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

  “It’s been really intense,” I whispered. “I’ve never had such powerful orgasms in my life—”

  “Let’s see how many times you can come in an hour,” Paul had said as he raised an eyebrow at me in challenge two nights ago. “In two? In four?”

  First I’d moaned for more. Then I’d begged to be fucked. I hadn’t expected that he’d hold a vibrator to my clit as he did so. He would let me rest, to allow my system to start to calm. Then his hands, his mouth, or a toy would find me again. It was something of a miracle I was capable of walking yesterday, much less finishing a term paper.

  “Your excuse for not writing your paper in a timely fashion is that you were busy having too many orgasms?”

  I lost the ability to speak as Professor Kumar put a hand on my knee. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, Your move, Ms. Cohen. I nodded assent to both the spoken and unspoken questions. Slow and deliberate, Professor K’s hand began to journey up my thigh. My skirt slid higher as I spread my legs to provide him access. He cupped me, thumb stroking me through my increasingly wet panties.

  “Yes,” I managed. “Please. Yes.”

  The chance to make real years of fantasizing? HELL YES.

  My pulse sped as Professor Kumar’s finger slipped beneath the fabric to my aching clit.

  He leaned in, breath hot against my ear, and murmured, “If your problem was too many orgasms, perhaps you should demonstrate some self-control? You mustn’t orgasm until I give you permission. If you can manage that, we’ll discuss your options. Are you up for it, Ms. Cohen?” His thumb made lazy circles on my clit as he propositioned me.

  “God, yes,” I moaned, as I rocked against him.

  Professor K sat back and smirked when my eyes flew open at the absence of his hand. “Give me your knickers,” he commanded, holding out a hand.

  I surrendered the floral cotton eagerly.

  He pulled me into his lap, my back pressed against his chest. His lips and teeth worked magic on my neck. Professor Kumar’s hands were busy under my shirt, tugging, rolling and teasing the nipples that had made themselves known to him not five minutes ago. My head fell back against his shoulder. My hips gyrated, craving his hardness in approval.

  Was the office door locked? Did I care?

  “Little slut. Wet and open for me. Desperate for me to bend you over the desk and roger you? Where would you like it—your quim or your arse?” he growled.

  The mental image evoked caused me to gasp. “I’ve never…”

  “Never taken a cock up your arse?” My professor positioned my cheeks over a suddenly hard cock. His teeth grazed my neck as fingers plunged into my cunt, and began to fuck me. The world telescoped down to his touch, and my building need. “Does the idea turn you on?”

  Paul, sliding a finger into my last bastion of virginity. “What do you think?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “I’m scared. It’s so tight, and…” I’d shaken my head no. I was surprised then, that when Paul had removed his finger, I’d craved its return.

  Professor Kumar’s fingers returned to my clit. “Liar.”

  I shuddered. “I like the idea,” I confessed. “Please, I’m so close.”

  “Come without permission and you’ll fail the paper, and my class. Midterms are worth forty percent of the grade, Ms. Cohen,” he warned me, fingers tapping a rapid beat on my clit and pushing me ever closer to release and failure.

  “Please! Please, let me come!” I pleaded.

  “No. Why not let me fuck you in the arse? I might let you come then,” he suggested.

  The temptation of orgasm warred with fear of the unknown.

  What is it with men and the ass?

  I’d go crazy if I didn’t come. Need overwhelmed me.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “That’s my little hussy. Get naked and bend over my desk,” he ordered, releasing me.

  Deprived of his touch, my body felt hollow. I yanked off my clothes, uncaring where they landed. The wood of the desk was cool against my hips. My breasts took up several days in March as I leaned over his calendar. The scent of leather tickled my nose as I lay my head next to his grade book.

  Paul’s hand, encased in leather, spanking me. Sucking his leather-encased finger as he slid inside me, his hips mimicking the enthusiasm of my mouth, turning me wanton.

  Professor Kumar’s hands rubbed my asscheeks. He dipped a finger into my dripping pussy, spreading the slickness upward and back.

