Nine-to-Five Fantasies: Tales of Sex on the Job Read online

  Also by Alison Tyler

  A Is for Amour

  B Is for Bondage

  Best Bondage Erotica

  Best Bondage Erotica 2

  The Big Book of Bondage

  Bound for Trouble

  C Is for Coeds

  Caught Looking

  (with Rachel Kramer Bussel)

  D Is for Dress-Up

  Dark Secret Love

  The Delicious Torment

  Down and Dirty

  E Is for Exotic

  Exposed

  F Is for Fetish

  Frenzy

  G Is for Games

  Got a Minute?

  H Is for Hardcore

  Hide and Seek

  (with Rachel Kramer Bussel)

  The Happy Birthday

  Book of Erotica

  Heat Wave

  Hurts So Good

  I Is for Indecent

  J Is for Jealousy

  K Is for Kinky

  L Is for Leather

  Love at First Sting

  Luscious

  The Merry XXXmas

  Book of Erotica

  Morning, Noon and Night

  Naughty or Nice

  Never Have the Same Sex Twice

  Never Say Never

  Open for Business

  Red Hot Erotica

  Slave to Love

  Sudden Sex

  Three-Way

  Twisted

  Wrapped Around Your Finger

  Copyright © 2014 by Pretty Things Press.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press, Inc.,

  2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.

  Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

  Cover photograph: iStockphoto

  Text design: Frank Wiedemann

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-072-8

  Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.

  —Thomas A. Edison

  Contents

  Introduction: The “Want” Ads

  CONSTRUCTION WORKER:

  Grimy • SOMMER MARSDEN

  COWBOY:

  Bonanzed • KATE PEARCE

  PROFESSOR:

  O for Effort • DELILAH NIGHT

  CHAUFFEUR:

  Driver’s Seat • SOPHIA VALENTI

  METEOROLOGIST:

  Warm Front • HEIDI CHAMPA

  PHYSICIAN:

  Doctor’s Orders • SASHA WHITE

  DELIVERY BOY:

  Just a Little Tenderness • A. M. HARTNETT

  POOL GIRL:

  California Dreamin’ • ANDREA DALE

  BOOKBINDER:

  Rule of Thumb • LAILA BLAKE

  BAKER:

  Kneading Lessons • TILLY HUNTER

  PERSONAL TRAINER:

  Work It Out • ELISA SHARONE

  STAGE MANAGER:

  SM, or How I Met My Girlfriend in a Queer Theater • GISELLE RENARDE

  IT GUY:

  Talk Nerdy to Me • CRYSTAL JORDAN

  PORN STAR:

  Current Photo, Please • DEVIN PHILLIPS

  MECHANIC:

  Body Work • CORA ZANE

  MUSEUM CURATOR:

  Under Her Auspices • JEREMY EDWARDS

  TREAT VENDOR:

  Ice-Cream Boy and Sprinkle Girl • KATHRYN O’HALLORAN

  BARBER:

  Close Shave • ALISON TYLER

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  INTRODUCTION: THE “WANT” ADS

  I possess a special talent—I can turn myself on by reading the newspaper. All I need to do is flip to the want ads and I’m gone, off to fantasyland, a faraway place filled with the workmen (and sometimes workwomen) of my dreams. I’ll read: Plumber Needed. Must have experience, tools…

  And I think, Yes, I need a plumber, with an experienced tool.

  Or I’ll read: Opening for Chef. Seeking committed individual with a flair for food, a passion for cooking…

  And I envision fiery sex in the kitchen with a passionate chef.

  To me, longing for practitioners of a specific profession is undeniably arousing. Have you always had a hard-on for a mechanic, gleaming with sweat, glistening with oil? Or a personal trainer, barking orders at you, making you obey? Or a pool boy…oh, dear lord, a pool boy. Life doesn’t get much sweeter.

