0 comments/ 20990 views/ 0 favorites Urgent By: jthserra Allison raced to the sanctity of her office and closed the door with an emphatic click. Her heart hammered so loudly she could not hear the comforting thrum of her computer. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and tried to compose herself. She licked her parched lips and tasted the salty, tiny beads of sweat that had formed there. She leaned against the desk to support herself. Her knees seemed to have liquefied, not to mention the sloshing of her other nether regions. Allison knew she had to pull herself together. Gently she wrapped her arms around her midriff and rocked slightly while incanting "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod." There was an insistent knocking on her door, and then... and then... and then it would all happen all over again, just like it had day after day. The message would pop up on her e-mail, flashing URGENT, her door would open with her secretary in a tizzy: "Ms. Vu, Mr. Day wants to see you in his office immediately," and she would spill her coffee onto her new suede shoes. She grabbed her purse, a pad, and headed for the kitchen for something to mop the coffee off her shoes. The e-mail continued to flash on her computer while she cleaned her shoes and headed into Mr. Day's office. "Allison, I'm glad you're here. Come on in, I think you know everyone," Mr. Day said with a broad smile. She silently slinked in the door, tucked an errant strand of blond hair behind an ear and faced the Board of Directors. She grabbed the back of an empty chair and turned it slightly. "Gentleman," she then paused and looked at the Western District General Manager, the single female board member, "Ms. Butcher." She quickly slipped into her chair, wondering if anyone noticed the coffee-stained shoes. Allison wasn't surprised at the "impromptu" meeting, in fact, she had known about it as soon as she woke up that morning. It was just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. "Everyone, Ms. Vu is the reason for our present success. Her program not only solved the Y2K and the leap year bugs, it actually transformed them into an unprecedented windfall. So at this time, I would like to introduce you to our newest Vice-President, Ms. Allison D. Vu." Then the board members gave her a standing ovation. Nothing changed; everything repeated itself over and over again. Yeah, sure there were a few minor changes: one day it was apple juice that spilled on her shoes, what a sticky mess that was. Once when she tucked her hair behind her ear, she noticed her hair was red. But otherwise, she kept repeating this day over and over again. She knew she would spend the rest of the day with The Board. Allison also knew she would go home, put on her sexiest dress, and spend the evening at Birdland 2, the local jazz bar. And while listening to some jazzy blues, she would study the couples in the bar remembering their faces, night after night. While surveying the bar she noticed a man strangely out of place. He sat at a table in a short sleeve shirt clicking away at a laptop computer. His hair, mostly dark, with a sprinkling of gray seemed to stand up as if electrified Suddenly, the strange man looked up from the computer and stared directly at her. He didn't peruse the crowd, or glance around; he looked directly at her as if he knew exactly who she was. Suddenly unnerved, Allison handed a twenty to her waitress, slipped out the door, walked quickly to her car and sped away. Safely home, she slumped onto her bed. She didn't know why the scene at the club unnerved her so, she had been through it all before, again and again. And she knew that in the morning she would find him waiting for her in the parking garage. He would try to say something, something she never heard, and she would then rush onto the elevator and watch the doors close just before he got on. She would then hear him shouting to her, "Do it Deja, do it!" "Deja" she whispered to herself, "How could he know my middle name. No one knows my middle name." Each night she would drift to sleep wondering what it all meant. But tonight was different; she had to change something, to escape this infernal loop. And she knew that strange man had something to do with everything. The next morning, it all happened again. The strange man, the rush to the elevator, the words she didn't hear, everything the same. Except today when he shouted, "Do it Deja, do it!" Allison shouted back, "What? Do what?" "The e-mail, read it, run the program," she heard as the elevator lifted her away. Allison raced to the sanctity of her office and closed the door with an emphatic click. Her heart hammered so loudly she could not hear the comforting thrum of her computer. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and tried to compose herself. Ignoring everything else she walked to the computer, the e-mail popped up, flashing URGENT. It was dated February 30th! She opened the e-mail:   Deja       Please run the attached program. Allison took a breath and smiled at the program name: Deja.Vu. Still wondering how he got her name, she double clicked on the program and suddenly nothing was the same. Urgent I look at her, and I know I want her. It's not the first time I've seen her tonight; I got here about four hours ago, and she was already here when I walked through the door. She hasn't danced at all. She's done nothing but watch the crowd, her dark eyes glittering with the reflection of the club's lights. I caught sight of her every once in a while, and I kind of wondered if she was waiting for someone, or maybe got stood up...but the DJ's been good, the guys have been cute, the drinks have been free, and I've had more important things on my mind. Until now. Right now, there's nothing more important in the whole world. Right this second, I look at her, and I know I want her. I want to fuck her. The thought has actual weight inside my head, like my mind is a piece of cloth stretched taut and the need to have hot, dirty, kinky sex with her is a stone that's been dropped onto it. My nipples suddenly go achingly stiff inside my shirt like the temperature in the room has gone down by about thirty degrees, but I feel almost feverishly hot. My pussy feels even hotter than the rest of me. It feels like all the blood in my body is rushing right between my thighs, and my clit is swelling and throbbing and pulsing like a second heartbeat. I just stand there for a couple of seconds, torn between finishing the dance with Tom and the sudden, urgent need to jam my fingers into her cunt and listen to her whimper as she jills me off until we both cum. It's not even a contest. I don't even know Tom's last name, and my pussy is making all the decisions for me now. I walk away in the middle of the song, ignoring Tom's confused pleas for me to return. Listening to Tom isn't going to get me fucked any faster. And I am going to get fucked. I realize that as I head towards her table, almost shoving people out of my way in my haste to get over to her. We're not going to have a conversation, talk