True Grit

bytwist_shimmy©

I'm not an introspective person by any means, but every once in a while I am forced to step back from a situation and ponder how the hell I got there. Then again, it's not every day I am lying on the floor of a broom closet with my legs in the air, being thoroughly fucked by a coworker while the concert we are supposed to be monitoring roars unchecked on the other side of the wall. A small, rational part of my brain is telling me I am insane. Mostly, though, I'm just glad The Crystal Method likes their bass, because it means no one out there can hear me. The weirdest thing about this entire encounter is that I don't even know the guy's name. He's a temp we called in to work while my normal coworker was off dealing with an emergency. I've only known him for an hour an a half, and yet he has me lying willingly in the dust, streaked with his sweat and saliva.

That's charisma at work, that is. Then again, it certainly helps that he has a magnificent cock. When he'd pressed my hand against his pants and I'd gotten my first feel of it, I'd had him out of his clothing almost instantly. He'd gasped as I pushed him against a wall and dropped to my knees to take him into my mouth. I've always enjoyed giving head, and he was an excellent receiver. When I hit an especially sensitive spot he'd thrust into me, grab at my shoulders, or groan. The noises he made were my favorite. Every time he gasped, every time he moaned, I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. Before I knew it, I had my hand down my own pants so I could tease my clit while I wrapped my tongue around him, reveling in how straight and stiff he felt in my mouth, and imagining pleasantly what it would feel like when his cock finally pushed into me. Just thinking about it made me moan as I trailed my tongue down his shaft to get at his balls. This sound had stirred him out of his reverie, and he had looked down at me.

"Want a little help with that?" he asked, gesturing pointedly at my busy hand.

"I'm not done with you just yet," I replied, but he was pulling me up off the floor already. His fingers were at my fly, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping as his mouth sought mine and his tongue slid between my lips. My khakis and panties were removed in one smooth motion and left unceremoniously around my ankles. As I stepped out of them, he lay back on the floor of the closet.

"Swing your ass up this way." He grinned and beckoned at me.

Now that's an idea, and a position I hadn't tried out in a while. Usually it makes me feel shy, but I felt oddly liberated knowing this man was a complete stranger. I smiled over my shoulder and kneeled to straddle him, setting one knee on either side of his face. He grabbed my hips and yanked me closer, and his tongue found my clit just as I took his head back into my mouth. A few expert flicks of his tongue, and we were both moaning. I brought one hand around to gently play with his balls as my tongue ran over the length of his cock and did lazy circles about his crown. He responded by freeing one of his own hands and slipping two of his fingers into my snatch. Soon we'd established a solid rhythm, and the music playing on the other side of the wall set our speed. Minutes later, I was on the brink of a massive orgasm. I suppose he could tell, because his tactics changed. His tongue wound its way up my thigh, then darted to my ass. Sliding inward, he began to work at my asshole. I paused, shocked. I felt dirty. I felt dirty, but God it felt good. I groaned loudly, and he tongued at me with renewed force.

"Like that?" he muttered.

"Y-yes," I admitted, face burning. He flexed his hips at me, bringing his cock against my lips in a silent order to stop talking. I shut my eyes and took him back into my mouth, sucking gently, feeling him slowly slide his fingers out of me. Soon his index finger was circling my asshole along with his tongue. I felt him apply gentle pressure and gasped.

"Shhhh," he said, and pushed harder. His finger slid into me slowly and began to wiggle. I groaned and focused on this new sensation until he gave my ass a soft smack with his free hand.

"Keep going," he muttered, returning his tongue to my clit and working it in small circles. I tried, I really did, but my brain kept focusing on how fucking good this felt, and I kept losing rhythm. It didn't matter, anyway, because a minute or two later, with his face buried between my legs and his finger in my ass, I came. He only stopped when I collapsed against his legs, eyes closed, and panting. My arms were refusing to hold me up. He sidled out from under me, picked me up, and pulled me against his chest, running his hand over my hair soothingly and nibbling at my ear.

"Let me know when you're ready," he murmured. I was. I practically pounced him in my urgency to show him just how ready I was. He pushed me over roughly, pressed my knees up along my sides, and slid into me slowly, teasingly. Then, as Born Too Slow started up on stage, he began to fuck me in earnest.

And here we are. I put my hands to his shoulders to steady myself and feel his muscles flexing with every thrust. His eyes are open, and he's watching me react, feeling out what I like best. I feel on display, but I also love it, because I know my reactions are making him hot. He reaches up under my uniform shirt and tweaks my nipple, causing me to arch my back, pressing into him and groaning.

