This is chapter three of a 'confessions of a window cleaner' type story following our protagonist, Thomas (Mac), as he learns the ropes at a small Architecture consultancy in England.
If a chapter doesn't tickle your fancy, maybe the next will...I hope so.
As always, all characters are of age and consent to the activities described. Unfortunately, none of this relates to actual people I know, but some may come from personal experience.
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My hand rests on the gold finger plate of the changing room door. I stand perfectly still. I'm yet to make the decision. I've been procrastinating. I'm such a pussy. My head tells me to turn around. My body tells me to go inside. Unlike yesterday, I know what awaits on the other side of the door. The exhilaration is coursing through me. I'm nervous, I'm scared. It is terrifying and terrific at the same time. Today is different. Stepping into the changing room is crossing a line. It's a conscious decision. It is an acceptance, a commitment. If I take that step, I cannot go back.
The gym equipment behind me hums in my mind, still and heavy, like a silent witness to my decision. I have walked past it. Walked up to the changing room door. Yesterday, I stood here not knowing. Today, I am hovering on the edge of something. Of something.
Pushing the door open, I take that step. The sensible part of my mind has lost the argument. The reckless part of my mind has won. It's been led inquisitively. Wanting the experience. Or, more realistically, it's been led by my cock. It's moved my body. It's dragged me forward.
My nose picks up the faint smell of cleaning products. The wooden floor shines, the lockers gleam. My footsteps echo faintly as I move toward the sound of the familiar soft murmurs. I can still turn back, but my legs keep moving. I can still escape, but my cock tells me it doesn't want to. In fact it starts to react. My pulse kicks up, excitement and fear tangling in my chest.
I slowly reach my viewing spot at the end of the corridor. Sandra is in her customary position, on her knees in front of the mystery man, 'Mr X'. Her bottom half is covered in a tight, black skirt. Shorter than yesterday. Tightly hugging her curves. Pale white legs flow from beneath the skirt. Her knees painfully pushed into the tiled floor, leading to bare feet - stretched out across the floor, toes curling upwards for balance.
Her top half is not covered in a slinky cream blouse. It falls from her shoulders, open, exposing her inside-out bra - inside-out where it has been levered up above her massive, milky-white breasts. Sandra's hands rest on Mr X's thighs, her lips wrap around him with a skill that makes me gasp all over again. I hold the wall and bite my lip.
She instantly sees me, and I make out an unmistakable smile in her eyes. Her dark brown hair is not tied back today; it falls across her face. Straight. Neat. Swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes quickly glance down at my trousers before returning to my face. Her gaze is dark, knowing, utterly mesmerising. I bite my lip again.
Mr X stands as he did yesterday. His back toward me but twisted to the side. A firm back, not broad, not fat, not skinny, just there. Wisps of brown hair cover his shoulders, pooling into his tight buttocks. The brown hair on his head is full but unremarkable. Undistinguishable from many others. His legs are firm and muscular. Standing staid as Sandra goes to work on him. I watch her as she slides her tongue across his cock, sucks on his balls, jerks him off, takes him down to the hilt. She slobbers, she slurps, she sucks, she splutters. Always her eyes on mine. Whatever her mouth and hands are doing, her eyes don't waiver.
I watch, feeling my cock harden, my chest tighten, my mind swirl. Filled with doubt and longing.
He groans, he moans, he grabs, he shakes. His cock is hard and erect. A sword which impales Sandra's throat, only for it to recover from the blow and be impaled all over again...and again... and again. She takes him whole over and over. Gagging, spluttering, choking. Looking at me. Watching me watch her.
Many times I think Mr X will cum, but she releases him and sucks his balls or holds his cock. Holding his cock in the palm of her hand. Holding him in the palm of her hand. I hear him whimper as she grabs his ass cheeks and pulls him into her. His ass cheeks tighten, and his chest exhales with gasps. He knows what's happening. What's coming. He thrusts. Her tits bounce and sway. Her mouth is stretched wide. Her eyes watching me watching her.
It's her show I'm watching. Her performance. Mr X is there. He's playing his role. His part. I think I'm about to see his part explode in her mouth. I'm about to watch a stranger cum. Right in front of me. Something I had not seen before until yesterday. Today will be my second time. But it is her I am here for. It's her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her breasts, her nipples. That is what I am here for. Admit it, Thomas.
