0 comments/ 19818 views/ 0 favorites Finishing Up By: Malinov I was not looking forward to work, on that particular day. For about a year, Michelle had headed up our office. It had been a good year. Before her, Big Joe had been our boss. That year sucked. Who would move into the position was anyone's guess, but history would suggest that it would be someone terrible - unqualified and arrogant. Corporate seemed to like that in a boss. Michelle had been an exception. We would soon be back in the realm of the rule. Michelle, as I said, was a good boss. She pushed us just as hard as Big Joe had, harder in fact. Our numbers proved that Michelle was more than just competent. She had excelled in almost every way. Sadly, it came as no surprise that when Michelle received a job offer from one of our big competitors, corporate made absolutely no effort to keep her. The reward for doing good work, in our company, is being chased away. Politics was more important than profit to corporate. By being excellent, Michelle wasn't being a team player, from their twisted point of view. In that, they were wrong. Michelle was an excellent team player. The day progressed in the usual fashion, as though nothing special was underway, as though losing Michelle was just business as usual. After lunch, corporate supplied us with a big white pan cake with the words "Good Luck" splayed out in thick green frosting. Michelle, holding a plate of cake, explained for the hundredth time the wonderful opportunity she was pursuing. I sat with the rest of the guys who actually worked for her, picking at the cake with a plastic fork and feeling slightly sick. "This sucks," said Dave. The rest of us shook our heads and nodded in negative agreement. "She should take us with her," said Paul. "As if," said Tom, his mouth full of cake. "You know they're going to give her job to Randy." "Shit." "I'm not working for Randy." "Yeah, you are. We're all stuck here." "Shit." "She's not only a great boss, but also the finest looking woman who has ever worked here." "It figures. They gave us just enough good to make us hate our jobs more." "I'm quitting." "No you aren't." "No, I'm not. But I should." "The next place would be worse. Even with Randy in charge, this is the best you can do." "Shit." It was about two o'clock when Michelle called us into her office. The four of us, her guys, filed in and took our usual seats around the table. Normally, this was her procedure when she wanted to bust our balls over some screw-up. She crossed the room to shut the door. Every one of us, as usual, watched her ass move as she passed us. More than anything, I thought, I'm going to miss that ass. Michelle snapped the door shut and then did something she had never done before. She locked it. "Guys," she said as she walked back across the room and leaned against her desk, "this has been the best year of my life. We've been an incredible team, so good that it made corporate nervous. If I didn't take the job in Massachusetts, they were going to split us up. There was no way I was going to keep working here without you guys. My success depends completely on the work you've done for me. I owe you a lot." I won't lie. Part of me wanted to bust out in tears. She was the coolest boss I had ever known and life without her was going to suck. Another part of me, however, was fixated on her cleavage, the deep cavern formed between her succulent, pendulous breasts, confined in a frame of tawny lace, peeking out from the gap in her satin shirt. Every morning and afternoon, at least twice a day for about two-hundred and fifty days, I stared at her chest as she spoke. I knew the rhythm of her breath and the subtle motions of her breasts. It was hypnotic and if we worked as well as she suggested we did, under her, I would attribute the effect to the mesmerized state she put us in. "We're close enough to the end of the day. From this moment on, I am no longer your boss. That said, we have some business that needs to be finished before I go my own way. I hate to leave a job with unanswered question and unfinished business." I looked at Dave and we looked at Tom and Paul looked at us. It was Friday and our desks were clean. The thought was unspoken and serious - she'd better not spring a last minute project on us now. "Nothing like that," she said, reading our minds. "You know when we have our morning meeting and I lean over like this ..." Michelle leaned over and put her hands on the table. Her breasts nearly fell out of her shirt. Every one of us gasped. "When I'm leaning over like this, I know what you're thinking. What do my nipples look like?" "That's the truth," said Tom. "When I lean over like this," she said, dropping a pen and bending over to pick it up, "you're thinking 'Is she wearing any panties?" "Are you?" "These are questions that need answering. You're my crack team. I know you know how to find the