Seasonal Job Security

"Mmm." It was torn from me, quite unconsciously, and then his adam's apple was bobbing as I felt that finger rove along my mound, up toward where the Poniatowski crystals glimmered at the waistband. "Nice?"

"Nice," he agreed, and now it was his turn to whisper. I had to stop myself, mercilessly, from scooting my ass forward on the cold counter. I was nodding, my head bobbing deeply at the top of my neck, telling him I wanted more. He cleared his throat harshly. "But seventy-five?"

I gurgled a brief, savage laugh. Ridiculous. The blunt, apathetic old security guard was, apparently, capable of being subtle. "Well," I managed, a sexy burr making its way into the back of my voice, "there's also our exclusive gusset. Hand-burnished from wild-caught French chamois." I had no idea what a chamois was, but I'd memorized the propaganda. "Specially chosen and inspected."

"What the fuck is a gusset?" he grated, his finger back next to the top of my slit now. I bit my lip, the compulsion to hump forward into his hand nearly overwhelming.

"The part that lines the crotch," I explained, my voice hoarse. "The part that's down just a little lower." I tossed my head to get the hair out of my eyes, resisting the urge to reach in, take his hand, and push it down. "Every woman who pays attention to fashion at this time of year wants that patented Secret Whispers gusset hugging her pussy. Know that?"

"I've been told," he nodded tightly.

"Feel it," I urged. "Find out why." I felt my knees widening without me even thinking about it. "Seventy-five fucking dollars, David. Give it a little touch." My mouth stayed open, sucking in air, my eyes staring at him through my long lashes. "Go on."

But he hesitated, his finger at the edge of the panties, where the elastic gripped my leg. "The lining?" He was confirming what I wanted, and I was already nodding.

"You'll have to judge for yourself," I murmured, excited, "whether it's worth the price, David." I knew I was gushing, that he'd be fingering something that felt like a wet paper towel, but I didn't care. I wanted him to feel it. His finger was a dull prod on the skin at the top edge of my inner thigh, where leg becomes pussy, and then without another word he slipped it past the elastic, into my panties, his fingernail skating against the hot red lips of my cunt.

It was electric, and I started to gasp. But I stopped just as quickly, freezing, when Dave's face suddenly took on a cruel dullness and his wrist pivoted, the hand turning, the blunt eager finger sinking matter-of-factly into the cauldron of my pussy before I could react. "Like this?"

"Ughh." I had to force myself to start breathing again, my eyes wide like an animal's, my voice a grating husk. "Jesus." I felt my lips twitching along the sides of his finger, fluttering, my whole body starting to tremble. "Like that," I managed, my hands already rising up to the zipper on his cheap jacket. "Oh, god." It came out as an embarrassing whimper, but Dave didn't seem to care; he just twisted his finger once more, feeling inside my body with an expression of rapt attention on his jaw-dropped face.

"That." His voice was gravel. "That's worth some money." Dimly I was aware of my legs parting further, his finger digging, my own hand shaking as I fumbled at his jacket, then the shirt beneath. I wanted his skin, to run my hands and lips along his body, and I got it; he added a second finger just as I dug my hands deep into the hair of his chest, mostly grey, my face swooping forward to lick him.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, a gust of coffee when I sucked hard on his nipple. The nub was warm and wet in my mouth, and that's when I felt the shift inside me as his fingers curled up to press insistently against the front of my vagina. I gasped into his fur, and then my brain puddled into a sense of irresistible energy; I needed him, needed to feel him throb within me, and before I knew it I was rooting into the space behind his waistband, his heavy police belt disintegrating as I figured out the buckle. I heard a low, soft groan from him when I got his pants unbuttoned, then I was pushing the zipper down, impatient, in fits and starts as I searched for leverage.

His cock behind his boxers was a fat, hard sausage against the back of my hand.

He was still hooking me, my hips already writhing, when I finally shoved his pants and underwear down over his ass. We both gasped when his dick sprang out, thick and firm, poking toward me out of a tangled bush of pubic hair. For a moment, then, everything stopped; my ears, buzzing with the closed-off tinnitus of arousal, heard Dave's sigh when, at last, I wrapped my little fingers around his meat. It lay hot and heavy in my palm.