about going someplace quieter for a cup of coffee and then make an actual date for tomorrow night. We are going to rut like bitches in heat. I hope to hell she's got more self-control than I do, because I know that if it's up to me, I am going to sit on her lap right here in the club, pull down my top so she can grab my titties, and grind my pussy against hers until the cops show up. I know this isn't normal. I know that I've never done anything more with another girl than a drunken kiss with Sally Jo Kowalski in the limo after prom. I know that I didn't even come here planning to have sex with a guy, let alone french-kiss another girl while my hands roam all over her body until my fingers find her hot, tight, juicy cunt and spike my way inside until she moans into my mouth. I know I haven't had nearly enough to drink to feel this way. But none of that knowledge actually matters. It's not important next to the sheer unstoppable force of my desire. She's making me want her, I'm sure of it; I can see it in the little smile that quirks at the corner of her mouth and the hungry look in her eyes. But all that makes me think of is how fucking hot that mouth would be clamped around my pussylips and how fucking sweet those eyes would be framed by my thighs. I am totally in the grip of my arousal and I can't fight it. I don't know how to fight it. I don't want to fight it. I get to the table and she stands up. She doesn't ask for my name and I don't ask for hers. Names don't matter, and anyway we can't talk with my tongue in her mouth. I kiss her before she can say a word. She tastes like bourbon, all smoky and sweet, and I press my lips against hers as hard as I can in order to get as much of her flavor as possible. I feel weak at the knees, and I lean against her to steady myself. Then I lean against her just to lean against her. She breaks the kiss. I wouldn't have been able to. She takes my hand and drags me off the dance floor, into the shadows of the rest of the club. I see people watching us, and I want to give them a show, but she keeps her head and keeps us moving. I'm so glad she's taking control; I'm stupid with lust right now. All my thoughts are moving slow except for the ones involving her naked body. Those keep coming and they won't stop. I want to tongue-fuck her until she cums all over my face, I want to feel her fingers pinching and twisting my nipples until I scream, I want to absolutely fucking rape her like she's raping me. She's taken the word "no" out of my vocabulary and I just don't care. The club is too crowded tonight. She keeps looking for a place where we won't be seen and she can't find one fast enough. I have never wanted to be fucked so bad in my whole life, and even the parts of me that understand that she is making me feel this way don't care. It's so fucking hot. It's like being inside a sex fantasy, the way that every touch is the perfect touch and every kiss the perfect kiss. I find myself praying she'll do this to me all night, and then do it again tomorrow night and every night. I realize that I'll remember this moment every time I masturbate for the rest of my fucking life. She drags me into the restroom, and the wait for an open stall seems like an eternity. It's actually about forty-five seconds, but my pulse is racing with anticipation and every second ticks off two beats of my heart and I feel those heartbeats like a riding crop smacking into my clit. I don't even know how I know what that feels like, but I'm suddenly consumed by the mental image and it makes those last ten seconds feel like sheer fucking torture. A stall opens up, and she drags me into it and slams me up against the door so that she can stick her tongue into my mouth. I feel her body pressing against mine, holding me helpless while she yanks my skirt up and rests her hand against my pussy. I can't stop myself; I hump her fingers like the needy, slutty, horny girl I am. She loves it, I can tell. She loves the feel of my hot, wet pussy through my panties, she loves the shudders that rack my body as I wiggle against her just to see if I can push her off of me, knowing that it's so fucking hot that I can't...and she loves it most of all that I'm so fucking turned on that I can't stop myself from rubbing my cunny off on her hand. She could make me beg for it, and I would. I hear myself grunt into her mouth. I sound like an animal, like a mindless beast presenting itself to be fucked. She leans back a little, just enough so that she can pull my top down and get at my tits. I hear buttons snapping off and falling to the floor, but I don't care how I'm going to get home with my dress utterly ruined. All I care about is that she's able to nuzzle her way down my neck until she finds my breasts and wraps her lips around my nipple. My left hand slides into her dark hair, pressing her head closer to my tits. My right hand is shoved down her dress, and is gently squeezing first one nipple, then the other. I don't even remember doing it. The last few minutes are a haze of lust. She's still got her hand between my thighs, and I can feel her fingers pulling my panties aside so that she can get at my pussy directly. My juices leak out all over her hand, and I know she's going to make me taste them. I can't stop myself from wanting that. I can't stop myself from wanting anything anymore. She moves her mouth to my other nipple. They're so tight and hot with arousal that it still feels like she's sucking on them even when she's not. I can smell myself now, the musk of my pussy drifting up to fill my nostrils, and it just makes me thrust my hips into her hand even harder. I think I came once already. It's hard to tell. Everything's just a blood-red mist of pleasure. I twist her nipple three-quarters of the way around and that's all she can take. She stands up straight and steps into me, jamming her cunt against my thigh and my cunt against hers. I'm pushing back against her now, as hard as I can, wanting to feel every inch of our flesh pressed together. She wriggles up and down, getting as much of the fabric of her skirt out of the way as she can without moving away for even a second. I know I'm smearing my juices all over her dress, and I want to lean down and lick them off, but that would mean breaking contact between my pussy and her leg and that's just not physically possible right now. She doesn't kiss me right away. She grabs my hand and slides my index finger into her mouth, slowly and sensuously, like she's giving it a blowjob. I cum at the sight of it. She cums when she feels me shiver against her leg. Then we both cum again at seeing each other's faces at the moment of orgasm. She pulls my finger out of her mouth and lets my hand go. I know exactly what she wants, and I want to give it to her. We kiss again as I reach around her back and slide my hand into the waistband of her panties, feeling around for the crack of her ass. She shudders as I shove my finger into her asshole, not even trying to be gentle. She doesn't want gentle. Neither do I. She pounds her hips into mine, slamming