  He caught me trying to squeeze my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache. “Stop squirming. You’ll get your pleasure when and if I say, not before,” he ordered, moving my feet wider apart. Cool air tormented my aching cunt as he stepped away.

  I heard the sharp metallic zing of his jeans opening, the rustle of material, and finally the tear of a foil packet.

  His cock. I want to see it.

  A reproving slap landed on my ass. “Naughty little tart. Trying to get a look, were you?”

  “Please,” I begged softly.

  “No.” One hand pushed me back against the desk.

  Another flurry of spankings. I moaned and raised my hips, silently asking for more.

  “Dirty. Girl. Ask. For. It.” Each word was punctuated with a smack.

  “Spank me. Fuck me. Use me,” I whispered.

  “What was that, Ms. Cohen?” My ass began to burn as the slaps increased in intensity.

  “Please, spank me. Use me. Fuck me. Please, please fuck me,” I pleaded.

  “Have the courage of your convictions, Ms. Cohen. I don’t believe you at the moment. Perhaps you just want a spanking for your lazy work, and to take the consequences of your extracurricular activity?” He was hitting my sweet spot with every smack. Each time his hand connected, I felt the impact all the way from my cheeks to my clit.

  “Fuck me. Please, fuck me,” I chanted, uncaring if anyone heard me.

  The department head could walk in and I’d still beg for more.

  In one glorious stroke, his cock filled my cunt. I placed one knee on the desk allowing him deeper inside. Professor K cupped a breast, squeezing it. I sighed with pleasure as his fingers began rolling and tugging at the nipple.

  “So good,” I moaned.

  His fingers bit down cruelly. An electric jolt screamed from my nipple directly to my clit.

  “More,” I begged.

  I’d never considered my nipples particularly sensitive before Paul.

  “That’s because no one’s taken the time to train them,” Paul told me.

  He produced a set of nipple clamps from a drawer. Fear and desire had hardened my nipples for him without so much as a touch. When the cold metal had bitten down, I’d first cried out in pain. Then Paul had leaned forward and licked the pinched skin, pleasure taking control again.

  Professor K’s thrusts began to speed up. My vision began to blur as my body tightened. Then, just as fast as he’d entered, he withdrew. I cried out, begging for his return.

  No! So close!

  A finger pulsed against my asshole, teasing the opening.

  “Tell me what I want to hear,” he growled. “If you ever want to orgasm, or have a prayer of a passing grade, tell me to fuck to you in the arse.”

  I was going to try it anyway. If this is how I can have him, yes. Yes.

  “Do it. Fuck me in the ass,” I moaned in capitulation.

  Professor Kumar traced the slick path from my cunt to my ass over and over, spreading my wetness to lubricate me. His hand tormented my clit, keeping me aroused and dancing at orgasm’s edge. Pressure became a burning sensation as the head of his cock opened my virgin hole. I felt like I was being split in two and I started to pull away, scared.

  “Shhh…just a moment more, darling,” the professor crooned.

  Like magic, once the head had fully entered me the pain was gone. His shaft slid home. He stilled, balls brushing the tops of my thighs.

  “There you go. Good girl,” he murmured, his finger again t
easing my clit. “Tell me how it feels.”

  “I’m good. It’s good. But my cunt feels so empty. Hungry—” I panted as I neared the edge yet again.

  He laughed. “That’s because you’re a proper little slut. Want something up your cunny and your arse at the same time do you?” He began to rock against me.

  Riding a cock. One up my ass.

  “And one in my mouth,” I moaned.

  “What a picture you’d make,” he growled. He fucked my ass in earnest now, sliding back and then slamming deep. His balls slapped my thighs as he thrust.

  “Come for me,” he whispered.

  I surrendered to the cresting pleasure. My body tensed. Professor Kumar’s hips pumped, fingers relentlessly working on my already overworked clit. A flash of heat spread. The pulse at my throat boiled. My vision blurred. Then a tsunami of an orgasm hit me and dragged me under. A hand covered my mouth, muffling my sobs of pleasure. I was glad of the desk when my legs gave out.

  Seconds, minutes or hours later, I heard the Professor grunt. His weight fell against me. “Well done,” he murmured.

