Improvised
"Hi, I'm the tech with PC Housecall. I'm here to debug your computer." "You're late. I'll buzz you in, Apartment 777" Even through the tinny intercom, she could pick out a slight Canadian twang, a bit of northern fried diffidence. She's always had a good ear and liked conjure up a face from a voice. Though hit and miss, it was a pleasant diversion. The time for idle speculation quickly passed, however. She had work to do, stupid busy, running her own business. The usual bunch of loose ends to tie up before her big trip to China. She had little time to accomplish it all and her computer, sensing her moment of need, with an exquisite sense of timing, duly murphy'd out big time. On the fritz, hence Mr. Fixit here. In her space. A knock on the door, a little too loud, somewhat clumsy like he didn't know his own strength. She checked the peephole, opened the door, he met her curious gaze, held it and looked over her shoulder at her disheveled PC. "Is that it over there, Miss Z?” She nodded and pointed. This guy's all business she thought. He was okay looking, nothing special but there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on, wraps her lips around? She sized up his shoulders, legs and ass clad in office casual, as he walked into to her apartment and sat down in her office chair with his bag of tricks in a satchel beside him. She was curiously pleased by what she saw. "Might work" she said to herself, smiling inwardly. "I'll look around and run some diagnostics. Should take about 30 minutes. Could I ask you to type in your password, please?" She leaned over him, lightly brushing his bicep, testing his space. He didn't adjust, he held his ground. She liked that. "I'm sure he's used to desperate housewives coming on to him." she thought. Not this girl, spontaneity had its time and place. Her finger teased her locks as she concentrated. "Thanks" he said curtly. He would have probably tipped the peak of his hat, if he was wearing one. Again, she just nodded, seemingly professional and disinterested "He must think I'm deaf mute or something, that I've been sworn to silence, or that I can't talk 'cause I've got a mouth full of cum and haven't received permission to swallow it yet." she thought very much to herself. "Okay, maybe not that last part, he's much too straight, polite and god fearing to kink that way…" She noticed that his hands didn't fully fit the pencil pushing profile. They were calloused and rough hewn but at the same time meticulously clean and well-manicured. Could she conjure up his cock by the size of his hands? Clean, tapered, thick and hard working? Again, she said nothing. Back to the shelter of her kitchen table, she busied herself romancing the utility bills, tax submissions and flotsam of la vida "i owe la banca". She wrote checks, he beavered away; a domestic division of labour. Minutes passed and he said nothing. After a decent interval, he cleared his throat and said: "Miss, I think I found a virus in your "As" photo album. I'll have to comb through the files and look for infected resources…" "No worries, you know what you're doing…" she said preoccupied. Just then she remembered that a few choice dark side pictures were harboured there. She quickly moved to intercept him… Too late. As she approached the screen, there stood her picture writ large, in its full glory, half-naked on her knees, expertly sword swallowing some lucky stiff, while dressed in a black feathered shirt, a smile on her lips and a venetian mask obscuring the upper half of her visage, hands tied behind her back, well knotted, shibari style. Her mouth expertly eclipsed an anonymous cock. He didn't blush but she did. "Friend of yours?" he said cooly. She was about to stammer a response when he rose swiftly, moved closer, got in her face and whispered slowly into her ear: "Just say the word and I'll teach you a lesson that you'll never forget." He said this conversationally, without malice, which in and of itself was scarier by its very lack of affect. But his body belied his calm. It followed its own rules, standing by. The blood drained from her face. This transition was too fast, the stakes too high, she didn't need this complication right now. What happened to that polite, mild-mannered god squadding PC dude? Unlike the heroines from central casting, however, she liked to walk on the wild side and sometimes welcomed Mr. Hyde over that prissy Dr. Jekyll. She momentarily regained her composure, looked into his eyes and rather than defuse the situation with a well placed witticism, she defiantly stared back and said "Bring it on, shock and awe. Bring it on." Given his marching orders, that is exactly what he set out to do. He reached into his satchel and pull out some standard computer cable ties and carefully bound her wrists in front of