My cock is hard. It is not scared to admit what it feels. I want to touch it, acknowledge it, but don't dare. Its hardness is pressing against my lightweight suit trousers that offer no resistance. Sandra can't not see it. Sandra can't not see how turned on I am. My mouth is wide open. I realise I am holding my breath. I take a deep draft in, my chest rises, my cock reacts to getting more oxygen and expands in my shorts.
Sandra reacts, too. She slips Mr X from her mouth and quickly pumps his cock with her hand. She licks under the tip and swirls her tongue around the head. Mr X reacts. Mr X grabs her head and groans loudly. He's close.
Sandra decides she will finish with him now. I sense her decision. She slowly feeds him into her mouth until her lips strike his body. I see her tongue flick out from underneath his cock, tickling his balls. He grips her head, he groans again. Sandra's hands firmly hold his ass. Sandra's mouth firmly holds his shaft. Her mouth stretched and strained. I see her cheeks suck in and then release. Then she starts to bob her head backwards and forwards. His cock glistens, shining under the extreme lighting in the shower. She speeds up. Her mouth tight around him. He thrusts. He moans. His fingers tighten in her hair, supporting himself rather than guiding her. She speeds up. His groans get louder. Her hair swaying, her tits swaying. Erect nipples swaying.
"Yeeeeeessssss. Yes, Yes, Yes. Fuck." A deep voice I don't recognise. He can't hold on much longer. I can see the tension in his body.
His hips pump. His ass clenches. Her head bobs. Her lips suck. With a final thrust, he roars. Sandra's eyes close for a split second as his cum hits the back of her throat. Then they are back open and trained on mine. She blinks as pumps of semen continue to explode into her mouth. Mr X struggles to stay upright as the waves push through him. Sandra keeps bobbing, draining it all from him.
Her mouth finally slips back from him, releasing some semen which drops across her lips, only to be immediately scooped back up by her expert tongue. Mr X slumps forward, unable to hold himself together. Sandra looks up to him and smiles.
My mind kicks into gear. Shit. I don't want to be seen by Mr X. I should leave. But instead of turning back like yesterday, I move forward. Past the opening to the showers, forwards, not backwards. Sandra watches me as I disappear from view. I step into one of the toilet cubicles, closing the door quickly and softly behind me. But crucially, not locking it.
I sit on the closed toilet, my heart pounding. Why have I come in here? And yet, I know exactly why I came in here and didn't run. I cannot deny the butterflies in my stomach, the ache between my legs, the mound in my trousers.
My body tenses further as I hear the soft padding of footsteps outside the cubicle door. I wait breathlessly for what feels like minutes. The cubicle door slowly swings open, and there she is. Sandra. Simple Sandra. Her blouse still open, her bra still wrapped above her exposed breasts. She steps towards me, closing the door behind her, and then she kneels in front of me without a word. She puts a finger to her lips...shhh, quiet.
There, she kneels. Before me. Kneels. Her expression a mixture of warmth and lust, a curiosity in her dark brown eyes, with more than a hint of sauciness. In the office, she is nervous; her eyes dart around, unsure, insecure. But here she is transformed; the same eyes are confident eyes. They hold a depth as if they know what they are meant to do, and where they are meant to be. I study her as we pause. Her face is oval, balanced and symmetrical, with high cheekbones hidden by plump cheeks. There's a softness in the curve of her chin, in the natural fullness of her lips, which currently hold the ghost of a smile.
Her hands move to my belt, her fingers deft and sure. I don't stop her as she unbuckles and unbuttons. I only watch her. My breath shallow. My heart pounding. She unzips. I don't stop her. Instead, I raise my hips. She pulls my suit trousers down along with my boxers in one fluid motion. I spring free, and her head snaps back.
"Wow," she mouths, smiling. She licks her lips.
Up close, her complexion is fair and smooth, seemingly untouched by time or trouble. Her eyebrows arch naturally, framing her face with simplicity. Her nose is straight and well-proportioned, adding to the harmony of her features. She's pretty. She's carrying a few too many pounds, but underneath it, she's cute. Here, with this confidence and contradicting the position she is in, she has grace. She owns this. She carries a beauty.
As if acknowledging my thoughts, Sandra bends her head to the side of my penis and blows softly. I twitch under her spell. The strands of her hair move with fluidity, brushing against her collarbone as she tilts her head again ever so slightly. She moves her head on top and blows. I twitch again. She watches my cock as she slides a finger from the base to the tip. Amused by the bouncing response she receives and the tensing of my thighs. Her finger circles the tip, and I have to close my eyes. The build to this moment has been too much.
