fire drill

‘Where are you?’ you say. It’s 9.15 am and you’re stuck outside in the office parking lot in the middle of a fire drill, shuffling your feet and watching the muster point wardens disinterestedly checking people off their lists.

‘Kitchen,’ he says, on the other end of the line – you called him just to say hi, and also to pass the time, and also you’re maybe in love with him. Just an unofficial little bit in love. You can hear the clatter of dishes in the background, the sloshing of liquid. ‘Coffee.’

There’s a little silence.

‘Whaddaya wearing?’ you say, singsong, almost a joke but not quite. He clears his throat, makes a kind of grunting chuckle.

‘Housecoat,’ he says, ‘and those, uh, those shorts you got me that time.’

That takes a minute to hit, but then

‘oh!’ you say, and stop. You’d tossed them in his basket for a laugh when he’d been through town a few months back and you’d done a 2 am Walmart run: a black micro-fibre thong dotted with grey stars. You take a second to picture it stretched up snug around his balls, tight over the line of his –

He’s talking.

‘…not so bad,’ you catch, ‘and as you know I’ve got one fine fuckin’ ass.’

‘Shit,’ you say, and your co-workers look at you, so it must have been pretty loud. ‘I never thought you’d actually – gosh – what are – I mean, you’re just hanging all thongalicious in the kitchen?’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘since you ask, I’m sittin’ on the edge of a table and I’m gonna jerk one off pretty quick here.’

‘Shit!’ you say, and take four steps away from the cluster of officemates, turn around. ‘Fuck, c’mon, you can’t do this to me – I’m stuck in a fire drill.’

‘Too bad you ain’t got my hose,’ he says, but before you can mock him there’s a groan over the line, so low and gut-real it makes you flush up your throat. ‘Oh honey wish you were here.’

You lick your lips.

‘What are you doing?’ you say, a little frantic, ‘they’re gonna call us in soon, quick quick.’ You can see the wardens starting to nod at each other across the parking lot. ‘What are you – are you – how hard are you? Are the shorts pulled right down?’

‘Yup.’ You can hear his breathing pick up a little and the thump of something – a chair leg? – in the background. ‘Got ‘em pulled right down under the balls, like you like ‘em.’ You flush bright red, put your hand up to your face. ‘And I’m – yeah, I’m hard as they come, honey – fuck.’

‘What?’ You’re walking back up to the building now. Everyone else is inside and the last of the monitors is standing at the door, obviously waiting for you. ‘Shit – I can’t really say any more, going back into the – I’ll listen though, keep, keep telling me.’

‘OK,’ he says, and you’d swear you can hear the thwick thwick of his fist jerking quick over his dick. ‘That’s hot, baby, you on the line but you can’t touch yourself or even make a noise – uggghh, getting close – christ – bet you’re getting wet cause you want it, don’t you, you want this dick so good and hard between your legs, baby, fuck, fuuuuck, just say yeah, say it, say it, Christ I’m gonna-’

Yeah,’ you say, halfway up the stairs, perfectly still and gripping the rail with one hand like it’s salvation, and you hear him grunt twice close together, long and torn up from the bottom of his chest, and you’re gripping your phone so hard it’s leaving dents in the pads between your knuckles.

He laughs, warm like melted honey, and it goes right through you.

‘Ok there?’ he says, and you take a light shuddery breath, make your feet start up the stairs again. You’re astonished they’re working.

‘I’ll call you later,’ you say, like a threat, ‘once I’m home,’ and he says

‘You’d better.’

fire drill

sloppy

I wasn’t planning anything, hadn’t even drank a full cup of coffee yet – was just looking for my comfortable bra, dropped (I thought) lazily on the bathroom floor before a bath the night before. But when I open the door from the hallway he’s standing beside the bathtub, towelling off, room still warm and foggy from the shower.

I don’t say anything, don’t have to; there’s a second of hesitation (coffee bus routes trousers to iron) and then I step towards him, peeling my shirt off and stepping out of my panties in a single movement, cause he just looks so good: drops of water still glimmering over his shoulders, nipples popped from the rough rub of the towel, his cock hanging half-soft between sturdy thighs.

I put the pads of my fingers just over his collarbone, lean in a little, enough that I can lick across his lower lip and press into a deeper kiss, mouths open, wet and warm and lips still sleep-soft. My palms drag down over his chest, slow, feeling every inch, drag down over his stomach and pause over his waist. His hips sway forwards, hungry, involuntary, and his cock bobs against the inner crease of my thigh, stiffening.

I touch it, just a little, fingers stroking light over the crown, just enough to feel his breath grow quicker, harsh. Then I press my palms against the front of his thighs and sink to my knees, roll my head a little sideways so his cock slaps gentle against my temple.

Baby,’ I say, and take him in my mouth, tongue soft and hungry and suckling along his length, take him deeper till the head of his cock bumps against my soft palate and I jerk just a little, resettle my hands on his thighs, breath in deeply through my nose. He’s looking down on me, dark-eyed, mouth a little open, wet hair fallen into his eyes. I let the saliva pool under my tongue and run out the corners of my mouth, bob a couple of times up and down his cock, getting everything wet and – sloppy, slick with want, undignified.

‘Morning,’ you say, around his cock, and start to suck in earnest, and his head knocks back soft against the wall and he starts to groan.

sloppy

3 things

The thing about couch sex is – well, there’s three things, okay.

The first thing is when he puts his beer down on the dinky table beside the empty kitkat wrappers and looks across the couch at you, smiles a little, squeezes the hand he’s been holding, and you straddle his lap and brush your fingers back through his hair, run a thumb down over the line of his nose and his lips and his chin. You kiss along his lower lip while you unbutton his shirt, slip your hands inside along his chest, let your thumbs brush over his nipples. You can feel his dick harden inside his jeans and there’s nothing, nothing, not even coming is quite like the feel of that still-soft quickening. His hips press a little up from the cushion, up against your panties, and you squeeze his hips between your knees and that, that’s the first thing.

