Opportunity Knocked

"Jeez! Fifteen years," Meghan sighed, surveying her own cubby-hole of an office, and, through the open doorway, the general office beyond. "Who'd have thought?" She had expected to work there, at Line Control, an assembly-line components manufacturer, until retirement. Instead, she was moving across the country to support her husband who had just been promoted.

As her firm's continuity manager, Meghan had worked extensively with the front office staff, the administration, the shop staff, and the warehousemen. As an effective liaison, she had established an impressive rapport among the varied sections. The company was doing well--very well! And, many of her colleagues believed that it was through her efforts that the business continued to run like a well-oiled machine.

Many, perhaps most, of her male workmates, had, to some degree or other, the hots for her, and had entertained sexual fantasies about her, at one time or another. To say she was well-liked and well-respected was an understatement. Still, the chirping and chatter that was generally bandied about the plant might very easily have been considered inappropriate, even sexual harassment. That being said, Meghan was amused by, actually appreciative of, the innuendo and banter she encountered among the mainly male work-force. She certainly took no offence at the harmless suggestiveness she was subjected to often enough; although she playfully reprimanded the guys responsible--tsk, tsk-ing them, and shaking her head: "Boys will be boys," she figured, and left it at that.

Meghan Moray was a thirty-eight-year-old beauty--of some non-specific Mediterranean heritage. With rather swarthy skin and olive eyes, she was voluptuous--but not plump; in fact, she carried herself with an understated classiness.

Meghan had always considered herself a 'late-bloomer'. She had been a virgin at her wedding, and had been completely faithful throughout her thirteen-year marriage--more, she suspected, than could be said of her husband, Kyle. But she was really okay with that. The not-actually-knowing made it vague enough to ignore.

As limited as her experience might have been, Meghan was not without imagination. In her private daydreams, she enjoyed fantasies of capture and pirates and submission; but she knew these were just phantasms--phantasmagorical flights of fancy, ever to remain unrealized. However, she also had, stashed in her most secret memories banks, a collection of more attainable fantasies--a sort of sexual bucket list; things she might want to try, before she grew old, should the opportunities ever present themselves.

Smiling to herself, from time to time, she would reel them off in her head, just to keep them from fading: Strange--someone other than her husband; location--other than home or bed; black--just for the contrast and, she supposed, reputation; size--to answer the old question, 'Does it matter?' once and for all; multiple partners--"A gangbang by any other name would feel as..."--if one is good and two is better, is the change linear or geometric?"; double-penetration--for the fabled novelty; airtight--for the extreme and legendary excitement; orgy--to see if there is comfort in numbers; girl-on-girl--always has had a mysterious allure; and, lastly, getting screwed while on the phone with her hubby--for some reason reading about that in letters and stories online always, ALWAYS turned her on.

Without being aware of it herself, Meghan always seemed to emit a low-level erotic tension. She was, in fact, an acknowledged wet dream for bachelor CEO Crandall McArthur; and he was not shy about talking about it--fantasizing about it with some of the guys around the plant. He'd often airily concoct imaginary plans for getting Meghan alone into his office--or his car, or his condo, or a storage closet, or a back corner of the warehouse; and he was certainly not alone in that--whether the guys on the floor, those in the front office, or among his fellow executives, upstairs.

And so it was that Meghan was making the rounds of the plant--to say goodbye. It was a small firm of about a hundred employees--less than ten of those being women. The day before there had been a staff luncheon for Meghan, with good-bye speeches and the presentation of a gold necklace, earrings, and bracelet set; but it hadn't been conducive to personal good-byes. And it was important to Meghan to say goodbye to everyone, in person. She headed to the warehouse to start, smiling to herself at her own thinly disguised ulterior motive: to get one last chance to see and speak with her Jamaican Adonis. The plant floor, and especially the warehouse, was very cosmopolitan--a virtual United Nations of ethnic and cultural backgrounds. Although Meghan would never have admitted it out loud, Darrick, the Jamaican head-warehouseman, was definitely wet-dream material for her. He was tall and strong, trim and fit, his muscles sculpted. And, he had, Meghan thought, the most beautiful, milk-chocolate complexion.

Meghan stepped into the little office in the back corner of the warehouse mezzanine. "Hi, Darrick," she called softly, continuing in as he turned to face her. "Just wanted to personally say goodbye. And say what a pleasure it's been working with you."