answers. You tell me." Michelle took hold of the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted the fabric. Just as the first glimpse of tawny pubes curled into view, she said, "I've never worn panties." Our eyes stared open wide. Low groans erupted. Lips were licked. She began to unbutton her shirt. "My nipples are fantastic," she said as she pulled down the straps of her bra and reached behind release the cups and prove her point. "All right, boys," she said, revealed naked before us. "Stand at attention." She reached for Paul's buckle and expertly unfastened his belt and pants. We instinctively followed suit. As she took Paul's cock in her mouth, three more erect dicks bobbed around her head. One by one, she took sucks of each. After three times around, she lifted her ass and with her eyes directed me to move behind her. The next thirty minutes were a blur of flesh and throbs. I think the most amazing part, perhaps the most telling aspect, was how well we worked the gangbang together. Everyone knew their place, the proper position, the best angles, the hottest moves. Michelle's moans probably informed the entire office of our efficiency in this final task. Single penetrations were followed by double penetrations. Cocks fought playfully to get into her eager mouth. We made that woman cum and cum and cum. After she swallowed the last throbbing globs of our appreciation, Michelle began to collect her clothes. We sat back down around the table, exhausted and satiated. "It's been a pleasure working with you guys. I think we're finished here." A few minutes later, she was gone. As expected, Randy took over her position. He wasn't as bad as we thought he would be, but we were all agreed. Randy was no Michelle. Not by a long shot. Finishing What You Started This is my first attempt at a story, and I would appreciate any feedback. This story builds gradually but becomes quite intense, with some violent cocksucking. It was inspired by my friend, Refresher_bar. ----------- You first noticed him on that afternoon as you glanced over your shoulder in the park. You had been walking with a bounce in your step and enjoying the bathing warmth of the sun on your bare shoulders. In celebration of the spring weather, you were wearing your favorite sundress--bright yellow against your golden skin and dark hair. Its cut flattered your high, softly-rounded breasts; the swish of the knee-length skirt kept offering enticing glimpses of your athletic legs to all the other park-goers. He seemed to be watching you as he leaned nonchalantly against that tree. You raised your hand to shield the sunshine from your eyes as you turned to look back across the pond you'd been circling, and his obscured figure captivated you. The branches of the tree shifted continually in the March breeze and cast shadows around him in various patterns. He wore dark pants and a shirt in Oxford blue. You couldn't quite make out much of his olive-toned face, but you saw the gleam of his eyes, and you noticed how quickly they returned to his newspaper as your head came around. You knew he had been watching you; you knew he wanted you. As you followed the path along the pond's edge, you turned twice more only to see the same response in the distance: your turn, a flash of his eyes, a dramatic shake of the newspaper. Each repetition brought a thrill to your breast and a rush to your pulse. You arrived at the park gate sooner than you expected and you turned back one more time, half-hoping to see him following you. You were disappointed to see he had disappeared altogether, and you briefly wondered whether you had merely imagined him. As you turned out of the park and down the street toward your home, you let your mind wander and indulged your fantasies. In your mind's eye, you saw him staring at you across a dinner table and sitting quietly as you removed your black heel and ran your foot up his thigh to his hardening dick. You saw him grabbing you, pressing you against the wall of an alley, and running his hands down to your panties to find them drenched in your arousal. You saw him bending you over your living room sofa to inspect the glistening lips of your pussy and to take in that intoxicating scent. Lost in your thoughts, you find yourself on your doorstep. You pause to search your shoulder bag for your key, and you suddenly feel a pair of strong heavy hands on your upper arms. You are momentarily frightened, but a blend of excitement and arousal holds you in place. "Don't turn around yet," you hear. He stands close enough that the warmth of his breath cuts through the breeze and tickles the back of your neck. Your wispy hairs stand up on end and send a shiver down your spine as you listen. "I know you saw me. I couldn't resist following you, and I can't let you walk into that building without me. I need you." As the music of his voice echoes in your ears, you unconsciously