  That was amazing. Why did I wait so long to try it?

  Professor Kumar slid out of me. My ass felt sore, stretched and well used. I wasn’t going to be able to sit without remembering this for at least a day or two.

  “I don’t think I can move,” I whispered. “I can’t even feel my nose.”

  He chuckled. “By the by, your essay actually earned a B-plus.”

  “Paul, you bastard. You said we had to keep school and our relationship separate. I thought I’d actually—” My head fell back on the desk as relief and irritation warred with each other.

  Unrepentant, Paul chuckled, and squeezed a sore cheek. “You told me that you’d fantasized about this, Abby. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Now, get dressed or we’ll both be late to seminar.”

  I gathered my clothes. “I need my panties, Paul.”

  An evil grin flickered as he tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. “No you don’t.”

  DRIVER’S SEAT

  Sophia Valenti

  Dan and I made the rounds of the raucous backyard gathering that was our wedding reception, thanking our friends for sharing the day with us. The sun had already set, the inky sky matching the hue of my midnight-blue, velvet-flocked gown, but countless hanging lanterns illuminated the cheerful crowd. They seemed fully intent on continuing the celebration long after we’d taken our leave of them.

  My friend Louisa had insisted on holding the festivities at her recently renovated Victorian home. It was a stunning backdrop for photos of our steampunk-inspired wedding party, who were attired in colorful waistcoats and corseted dresses.

  I saved my last good-bye for our hostess, who rushed toward me with arms outstretched, and lace-trimmed bell sleeves billowing, to give me an exuberant hug.

  “Congratulations, my love,” she said before kissing me on the cheek. She rested her hands on my cinched waist and looked me in the eye as she said, “The limo’s waiting at the front of the house.”

  “Lou, I told you we don’t need a driver!”

  “Yes, yes, you do,” she answered with a smirk. “It’s my gift to you,” she added with an emphatic nod of her head. Without another word, she turned toward my new husband, light glinting off of the polished brass goggles that sat atop her ginger hair, and Dan embraced her in a bear hug that caused her to rise up on the toes of her butterfly-festooned boots.

  I couldn’t fathom why Louisa would care how we made it from her house to the bed and breakfast in town—especially since our own car was parked in the driveway, but I didn’t try to argue with her.

  As we took our leave, Dan held my hand and helped me navigate the dark, grassy path from the yard to the house; my crinolines rustled noisily with every careful step I took. A large, vintage car soon appeared in our view, silhouetted by the full moon.

  “A limo, huh?” Dan said, with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, why we’d need one for a fifteen-minute ride…”

  “I know.” Dan squeezed my hand. “She’s just trying to be nice. Relax and enjoy it.”

  As we approached, a small, trim figure emerged from behind the car, triggering the motion-sensor lights at the front of Louisa’s home. We could now clearly see the vintage black Rolls-Royce, its door being held open by a petite blonde, whose short platinum hair was slicked back beneath her black chauffeur’s cap. Her formfitting white shirt and black leather underbust corset enhanced her subtle curves, and her skintight black leggings were tucked into shiny patent-leather boots, giving her a sleek, streamlined appearance. This woman was definitely built for speed.

  “Good evening,” she said, the words falling from her lips in a lazy drawl. She unabashedly allowed her gaze to travel from my elegant updo to my buttoned-up ankle boots. Despite her supposed role as our driver, I didn’t think for one minute that she was there to serve me. The look in her eyes seemed absolutely predatory, and it sparked an unexpected flare of arousal inside me. With one hip cocked, she leaned against the car door, letting a fingertip casually trace the bottom of her glossy pout.

  “Uh, Bridget,” Dan began nervously, not tearing his eyes away from her. “You guys know each other?”

  “No.” I looked at Dan, who seemed as flustered as I was.

  “Ah, but we have all night to correct that,” she responded, the boldness of her response surprising me and thrilling me all at once. “Come on in,” she said, gesturing toward the car’s interior. “I’m Liza. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  I dimly recalled Louisa telling me about a friend of hers who worked as a chauffeur because of her love of classic cars. Suddenly, all of the details snapped to the forefront of my mind. Liza. Her kinky friend Liza. The one who also had admired photos of me and Dan that hung on the walls of Louisa’s home. At that moment, I knew our time with Liza didn’t have to be fifteen minutes. It could be so much more.

