Special Treats

It was late, the office had been almost deserted for nearly an hour. Only him left, toiling away, and for what? Yes it paid the bills, the mortgage and for the occasional treat for them both, but it was grey. A dull grey that transcended the mere colour and became and indelible creeping pigment seeping behind his eyes and into his mind.

Day after day the grey wore away a little of the vitality and enthusiasm he once had for life, sucked the colour from his soul and the inspiration from his mind. He was just a spectator as his life was taken from him by this mundane, humdrum existence.

The intercom buzzed.

“Yes?”

“PC Repair” replied a muffled voice.

“Come in. it’s room 12a.” He pressed the door release. Bzzzzz.

He heard the door open and footsteps in the corridor outside.

Knock, knock.

“Come.”

The door opened to reveal a woman, about his age, brown hair, blue-green eyes, nice hips … “I need to get out more” he thought to himself.

“It’s the CD drive, there’s a disk in and it won’t open. Be careful, it’s my wife’s, one of her favourites.” He explained.

She leant over him to reach his mouse. Her perfume was light but exotic, not one he recognised. There was a stirring in his trousers. “Oh for Christ’s sake control yourself!” he thought, “oh, there we go, now I can’t stand up.” His cock began to strain against the wool blend.

She was fortunately oblivious to his appreciation of her proximity, and the semi-obscured view of her breasts that her half-buttoned blouse offered to him. A white lacy bra, cupping soft, twin, inviting prizes.

“I’ll have to get inside the case, strip it down, the drive’s jammed.”

Strip, strip, strip, ip, ip. The word echoed in his head for too long. Yes strip, here in front of me now, slowly, carefully, casually, coyly. One piece of clothing at a time removed, abandoned, before we abandon reason and I fuck you on the desk. “You need help.” He told himself.

Click, click went the mouse her hand cupping it as it would his balls. Balls now snuggled in his tightly drawn up scrotum.

She turned and leant on the desk, planting her buttocks on the utilitarian faux wood finish. Her knee, exposed by her short skirt rubbed his leg. Short skirt, not very practical. A tiny silver bell rang in the back of his head. He ignored it.

Short skirt, the thought returned, only inches to stocking tops and then, the fragrant prize beyond. Moist, welcoming, satisfying.

What was she doing with her hand! Microsoft Certified and very Professional, her fingers came to rest on the outline of his stiff, hard cock.

His throat was dry. He swallowed, a comedy gulp that Chaplin would have been proud of.

Her free hand uncoupled her blouse buttons exposing her lace cosseted breasts. Another gulp.

She grabbed his hand and slid it up her skirt, let him find his own way when he got the gist. Stocking, black, shear, tops smooth, unfussy, soft expanse of naked skin before, before, cotton panties, warm and moist already.

He gazed at her, eyes locked to hers as he navigated two digits inside her snatch. Gratified by her dreamy smile he waited for her next move. Deft fingers uncovered her prize, stiff and glistening from the steady flow of precum oozing from its tip.

Slosh, slosh, in and out his fingers finding her G-spot and coaxing a steady flow of slippery fluid from her receptive pussy. His fingers palm and wrist were wet, her inner thighs bathed in her own essence.

She rolled the skin of his cock back and forth feeling him shudder and with a growing excitement anticipated the inevitable climax with a finally frantic, wrist-flicking flourish. Cum showered his tie and her hand. The thick globules of white pearly fluid slowly giving up their more liquid components and darkening the red silk in gradually widening dark patches.

She gasped and groaned, urged him to take her to that final high. His fingers curled and uncurled, pushing into her as she pressed down onto her own, personal flesh and blood sex toy. When her climax crash across her form she became silent except for a long low moan to accompany her shivering, quivering limbs.

His hand became locked in place, fingers gripped by her spasming pussy and vice like gripping thighs.

At that moment he expected to wake up and find he had fallen asleep at his desk and have an extra pair of trousers that needed dry cleaning. But no, his service engineer with impeccable service didn’t disappear, she continued milking the remaining cum from his cock until she was satisfied he was thoroughly spent.

He reached into his jacket, extracted what appeared to be a business card. And re-read it thoughtfully. He’d forgotten it was there …

~~~

Two weeks earlier …

The game was good fun, the adult theme had them horny, as did the relaxing effects of the wine. They didn’t manage to the finish a whole game, but then that wasn’t the point, and acted out the fantasy the cards had prescribed like newlywed teens with no regard for the neighbours.

They both retained a “Treat Card” to be carried out at a later date. Hers read, “Hire your partner a very special strip-o-gram, be as naughty as you like.”

~~~

He pondered how he could match his treat with the one the card instructed him to arrange for her …