Darrick rose and came around the desk to meet his visitor. He looked piercingly into her eyes, replying, in his lilting Caribbean accent, "Oh, Mrs. Moray, the pleasure has been all mine, believe you me!"

Suddenly a little tongue-tied, Meghan spluttered, as he stepped closer, seeming to tower over her, "I'm just sorry we never got to know one another better."

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he purred, "Not as much as I am." He, then, let his huge hands slide from her shoulders, and proceeded to pull her into a hug. Embracing her tightly and kissing her hard, Darrick's response to her greeting took Meghan completely by surprise. She reflexively pushed her lips hard against his, twisting her delicate tongue between his teeth, seeking his tongue. Lifting back slightly, he smoothly gathered her into a warm, gentle, passionate bear-hug, pulling her into his rippled chest so that her cheek lay on his shoulder with her face against the side of his neck; his nose and lips nestled into her hair.

For a few moments Meghan let herself go--let herself get carried away, enveloped in Darrick's strong arms--abducted by a ruthless, Caribbean pirate. Her ardour soared; her arousal flared! Then her daydream sharpened, and focused in on her attainable fantasy list. Was this, in fact, 'The Opportunity' presenting itself? Could she, maybe, realize a few of her bucket-list fantasies? Check off a few boxes, with impunity? "I mean," she rationalized with herself, "Kyle would never find out, would he? Hell, no-one else would ever know!"

Meghan could not help but feel secure in the warmth of Darrick's embrace. She realized that if she just let herself go--go with the flow, as it were, she might just be able to, at least temporarily, satisfy her curiosity, that is, check off several experiences in short order. Once again, she silently reeled off her list--the compilation of tantalizing, yet possibly attainable, fantasies: "strange, venue, black, size, gangbang, DP, airtight, orgy, gay, and phone-sex (for lack of a better moniker.)" Inhaling deeply, she savoured his musky, masculine scent; its slow-burn aphrodisiac elements set off tingling alarms and sensations in her brain. Puzzled, she eased back, to look him in the eye, and study him. In his gaze she could see the immediate future--her future. So, she let herself be seduced. "It was inevitable. Why fight it?" she rationalized, arguing that it was probably her last chance to fulfill some long-held fantasies, and not get caught. Kyle was already across the country, and busy. And he would never find out.

Darrick paused for a moment, holding her gaze, then he crushed his lips back against hers, and her arousal erupted like a fireball! Consideration melded into desperation. Their shared hug tightened as if in profound fear of losing this very special moment, and Meghan's tongue ventured, once more, between their merging lips, beckoning his to come and play. A cosmic, erotic energy crackled from their liplock, radiating out to fill their universe.

Swinging Meghan around without losing their lingual connection, Darrick kicked the office door shut as he backed Meghan up against his desk. Clearing off the top with a sweep of his arm, he bumped her butt up onto it, his insistent kiss pushing her onto her back. Lifting off her, Darrick began fumbling with the front of his jeans while Meghan efficiently undid her snap, lowered her zip and folded her pants open before starting on the buttons of her shirt-blouse. Darrick impatiently popped the last few buttons as he tore off his shirt. Standing up, Darrick held Meghan's gaze as he kicked off his boots, shook down his jeans, and stepped out of them at the same time he stripped Meghan's pants from her legs. As Meghan wrestled her way out of her bra, Darrick lost his own briefs. He then grabbed at Meghan's last article of clothing, her bikini panties, which, rolled necessarily tightly over her thighs, were unable to endure Darrick's impatience, the fine silk shredding to hang in tatters from one knee, before being shaken off.

As Meghan caught sight of his licorice truncheon, its helmeted plum straining eagerly out of his foreskin, she gasped. His equipment was the largest she had ever seen, and as it rose to the occasion, it firmed and lengthened, becoming very rigid, with only enough flex to allow a slight, impatient bounce as it led the way towards her vee--pointed the way to the target. Without a word, Darrick entered her with a force and intensity that was both welcome and awesome--literally awesome! Meghan succumbed to an overwhelming passion. Her already inflamed libido suddenly glowed white-hot. An orgasm exploded within her at the depth of Darrick's first thrust--with seemingly no build-up at all. Holding himself in tight, he paused as Meghan's body shook violently around the head of his erection, her climax jolting her uncontrollably. As the crisis slowly passed, Darrick began to stroke in and out--deliberate and steady. At every bottoming-out, Meghan's psyche flared, sending crackling quanta of energy to sear her senses, and rapidly building to repeated, multiple climaxes, each becoming increasingly active and loud.