"Goddamn." He was almost too quiet to be heard, his hand scraping with rhythmic steadiness at the inside of my pussy. I was shaking uncontrollably; I took his other hand, not even thinking, and pulled it to rest on my sweaty tit. "Goddamn," he repeated, shaking his head.

"You're so sexy," I blurted, and then I looked down at where my hand had begun jerking his cock, the skin sliding along his length like silk, his many ridges compressing and then smoothing, compressing and then smoothing, in time to the insistent rhythm of my wrist. His head was massive, wide, the slit glittering with oozy precum. I swallowed. "I can't believe this."

Dave didn't answer, but he took my cue and looked down between us at where our bodies were slowly pulling together, at where our bare thighs brushed against each other's, at where our hands pleasured each other. I heard the rasp of his breath as he watched my pussy darken, reddening to match the inflamed color of the front half of his dick, and then his eyes flickered up to my face as he understood what was happening.

I was scooting myself forward, an inch or so every few seconds, sliding along the counter to meet his cock.

I caught his eyes at last, and then realized I was nodding pretty much continuously. Fuck, this was intense! I opened my mouth to speak, but I was far too dry to say anything useful; a glance downward showed him everything I had to tell him, anyway. I wanted him to come closer, to let the plummy head of that sturdy old cock kiss my pussy, then push inside, then fill me; I suddenly wanted it with all my heart, and then I knew I wasn't masturbating Dave. I was pulling him to my body so that he could take me.

In untidy haste I dragged my blouse up under my armpits, knowing the wrinkles would be a bitch to iron out and not caring even a little. Then I clawed my skirt back, bunching it behind me so I could look down at where, incredibly, his hand disappeared into my panties. I was panting, still humping toward him, my burnt-orchid ass sliding along the counter toward him in little fits and starts, but I didn't notice; I was looking at nothing but his dick.

Both of us were.

I know because of his exhaling breath, wafting along my body, his head pointing downward; he was sighing because, at last, I'd pulled him close enough that his hot, vibrant cock was replacing his hand. I felt the sudden gush of fluid that followed his finger out of my pussy, and then we were staring hard as Dave rested the velvety head of his penis against my flesh.

I was trembling like it was mid-February, my flesh goosebumped. My body was raving for this man.

He shuffled his feet, still looking down, and I know my feet rose up all the way above his waist as I spread for him. I felt his hipbones against the balls of my feet, and I gave out a low and husky groan when the rest of his head slipped inside me.

My mind was racing, my body swirling. I heard a cottony ringing noise.

Vaguely I was aware that I grabbed his hips, pulling, the fat girthy ridges of his cock stretching me, his hairy body nearing mine, and then he was an inch in. My toes curled: two inches. He had no difficulty at all despite his thickness; I was wet like I hadn't been since I'd lost my virginity, my body screeching. He was hot and firm inside me, his smell filling my nose, until there was noplace else for him to go and his pubes scrunched against my mound.

He was all the way in.

"Jesus." My head rose slowly to meet his wide eyes, the two of us staring at each other in disbelief. "Fuck, you feel good." It came out in a fast, gaspy burst, and Dave's mouth curled into a cruel grin.

"You too," he growled, and then he was backing out of me, experimentally, his eyes flickering back down to see his dick slicked by my cunt. "My god," he marveled, pausing to admire the two of us, joined, his ass flexing at the tips of my fingers. "I can't believe this shit." But I was kicking at him with my heels, rushing to get him back in me.

"Mmm," I agreed, spurring him, and when he thrust back into me I shuddered and collapsed against his broad chest. "Fuck," I managed in a thin whimper. He made a few more thrusts, my body arcing higher each time, our juices soaking my priceless underwear as it dragged along his heaving cock.

His hands were roving up my back, tracing my ribs underneath my bunched shirt. I clung to him, my body starting to surge against his as he took me. His whisper was harsh against my ear. "I'm not going to last long, Chelsea."

"Me neither," I giggled back at him, hearing my voice catch with the rhythm of his cock flowing past my pussy lips. It felt amazing, and suddenly I was grinning, exhilarated. I couldn't believe I was taking such marvelous dick from an old man on the counter at work. I slapped at Dave's shoulder.

