torso and cup the undersides of my breasts. Strong fingers with clean, bluntly clipped nails slowly approach my nipples in increasingly small circles. As his thumbs brush across the raised peaks my stomach clenches and I supress a groan deep in my throat.
The hands and wrists are browned to the color of toast and there is a light sprinkling of dark hair on them. He pinches the tips of my nipples; first gently, then somewhat harder. The rough caresses cause them to stiffen and I arch my back slightly to increase the pressure. Even as I start to accept this blatent assult on my body, he lightly bites the back of my neck, then nibbles on my earlobe with soft, smooth, just barely moistened lips. The tip of his tongue traces the whorls of my ear and I shiver uncontrollably.
He starts talking, his tone low, muttering, almost as though he is unable to hold the words in "Every day, every dammed day, I watch you from across the street as you rub your breasts and body while you are on the phone or as you pace around your office. Sometimes I get so hard watching you that it's painful."
Abruptly, he pulls me back against his solid torso and holds my hips in place as he rythemically rubs his hardness against my soft, skirt-clad buttocks. I close my eyes and lean back against him - allowing him full control of the situation. It is almost startling when he pulls the keys off of my skirt band and locks the door behind me. A hand pushes me gently forward so that I have to catch myself on the conference table.
The keys land on the table next to my hands and he slides his palms up my nylon covered legs in almost the same motion. My skirt bunches around my waist as he cups my sex in his hand and lazily rubs his thumb over the hooks holding my black, lace bodysuit closed. His other hand grasps my right breast and he plucks gently at the nipple. A flick of his fingers and my bodysuit falls open; only my silky turquoise pantyhose seperate his skin from my flesh. This time I can't supress the moan and it comes out as a strangled whisper "Please... oh God, please...".
He hooks his thumbs into the top of my pantyhose and yanks them down to my knees. For a moment, he is gone and I hear the rasp of a lowered zipper then the slither of cloth. With no warning he is inside me, slamming into my willing body again and again. The fingers of one hand dig almost painfully into my left hip and the others drum against my clitoris. I'm sobbing and shaking uncontrollably as I come in swells and waves of almost unbearable pleasure.
One last thrust and he is still. I can feel him throbbing and jerking and hear his harsh breathing as he struggles to stay in control of himself.
He slips out of me. There is a rustle of clothing. A hand slides gently, once, across my neither cheeks. There is a jangle of keys, then the door opens and closes quietly.
I quickly dress, fix my hair and makeup and attach the keyring to my skirt. The phone rings at the same time as the automatic blinds start to rise and sunlight streams into the office. As I lift the receiver, some dustmotes dance across my laptop screen.