Under His Desk Ch. 01byyuna1981©
I know he watches me. I don't think he knows that I know. I don't think he knows that I watch him too. His home office window looks directly into my bedroom window. Sometimes I baby-sit for the neighbors next door, the Johnsons, although it is a bit of an unusual arrangement. Mr. Johnson is a writer, and he's actually normally home when I am baby-sitting. Mr. & Mrs. Johnson have hired me to make sure that he can get his writing done, so I keep the kid out of his hair while he sits in his office and types away.
However, that's not the only thing that he does in that office. I know, because I've seen him many times, late at night, when he will quietly step into his office, turn on his computer, watch pornography, and jack himself off furiously. Or, if he's working late into the night, on those days when he has a deadline, I'll undress for bed with the window open, so that he can see a flash of my body, as I take off my clothes and change into a nightgown, or a tank top camisole and shorts.
I like turning the lights off and peeking surreptitiously into his window then. Without fail, the flash of my body triggers his response, and he'll take a break from his work, turn on some porn, and jack off, no doubt imagining that I am performing whatever act he is watching: blowjobs, doggy-style, and reverse cowgirl are his favorites.
Another thing that gets me really hot about that is that lately, he looks for girls who I think look like me: late teens or early twenties, and Asian, and older guys like him. When I go over to baby-sit, before he shuts himself in his office and works, I can almost sense that he's thinking about me lasciviously, though he's never said, or done anything to reveal that. It's just, the look in his eye. The wanting.
Lately, I've been wanting him too. I've taken to peering over the sill, crouching so he can't see me, rubbing my clit furiously as I crouch near the ground, hiding. Watching him rub his massive, thick, hairy cock, seeing his breathing quicken and his stomach muscles tightening, I can't help but get intensely, insanely wet at the sight. Crouching like that, sometimes my pussy juices drip onto the floor, I get so wet. I try to time my orgasms with his, circling my fingers and biding my time, building it up, until I see him start to buck his hips a bit and scrunch his eyes shut, stroking faster and faster. I've learned his body signals, I know exactly when he is going to cum. I start rocking my hips in tandem with his, rubbing my hardened clit against the pads of my index and middle finger, and then, as I see his cock head swell and turn purple, and he spurts thick white rivets of jizz onto his stomach, I suddenly jam my fingers into my pussy and hit my G-spot forcefully to trigger my own orgasm, spasming around my hand until a copious amount of cum squirts out onto the floor below me. Gripping on to the sill for support, I ride my fingers until the waves of ecstasy subside, keeping my eyes open so I can watch Mr. Johnson's heavy breaths slow, as we both luxuriate in the post-orgasmic phase, having both cum to the thought of fucking each other.
My desire for Mr. Johnson has been increasing to a fever pitch lately, and, after a string of bad dates with some of the guys in my college freshman class, I can't help but focus on how much better Mr. Johnson is. I'm tired of getting fucked by guys who don't know what they are doing, and I haven't seen a cock as thick and impressive as his, anywhere.
It's not just the physical. Mr. Johnson is an amazing writer; right now he does freelance work, and his pieces are always clever, funny, and thought-provoking. He reminds me of David Foster Wallace, similarly able to convey the inner workings of his brilliant and slightly off-kilter mind to a wide audience. I actually get off on the fact that sometimes, after he finishes his masturbation sessions, he'll clean up and head right back to work, diving into the piece he was working on as if nothing had ever happened. I'm jealous of his focus, really; I get so aroused watching him, that even masturbating myself doesn't sate me, and I am left wanting more and more and more. The college guys don't sate me either, they get their one pop and leave me hanging. I'm multi-orgasmic, and I crave them, one after another after another. They aren't frosting, they are essential, and I have the feeling that Mr. Johnson will be able to satisfy me in a way that no other man I've met can do.
Its summer, now. I'm taking one class during the summer session, and living at home, commuting in to campus. Baby-sitting for the Johnson's has been good for my cash flow, and easy enough. Their kid is pretty young, so he goes to bed quite early, and so I'm often able to do my classwork, sitting at their kitchen table, slaving away at problem sets. I cannot wait until this required math class is over, so I can get back to my writing classes during the term.
On one of the those hot summer nights, I'm sitting back in my room, and see Mr. Johnson come into his office. I've got my window open to try to get some air, and I notice that he opens his window as well. Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. The window is big enough that I could walk over, and climb right through. I want to see Mr. Johnson up close, and I think I could hide under his desk and get an amazing view of him stroking his cock. He has one of those deep, imposing heavy wood desks, that I am extremely envious of -- how could you not produce brilliance, sitting at one of those desks?