"Get down on the floor, stud," I urged, my voice thick, the smell of sex rising. "I want you to watch me fuck you."

"Jesus Christ," Dave grated faintly, blinking, his fingers leaving reddened flesh behind as he dragged them from my skin.

"Down," I repeated, pushing him away, my pussy drooling on the counter. I hopped down blindly, not even thinking as my fingers fumbled at my buttons, wanting to show him my body. Wanting him to crave it. He lay warily on the rubber matting in front of the cash registers, looking up with starving eyes, as I flung my shirt off and pushed anxiously at my French-cuts. They slithered, wrecked, down my thigh with the chamois at long last past the point of easy cleaning.

He breathed hard as he waited, his cock hard and strong for me. He fingered lewdly at his balls, drooping swollen between his hairy thighs, glimmering with what I'd oozed onto them. I licked my lips, my throat clogged, and all at once I abandoned my plan; I'd meant to strip for him, so that he could see me writhe nude above him while I rode him to heaven.

But I was too horned up.

I stepped hastily from the panties, just one foot, and in bra and skirt I knelt astride Dave without any more ceremony. He watched, his eyes like obsidian, as I reached behind my back and between my legs, my fingers spreading as I sought his dick, slippery when I raised it. He was giving a weird open-mouthed smirk, watching closely as I held him straight up, found my pussy, and slid down over his pole in one wet, gaspy move.

He speared far up into me, reaching deeper this way than he'd been able to when I'd been sitting. I gasped, then gave a low chuckle. "That's better," I cooed, my eyes wide on his. He replied predictably enough, with two harsh hands grappling tightly at my tits through the bra, and I laughed in triumph.

I had him. I pulsed my pussy alongside the hot shaft within me, and when he closed his eyes a moment I knew he'd be remembering this fuck on his deathbed. He groaned when I rose, slowly, my cuntlips quivering with the passage of his cock, and then slammed back down onto him. "Feels good?"

"Fuck," he gurgled, his face telling me what he wanted, so I started to thrash. Merciless. Fast. Sensual. I writhed over his body, my belly undulating, letting the sex carry me away. I loved it when it was like this. Abandoned, passionate, unplanned; there was nothing better. I leaned down to plant my hands on his hips, my ass wiggling up and down his dick with a driving, insistent tempo, feeling his cock grab at my clit, shivering as the fire built behind my pussy.

I drove myself onto him, both of us gasping, my body hunching lower and lower until my tits brushed at his chest. He'd taken hold of my butt under the skirt by then, one finger daringly close to my asshole, but I didn't care; my world was his cock, slipping into me, and I wanted his cum.

His eyes widened, the urgency dawning there, so I licked at his lips and bent low against his ear. "Cum in me, David," I husked, amazed at my own control, my voice dark silk as my body churned over him, and he groaned loudly against my mouth; I released myself, hoping for my own orgasm as his hips started to buck into me.

And that's how it happened, my brain a blank white sheet, focusing on the smells and sounds our bodies made when my clit finally surrendered. I was shivering, my own cries loud in my ears, and when I saw his eyes snap shut I knew he was releasing into me, his cockhead hard up against my cervix, bucking hard as our minds swirled into oblivion.

I remember a kiss, savage and needy, feeling like he was sucking my tongue from my mouth, and then the heat overwhelmed me.

* * *

He rose slowly, stiffly, a man after a hard workout, with fluids still slicking his twitchy penis. I lay back panting, my head wedged on a shelf of bras, looking up at his cargo pants pooled around his boots, at his hairy chest peeking from between the ragged halves of his shirt, his chest heaving. His waist glistened with what my soaked pussy had left there.

And what did he see? Certainly not a manicured Assistant Lead Panty Whisperer, on a sales roll and destined for better things. No, Dave saw a service-area whore, splayed, her legs up and one tit popping out of her stretched bra, her expensive Secret Casuals skirt ragged. Hair scattered. Lipstick everywhere. Fiery red pussy lips, still puffy, leaving a puddle of his leaking semen on the tile.

And a priceless pair of Whispers Premium French Cuts, in ungettable burnt orchid, dangling cum-streaked from my ankle.

He regarded me coolly. "So," he sighed, nodding wearily, "you were saying? Thirteen percent? Because I'm thinking more like fifteen."

* * *

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