Each time she came, Darrick's deliberate control waned, until he could take no more. His rigid woodie got rock hard, vibrating and jerking within the warm wet grip of Meghan's cunt. Darrick's ejaculation seemed to go on and on, splashing torrent upon torrent of scalding semen deep in Meghan's womb. As a final quivering spasm emptied the last dribbles of cum from his cock, Darrick pushed himself off Meghan's breasts, holding himself up on his arms, with Meghan holding tight to his steely biceps. Their eyes held in a mutually focused tractor beam, chests heaving in unison, when they were startled by a soft golf-applause, as the descended out of orbit.

The office door had, apparently, been left ajar, and Meghan was mildly surprised when three warehousemen sauntered over to stand by the desk. Darrick levered himself off and stood naked beside his chair. Meghan was not even embarrassed by her nakedness and lewd position, as she surveyed the trio. She wasn't sure of their names, but she knew who they were--she was acquainted with each of them. One was Jason or Jay, she was pretty sure; she knew the lead-hand was Hwang; and the third guy was Don or Dave or something. Looking at her with a goofy smile, Jay said, "We'd like to say goodbye like that, too--you know, kind of a physical farewell."

Meghan began to protest, but her objection died on her lips. She was still too aroused to think straight, and her distorted thought processes resulted in a sort of fuzzy logic. Looking over at the impassive figure of Darrick, she shrugged her shoulders, and muttered, "...might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I guess." The desk-top was curiously comfortable, as she lay back, and, bending her knees, she flopped them to the sides, opening herself up. Jay stepped aside and said, "Lead-hand first." Gesturing to Hwang, he added, "After you."

Darrick, meanwhile, recognizing a cache of brownie-points when he saw one, and seeing that the interlopers would be keeping Meghan busy in the interim, he stepped away from the desk, and placed a call to CEO's office. Once connected, he moved to a corner of the room as, in a hushed voice, he said, "Hello, Mr. McArthur? Darrick here, from the warehouse...." Meghan's attention had, of course, been gathered by the three visitors, hence, she was unaware of the conversation, the gist of which was that Darrick thought that the boss might, maybe, like to join them for a more intimate farewell conversation--or, he added with a sly chuckle, "...should I say, intercourse--with the lovely Ms. M." After an enthusiastic exchange of details, Darrick turned his attention back to the current situation.

As Hwang dropped his pants, Meghan thought wryly, checking out his package, "He doesn't really live up to the suggested billing of his name." Notwithstanding, as he climbed onto the desk, and positioned himself between her thighs, she welcomed him, passively to start, but quickly becoming responsive. Her pussy was slick and open as Hwang plunged his modest tool in until their pubic hair tangled; he immediately began pounding frenetically. Meghan rolled her hips, trying to meet each of his thrusts, but, by the time she had matched his rhythm, he threw his head back, grunted, and came with several quick jabs. Hwang climbed off, self-consciously averting his eyes, and moved aside to allow Jay access.

After the basically unsatisfactory bop with Hwang, Meghan's assessment of her current situation turned cold and clinical; however, adequately endowed and adequately skilled, although he couldn't hold a candle to Darrick, Jay was miles beyond his lead-hand in technique. And, on reflection, his lively fuck allowed Meghan to establish a basis for comparison; as well as regain some sense of human warmth and dignity in her given circumstances. Oddly, in that the third interloper didn't just decline to participate, but did so exceedingly respectfully, which imbued their carrying-ons with a measure of compassion that raised it above simple carnal rutting. So, seen through a positive lens, Meghan could now check the boxes for: 'Strange'; 'Black'; 'Alternate location'; and, if not actually 'Gang-bang', then 'Multiple partners'.

With Jay it was just sex--pretty good sex, but just sex; with Hwang it was little more than masturbation, and she had been nothing but a cum-dump; however, with Darrick it was a pretty damn fine facsimile of making love. And, although she didn't know it yet, they'd only just begun.

As Jay climbed off muttering thanks or compliments or something, Meghan looked about for Darrick, who had just made the hushed phone call while she had been busy with Jay. She smiled as he stepped back up to the desk where she lay, summoning him with her eyes, hungry for a second round. Admiring his body as he moved to position himself, she silently apologized to the three others in the office. "No offense, but he is so much bigger--and better!" Sliding her bottom to the edge of the desk, Darrick lifted her thighs and place them on his shoulders before throwing his hips forward and penetrating Meghan's hot, puffy pussy with one strong thrust. Meghan responded, heaving her butt up to meet him and letting out a long passionate gasp. Ignoring the audience, they energetically crashed into a world of their own--as Hwang quietly called the play-by-play.