  This book contains eighteen erotic fantasies about sexy occupations. Sure, what makes an occupation “sexy” is entirely up to each individual. But what makes a story erotic—well, after more than two decades in the industry, that is something I know about. The want ads may work well for inspiration, but they lack kink.

  When I first dreamed up this collection, I imagined a book filled with my own fantasies. Not to be selfish, but I do know what revs my engine. I put out the call to authors everywhere: Write me a story about fucking your favorite fantasy occupation. I thought I knew what I would get back. However, I was thrilled to discover the variety that poured into my inbox: from cowboy to bookbinder, stage manager to IT guy, the authors in Nine-to-Five Fantasies pushed the boundaries on what makes for a sexy nine to five. Or six to twelve. Or eleven to seven.

  Find your favorites in the table of contents and work from there. Forward, backward, upside down. There is no right way when fantasies are on the menu… (At least, that’s what the delicious waiter told me.)

  So what type of profession turns you on?

  XXX,

  Alison Tyler

  GRIMY

  Sommer Marsden

  My mouth went dry when I saw him: tall and broad, dusty jeans and dirty plain white tee. His hard hat was red, not yellow, and the back had a TARDIS sticker on it. A geek construction worker? Was it possible?

  I shook off the thought because there was nothing to guarantee that he had put that sticker on the hardhat.

  His biceps flexed as he picked up the two orange cones that had resided in the hallway of my apartment building for weeks. Something to do with the stairwell and restructuring. Residents had been instructed to use the elevator or the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway instead.

  My eyes fixed on the way his grimy shirt drew taut across his back when he moved, and it took me a minute to realize that he was now staring back. My key was in the door, my hand on the knob, my heart beating faster than it usually did when I took the stairs.

  “Hi,” he said.

  I blinked and licked my lips. When he half-smiled I realized what I’d just done. My face heated with a blush, but I quickly sucked in a breath to get myself under control.

  There was no way in hell this man could see into my head or know that I’d had a fixation on men like him my entire life. I’d never been to bed with a big, brawny construction worker because I’d never had the nerve—gumption my grandmother would have called it—to talk to one. Every time I was close enough to speak to one of these pillars of city life, I suddenly forgot how to talk.

  This time was no different, so I nodded.

  “Are you okay?”

  My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a big spoonful of sand. Another nod from me, and he smiled.

  “Okay then.” He winked. It wasn’t even smarmy or icky or anything. It was a wink that said we shared a secret. Or had a joke in comm
on. Or just that he knew he was sort of pushing my buttons and liked it. But not in a cruel way, in an amused way.

  He piled one cone on top of the other and hefted them up in one arm. That arm bore a tattoo of a crow caught in midflight.

  Think of something clever to say. Ask about the sticker! Ask about the tattoo!

  But I simply watched him walk away: nice ass in beat-up jeans with the bottoms of his pants legs sort of scrunched up around chunky, filthy work boots.

  My pussy flexed just studying him.

  Resigned to the fact that I was going to go into my apartment and get off with my vibrator to images of big, tall and studly going down on me, or even fucking me, I turned the key.

  Then he called out. “Um, hello?”

  I turned and realized I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were. His hair was brown. Not too long judging by what was peeking out from beneath his hard hat. It bothered me that I didn’t know. And that thought bothered me because it was downright nuts.

  I waited, watching him, still unable to speak. My heart was an erratic thing in my chest.

  “You can use the steps now. In case you were wondering.”

  Then, wonder of wonders, I said, “Great,” aloud. But my stomach dropped even as I said it because if we could use the steps that meant the work was done, which meant this stellar male specimen would be leaving and I wouldn’t bump into him ever again.

  He gave me a brisk nod and winked again. “Just so you know.”

  I tried to smile, hoping I didn’t look crazy. But I was sure I actually did look crazy.

  He sauntered off and I rushed into my apartment, slammed the door and rested against it.