me back into the stall door over and over in a driving rhythm. She wants me to cum again. She wants to force the orgasm out of me, making my body respond to her urgent touches and caresses without even giving me a chance to build up to it. And she does; my pussy clenches and I groan like metal under stress as she rips the scream from my mouth and into hers, and forces me to cum. I buck and shake under her touch, the orgasm just going on and on until I don't even remember what it feels like not to be ravished by a strange woman in a public place. I stop thinking about anything but pleasure. She's fucking my brains out, and I love every second of it. And then it's over, just as suddenly as it started. She lets go of me, takes a step back, and I'm instantly sated. I feel sweat and musk drying on my skin, I let my hands fall away from her body and disentangle themselves from her clothes, and I let all my weight rest on the stall door to keep from falling over. I'm shaking from the exertion. I feel like I've just run a marathon. She looks about like I feel. Her hair is plastered to her body with sweat, her dress is soaked through and her nipples are outlined clearly by the damp fabric. She has a dopey, blissed-out grin on her face and I know I must be wearing the exact same expression. I feel like I should hate her, but I think I love her a little instead. There's a long, awkward pause. I don't know what to say after something like this. Finally, though, I feel like I have to say something just to break the silence. "Um...hi," I say, the words sounding stupid in my head. "My name's--" She presses her fingers to my lips. I taste myself, just like she wanted me to. She smiles an almost-cruel smile, and shakes her head. I'm almost afraid for a moment as I realize she's not finished with me yet. Then the fear falls away, and I drop to my knees. Shaking with lust, I pull her panties to one side and begin to urgently lap at her hot, wet cunt. THE END Urgent Blowjob Trembling with excitement, he fumbled with the stranger's zipper. He had waited so long for this, and he could barely contain his lust. The stranger had already stripped off his shirt, revealing a tanned and sculpted body rippling with powerful muscle. He felt his lust flare even more. The stranger's handsome face broke into a wicked grin. "See how bad you want my cock," he jeered. "Man, you're one hungry faggot...," he chuckled. Finally, he managed to tug off the tight jeans. A skimpy pair of black underwear was all that concealed the stranger's cock. It made a big, obscene bulge in the thin fabric, which couldn't hide the thick, curly black pubic hair at the beginning at the waistband. It looked delicious. He reached for it, but the stranger grabbed his hand, menacingly. "Not so fast..." he said, tauntingly. Slowly, he sat on the couch and spread his powerful legs wide, invitingly. "Beg for it," he said. "Please, let me suck your cock. I need it bad," he said. "You mean this?" the stranger teased, as he playfully grabbed the huge bulge. "Get on your fuckin' knees, bitch," the stranger commanded. He got on his knees, his face level with the bulge. "Smell it, fucker," the stranger ordered. He inhaled deeply. The smell was heavenly – a musky and ripe mix of sweat and cum. The stranger's hardening cock was now clearly visible as it strained within its tight confines. Unable to stand it any more, he pulled down the waistband of the skimpy bikini briefs, and the stranger's hard cock flounced out with such force that it hit his chin. He gasped in delight at the size and thickness of it – eight inches of brown, throbbing and veined suckling fun, protruding from a dense thicket of jet black cockfur. The stranger's balls were two furry eggs which were begging to be fondled. "You like my cock, huh? Now THIS is what a real man's cock looks like, bitch. Suck it." As the stranger cock's slid into his mouth, the stranger sighed and leaned back in relaxation. He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, saying "Yeah...SUCK that cock, you little faggot. Mmmmm...this is your favourite huh? Yeah... Ooooooh, that's it, up and down, up and down...tickle the head, mmmmmm...fuck..." Spurned on by his erotic encouragement, he sucked and licked the cock feverishly, tickling the head and licking the shaft. He played with cock for a long time before servicing the stranger's big hairy balls, each of which he suckled exquisitely. All the while the stranger was enjoying the blow, undulating his hips, trying to fuck his mouth. He patiently allowed him to kiss his muscled body, suck his nipples and lick his sweaty armpit before pushing his head back for him to eat more of his rock hard fuckstick. Sucking deep, he could taste the stranger's delicious precum. Closing his eyes, he began to deep throat the stranger's cock, slowly, right to the balls, his lips tugging sweetly and wet on the pulsating shaft. Lodged deep within his mouth, the stranger's cockhead tickled his tonsils. He plucked out the wet cock and lifted it upwards, giving access to the stranger's balls. He loved the balls best, and he sucked and played with each one. The stranger's balls were big and full within a soft ball sack covered in a sprinkling of black cockfur. They felt so soft and warm and tasted slightly salty as he licked and mouthed each one. Then, he'd cup the balls and watch the stranger's precum slide down the shaft onto the balls before licking the precious liquid. The stranger's balls looked so beautiful hanging soft yet firm between his powerful thighs. He couldn't get enough of fondling, eating and scratching those balls. He pulled on them, twanged them, and molded them into all kinds of interesting shapes with his fingers. "Stop playing with my fuckin nuts and eat my dick," the stranger ordered. He slurped in the stranger's cock and savored the sensation. This was his favourite thing in the world – sucking cock. He loved everything about it – the filthy intimacy of someone's cock in his mouth was pure sex. He sucked it hard, loving the intrusion of the stranger's hot, solid pole of meat fucking the warm wetness of his mouth. He was an expert cocksucker, and the stranger could barely contain his ecstasy as the blowjob became more and more urgent. After a while of cocksucking, he asked the stranger if he was ready to cum. "Hell yeah, I'm ready to fill your mouth with my cream," he answered. "But this is the best fucking cum of your life, I promise you. You have to be really ready for it" he said. The stranger scoffed. "Show me what you got," he said. "Are you sure you're ready for it?" "Just do it motherfucker." He took a deep breath and gripped both sides of the couch for support. He blew on the stranger's cock until it quivered and throbbed in anticipation. Suddenly, in one swift movement, he slurped in the whole cock and sucked it so hard that he felt the stranger's cock lodge on the roof of his mouth. The stranger gasped at the force of the sucking, and had to restrain from buckling his hips. He felt the urge to cum immediately. Cupping the stranger's