The tall, nearly naked married woman began to strip in front of me, and barked her direct order like a drill sergeant. "Fuck me really hard, I want it hard this morning. Fuck me so deep and hard today, got it?"
Hey, who was I to argue with a demand like that?
She stood in front of my bed at dawn as the rising sunlight cascaded through the window shades, and removed her black pencil skirt, spreading her legs to do so, and her tuft of light brown curly pubic hair was cast in a silhouette from my vantage point, sprawled on the mattress, stroking my thickening cock in anticipation of this now weekly tete-a-tete with my married co-worker, Maureen Stanton.
I worked for a national shopping center development company based in Northern Virginia, just outside the nation's capital, named McAllen-Gray. The employees in our corporate office were about seventy-five to eighty percent women, most of them educated, attractive, unattached, and each one seemingly more horny than the next. A dream scenario for a single, recently divorced, thirty-five-year-old male.
So, why was it that I somehow ended up being attracted to the married ones, or for today at least, this married one in particular?
Maureen eased her impossibly long, stocking-clad legs onto the bed and bent down to fondle my cock with two hands, grasping it firmly from my own grip, and she smiled at me lustfully just before she began to lick and suck on my heavy, swollen balls, taking one sac in each hand and lifting my ass off of the mattress with unambiguous intent. Her musky scent wafted through the air and mixed with her flowery perfume to permeate my small bedroom, the tactile combination causing my cock to grow even mightier in appreciation.
"God, I love this beautiful cock. Please fuck my mouth first, I want to taste you before you split me apart with this monster."
Oh, yes, that was why. I suddenly remembered as I watched her cheeks expand to accept my cock. Selective memory.
I had fucked about a half-dozen female fellow employees since I started working for McAllen-Gray late last year (my envious friends called it a corporate whorehouse, and they weren't far off in their description), but Maureen was the only married one. So far.
Prior to starting our Wednesday morning pre-dawn 'workout sessions', Maureen had confessed to me that she had very little experience in cock sucking men of ample dimensions, and she had heard from the office rumor mill ( a hot little blonde named Laurie who was the assistant to the CFO), that mine might be a good place to practice. Being a gentleman and a teammate, of sorts, I cordially donated about seven-and-three-quarter inches of my services, and over these last few months, Maureen had proven to be the eager and talented pupil.
It didn't hurt, either, that she was about six-feet two, a lean, muscular part-time athletic trainer and possessed a cunt tighter than the wallets of the owners of the woebegone Pittsburgh Pirates, perennially last in payroll and on-field performance in the National League. Unfortunately, Maureen had tits that were smaller than the Pirates' game attendance, too. But those magic and fit kegel muscles of hers now regularly weaved their vaginal magic on my cock for an hour or so a week on Wednesday mornings while her legal Neanderthal hubby assumed she was attending early-bird yoga sessions, and, well, who am I to pick nits over little tits when she had the tightest of slits?
She was in a loveless, sexless marriage with the affluent, obnoxious personal injury attorney. I met the guy once at a company social function, and he bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the Geico cavemen (how come those guys never were given names, anyhow?), a tall, hairy, unkempt, geeky looking guy who apparently hadn't touched his hot wife's taut body in well over a year. I guess because of that, I didn't feel the slightest twinge of remorse for banging the bottom out of this legal beagles' trophy wife.
On this particular morning, though, Maureen, always bursting with libidinous energy (think Jane Fonda on stilts with a chest flatter than a dead man's EKG ), was essentially combining her blowjob warm-up duties with a verbal deposition of her own, taking inventory of my internal office conquests.
"Not that it's any of my business," she mumbled between slurps while drooling saliva on my cockhead, "But are you fucking Laurie Mason any more?"
I shook my head to indicate a 'no' response, and grabbed my own hands tightly along the back of her curly locks, tumbling down over my dick, like a jockey reminding his filly to remember the task at hand. Suck, baby, suck.
The truth was that cute little Laurie had given me an ultimatum once she became aware of my philandering activities. I really liked Laurie, she was fun, smart, and attentive, but that was a big mistake on her part.
Maureen resumed her assault on my cock, about half of the shaft occasionally disappearing down her throat. She came up for air, temporarily suspending her oral probe in return for a verbal one, seemingly determined to place me at the scene of some crime with some female accomplice, somewhere.
"How about Janet Smith? How about her, have you fucked her?" I shook my head more vehemently and frowned down at her, pointing to my cock as a directional guide. South, baby, south. A little less conversation, a little more sucking, isn't that the way they song goes?
Janet had sucked me in the front seat of my Lexus after a happy hour two weeks ago, but I'd responded truthfully, even though I wasn't under oath. I had not yet fucked Janet Smith, the curvy office manager who was hired for her eye-candy attraction to clients and tenants. Apparently, she'd been on the period that night, but I assumed the offer to fuck Janet was valid for future redemption since she kept moaning, "God, how I want to just sit on this huge thing. I can't wait to have you sometime soon."