The second thing is when you’ve dashed all warm and flustered to the bedroom for a condom and come back to find that his jeans and briefs are around his shins and he’s just sitting there with one hand up in his hair, pushing his bangs sweaty off his forehead, and the pink curve of his dick is leaking against his stomach and he parts his legs a little wider and pats one thigh and grins. Your hands are shaking a little, too clumsy to get the condom on at the first try, but once you’ve got it you run a thumb up to the root of his cock and angle it just enough to line up and sink down on him and that, that’s the second thing, the wet-thick moment when you’re not quite separate or joined, you’re – illimitable, poised together on a breathless bone-deep please .

When he gets close he lets his head fall back on the spine of the couch, throat long and open, eyes half-lidded, watching you fuck yourself shaken-apart on his cock. When you start to falter – thighs giving out, your fingers between your legs rubbing quicker and desperate, shaky with want – he tightens his hands over your ass and pulls you in against him and jackhammers up into you, pumping his hips, his thighs under your ass gone taut and hard with the effort. If you look down then you can see him bite his lower lip, see it slide through his teeth slow and bloodless-white and that, that’s the third thing.

3 things

stairwell

You’re just down the hall from your office and your back’s against the wall and the guy who’s been in the archive room all day, going by your desk, winking, eating frosted donuts and licking the powder off his lips, he’s standing in front of you: not crowding, not too close, no, but firmly there (and firm, under the cheap white dress shirt, you’ve not not-noticed), and he’s eyefucking you in the most respectful way possible. It’s taking a conscious effort to keep your hips from swaying towards him.

You lick your lips and say ‘is there some place we can go?’

His lips tighten, a flicker. Not anger. Satisfaction, and your belly starts to ache.

He pulls you into the stairwell and presses you back against the wall. There’s a second, two, where he holds his face a little away from yours, lips open, eyes dancing. You move against him, reflexive, but he’s got a hand on either side of your face and he’s holding you there, suspended between him and the wall and the surface of the world. The butterflies below your breastbone start to ricochet skyward.

‘You want it, hey?’ he says, not insult in his voice but delight, and his eyes are sparkling, sparking, and then he pulls you together and his mouth is the world exact, wet, tugging. He’s sucking on your tongue and his hips are pressed up against yours, so tight you can feel the cold of his belt buckle through your cotton sundress.

One of his thighs slips between your legs and, god, it’s thick, muscled. The front of his slacks are flush against the hollow of your hip and you feel the bite of a crooked zipper head and beside it the hard line of his cock.

‘Oh,’ you say, in a gasp, and push your hips forward. He kisses you with a kind of surging suddenness, and you tip your head back and let him suck on the skin of your neck and below the lobe of your ear.

‘Wish you could fuck me right here,’ you say, and he makes a choked noise into your neck. Your bodies have slotted hungrily into a kind of rhythm, pressgrindrock, and then he scuffles his foot and his thigh finds where the cusp of your pubic bone meets the hood of your clit and your whole body startles, jerks in his arms.

Oh,’ he says, danger-sweet, and rocks against you again, careful, hardly moving so much as just shifting the weight of his body. There’s a noise in the dampened quiet of the stairwell and it takes you a couple of seconds to know that it’s you, moaning, low and gritty, cause he’s got one hand down the back of your panties and two of his fingers are crooking up just inside you, thick and practiced.

Fuck,’ you say, once, clear, before all you can think is breathing, keeping quiet, a little, please, quiet, and then you’re coming, pulsing around his fingers, legs giving out, and he holds you up against the wall and breathes unsteady behind the shell of your ear while he comes.

stairwell

ride

‘Yeah,’ he says, low, rough, edge of a groan underneath it, ‘yeah, just like that, baby, fuck yourself on my dick.’

She’s riding him, thighs clamped tight around his hips, knees digging into his ribs and hands planted flat on his chest. All of her focus and most of her muscles are working, straining with the thrust of her hips and the roll of her ass to take him deeper, bear down on him harder, let the dragging heat of him turn all to fire inside her. She stopped talking awhile ago – trembling, lust-blind, the world narrowed down to the hunger between her legs and the hard curve of his cock. His hands are around her hips and he’s moving with her, following her momentum.

‘You feel so good,’ he says, not patter but like he really means it, like after a couple decades of fucking it can still take him sometimes by surprise. ‘Come on, yeah, just like that, fuck, fuck, so deep.’ He drops an arm to the bed and gets himself up on one elbow, watches her face, puts a hand soft over her belly. She’s almost sobbing now, making little frustrated sounds of want, her thighs burning with effort. He lets his hand drop to her hip, thumb caressing her skin, breathing heavy.

‘I want,’ she says, ‘I want,’ and she leans back and settles her hands back beside his thighs, arches back so she’s pumping her hips from her haunches, head tipped back. He strokes the pad of one thumb down over her clit and she shudders, shivers. Then he braces his forearms against the bed and thrusts his hips up once, holds them there, just enough that the root of his cock presses a little harder against her. She cries out and jerks against him, uneven, frantic with want.

‘Yeah,’ he says, warm and husky and sure, like the feel of his lips when they’d first kissed her, ‘yeah, baby, you like that? gonna come all over my cock all soft and tight? yeah, c’mon baby, make those pretty noises, show me, show me how bad you want it.’

She lets out a long, broken moan, but he’s already got himself up on one elbow and grabbed her ass with one hand, is fucking up into her fast and hard, hardhotwet, and she puts her hands around the backs of his knees and sets her teeth and screams.

ride