Executive Perks(9)

By: Angela Claire







She was up against the Coke machine again, and the cafeteria was empty. In fact, miraculously, the whole building was empty.

“I’ll just throw in that if you want to fuck while we work this out, I’m more than amenable.”



The line was the same, but this time it was Virginia who said it, not him. Still in that cool, measured voice—no breathy Marilyn Monroe tones for this woman—but she didn’t have to ask him twice.



“Okay,” he said simply.



She unfastened the waistband of his trousers quickly and slid the zipper down, taking his already-hardening cock in both her hands and stroking, firmly, surely. He balanced one hand on the vending machine, watching her milk him, arching into her hands.



She was good with it, ruthless even, and his balls grew heavy.

“Not so fast,” he cautioned. “I want to come when I’m in you.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Hell, what didn’t he want her to do?

“Strip. Take your clothes off for me.”



She dropped her hands from him to comply and, losing the hot feel of her touch on him, he worried at first that he’d made a tactical error. But then she unbuttoned the silk of her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, and he knew the price was worth it. Bountiful tits—a solid handful even for a hand as big as his—spilled out, without the inconvenience of a bra.





He doubted the uptight Miss Beckett attended meetings braless, but what the hell? This was his dream, wasn’t it?





Naked to the waist, she was all curves and smooth skin and long blonde hair.



“Touch yourself,” he instructed, and she put her hands up to her breasts, fondling, the pads of her fingertips circling her nipples slowly.



He inched the skirt of her suit up as she played with herself and slid his hand along the inside of one sleek thigh. She closed her eyes and moaned so that by the time his fingers made it to the lace of what he could feel was a thong and slid over her soft and silky pubic hair and down to her pussy, she was soaking wet. He thrust two fingers into the warmth, rhythmically fucking her as his thumb flicked against her clit.



When she held one plump, pink-tipped breast out to him, he bent down to flick his tongue against the nipple, then took it in his mouth and sucked until the rigid peak was rosy and wet from his attentions. Then he started in on the other one.

“More,” she moaned and he straightened, withdrawing his fingers. Easing the zipper of her skirt down, he slid it off and then made short work of the thong as he wedged his hot cock between legs that were opening even farther to him.



“More what? My cock? You want my cock, Virginia?”

“Yes, yes, fuck me…”



He thrust his cock up her tight, wet pussy, his hands snaking around to her bare ass, holding her in place as he fucked her, so hard he could hear the soda cans in the machine behind them rattling.





Dreams like this, sleeping or waking, always had the slight feel of a porn film to him, as if he were watching instead of participating. And the dialogue was always cheesy.



He stroked his cock.

But what the hell? It worked for him.





They were suddenly in the conference room, fucking still, but on the polished mahogany table. All their clothes had vanished and she lay beneath him, legs wide open, tits jiggling as he held her arms above her head and pounded into her, papers jostling and falling to the floor.



“Aaron, we need to start the meeting.”



Rye’s voice from the door to the conference room didn’t make him pause for a second. The slick grip of her cunt as he moved in and out wouldn’t let him go.



“I’m coming,” Virginia moaned.

“Really, Aaron. We’re all on the clock here. Aaron. Aaron…”



“Aarrronnn…”



Seeing as how he was pumping his suddenly stone-hard cock anyway, reliving last night’s dream, Julie’s continuous beckoning from the bedroom should have been welcome, or at the very least convenient.



But being shaken out of his reverie merely annoyed him.

He stopped fisting his boner.



He hadn’t been kidding. He did want to fuck Virginia Beckett. Badly. Up against a vending machine. On a conference room table. Whatever. He doubted at this point, however, that the sentiment was reciprocated.

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