balls, he continued the rough sucking. His cheeks were inverted from the effort of the sucking, which made a loud and wet squelching noise. His brows were furrowed with concentration, and all he could focus on was the stranger's pulsating cock. With each forcible suck the stranger felt closer and closer to orgasm, all the while shouting "FUCK!!!" and pulling his hair. Finally after only a few more moments, he came – hard. Spurt after satisfied spurt of hot white cum, jetting deep into the mouth of the blissfully happy cocksucker...who later snuggled into the warmth of the stranger's arms for a nap...a big, cum-stained grin on his face. Urgent Blowjob: Extended Version Trembling with excitement, he fumbled with the stranger's zipper. He had waited so long for this, and he could barely contain his lust. The stranger had already stripped off his shirt, revealing a tanned and sculpted body rippling with powerful muscle. He felt his lust flare even more. The stranger's handsome face broke into a wicked grin. "See how bad you want my cock," he jeered. "Man, you're one hungry faggot..." he chuckled. Finally, he managed to tug off the tight jeans. A skimpy pair of black underwear was all that concealed the stranger's cock. It made a big, obscene bulge in the thin fabric, which couldn't hide the thick, curly black pubic hair at the beginning at the waistband. It looked delicious. He reached for it, but the stranger grabbed his hand, menacingly. "Not so fast..." he said, tauntingly. Slowly, he sat on the couch and spread his powerful legs wide, invitingly. "Beg for it," he said. "Please, let me suck your cock. I need it bad," he said. "You mean this?" the stranger teased, as he playfully grabbed the huge bulge. "Get on your fuckin' knees, bitch," the stranger commanded. He got on his knees, his face level with the bulge. "Smell it, fucker," the stranger ordered. He inhaled deeply. The smell was heavenly – a musky and ripe mix of sweat and cum, and it further aroused his already incredibly horny senses. The stranger's hardening cock was now clearly visible as it strained within its tight confines. Unable to stand it any more, he pulled down the waistband of the skimpy bikini briefs, and the stranger's hard cock flounced out with such force that it hit his chin. He gasped in delight at the size and thickness of it – eight inches of brown, throbbing and veined suckling fun, protruding from a dense thicket of jet black cockfur, so hard and erect that it pointed directly in his face. The stranger's balls were two big, round furry eggs which somehow anchored the beautiful cock at its base, gathered and heavy in its loose, velvety pouch of skin. The magnificent eight inches was crowned with a big pink cockhead, which partly disappeared each time the stranger stroked his shaft as his uncut foreskin slid up and down, brown and pink...up and down...brown and pink... "Don't you want to touch it...?" the stranger asked softly. His heart pounded with excitement as he reached for it. Then, at first contact with the hard cock, he almost came just from touching it. The stranger's cock was hard as steel and hot to touch. As he clenched it in his fist and jerked it, the cock felt turgid and springy, like a well developed muscle. He wanted to masturbate it smoothly and erotically, but his unbridled excitement compelled him to grope it, to feel it and squeeze it. It was big and firm, and it felt so right in his hands. Clenching the cock in a crude fist-fuck, he watched in lustful fascination how the foreskin gathered at the top with each upward stroke, obscuring the cocktip. Then, as he stroked downward, the cocktip reemerged like a blooming rose. He did this quickly, then slowly, and the effect each time was different. The stranger chuckled softly in amusement. He thwacked the heavy shaft against the stranger's navel to play with his balls. Compared to his own, the stranger's balls were enormous. They hung pendulously between his muscular thighs. There was something very macho and manly about the stranger's huge balls, they were the big balls of a wild daredevil – the big balls of a big, bad boy. His lust soared as he cupped and squeezed the stranger's balls, feeling the little curly black hairs, the same color as his pubes and eyebrows. He scratched and tickled them, massaged them and slapped them, and just watched as they hung beneath the stranger's powerful fuck tool, full and ripe with the cockjuice he will later swallow. "You like my cock, huh? Now THIS is what a real man's cock looks like, bitch. Suck it." As the stranger cock's slid into his mouth, the stranger sighed and leaned back in relaxation. He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, saying "Yeah...SUCK that cock, you little faggot. Mmmmm...this is your favourite huh? Yeah... Ooooooh, that's it, up and down, up and down...tickle the head, mmmmmm...fuck...". Spurned on by his erotic encouragement, he sucked and licked the cock feverishly, tickling the head and licking the shaft. He played with cock for a long time before servicing the stranger's big hairy balls, each of which he suckled exquisitely. All the while the stranger was enjoying the blow, undulating his hips, trying to fuck his mouth. He patiently allowed him to kiss his muscled body, suck his nipples and lick his sweaty armpit before pushing his head back for him to eat more of his rock hard fuckstick. Sucking deep, he could taste the stranger's delicious precum. Closing his eyes, he began to deep throat the stranger's cock, slowly, right to the balls, his lips tugging sweetly and wet on the pulsating shaft. Lodged deep within his mouth, the stranger's cockhead tickled his tonsils. He plucked out the wet cock and lifted it upwards, giving access to the stranger's balls. He loved the balls best, and he sucked and played with each one. The stranger's balls were big and full within a soft ball sack covered in a sprinkling of black cockfur. They felt so soft and warm and tasted slightly salty as he licked and mouthed each one. Then, he'd cup the balls and watch the stranger's precum slide down the shaft onto the balls before licking the precious liquid. The stranger's balls looked so beautiful hanging soft yet firm between his powerful thighs. He couldn't get enough of fondling, eating and scratching those balls. He pulled on them, twanged them, and molded them into all kinds of interesting shapes with his fingers. "Stop playing with my fuckin nuts and eat my dick," the stranger ordered. He slurped in the stranger's cock and savored the sensation. This was his favourite thing in the world – sucking cock. He loved everything about it – the filthy intimacy of someone's cock in his mouth was pure sex. He sucked it hard, loving the intrusion of the stranger's hot, solid pole of meat fucking the warm wetness of his mouth. He was an expert cocksucker, and the stranger could barely contain his ecstasy as the blowjob became more and more urgent. After a while of cocksucking, he asked the stranger if he was ready to cum. "Hell yeah, I'm ready to fill your mouth with my cream," he