Short Smut(2)

“I’ve got to go. Goodnight, hon,” she said.

I took deep breaths and willed myself soft. “Bye, baby. Love you.”

“Love you too. Oh, and you might be interested to know I came in those panties three times before I left.” The line went dead.

I groaned, low and tortured, as I fell onto the pillow. Desperate, I breathed in her scent and then immediately regretted it as my cock throbbed in answer.

It would be a long, hard night.

* * *

The second day went better. I only thought about Melissa once an hour, a marked improvement.

I immersed myself in work, started a big, complicated project late in the afternoon and worked until evening. The new secretary from the temp agency only screwed up twice, as if she’d joined my productivity bandwagon. I even stopped at the gym, so I’d be more tired than horny.

Pleasantly buzzed from the mixture of workout endorphins and anticipation of our phone call, I strolled through the door at 9 o’clock. I showered with the door open, so as not to miss the phone ring, but by 10:30 it hadn’t. Giving in to my restlessness, I checked the phone. That’s when I noticed the blinking light. My blood began to race, hot and panicky. I pressed play.

“Hey, hon, it’s me. I know I’m calling earlier than last night. I was pretty tired so I turned in after dinner. I guess I’m going to hit the sack. You can call me if you want to talk. Goodnight.”

Beep.

That stupid black box got to talk to my wife, when I didn’t. Goodnight? Damn, damn, damn.

I sat down heavily. I was a grown man. I could go a whole day without talking to her. Should I call her anyway? Wake her up. Yes, please.

But I didn’t. She was tired, she’d said so. It was the epitome of selfishness to even consider disturbing her just to appease my need of her. At least I didn’t have to worry about my sexual depression, not when I had the emotional kind to weigh me down.

* * *

The secretary from the temp agency looked all of fifteen, though the paper said she had an associate’s degree. She giggled like a teenager, though, and dressed like one. How exactly did one ask a subordinate to show less skin without getting slapped with a harassment lawsuit?

So I suffered her tardiness, her generally shoddy work and the way she filed her nails at her desk without complaint. Surely to some men she’d be sexy, but to me it was too much.

Not like Melissa. She was young too, though not that young and classy besides. Sexy in that she knew all the dirty things to do me, but only if she decided I was worthy. She wouldn’t give it up easily, because with her, she wasn’t giving in. She took what she wanted.

Still though, there was something to be said for a woman with so-obvious curves bouncing around the office when I hadn’t gotten any relief in days. And that something was that it was fucking annoying. It wasn’t even her legs or cleavage that drew my eye, but her shoulders. From the back, with her wavy black hair and shoulders exposed by a completely inappropriate tube top, she could almost pass for Melissa, if I squinted.

I often gave Melissa backrubs after work. She’d head straight for the bedroom, throwing off her suit and silk blouse, rummaging for something more comfortable. She looked so incredibly sexy that way, wearing her satin underwear and bra and completely oblivious to her appeal. I’d be desperate to touch her, even to look at her for a few minutes longer before she covered up.

I’d come up behind her, that last night. “Here, baby. You look stiff. Let me give you a backrub.”

She moaned as soon as my hands settled on her shoulders. I gently guided her to the bed where she sprawled out on her stomach, and it took all my willpower not to fall on her and rut. I lay beside her instead and rubbed away her tension: her shoulders, her neck, her arms. Occasionally slipping my hands down, brushing the plump side of her breast where it peeked from the bra cup.

I was hard as a rock, touching her, being near her.

She wriggled her gorgeous ass, leaned back until she felt my erection. “I love that,” she sighed.

And then I was rutting against her, pushing my cock against her body. Even the soft, warm pressure of her through my clothes was enough to push me over, but she stopped me. She pulled away and planted a quick kiss on my lips.

“You’re right, baby. I did have a stressful day. Why don’t you make it better?”

She rolled onto her back, her sleek limbs splayed wide with sumptuous sensuality. Her best parts were still covered by lacy lingerie, but that only made the whole thing better. Eager and wanting, I scrambled down to her feet, where I pulled at her pretty panties.

“No,” she admonished. “No hands.”

So I put my hands behind my back and crouched over her, nudging and tugging on her panties with my tongue, my lips, my teeth. The faint earthy aroma of her sex drove me crazy, but I persisted with my task until I pulled the slip of fabric off of her feet and dropped it beside the bed. My hands still clenched behind my back, I wriggled my way back between her legs and stared at the glorious, bare mound, feeling oddly close to tears.