her, improvising, not wasting time looking for Hermes silk bidding. He lifted her easily over his shoulder and carried her to her bedroom after a bit of maze walking. He dropped his cargo on the bed, sat her up, rifled the night stand. There he found the tapered sex toy of choice and a collar bedecked with D-ring stays. The treasure hunt had begun. He walked into the en suite bathroom and found a brush and a hair tie. The brush he'd use later, right now, he planned to gather a fistful of her auburn/dirtyblond locks and tie them it into a pony tail, "the better to manoeuvre your head with", said the wolf. He also wished devoutly to collar her before she lost her religion. All this he did efficiently, with no wasted motion, casual but methodical. She sat there momentarily, in familiar surroundings but cast in an unfamiliar role. This was her space and just as much her show as his show. She wondered what magic spell her words had cast or worse what demons she'd unleashed… He sauntered up, gathered her hair into a tight fist and pulled her up and placed a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. He then took her head and pushed it hard against his still clothed crotch, forearms straining and invited her to unzip him using just her teeth. He admired the scene unfolding in the vanity mirror on the bed stand before him. This she did with a characteristic flair for the erotic. Dutifully. As soon as his cock was released it homed in on her mouth and lips. He admired the view, she looked up and dared him not to appreciate her exquisitely directed efforts. He bit his lip and pumped for gold. He saw / felt / heard her take it to the root of all good and evil without batting an eyelash. He tried to hold back by thinking bad thoughts but that only went so far under the combined and coordinated assault of her lips, tongue, throat, strong neck, dancer's shoulders…too much. He told her to stop moving and reminded her that he was to give and she was to strictly receive. She held back, went passive and took it all, gracefully, almost placidly. Her bound hands cupped his balls, the burnished curve of the pipe she was currently suck smoking. This unrehearsed, serendipitous mouth fuck was a newly discovered part of this rather unremarkable job. "It's good to be the king" he said out loud to no one in particular. His moans grew more insistent, his release imminent and he said "Do you mind if I cum in your mouth?". She paused and looked up a him pleadingly, the prim and proper porn queen. "I'd rather you'd not" she lied. "Good" he said. He planned to do so anyway, the check was in the mail. He hated to worry about pulling out for fear of offending one of his many partners. This was his day and he was going to seize it and when the flood came, all bets were off. He pushed down on to her back and climbed over her to better plumb her mouth. More intimate than fucking this was. No staring at the ceiling, picking out paint colours. His pace quickened as the final countdown approached. "This is what we do" he thought. Just as he came, he pulled her in deep and hard. No escape from the selfish gene. She tried to breathe, suck, swallow, smile and groan at the same time. She spluttered, trapped in his musky need, uncomfortable. Yet she felt safe and at home when most exposed. In control yet submissive, dispassionate about her passion. Leave it to the windmills of the mind to harbour two or three mutually exclusive concepts at the same time. He noticed her predicament and pulled out and managed to paint a few grateful contrails on her face, both of them flushed with effort and excitement. "Does your girlfriend do that for you, geek boy?" she said teasingly. The roof of her mouth and tounge still sticky with his seed. "Rub it in, why don't you" he said. "I didn't mean to be mean" she suggested. "No, I mean, rub the come into your face, it's a natural astringent and helps gloss your glow, baby." "Oh" she said, complying, her auburn hair splayed against the undisturbed bedspread, the shams in their proper place. The Lives of the saints had nothing on this. When the ritual had ended his hard look softened to one of undisguised lust and admiration. He flicked on the vibrator and bent to the sacrament in progress. Some women are multi-orgasmic, he liked to count and see how far they could extend themselves in pursuit of that holy aching arch, that tenting of the pussy, that orgasmic blood rush. He got hard when he heard them come. He would do his level best to coax each little bit of humping joy out of this one. One at a time, each one counting and adding up… But first, he had to call the office and plead car trouble. He'd be here for awhile, a guest, an interloper, a seriously casual improvised encounter….
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3yg7mu/mf_oral_improvised