I resolve to try to pull this trick sometime, risky though it is. However, the opportunity hits me right in the face when I see Mr. Johnson get up with his empty coffee mug in hand. He must be going to refill it, planning for a late night of work. I freak out a bit, questioning whether I should do it or not. It's crazy, right? What if I get caught?
But the thought of doing this is driving me absolutely insane with lust. Blood is rushing to my pussy, and it throbs. My nipples are hard, and I'm starting to breathe a little heavily. Letting my body take over, I don't even mentally decide to do it, but just start climbing out of my window, stepping lightly across the small strip of grass that separates our houses, and climb into his office window. Crawling on my hands and knees, I position myself in the corner of his desk, and gather my knees into my chest, holding them closely to my body, and I wait.
I hear footsteps, and a door. I see Mr. Johnson's legs, he's barefoot, wearing white and blue boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. His legs are lean but well-muscled, especially around his thighs, due to his biking hobby. He has great calves too. I hear him whistling a little, and then see him sit down in his rolling chair, and slide into the desk. He pulls up to the computer and I hear him set down his mug, and start typing away.
At this point I'm still horny, but so scared out of my mind that I am doing everything I can to stay silent and still. His dark-haired, muscled legs are only six inches away from mine, and I can see him tapping his foot in thought, his calf contracting and relaxing, and sometimes his toes get precariously close to touching me. I can't believe I did this, this was incredibly stupid. But slowly, I realize that he hasn't seen me, because he keeps working away, and nothing happens.
Gradually, I relax. Okay, so I simply have to wait for him to get up again, and then get the hell out of his office and pretend nothing ever happened. He keeps on working for half an hour, before I notice him lean back a bit in his chair, and the incessant typing sounds cease. I hear him sip on his coffee, and I take this opportunity to shift just a teeny bit, as I am getting stiff from crouching this way and trying to keep absolutely still. Then, I see him glance over at my bedroom window, and hear him mutter quietly to himself, "Kim must be sleeping already. No show tonight, damn. I could really use that right now."
I hold my breath. He's thinking about me! And right before my eyes, I see him slide his hands into his boxers, and then, slipping the boxers down, I can see that his cock is already half-erect. I stir, overwhelmed by what's happening, and that the mere thought of me made him start to harden. That he wants me so badly, and that I have that power over him, makes me feel incredibly sexy, instantly re-igniting the feeling of intense arousal I had just a half an hour ago. The boxers that are pooled at his feet are mere inches away from me, and I caress them with my fingertip, just to feel a little closer to him. I wish I could touch him.
"Kim..." I hear him mutter quietly, and he begins to stroke his cock lightly. It twitches and jerks up, and begins to swell as he grips his cock, squeezing the base and working his way up.
"Kim... you hot little slut... where are you?" He mutters, and a shot of pure lust ran through my whole body, from my brain right to my cunt, at the sound of him calling me a "hot little slut." Oh my God, to be up close and to hear what he says, is blowing my mind. I'd often seen him moving his lips, but didn't realize that he was talking like this about me.
In the moonlight I can see a light sheen of sweat on his body; it's a hot night, and the feelings of sexual arousal are making it even hotter. Even in my light tank top and shorts, I'm sweating too. I wish he'd take off his T-shirt, but it's thin enough that I can make out the outlines of his fit body, his pecs, his abs.
I quietly lean back against the desk, feeling the solid wood behind me. Spreading my legs, I start to lightly finger my clit with one hand, while I continue to stroke his boxer shorts almost imperceptibly with my other hand, fingering the light fabric in time with the slippery circles on my clit.
"Those lips... yeah, suck me off, you horny little Asian whore." I can see him deep in a fantasy, his eyes screwed shut, running his hands over his cock in an imitation of a tongue lapping it, light strokes with the pads of his fingertips flat on the shaft, slapping lightly, then gripping it suddenly tighter and jerking it, intermittently.
His words inflame me. My lust boils over, and all I can think about is making his fantasy come true, and sucking his cock up in my mouth, plunging it into the wet depths inside my lips and servicing him. I want to be his hot little slut, his Asian whore. I crave his beautiful cock, I can see the pre-cum already glistening on the head, and before I can think better of it, I get on my knees in front of his chair, still halfway under the desk, and lick the pre-cum off of the swollen head of his cock.
Jerking suddenly, he inhales sharply in response, and then his eyes pop open and he stares down at me in utter dumbfounded surprise. "Shit," he whispers sharply, "Kim, what the fuck are you doing?"
Staring up at him from my position on the floor, I am a little scared. But I can see that his cock is rock hard, even harder, and his erection isn't going away. Summoning all my bravery, I whisper back, "Giving you what you want."
He stares back at me for a second, not moving. I slip my fingers underneath the straps of my tank top camisole, and pull them down over my arms, until my breasts, with my hard pink-brown nipples, are exposed. I rub my hands on his muscular thighs, and rub my cheek on his steel hard erection. And then, finally, I feel his hand on my head, his fingers running through my long black hair, and they tighten in a fist, gripping a handful, then releasing it.
