Please

"Sit" he orders me.

'What am I, you're fucking dog?' I can't help thinking. But my glossed lips stay shut. Lips he hasn't even kissed. Lips that he camethisclose to when he greeted me, only to pull away after his warm breath hit them with his hello.

We are in his study. The walls are green and the light diffused so it seems den like. As if I stayed too long I'd never extricate myself. He takes the leather chair only after I sit in the wooden one 5 feet away.

Tonight he's not wearing a belt. I remember it pressing into my belly cold and thick,
how he pinned my arms when I fumbled with it. "Patience" he'd hissed in my ear.

So there is no metallic interlude before he starts on the buttons of his fly, one- two- three- he looks at me to see how much I want it. It must be enough as with a few more tugs his thick cock is out, nestled by the soft pillow of his balls. I bite the insides of my cheeks, wanting to kneel in front of him, to lick, nuzzle, kiss, worship him. As if he can read my mind he shakes his head, and starts to stroke.

A bit of pre-cum leaks from the tip, I lick my bottom lip knowing it would be salty as I licked that soft skin. Skin so soft there's nothing like it. No food, no fabric, no liquid or solid can match the luscious softness that is a man's cock.

"Please?"

"No"

He grips himself harder, his cock surging red. He grabs the lube he knows I like and
drizzles some on the treat that should be mine.

"God, didn't know you were such a showman."

"Being a brat won't get you anywhere."

He forgets about me for awhile, his head leaning back, eyes closed, hand jerking a steady rhythm. When I let out a whimper he opens his eyes but doesn't lose the beat.

"Okay" he breathes heavily. I stand,

"No"

"But,"

"Crawl"

I hit my knees with a speed I didn't think my dignity would allow. My eyes don't leave his cock as I crawl to it. My hands find his knees and his hand is in my hair. As I lean in he pulls me back by my curls. I look to him brow furrowed,

"What do you say?"

hey pretty

I slip into romance novels like motel rooms. I cheat on my intellect with these flashy tickets out of reality. I come once, twice, three times. Yet, its not enough. The clenching, tensing, gushing is nothing compared to the real thing. The feel of flesh on mine, flesh not skin. Flesh sounds more carnal, its more than a handshake or a hug. Flesh is you against me top to toe separated by only the slip of sweat. Me, spine curved atop my comforter, hand between legs, that is snacking when I need a meal.

My newly minted gym rat status has brought libido along with muscle. At this particular gym there is little eye candy beyond the TV screens, but there is one exception.

I rythmically pull at the machine, 1, 2, hearing him grunt as he counts his own. My eyes shut and I imagine myself on my knees in front of him, giving him whole new reasons to grunt. 5, his hands in my hair, 6 tasting the salty tip of him, 7 dragging my nails down those carved thighs. I snap open my eyes. I’ve got to stop this or I’ll be thrown out of here for pulling down his shorts and getting a taste. Another groan from him. Fuck he’s got to stop that or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.

crush

My romantic life is mostly crushes these days. I used to hate them, they would lock me in a wheel of thought, "him, him, him". Pretty soon I could see why a fox would be willing to chew off its own leg to escape the trap. Never could figure out where to bite. They were incapacitating, excrutiating. They didn't have the fluffy, victorian politeness of infatuation. Or the groovy swing of a 'yen'. Nor were they the squirming, warmth or puppy love. They were a pin you to the ground, wish it would end, crush. Now they are nice, light. Something to look forward to like your favorite tv-show at the end of a long day.

One is at work, one of the tech guys. Dark hair, kind eyes, scruffy jawline. He's our local heart throb with half of the junior high girls giggling at his presence. He had a girlfriend, so what did I care really? I know how shitty I feel when I fuck someone else's boyfriend. Now that he's single, well there are suddenly more reasons to call the tech office for computer help.