lean back against his hands and relax until you feel your upper back pressed into his chest. "Do you want me to come in?" he asks. Your slow nod leaves no doubt. You unlock the front door and enter. As you walk up the stairs, you cross your arms across your chest. You cover his hands with yours and ensure that they do not leave your body. Arriving at the landing, you lead him into your living room and turn him around in front of you. Your fantasies haven't betrayed you this time; he is exactly what you thought he was. You push him insistently down on the couch and look up into his brown eyes as you kneel before him. Your hands grasp his knees and push them apart before slowly caressing along the seams of both legs. When your hands reach his crotch, he inhales quickly and gives an involuntary jump before releasing his breath in a deep sigh. You continue upward and run your fingers teasingly over the bulge you feel through the material of his black pants. You lower the zipper; you open the pant flap wide to reveal a pair of white boxers. You bring your nose down to them, inhaling his scent as you nuzzle and nibble playfully. You reach up to his waistband, he raises his hips off of the sofa's surface, and you pull pants and boxers together until they rest in a heap around his feet. You examine his dick and see an instrument of average size but of great beauty: 6.5" of light brown flesh, crowned with a pearl of precum. You grasp it by the base and move it about, peeking from one side to the other and feeling the soft burning skin of his shaft. As you look, you feel his left hand rise up to the back of your head and grasp your hair in a determined hold. A small tug turns your head upward and at an angle toward his face. A sense of mild apprehension comes over you, but the passion of his look reassures you. He grips the base of his cock with his right hand and points his cockhead toward your curved lips. Before you know it, you are parting your lips slightly as he smears his precum over them, the slightly-sweet taste meeting your tongue. You extend your tongue as he manipulates your mouth up and down the outside of his shaft. You open your mouth to take the expanding cockhead in and stimulate it with the rapid flicks and slow circling motions of your tongue. He begins to control your head more aggressively, driving his dick deeper and deeper into your welcoming mouth. With each stroke, your saliva coats more and more of his shaft until his cock begins to tickle the back of your throat. When he meets resistance, he holds your head in place, groaning as you drool uncontrollably down onto his balls. He removes his dick from your mouth, stands up from the couch, and unbuttons his shirt. You sit back on your heels and pull your dress up and over your head, casting it aside. Your eyes meet his as you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra. You watch his eyes widen as you lean forward, shake the straps off your shoulders, and throw the bra alongside your dress. He steps up to you again and grasps you by the hair once more. He yanks your head back a little more forcefully now, the intensity of his gaze threatening to bore into your skull, before he thrusts your compliant mouth back onto his cock. The head tickles the back of your throat as he holds you in place for a second and he pulls your nose forward into the short hairs above his shaft. Your eyes water, and the trickle from your tear ducts joins the saliva that by now extends in streams from your mouth to his balls. He finds a rhythm, and the sound of cock hitting the back of your gullet echoes against the bare walls. He pauses after every few strokes to push the tip of his dick past the curvature of your throat and to watch you gag. Your shoulders roll forward as your throat spasms to expel the invading organ. Your hair begins to catch in clumps against your tear-soaked cheeks and saliva-laden chin. Your eyes fill and your vision blurs. You keep raising your hands in a protective instinct, but he casts them violently to the side. Finding them idle, you can't help but work them down to your rapidly warming cunt. "Hands off, slut!" he instructs you, "That pussy is mine, not yours." In response, you open the lips of your mouth widely enough to moan and whimper around his flesh, and you lock your hands behind your back. You rock back and forth on your hips in rhythm to his thrusts, hoping to steal some contact for your aching clit, either from your thighs or from the floor below them. You give yourself to his cock with abandon, closing your eyes and becoming hyperaware of every nerve in your body. On occasion, your rocking brings the flesh above your pussy enough pressure to promise pleasure, as you draw your thighs together and contract the muscles of your pelvis, but you are mostly aware of the absence of direct contact. The slow trickle from your cunt adds itself to the many