  Once Dan and I were safely inside the car, Liza slammed the door shut and took her time coming around to the front seat. It was almost like she knew we needed a few minutes to ourselves.

  “What do you think of Liza?” I asked in a hushed whisper, taking Dan’s hand in mine. He and I had previously enjoyed threeways, but I didn’t know how he’d feel about sharing our wedding night with a stranger—albeit a beautiful one with a penchant for kink.

  I saw hesitation flash across his handsome face, almost as if he was wondering if my question was a test, but he quickly gathered his wits.

  “She’s stunning,” he answered, his voice filled with raw honesty and lust.

  Before I could say another word, Liza opened her door and slid into the front seat. But that was no matter. Dan had given me all the answer I needed, and I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Liza adjusted her rearview mirror, the reflection of her green eyes meeting mine. She held my gaze for a long moment, letting the heat between us build, before she gripped the tip of her cap between her thumb and forefinger, giving me a nod and a wink. Then she turned the key in the ignition and steered the car toward the main road.

  My heart was pounding beneath my tightly laced corset. I’d been looking forward to our wedding night, but now that such an intensely erotic possibility was being dangled in front of me, I could barely contain my excitement.

  Liza didn’t speak during the short drive to our destination, but she did continue to steal smoldering glances at me in the rearview mirror whenever she could. Each time our eyes met, I felt another wave of desire course through me. I snuggled closer to Dan, who whispered, “You want to play with her, don’t you?” I merely nodded in response, and he laughed, a low throaty chuckle that betrayed his arousal.

  Let me tell you, fifteen minutes pass by quickly when you’re holding your new husband’s hand and trying to decide on the best pickup line to lure a hot blonde into your honeymoon suite. But as it turned out, I shouldn’t have fretted one bit.

  The car slowed to a stop in front of the quaint bed and b
reakfast at which we’d be spending the weekend, and Liza was at our side in an instant. With one hand on the opened door, she extended the other toward me to help me out of the vehicle. With my voluminous skirts, I really did need assistance, but even if I hadn’t, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to make even the smallest connection with her.

  Liza gripped my hand, letting her fingertips softly swipe across my palm, and I had to bite back a purr. That small stroke sent tingles down my spine. I didn’t let go of her, even after I was out of the car and standing beside her on the cobblestone driveway. The building tension between us had my senses on high alert; her touch was as hypnotic as her scent, a subtle fragrance laced with notes of amber and spice.

  The muted, bluish lights at the front of the inn coupled with the silvery moon to give Liza’s skin an ethereal glow. But all angelic comparisons ended there. With blood-red lips and a devious gleam in her eyes, she was the embodiment of a million wicked promises. I felt my nipples, erect and sensitive, straining against my cotton chemise, and a pulsing ache had consumed my cunt. I wasn’t certain what Dan and I were about to get into, but I didn’t care. I was already under Liza’s spell—willing to do whatever it took to fulfill her dirty desires.

  As those thoughts swirled through my mind, Dan came up behind me. His breath was hot on the back of my neck, causing goose bumps to pebble my flesh. My husband slid his arms around my waist, and I saw Liza’s eyes flit from my face to his. She looked as if she was carefully considering her words—and carefully considering us.

  “So, shall we head inside?” she asked, her voice husky with barely concealed need. Not waiting for an answer, she turned on her heels and headed toward the inn.

  I turned to Dan, who looked as bemused as he was aroused. “You game?” I asked, checking with him one last time before we forged ahead.

  “Always,” he answered, before dipping his head down to kiss me. The touch and taste of his familiar lips grounded me before we headed off toward the unknown.

  Liza was patiently waiting for us inside, flashing a filthy smile when she saw us enter hand in hand. Dan led the way up the stairs, with Liza and me following close behind. She kept her hand on my back, and though I couldn’t feel the warmth of her flesh through my many layers of clothes, I felt a gentle pressure as she guided me upward.