answered. "But this is the best fucking cum of your life, I promise you. You have to be really ready for it" he said. The stranger scoffed. "Show me what you got," he said. "Are you sure you're ready for it?" "Just do it motherfucker". He took a deep breath and gripped both sides of the couch for support. He blew on the stranger's cock until it quivered and throbbed in anticipation. Suddenly, in one swift movement, he slurped in the whole cock and sucked it so hard that he felt the stranger's cock lodge on the roof of his mouth. The stranger gasped at the force of the sucking, and had to restrain from buckling his hips. He felt the urge to cum immediately. The stranger shouted: "Oh fuck yeah. FUCK yeah. That's it. FUCK YEAH. Fuck it all, just suck it, oh yeah FUCK! MOTHERFUCKER SUCK MY FUCKING COCK! I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!!!! Cupping the stranger's balls, he continued the rough sucking. His cheeks were inverted from the effort of the sucking, which made a loud and wet squelching noise. His brows were furrowed with concentration, and all he could focus on was the stranger's pulsating cock. With each forcible suck the stranger felt closer and closer to orgasm, all the while shouting "FUCK!!!" and pulling his hair. Finally after only a few more moments, he came – hard. The stranger roared as his cock erupted, the first spurt hit the back of his throat so hard he gagged. Spurt after satisfied spurt of hot white cum, jetting deep into the mouth of the blissfully happy cocksucker...who later snuggled into the warmth of the stranger's arms for a nap...a big, cum-stained grin on his face. Urges Author’s note: This story is about a woman’s growing awareness of her bi-sexuality. There is a sexual overtone to the story, which starts slowly and grows to culminate in an erotic scene between two mature women. However, it is not a ‘poke and suck story’, sorry. I have struggled long and hard to make this story credible. If it interests you, and you would like to read further chapters please encourage me to put my thoughts in words by dropping me a note. A special thanks to KillerMuffin who worked long and hard editing my script. It was her Herculean efforts that made it as readable as it is in its current state. I accept responsibility for all the remaining spelling mistakes and poor grammar. I simply can’t read it one more time. :) * * * * * Idly, I reach across the desk and flick my index finger against the quartz desk clock and penholder. In spite of this stimulus, it does not increase its tempo, but rather continues its slow, methodical beat on this dreary, dismal Friday afternoon. 3:01:09 P.M.…3:01:10 P.M.…3:01:11 P.M. As the time drags on like cold motor oil flowing uphill backward on a frigid New Hampshire winter day, I find it impossible to concentrate. My mind is in overdrive, but not on work. Across the little cubicle, through a window high in the wall, I can get a partial glimpse of the outdoors, but only if I lean in the desk chair at just the right angle. A cold wind is blowing from the east, off the Gulf of Maine and across Portsmouth Harbor; driving sheets of rain to beat incessantly against the office windows. A tiny leak is evident in the corner where someone failed to close it after yesterday's brief taste of the spring yet to come. As I watch, the water slowly run down the gyproc wall in the partial basement office, and all I can think is, "Fuck it, fuck them, fuck it all." I look at the clock again. 3:02:01 P.M.… 3:02:02 P.M. Again, I flick at it with the same results. Freedom beckons from outside the rain-streaked window, but freedom to do what, and freedom from what? The wind is incessant. The rain bounces off the pavement in waves, which seem to flow, much like an ocean swell, across the parking lot. The litter and debris of a long, hard winter is strangely absent, too waterlogged to move in the minor whirlwind. The scraggy, barren land of this rocky, New England State is only beginning to feel the warm breath of spring. The trees are barren, even of their early spring buds. The grass is brown and dead, with only a few bare blades of green showing on the most sheltered parts of the south side of the building. Even the crocus and the tulips, planted late in the fall, have not stuck their noses above the surface into the dismal, cold air. Somehow the weather and the season reflect my mood. Turbulent unsettled, stormy but with a promise, a real promise, of a rebirth to come, a metamorphous. The ugly caterpillar of a New England winter will change into a glorious spring and summer followed by an autumn that can never be done justice to by any writer or painter. The inevitability of the re-birth is pre-ordained. It is indelibly coded into the genes of the lifeblood of the planet Earth. Deep in me, in the very center of my being, I feel myself going through such a re-birth. My inner feelings, my emotions, are in turmoil, as never before. Long surpressed, they are rebelling, demanding to be freed from their chains, to be allowed to take command of my life. They are welling up, organizing their forces, preparing to charge the barricades of my conventional values, the facade I put forward for my family, relatives, and friends. Long surpressed, they have grown in strength, fueled by my unhappiness, my dissatisfaction with my state in life. Like the inevitable spring they are on the march. This time I wonder, I truly wonder, if I have the power to surpress them, to beat them back into submission one more time or am I so weakened, that this time they are finally going to overcome me, to take control of my life. What is even more startling, disconcerting, frightening is that I cannot define what these emotions, yearnings, cravings are. Unlike the spring, I do not know exactly what might blossom forth from the recesses of my mind, if I lose the battle. Maybe if I did, it would strengthen my morale resolve, maybe if I did it would be like a 5th columnist further eating away at my resolve, my will to resist? The placid, benign look on my face masks the inner turmoil raging. A soft smile hints at the corner of my mouth, almost a Mona Lisa smile, but not quite. How singularly appropriate. Just the other night I met a new friend on the Internet and had quipped that I was, ‘A 21st Century Renaissance woman.’ He had understood exactly what I was saying; claiming that he was a classically educated gentleman who belonged in the 19th century but was trapped in the 21st Century. How singularly appropriate, that we met at this time in my life is the thought that keeps running through my mind. My thoughts dwell, obsess on the possibility that he, somehow, can help focus on what I feel, what I believe and what I want and need in this new emerging stage in my life. A Renaissance woman, I roll the expression over in my mind. Somehow in the 21st. Century it seems so appropriate, a feminist foil to the standard chauvinistic expression of a Renaissance Man. The more I turn it over in my mind, the more I realize the validity of the expression in describing my current mental agitation. In retrospect what happened several hundred years ago is clear. What happens when the seasons change is clear, it is preordained by nature? What is not clear is what will happen to me if I succumb to my own renaissance? What will I change into? What will I change from? What will be the price if these forces boiling within me successfully storm the ramparts and drastically alter the course of my life? Will they bring happiness or sorrow, fulfillment and contentment or emptiness and sadness? Joy to my family or a profound sense of loss? What does the future hold? Should I resist or should I give in? If only I had an inkling of the core question. What is it I need, I want, I am striving for? What are the forces, churning in me, striving to do with my life? Where are they proposing to take me? Will it be a new and glorious level of being, a veritable paradise on earth, or my own private living hell? Is it worth the chance? Is my life so bad now? Questions, questions, questions and no answers. They eat at me but the answers like autumn smoke in the air evade my grasp. The reflections take a different but related course. I flick the clock again. 3:09:45 P.M.…3:09:46 P.M.…Agonizingly, the seconds tick away and the ebb and flow of the office tide sways around me as if I was not physically present. My co-workers ignore me as if they sense my distraction and the need for several minutes of privacy. What is it about my life, my state of being, that is so unsatisfying, I ask myself rhetorically? Why am I so unhappy so… so unsatisfied, so unfulfilled? Is this what I want? Does this represent the limits of my professional aspirations? Deep, deep down I know that this is part of the problem. Raised in a strong, nurturing middle class family, I was taught to strive to be self sufficient, self reliant, to strike out in the world and climb the mountain and the next and the next, always looking for more, for better, as a source of personal satisfaction, if nothing else. This agency, this office is not providing the challenge I need. Nepotism has set in. Decisions are as much on the basis of family considerations as they are on business. Promotion is on the basis of family. Ruefully, I smile to myself. All the blowjobs in the world are not going to get that hen pecked ninny to challenge his wife. She controls the purse strings as well as access to her fat pussy. Intuitively, as much as by the product of logical thought processes, I conclude that there is no place here in the future for my drive, my creative talents, my inbred desire to achieve. Professionally, I am at one of the way stations of life, a jumping off point, but to what? A better paying more challenging job with another agency, another franchise? My own agency, What? At best, every day I am learning the business. Each day I absorb, catalogue, synthesize the business wheat from the chaff and, in this office, there is a lot of chaff. Has the time come to accept the overture and strike out on my own? I am aggressive; the desire to achieve is bred in my genes. Yes, definitely, this is part of the problem, but just as intuitively I know it is only part of the problem. Listlessly, my eyes wander the cubicle, unable to focus on anything meaningful, anything concrete and productive. The cold rain drums against the window in staccato bursts. I fidget and squirm in my chair, agitated, on edge. Again I flick the clock with my finger. 3:12:45 P.M.…3:12:46 P.M.…Obstinate, defying me, it refuses to move faster. A slow, tedious Friday afternoon with nothing to look forward to all weekend trapped indoors with Gerald and the kids. Yes, Gerald, ah Gerald, my mind focuses momentarily on him. Gerald, my highschool sweetheart, is he the problem? Is he part of the problem? Do I love him? Do I really, really love him? The last question is the easiest. Yes, I love him; I love him with every fiber of my being. That is the easy question and the quick and simple honest answer. Any solution to the problem, if there is a problem, whatever it may be, must involve him and the children. Thank God, for Gerald and the kids, is all I can mentally utter as my mind churns away. What would I do without them? The answer is simple. I would have a mental collapse and be institutionalized. Sometimes it is not material things that are the problem. He comes from a good, affluent family much like me. He loves me and I know that. He is loyal. He is a good breadwinner. We live well and have all of the material things to make us comfortable and secure. Maybe therein lies part of the problem, all the material things? Are there other things that are important? What about the other things it is so hard for husbands and wives, who are intimate with each other, to talk about? What about the fact that in spite of my unquestioning love for him I have a harder and harder time reaching an orgasm as he labors over me like a rutting, mechanical bull. What about the innate sense that I have, like all women, that his physical passion, his interest in me as a sex mate, a private erotic playmate is waning. It is and I know it. God, I think, it would be so much better if he wasn't so damned conservative, if he would try things, but he won't, he just doesn't seem interested. True, he is conservative, Irish, Catholic and therefore to be expected that he is sexually uptight. It's bred into him. How do you say to your husband, your soulmate, I am bored with the same old positions, the same old variations. Even the best head in the world gets boring after while. Come on, roll me over, get the hand cream and work it up my ass. How do you say, ‘come on, the kids are asleep, lets play with the enema bag, and then dear you may get lucky and get a little ‘sailor lovin.’ How would he react if I suggested I get dressed up like a high-class hooker and go to wait at a neighborhood bar for him to come pick me up for a quick hard fuck on the sly? How do you say, Gerald, it's not about love, it's about variety, spice and excitement in our sex lives. We both need it. My finger flicks the clock again. 3:15:01 P.M.…3:15:02 P.M.…Will this endless afternoon ever get over, I wonder despairingly. A head pops up over the partition in front of me snapping me out of my dream world. "Janie, I'm going on my break now, you got the fort, babe!" My wandering mind turns to Stephanie, and not for the first time, since she came to work in this office a year ago. Young, pert, full of personality, but wise in the ways of the world far beyond her 22 years, she is smart, outgoing, and not one to forego an opportunity to take the initiative to show others what she can do and her willingness to do it. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, if I leave in the near future to start on my own, I will invite her to go with me. She will be an asset beyond money. The relationship I have built with her goes far beyond office matters. She treats me like her big sister, the one she never had, and confides in me her problems with her no account boyfriend who she has finally, thank God, had the courage and initiative to leave. She told me of the discord in her home, that finally caused her to leave at 17 and finally, as only girls can, of some of her sexual desires and fantasies. Therein lies a major portion of my mental turmoil. Deep, deep in the recesses of my mind almost sub-consciously I realize my friendship with her, my attraction to her is taking a whole new outlook which both surprises and frightens me at the same time. Just the thought of those tight little buns beneath her slacks, that tight little cunt, unstretched by having two children, her smooth taunt belly and pert tits, sends a shiver down my spine to end in my pussy. For the countless time to day I feel myself becoming moist, and dampening the black pantyhose that I put on fresh so many hours ago. I am becoming sexually aroused just at the thought of her, of slipping my tongue into her most private area, swirling, licking, probing as she clutches my hands in hers and locks her fingers in mine in a death grip. Furtively, I look around the central office area, deserted, quiet, abandoned. Everyone, except me has gone, on break. Once again, I survey the room, deserted. The only sound is laughter coming from the staff rest area. I am aroused. Just the thought of Stephanie in her tight little red and white stripped bikini, the odd dark hair peeking out from under the edge of the leg band is so tantalizing, so arousing, that I involuntarily tense my muscles in my leaking pussy. The pixyish grin, the coquettish pose all come flooding back in my memory as I begin to breathe more rapidly, the girl’s weekend at the cottage is forever burned on my mind. One last look around the office. It is temporarily abandoned, deserted, silent. Slowly I swivel in the chair to the left; my back turned to the doorway and the general entrance to the office. I am semi protected from prying eyes. My lap is below the level of the desk. It is hidden from anyone sitting in front of me. I slip my hand under my long black skirt and slide it up the inside of my leg. The waistband of the pantyhose stretches and I wiggle my hand inside, splaying my fingers, and slide them back down through the course black hair of my bush. I gasp at the sensual feel. The touch is electric. Every muscle in my body tenses. My eyes glaze and my eyelids droop, seeing nothing around anymore. I slip my fingers out of my cunt and pulling my hand out from under my dress I bring my fingers to my nostrils, sniffing my juices, my scent, my arousal. Like a cat, a sleek, smooth coated feline, I lick and suck my fingers, tasting my salty juices. The breath rasps in and out of my tortured lungs. Quickly, while I am still controlled by the rational side of my brain, I double-check the office to ensure I am still alone. The hand slips back inside my long skirt and back under the waistband of the pantyhose to gain access to my sopping cunt. The index finger flicks my clit, stimulating it, teasing it, and encouraging it to rise up out of its little, fleshy cave, to come out in the open light of day, to come out and play with me. Quickly, it rises to the challenge. My fingers dance and thrum on my stimulated clit. Deeper and deeper I slip into a sexual trance. As my fingers explore my pussy, I feel my climax rushing toward me, uncontrollable, inevitable, promising, no guaranteeing, total satisfaction, and total fulfillment. "Janie, I'm…back, … sorry." Whirling around I whip my errant fingers out from my cunt, drop my skirt and look up all in a fraction of a second, only to see the top of Stephanie's head bob back down under the level of the 5 foot divider. “Ah, Jesus, ah… fucking, Jesus H. Christ!" I silently scream to myself. Like a drowning woman, I desperately grasp for a straw of hope. I examine her line of sight. Is it possible she really didn't see anything but my facial expression? The answer is immediately obvious. Where she popped over the partition is the one place in the whole fucking office where my lap could be seen. Fuck, fuck and double fuck, I curse. What do I do and what do I say to her? Damage control is in the forefront of my mind. Will she go to Jeff, the asshole? Will he believe her? The answer to the second question is far easier than the first. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, he will believe her, I conclude. Always a realist, even if a cynic and a pessimist I know what he will do. He would never dare to fire me but he would hold it over my head for the rest of my professional life at Beyea Associates. Blow jobs and quick fucks after office hours will become the order of the day, if she talks. My mind is racing, gnawing at the pivotal question. Will she tell? Agitated, I toy with the idea that the clock is an animate object, with a will and a personality of its own. That it has maliciously planned to drag all afternoon and then race through Stephanie's coffee break while I was fantasizing so I would be caught, exposed, revealed to all the office for what I am, what ever that may be. Ruefully, I answer my own question. A sexually frustrated woman, that's what I am. A sexually frustrated woman who has come to the realization in the last several minutes that she has a craving to taste the sexual favors, the hidden delights of another, younger woman. I finally admit the truth to myself. Rising from my desk, straightening my skirt, patting my hair back into place, I go to face Stephanie and whatever fate has in store for me. Stephanie is at her desk, madly typing at her keyboard. As I approach I know she is aware I am coming but her head stays down, studiously ignoring me. "Stephanie…" I whisper in a hoarse voice. "Yes, Janie?" "What did you see just then? What do you think you saw just now, when you popped your head over the divider and looked into my office?" "Nothing, Janie. Nothing, I promise I didn't see anything." Her head stays down, her eyes avoiding mine. If there was any lingering doubt that she may, in fact, not have seen anything, her next comment totally destroys it. "I promise, Janie. I'll always come around to your door from now on, forever. I promise, cross my heart." She has stopped typing, but her eyes remain down caste. The silence is absolute. The two of us are frozen in this moment in time. Immobile, neither of us is able to act, to speak to move forward. It is as if a terrorist has thrown a bomb into the office and we stand frozen, looking at it and each other, incapable of acting, watching our lives flash before our eyes. Nothing happens, a slow fuse, a dud? Has fate intervened? "Janie…?" "Yes, Stephanie?" "What were you thinking about in your office a few minutes ago?" "Sorry, Stephanie, I wasn't thinking, I was just acting irresponsibly." "No, Janie, that's not what I mean." "What do you mean then?" "I mean what were you fantasizing about when I so unexpectedly popped up over the divider?" The question flusters me. "Well…really…I…. I… was just thinking romantic thoughts.". "Were they about Gerald?" Silence. "Were they about Gerald," she repeats more insistently? Still I fail to answer. "Then they were about something or someone else, weren't