fluids collecting on the surface of your body. You feel that something is frustratingly lacking. You need a finger, a dick, a tongue, fuck it... a spatula, anything to get your bunch of nerves the stimulation they need. He pauses a second to slap your wet cheek gently and to command you to open your eyes. "Look at my face," he groans, "and watch what you're doing to me." You struggle to keep your eyes fixed on him as he closes his own and throws his head back. You feel his shaft moving against the inside of your mouth as his hips and knees begin to lose strength. You recognize the tell-tale signs and you redouble the vigor of your efforts, adding a regular groan that sends waves of pleasure to his sensitive cockhead. You lunge forward and back on the throbbing pipe of flesh, feeling it twitching more and more violently in response. While maintaining your devoted attention to him, you shift your concentration to the center of your body, where you contract and release the muscles lining your pussy, transforming yourself into a gasping, gagging, stuttering mess. He opens his eyes again and presses his hands hard into your shoulders before nodding to you in warning. His impending explosion sends a thrill to your nether parts as the heat in your cunt crests. You begin to moan in climax just as the first taste of his cum coats your tongue and as his hips spasm forward uncontrollably. Contractions in your abdomen and thighs contort your body, and you do all you can to keep your head high, your mouth open to his advancing cock and the spurts of seed that coat your hungry lips. As his orgasm fades, he leans forward, keeping his balance by placing both hands on your shoulders. Doing so, he feels the last few shivers of your pleasure-wracked body. You look up to him, and your glazed eyes meet his. You absent-mindedly allow his cum to follow the rivulets of saliva down your chin, to cascade down the contours of your chest, and to settle in the crease formed at the junction of your legs and abdomen. Catching your breath, you ask: "Same time tomorrow?" "That'll do," he responds, "that'll do just fine." Finishing Where Tim Left Off I sat on the couch, the room lit by the flicker of some skin-emax show. There was a tumbler of scotch in my hand; one of far too many for the day, but then, this was our annual vacation with a group of friends at the beach and excessive consumption was practically required. This was the third night though, around 11pm, early by first night standards, but well past the breaking point for most after three days of hard partying in the sun and sand. So at this point it wasn't surprising that almost everyone was passed out in drunken stupors on their various hotel beds. I, however, had endured and was the last one awake, or so I thought. My wife, Melissa, and I, had rented a condo with our best friends, Tim and Traci. Melissa had put away more than a few mango daiquiris and had crawled to bed an hour before. Tim and Traci had disappeared about half an hour earlier, kissing and fondling each other in a drunken frenzy. Paige, another friend, had passed out on the floor in front of the couch. She was 24, fit and very attractive, and she was wearing a bikini top and board shorts. As she slept, I occasionally peeked at the sides of her breasts, which spilled out slightly from the bikini, rising and falling with each breath. The sight was making me hard and had prompted me to switch to the skin-emax flick. I was seriously contemplating a trip to the bathroom to relieve the tension, when through my alcoholic stupor I heard movement behind the couch, in the kitchen. I turned to find Traci, still obviously three sheets to the wind, wearing a short t-shirt and panties. She'd been frolicking about all weekend in a bikini, with the occasional sarong tied around her waist, and so the lacy panties probably shouldn't have turned me on so much; but the fact was everyone got to see the bikini bottoms - the panties were erotic both because they weren't meant to be seen and because they were lacy and a bit see-through. She was fumbling around the fridge, trying not to make too much noise. It occurred to me that she could've walked in at any time before I heard her in the fridge. I immediately thought back to the skin-emax flick and wondered whether I'd been caught ogling our friend's chest, or even more embarrassing: fondling my cock every so often. Mortified, but determined to pretend I'd done nothing embarrassing, I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. "Whatchya looking for?" I asked. Traci turned and smiled, but it wasn't a real smile, it seemed forced and there was something in her eyes I couldn't quite place. "Water." She continued to root around in the fridge. She stopped, then turned towards me. I tried to stay focused on her face, lest she think I was trying to stare at her panties. She said, "Tim is too fucked up to finish