"Man, did ya see the size of him?" Jay remarked, watching the spectacle closely, as if looking for tips. "That's the biggest fucking tree-trunk I've ever seen--that wasn't in a porn video!"

"You think he's big," the third spectator replied, "wait until you see Roscoe, from the shop."

Knocking the wind out of her, Meghan had pretty much swooned at Darrick's initial thrust penetration. Oblivious of her surroundings, she was blissfully enjoying wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure, each climax quivering and quaking through her entire body, like an epileptic seizure. Darrick played her like a violin, andante and allegro--quickening and slowing, in turn. Meghan squirmed and shook, panting and gasping and mewling repeatedly through her crises, until, at last, with a stifled roar, Darrick punched deep into her and held tight as he filled her pussy, his twitching, jerking rod gushing out volumes of cum.

As their heaving bodies, slowly calmed, a muttered exchange sent their audience away, but not before Hwang carefully gathered Meghan's belongings. Left alone once more, Darrick, with soothing platitudes, gathered Meghan up in a fresh and clean blanket from adjacent the first-aid room, and carried her out of his office, and through the warehouse to the outside door. Inhaling his virile redolence, enveloped by Darrick's strong arms, Meghan felt inexplicably secure, as he bundled her into a car. She was only vaguely aware of being taken somewhere off-site. "Just taking our party elsewhere," Darrick purred. Meghan paid no attention to where they were going, but, wrapped in her cocoon, buckled into the seat next to Darrick, she was overcome by a drowsy bliss. A warm sense of well-being and security completely drowned out any internal debate of right or wrong.

The founder and CEO of the company, to whom Darrick had spoken earlier, was Crandall McArthur. His friends and close associates called him Cran, so his employees had started calling him Cranberry, though not to his face. Quickly that was changed to The Big Berry, and, at times shortened to B-B.

How it was so quickly organized was a mystery--office grapevine, vital memo, smoke signal pipeline--but, whatever the case, The Big Berry contrived to hurriedly and efficiently shut down the plant, sending most of the surprised, but happy, employees home for an early weekend--a Friday afternoon off--with pay. The plant evacuated amazingly quickly, before he could change his mind, and a select group of personnel, thirty or so, headed for B-B's condo--by whatever means: carpool, company van, Uber, or transit--the LRT serendipitously ran almost directly between work and the boss's home.

Winding up in the CEO's opulent penthouse apartment, Meghan found herself being placed gently on crisp clean sheets in the middle of a king bed in the opulent master suite. The duvet and top sheet lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed. B-B himself welcomed her, before buzzing off, ostensibly to attend to arriving guests. Darrick fussed about her, ensuring she was comfortable, as several others from the administrative floor popped in to say a quick "Hello." It was all so odd, Meghan mused, having a sort of dream-like quality to it. Vaguely aware of activity in the room around her--chairs being brought in, people assembling--it wasn't until Darrick rose from the bed beside her, and someone else--Simon, a VP--climbed on, whispering greetings and salutations, as he levered himself over her supine body--that her focus became, once again, clear. As he pushed into her--she, raising her legs and spreading her knees, to assist--she surprised herself by making a conscious decision; Yes. She would let them take her where they would--and see just how many of her fantasies could be realized. A self-satisfied smile settled momentarily on her lips. She'd made a pretty good start, already: strange, place, black, and multiple!

Simon's powerful and authoritative penetration brought Meghan's attention fully back to the present, greeting his forceful entry with an "Ooooff,: and an "Oh! Oh! Oooooh!" Raising her shaking legs above his back, she moaned, as her buttocks began to bounce on its own accord. Arousal climbed steeply, rapidly becoming almost unbearable before crashing into a blindingly bright orgasm. She, herself, was among the gathering throng that was incredibly impressed at how fast that first orgasm had arrived, and how intense it had been. As Meghan lay gasping, recovering by degrees, her fellow players, changed around her. Reveling in being the center of a growing gangbang, she allowed herself to just let it happen. She didn't feel she was being overly submissive, just an eager sensual recipient, willing to share. The novelty and intensity of multiple partners blotted out, for a time, the rest of her awareness. She was only vaguely cognizant of the situation, while still in the throes of continuous long, strong, persistent orgasms--more intense than she'd ever experienced--by orders of ten.