A gentle but firm pressure pushes down on my head, and I feel the signal that he wants me to service his cock. Elatedly, I kiss the tip of his cock head, and then enclose my lips around his dick, reveling in the veiny texture on my tongue, and the salty bitter taste of his pre-cum lightly flavoring my mouth. He moans very quietly as I take him in my mouth, and murmurs, "Jesus, Kim, your mouth is fucking fantastic."
Bobbing my head up and down in his lap, I swallow him whole, in and out, swirling my tongue around and applying a sucking pressure on every move up. I can hear him start to grunt a little on every upward motion, and I love learning the little moves that give him pleasure. I take a quick break to whisper to him, "Mr. Johnson, your cock tastes so good."
He smiles down at me, and brushes my hair back out of the way.
"Get your mouth back on my dick, baby. Keep sucking it like a good girl."
God, how does he know that it turns me on so much to hear him talking like this? Even more eagerly then before, I take him in my mouth, slobbering all over him, wettening the entirety of his cock with my slurping and sucking. "Shhhhhh," he admonishes, "keep it quiet, that's a good girl."
Pressing my tongue flat against the bottom of his shaft, I work him in and out of my mouth, the rough texture of my tongue stimulating every inch of his cock, rubbing his frenulum with the hot rough wetness, and circling my lips around the head, so that the softness of my lips presses into the hardness of his erection. My God, his cock is so steel hard.
Suddenly, we both hear approaching footsteps. He slides into his desk, forcing his cock deep into my throat in the process, and he holds my head down on it as he hides me under his desk, just in time. His wife opens the door, and says, "I'm going to bed... good luck with the article."
"Thanks! I'll be at it for awhile." He answers calmly, as he presses his hand firmly on my head, his cock shoved deeply into my throat. It's all I can do to not start coughing, but I don't want to give us away. She can't see me under the desk, can she? My eyes start to water, and I struggle to breath quietly through my nose, though my nose is buried in his dark curly pubic hair at the base of his cock, and I can smell his scent intensely, earthy, manly, and purely sex.
Finally, she shuts the door, and he releases me. I gasp a little, and fall backwards from the shock. We sit there for a few seconds, until we're sure that she's gone away. Then, he whispers, "I'm sorry about that Kim, are you okay?"
"Yes," I whisper back. "In fact, it was kind of hot. I liked feeling you bury your dick in my throat."
"You're such a good fucking slut, you know that Kim?" He laughed a bit, and bent down and picked my shoulders up and set my arms back on his thighs.
"Now finish what you started, you cunning little brat. I'm so full of cum my balls are going to explode."
"Right in my mouth, I hope." I answer teasingly. "I want to taste you."
He groas a single, "Fuuuuck," and then pushes my head back down to his cock. The excitement of almost being caught inflames us both, and I feel how hard his cock is, and stroke his balls lightly to discover that they were gathered tightly up against his body. I could feel his cock head swelling, and as he starts to breathe heavily, he grunts, "uh, uh, uh," until he starts chanting in a low tone, "fuck yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm gonna cum."
I feel the spurting hit the top of my soft palate forcefully, the thick jizz coating my entire mouth, sliding down my throat, as his cock jerked inside of my lips. After every spurt, five of them, he grunts, and the manliness of the sound, the pure animalistic sound of satisfaction, thrills me to my slutty core. As he gradually softens, his cock falls out of my mouth with a plop.
He looks down at me, and smiles. "You look like one satisfied little cumslut," he teases. I smile back.
"I am, for now... but I want more."
"I know. Not tonight though. She's at home, it's too risky, and I've got this deadline..."
"I know," I answer. "Soon?"
"As soon as possible," he answers quickly, "such a good little girl deserves something back."
As I stand to climb back out the window, he grabs my shoulder, and then slides his other hand into my shorts, and stuffs his two fingers into my pussy. Rubbing me vigorously, I had been so incredibly aroused by sucking him off, that it is only a few seconds before his fingers find my swollen G-spot, beating it back and forth until I shake, cumming violently against him, holding on to him for dear life so that I do not fall to the floor as I twitch spastically around his fingers.
As I come down from my high, I hear him say, "That's what I thought," whispering in a satisfied tone.
"A taste for later." And he places those wet fingers that were just in my sopping wet pussy into his mouth.
I look up at his face, gorgeously chiseled with his owlish writerly glasses perched on his nose, framing his deep blue eyes, and I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. Then, climbing out the window, I race back to my bedroom. When I reach my room, I look back out at his office window, and see him back at his computer, sipping his coffee, and getting back to his article.