what he started, so I'm going to hang out and watch TV I guess..." She looked angry, but there was also something else. Clearly she was pissed that Tim had drank too much - Tim and Traci were our best friends, and I'd seen that same argument play out a hundred times before. But usually Traci would be seething and want to go home, and that would be the end of it from my perspective. Here, though, stuck in a condo with friends, she couldn't get away to have a real spat with Tim. Plus, apparently, Tim had passed out on her midway through whatever they'd gotten up to, and now she needed to vent to someone. The thought was titillating to say the least. I'd coveted her for years; she was a regular feature in my spank-bank, and here she was admitting that she'd just been trying to get laid and hadn't gotten off. "That's not right...I mean, depending on what he started." I grinned back at her, hoping to diffuse her anger and turn the conversation toward sex. "Oh, you know what he started. But then he finished and passed out. That's definitely not right." Suddenly another thought occurred to me: she wasn't just angry - she was still horny! I realized that acting on it could have some serious consequences; especially if I'd misinterpreted it. In a split second, though, I knew I'd risk it - there might never be another chance to seduce her. "That's just fucked up - you know I'd never leave you unsatisfied." I waited for a response that would tell me she was interested. Her demeanor changed then, a shift that was palpable, and I realized at once that my response had sounded more serious than joking. She'd come out here pissed and horny, and drunk, and she'd been venting, but it hadn't ever entered her mind that I might take her intimate admission as an invitation to extra-marital activity. She tried to downplay the sudden sexual tension with her response, but I could tell she wasn't totally turned off: "You're just as drunk as he is, you probably couldn't do any better." There was an element of challenge in her voice. I didn't want to lose the moment, and so I responded maybe too earnestly. "Oh, I KNOW I could do better. I'd just get you off first!" Traci looked into my eyes only for a second, but it was enough. It was one of those moments when a quick, searching glance communicated a thousand thoughts and emotions in a heartbeat: an electric combination of lust and desire and adrenaline because we both knew instantly that we were going to ignore every social constraint and act on our impulses. It was definitely a mutual thing: she tilted her head and moved towards me as I did the same, and when our lips met it wasn't a timid, first-time kiss; it was urgent and open-mouthed, savage and carnal. The feel of her soft lips on mine was amazing; and her enthusiasm for pushing her tongue around my mouth was a great turn-on. Melissa wasn't a great kisser and didn't really get into frenching. Traci was a master. I was too turned on and too drunk to care that there was a faint taste that I recognized; the same taste Melissa's mouth had after she'd blown me. In fact, the idea that Traci had just blown Tim a little while earlier brought me to a new erotic height. Meanwhile, my hands roamed her back, down to her ass and felt her tight cheeks, mostly exposed by her skimpy panties. All of this, plus the feel of her pressing her tits into my chest had me painfully hard in moments. Her hands began to roam as well, and when she grasped my cock through my pants, I took this as license to go up under her shirt and grab her tits. After only a few seconds of this, though, she pulled away. I was struck with anxiety then, thinking she had come to her senses and wanted to stop - I was fully committed and wanted to fuck her silly. But she glanced at Paige, sleeping on the floor, and I realized she was just worried that we'd get caught. We both looked at the balcony at the same time and decided wordlessly that we would move out there. She crept toward the door, taking my hand and pulling me along. Paige didn't move at all as we slid the door open a crack, squeezed through and slid it closed again. Outside Traci took control: she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled me toward her. This Time our kiss was less frantic though we explored each other's mouths with our tongues passionately. I groped her ass again for a minute and then went to slide my hand back up to her breast, but she stopped me. "I believe you promised me something." She grinned mischievously and then pushed my head down. At first I thought she wanted me to suck her tits but realized as she pushed further that she wanted me to eat her: to bring her off before we went any further. I knelt down and ran my hands up her thighs, then pressed my face to her panty-clad mons. I could hear the soft lap of the tide in the background, there was a slight warm breeze. I thrilled to the thought of