  “You are a moron, Lenore,” I said aloud. Then I set about putting away my work bag, washing my hands and going to find that damn vibrator. I might have missed an opportunity, but I would be damned if I didn’t use the meeting for fodder.

  An orgasm was an orgasm.

  I saw him the next day and started with surprise. My heart gave a kick in my chest. He was across the street doing work outside a building that was being renovated. Some god must have smiled on me because he looked up in time to see me. He grinned at me and it went right to my suddenly wet cunt.

  I lost my mind then. Did something I never thought I’d ever have the nerve to do. I raised my hand and waved. Then a gust of wind came rushing up my wind tunnel of a street and lifted my skirt in a flirty bell around my thighs. I let out a cry and crushed my skirt to my legs, blushing all the while.

  Then I turned tail and fled into my building, wondering if a person could actually drop dead of mortification.

  It was barely five, I’d left work early and I was ready for a drink. A big fishbowl of a wineglass (a gift from my sister for my birthday) about half-full of merlot should do the trick. I was just pouring it when someone knocked.

  Then my heart knocked crazily in empathy. Who the hell?

  I suffered a brief but vivid porn-movie daydream where it was the studly construction worker come to show me the ways of a man who worked with his hands. He’d say something like, “I work wonders with wood—”

  I snorted laughter, ripping myself out of the vivid mental vacation. Most likely it was Mrs. Stamos from two doors down asking if I’d seen Mr. Stamos. He often snuck up to the roof to smoke the cigarettes he was forbidden, but I never ratted him out.

  I opened the door, already in the process of saying, “I have no idea where he is, Mrs. S—” but the words died on my lips.

  “Studly,” I blurted, and immediately prayed to choke on my tongue and die.

  Because it was him. The big, dirty, hard-hat-wearing him, and when I said “studly” he chuckled so deeply and so perfectly my body wanted to shudder all over. When he grinned, it popped a single dimple in his right cheek and that just made me wonder what it would be like to stick my tongue into that dimple and taste the sweat on his skin.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Yes,” I answered. It made no fucking sense.

  He took off his hard hat and I saw perfect mink-colored hair. The color reminded me of gloves my father had worn in the winter when I was a little girl. An indescribable, supple brown.

  His eyes, I saw, were icy, January-day blue.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes?” I said a bit louder. “What can I do for you?”

  I pressed my thighs together to focus my mind and wished I hadn’t. My body reacted as if he’d touched me then, my stomach quickening, my chest growing heavy, my pussy thrumming with blood and lust.

  “I have a problem,” he said.

  My heart sank a bit. This was a good and proper business visit, nothing more, nothing less. I’d gotten myself worked up for nothing.

  “What’s that?” My voice was almost calm. Almost.

  “Remember when we saw each other yesterday?” He took a step in, crowding me just a bit. I chewed my lower lip, tried to breathe.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you…” He blew out a laugh and ran a big dusty hand through that hair. Hair I found myself wanting to touch. “I don’t even know your name. I’m David.”

  He stuck out his hand and I studied it. It was a nice hand. Dirty and nicked and I looked at it with no trouble imagining it on me. Holding me down, touching me, thick fingers sliding inside of me to fuck me.

  “Lenore,” I said, but it came out as more of a wheeze. I took his hand and just held it, letting him do all the work of shaking. I should have felt insanely embarrassed. Instead, I just felt sort of stunned.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy?” He said it like a question.

  I tugged him gently. His eyebrows went up, those chilly eyes flashing with humor. “No,” I said. “I think I am, but not you.”

  I tugged just a bit more, and he was forced to choose. Pull back from me, or move into my apartment. He chose the latter.

  “So is it me or the profession?” he asked gruffly.

  He was the one to shut the door. I was the one to thumb the lock.

  “Yes,” I said. “Both.” Honesty is the best policy.

  “’Cause lots of girls want to bang us hump busters,” he grinned.