"God, I knew you'd be fuckable," he whispers in my ear, and I experience a thrill at these words. I feel like such a slut. I love it. A new song starts up, one I have never heard, and he increases the speed of his thrusts in response. For one wild moment I catch myself thinking that this is one hell of a way to experience unfamiliar music, but then he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, and all higher thought processes cease. I feel warm. I feel fluid. I want to wrap myself around him and make him come so hard he'll never forget the feel of my body on his.

My tongue finds his ear as my hand finds his ass. I lick the one and squeeze the other as I give him a little shove. He flips onto his back obligingly, holding onto me by the hips and taking me with him. Once on top, I pull my shirt off over my head. It's too hot in here now, and I want him to see my body. He doesn't mind. He's staring at my breasts, watching my breathing, wishing to God my bra were on the floor. I leave it on for now, bending over him to give him a good view of my cleavage all the same. My tongue runs against his bare chest, licking a damp, salty trail that ends at his nipple. He growls and spanks me again.

"Stop teasing me."

I grind against him slowly, watching his eyes haze over at the sensation. "Make me."

He doesn't move. I catch the beat of the music again and increase my pace to match it, letting my mind combine what I am hearing with what I am feeling into one experience. He's breathing raggedly beneath me, hands on my hips, eyes locked on my face. I lean back to get a better angle and toss my head back happily. To my surprise, he smacks my ass again.

"No. Look at me!"

I oblige, lowering my eyes to meet his. Now that I know what he wants, I fuck him hard, not breaking eye contact. He brings his hands up to my chest and begins massaging my breasts through my bra, watching the way my face changes with an intent expression. I play it up, knowing it will drive him insane. I bite my lip and toss my hair, staring down at him dreamily, before reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. My hands reach up to his, covering them, feeling with them. He lowers his own and watches me toss my bra aside so I can easily tease my own nipples.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, and suddenly he is shoving me over again. I hit the floor with a solid thud, still watching his face. He pounds into me forcefully with the desperation of a man who is about to come, but changes his mind after his eyes flick down to my newly-exposed chest. I tighten against him as he pulls out, feeling an empty feeling of regret as we separate. He straddles me like I had straddled him moments before and thrusts his cock into my cleavage. I take the hint and press my breasts against him obligingly, still staring up into his face. He picks up rhythm again, and I let my breath catch encouragingly as he slides his cock along my skin. I love how dirty it feels to be used like this.

His eyes shut, and with a load gasp, he begins to come. The first pulse hits my cleavage dead on, making it nice and slippery. His eyes fly back open and he stares down at me as more of his come hits my chest and neck, leaving me warm and sticky. I smile at him, and he groans and pulls me back up into a sitting position for a violent kiss. Thick trails of his jizz are tickling their way down my stomach as he forces his tongue desperately into my mouth. Composure regained, he pulls back to admire his handiwork.

"Nice, but it's missing something," he informs me.

"Oh?"

He pulls me up on my knees and slides his fingers back against my clit. I gasp.

"Want me to make you come again?"

"Yes!" I can feel my eyes shutting against my will.

"Say please," he murmurs as his fingers slide back inside me. I groan softly, but don't answer. His mouth finds my ear and licks along the lobe before he speaks again.

"Say please."

"P-please." And that's all he needed. His mouth nibbles at my ears, neck, and lips as his fingers find my g-spot and begin working it expertly. With all the stimulation I was getting earlier, it doesn't take long for him to finish me off. I lose my balance as pleasure seeps into my muscles, distracting them, and fall against his chest, leaving us both panting together, damp and sticky. My mind clears and I catch the first few notes of True Grit coming from the direction of the door. He hears it too, and must recognize the song, because he gives a short laugh.

"We should probably get cleaned up and back to work," he says softly in my ear. I nod and stand on shaky feet. There's a paper towel dispenser to our left, and I toss a few at him before beginning to wipe my chest clean. I feel relaxed as I slide back into my clothes, and I can tell by his smug smile that he does, too. We exit the closet together, trusting that everyone will be too focused on the performance to notice us sneaking out. The bass hits me in the stomach as we re-enter the venue proper, making already excited nerves tingle pleasantly.

"So what's your name?" he asks with a grin.

I smile and keep moving toward the crowd. "Come on, we've got work to do!" By tomorrow he'll be gone, and it won't matter anyway.

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