exposing her to the world, even though it was the middle of the night and very dark. Slowly, I pulled both sides of the panties down in unison, exposing her almost shaved cunt to my eyes for the first time. As I peeled the material down her hips and away from that magical "v" between her thighs, I noticed how wet she was, obviously as turned on as I. I felt a rush of excitement mixed with satisfaction. My best friend wanted as desperately to fuck me as I did her. But I noticed something else as well: the crotch of her panties, and her pussy for that matter, were sticky. Apparently I'd been mistaken - I'd assumed she'd blown Tim, and he'd passed out afterwards. In reality, they'd fucked and Tim had finished inside her, but not brought her off. A perverse thrill passed through me as I realized Traci knew this and she wanted me to eat her. She'd pushed my head down here for just this purpose. Not only to eat her used pussy, but to taste my best mate's cum in the process. It was kinkier than anything I'd ever done, and I wanted to do it. She stepped out of the panties that I'd pushed to her ankles, and lifted one leg, resting her foot on the bottom of the balcony rail. I moved my face to her thigh and licked my way inside towards her cunt. She shuddered and grabbed my head, forcing my face into her sloppy quim. I stuck my tongue out and pushed it between her lips, thrusting into her hole, intending to lick my way up to her clit. With the first thrust I could taste her cunt juice and the pungent salty flavor of Tim's jizz. It was wetter than I imagined - and after a moment a fair amount rolled onto my face and lips as I tongue-fucked her. She writhed in ecstasy as I ate her snatch, and finally squeezed her legs together for at least a half a minute, almost smothering me. Then she pulled at the top of my shirt frantically, begging me to stand up and fuck her. "Oh fuck that was hot. Stick your cock in me. Fuck me." She kissed my face, and licked the combined fuck juices from my chin and lips. I unbuckled my jeans, let them fall, pushing my boxers after them, halfway down my thighs. Her fingers wrapped around my stiff prick, and she breathed out "ohh" as she started stroking up and down. I was impatient to feel her twat envelop my dick, and so I reached down and spread her lips, getting turned on once again by the sloppy, used feel of her box. My cock slid in easily and I fucked her hard, trying not to give in to the urge to jizz, trying not to think that I was fucking my best friend; that my dick was in her twat; that my other friend's dick had filled that same place only a little while earlier with his cum. I somehow managed to hold out long enough to bring her off, and then let loose, my whole body tensing and my legs shaking as squirt after squirt from my cock sent waves of pleasure through me. After a moment, my cock softened a bit and I felt my cum slide out and down our thighs. We rested against each other up against the wall, breathing heavily. Then she whispered in my ear: "You know you ate Tim's cum from my pussy?" Post-climax, I was far more concerned with the implications of that, and I might not have admitted it if not for the tone of her whisper, and the fact that I knew she'd wanted me to do it from the beginning. Still, I didn't want to sound like I'd been thrilled to do it. So I responded honestly, but only saying: "Yeah." "That's so fucking hot!" She pushed herself against me and shoved her tongue into my mouth again. Minutes later, we crept back inside to go to our respective spouses. We left the next day, and so there wasn't much chance to be alone and discuss what had happened. Neither Traci nor I were the kind to sneak around on our spouses or fuck our friends over, so it was awkward. It stayed that way the next few times we all met for drinks, though Tim and Melissa didn't have a clue. A couple weeks passed, and I spanked it constantly reliving our fuck; especially going down on her, then feeling guilty and shamed about the whole thing afterwards. Finally, I called Traci to go to lunch one day and she agreed. I was relieved that she'd said yes, but anxious about the impending conversation. I didn't want to lose such a good friend, or allow all of the friendships between the four of us as couples to unravel, but there was something more: a hint of scintillation, not quite the possibility of a repeat, but just the acknowledgment of our tryst in the light of day, sober. Unfortunately she had to cancel and I wondered for several days whether she was purposely avoiding me until I got a call from her, asking if I could come over to her house the next morning. She said Tim was leaving again and it would be a good time to talk. I could barely sleep that night, alternately filled with guilt, lying next to Melissa, and filled with lust, imaging the feel of Traci's skin under my fingers and her tongue in my mouth. To be continued...