  I nodded and just stared at him, pretty sure that I’d blink and come to sprawled on the sofa. He’d be gone and I’d be holding an empty bottle of wine and a remote. Having had a vivid dream, but just a dream.

  Instead, I watched transfixed as he ran a finger up from my waistband to my chin. He tilted my face up to look at him and waited.

  “I’m one. Of those girls,” I said quickly. “But you…you’ve been in my head since…”

  Tell him you got off three times thinking of him going down on you. Fucking you. Pinning you there and making you squirm…

  My cheeks went so hot I touched them to see if they were red. They were on fire. He touched one then, too. “You’re thinking really dirty things aren’t you, Lenore?”

  “Yes,” I said. It was getting easier to talk because he wasn’t laughing at me. He wasn’t judging me. If anything, his fingers were moving through the air around me as if he wanted to touch me.

  He walked forward, forcing me to walk back. My shoulder blades hit the foyer wall and he was right up in my face. Taller than me, wider than me, smelling of man and sunshine and dust. “Can I kiss you, Lenore?”

  “Yes,” I said. I’d have to pick a new word next time I spoke.

  That thought melted away when he put his hands on my shoulders and braced me against the wall. His mouth was full and lush and when the heat of it touched mine I felt a small spasm deep inside. A faux orgasm. A little peek from my body at what an orgasm from this man might be like. I was less embarrassed than I might have expected to hear myself moan.

  He made a gruff noise and held my upper arms, kissed me harder. His tongue snaked over mine, bullying me as I kissed him back. His grip on my arms felt like he could leave marks there. Vivid lines where his fingers had been. Simply imagining it had a rush of fluid slipping free of me.
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br />   “Oh fuck,” I said.

  He laughed softly. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I never thought, at first, I’d hear you say anything.”

  “Would you like water?” I asked, stupidly. It was polite and ingrained in me.

  “No.”

  “A soda?”

  “No?”

  “Oh god,” I whispered, not believing I was going to say it. “Would you like me?”

  “Yes,” he said and kissed my neck. My nipples spiked, my stomach dropped. “I thought about you all night. The shy girl with the big, brown eyes.”

  I sighed as his fingers shoved up under my work blouse. His skin was warm against mine, and my skin rippled at the touch. He cupped my breast, peeled back the bra cup while shoving up my blouse and dipped his head to lick me. His tongue was searing and when his teeth found my sensitive skin, I jolted a little, gasped. I was so wet, so full and plump I just wanted him to fill me, but I didn’t say anything. I was determined not to rush this.

  “I should wash my hands,” he whispered. “I’m a mess and I—”

  “No please,” I said. “No. Just stay as you are. Just…” I dropped my head, that blush blazing in my face again.

  “Just what?” he asked. “I just got you talking, don’t stop now.”

  “Touch me,” I said quickly.

  He pulled my blouse off over my head and my hair tumbled wildly around my face until he pushed it back and kissed me once more. The bra tumbled to our feet somewhere in that moment. David nipped my lip and then my tongue and I ran my hand along the front of his jeans to feel that he was just as far gone as me. His hard cock pressed my palm, and I kissed him harder.

  “Take off this skirt,” he said and then he flashed that half grin and I admitted to myself I’d have jumped off the roof of the building if he’d told me to and then flashed that smile.

  He toed off his boots as he waited. The skirt hit the floor at the same time his jeans did. My breath caught because when his jeans dropped I saw he was bare underneath. His cock stood out, thick and hard and blushing a lovely shade of reddish purple. I started to drop to my knees to take him into my mouth, but he beat me to the punch.

  David’s knees hit the floor with a muffled thud and he pressed his face against my stupid work panty hose. The kind that were not sexy or fetching. The kind that had a big seam that ran from the crotch to the waistband. But he didn’t seem to care. He pressed his face to the front of me and his breath heated my pussy in an entirely foreign and utterly spectacular way. He nudged my clit through the hose and the panties with his rigid tongue.