they?" It is not a question. It is a statement of fact. For the first time, her eyes rise from the keyboard and she looks me directly in the eye. "Janie…” "Yes…" I whisper as she looks away. Urges I should have known that no woman as good looking as my wife could stay faithful for very long! I expected guys to look, maybe I even enjoyed their looking a bit (the old sin of pride at having such a gorgeous creature as all mine rearing its head), but I never intended my wife to actually do anything with them. That changed when I found her in bed with my best friends—Daniel and Crystal. Heck, I didn't even know she was into women, but here she was with Daniel's hard member in her pussy and Crystal's strap-on dildo right along side it. Quite a picture I must admit but please allow me, dear reader, to step back in time a bit to explain my shock. It began when we were kids living in the midst of the Bible Belt. My family was far from the Bible thumping type. In point of fact I grew up around constant nudity and, though I do not consider it such, what a lot of people might consider perversion. My parents were then, and still are, swingers who were also into living the Dominant-submissive lifestyle. Not only did they live these lifestyles but they promoted them, enabled them, I suppose may be a better word, because they ran several clubs for persons of such interests and tastes. On to my wife, simply put, everything my parents were, hers were not. Mine were easy-going, live life as if you were dying tomorrow types. Hers were as strict and controlled as mine were free spirited. I guess that is about what you'd expect from an ordained minister and his wife living where we did. Considering her upbringing it should be no surprise that, like any kid that age, she felt the need to rebel against them as much as she possibly could. I, of course, was the perfect boy for her to rebel with. My long, curly, chestnut brown hair flowed down my back like a waterfall then. I was extremely free spirited (Thank heaven that hasn't changed) and, gasp loudly here, captain of both the high school football and wrestling teams. To her parents the last was the worst—I actually engaged in combat sports. The fact that I was sole captain of both teams made it that much worse for her parents as well as me all that much more attractive to their rebellious daughter. She was 5' 9" tall to my 6' and blond-haired, blue-eyed to my hazel eyes and chestnut hair. Outwardly we were opposites, inwardly we were two people who shared one soul—soulmates. I worked long and hard to prove this fact to her and the rewards of doing so have lived with me up to this day, at least until the sight before me came into view anyway. What would you do? Join in? Kill them all? Something in between? I suppose I would have been a little less flustered if she'd told me of her desires rather than springing it on me this way. Hell, I'll try anything once! So I joined in. Of course, since she was currently double-stuffed more than an Oreo cookie, it was a bit of a trick to maneuver myself in such a way as to be under her yet still put my rampant, hard, thick, ebony cock up her ass. Needless to say, with 3 cocks in such a tight space, my wife howled like a werewolf during a full moon. The motions of the two above me were what caused further arousal in me. Moving, changing positions, those were denied me by my physical location underneath the three of them. Daniel and Crystal were quite a team. Just watching them together gave me the idea that they had done this numerous times before. Turns out, my best friends, I did not know so well—they were long-time swingers before they moved to this part of the country in an attempt to change their lifestyle. What they did not know was the fact that the Bible Belt is also home to the most notorious swingers clubs as well as other alternative lifestyle clubs. And, as today evidenced, they could not avoid the temptation that my lovely ex-prom queen wife provided to them. So what? My wife is white and I am black, not exactly something new right? Well, you're right, it isn't. Daniel and Crystal are the same as us, except that Crystal is the coffee and Daniel the milk in that couple. Any, though I'd had many women before my wife I'd never had a woman who was the same skin tone as I. I liked dating woman I considered more exotic—little did I know. I was in the midst of falling into, how can I put this, an otherworldly consciousness of pure sensation, when Crystal ever so gently raked my ball sac with her fingernails as she proceeded to lightly touch my skin elsewhere. When she came to my sphincter finally I had been so aroused by that point that her thumb's entrance into it was so subtle as to be subliminal. The sensations soon changed as, one by one, more fingers entered me. The second one felt nearly the same as having just the thumb there but by the time she was to the fourth I was feeling rather full, even though her hands were quite dainty looking they sure were not meant to be used that way. Crystal was a pro at this, my prostate was stimulated in ways it had never been before, and, as a result, I'd swear that my cocks had swelled beyond their normal sizes of 9" and 11" respectively. See, I told you I wasn't normal. The docs they have some fancy multisyllabic name for it, but what it boils down to is that I have two, yes two, fully functional cocks instead of one. It made sports extra fun because my jocks and cups all had to be custom made. It made Dad so proud! With two cocks and four large, hanging balls I was perpetually bedding women. My mother and father, the protective yet encouraging parents that they were, would try to find me women who could handle my enormous sex drive—not to mention organs—and keep me satisfied. From the start a bevy of beautiful, horny, angels on the outside, sluts on the inside were pushed my way. Alas, the tactic they had worked very little until I met my future bride---Elizabeth. Now Elizabeth, Buffy as her friends called her, wanted me right from the start—she knew how much it would irritate her parents—but once she found out about my condition I think that made it all the sweeter to her. Right from the beginning we seemed perfect for each other. I got hornier the more I was around women and she needed lots of cock to satisfy her. I suppose it was inevitable I eventually ended up sharing her with other people like Daniel and Crystal. After all, if a horndog like me got hornier being around pussy then I suppose that it is no leap to believe a woman like her did the same around cock—and I have twice as much as most men after all. What took it so long to happen, now that I have this knowledge, I can not say. Perhaps she was trying to control her urges, perhaps she figured that is what a good, married woman should do, but I know as a good friend of mine once said, "The more you try to control your urges the more they indeed control you." What will happen to us next? What shall I do with her? To them? I will have to consider, for now at least, I have to let my cocks rule the roost.