Meetings. Any well-adjusted individual who works in a corporate environment long enough develops an instinctive dread at the word. Pre-meetings, post-meetings, follow-up-meetings, meetings to determine if we need meetings about meetings. It takes a special kind of sadist to wake up every day and decide that their employees’ calendars looks just a little too empty, their time just a little too free.
In my years working for The Man — or The Woman, in the case of Hayley — I’ve expended far more effort and energy trying to get out of meetings than I have actually attending them. I’m rarely successful.
My latest campaign ended in the failure I have come to expect. Hayley listened patiently as I listed reason after reason why I would be better off lobotomizing myself with a pencil than I would be joining her on the inaugural call of our new internal standards committee (ISC for short, since nothing is really official without a proper initialism). It was a compelling argument, rife with expert pantomime of pencil-into-brain mechanics. When I finished she nodded and said, “You think I want to join? If I have to go, so do you.”
So it is that I find myself barred indoors in the middle of a beautiful summer afternoon, sitting with Hayley in a freezing, oversized conference room. We are listening to one of the slowest-speaking humans on the planet take roll call for twenty people while air funneled straight from the arctic winter blasts in our faces. I’m certain I haven’t done anything in my life to deserve this torment.
Somehow Hayley is unperturbed by this situation. She’s seated across from me, dutifully attentive to the names oozing their way out of our phone-host’s mouth. Every so often she makes a note as someone important confirms their presence.
I look her over. Her hair is straight today, flowing over her shoulders and perfectly framing her bust. Her high, shapely cheeks have been generously rouged by the sun, and her arms darkened to a rich caramel. Today she’s wearing the dress I like, a tasteful black piece with floral lace patterning. It manages to fit her like a glove while still leaving all of the details to the imagination.
Fortunately for me, I am very imaginative. I begin undressing her in my mind, thinking of all of the things I could do once I manage to get her in my hands. It’s a long list.
She notices my attention. A slight smile hooks the edge of her lips, and her foot nudges my own under the table.
Flashback to my birthday drinks two weeks prior. What had started with Hayley playfully stepping on my foot ultimately led to her on her knees in a public bathroom stall with my come filling her mouth. Could I get the same results today?
I nudge her back, but she pulls her foot away. Guess not.
“Hayley is on,” she tells our fellow ISC members. “And I have Connor with me.”
Cue rounds of “Hi Hayley and Connor,” like some sort of cheery twelve step meeting.
“Nice to have you on, Hayley. Your team is a critical cog of the ISC so we’ll be turning to your expertise on a few topics here today.” Critical cog? That doesn’t sound promising.
Hayley shoots me a warning look, then says. “Sounds good, Rob. We’re happy to help!”
The fuck we are! But now she’s said it and I have no choice but to be happy to help. I give her the stink eye and she flips me off in response. She manages to look cute while doing it.
Of course, she manages to look cute while doing everything.
The past two weeks have been tough for both of us. We’ve been flirting voraciously since our last encounter, but haven’t had a chance to be alone together until now. Whenever I’m near her my desire drives all other thoughts from my mind. Every time I see her I remember the feel of her in my hands, the taste of her lips after she sucked me off, all the smells and sounds and sights of her.
She’s got me hooked, claws dug in deep. I wonder if she knows how often I spend my time daydreaming about her. I wonder if she returns the regard.
This time when I nudge her foot she turns her eyes to mine. The phone isn’t muted, so I mouth my feelings to her: “I need to fuck you.”
Her face remains impassive. I’m about to resign myself to an hour of misery when she returns the bump, except this time her foot doesn’t stop at my own, but instead begins to inch its way up my leg.
Oh, thank God.
The walls of the conference room are glass, but thick shades cover them floor to ceiling. An enterprising voyeur would be able to catch a glimpse of the meeting inside if he or she tried hard enough, but even then the table Hayley and I share would block the view, as someone decided it was a good idea to design a table with legs that run across its full width. Horrible for banging one’s knees, great for hiding activity below the belt.
I shift in my seat, giving her more room to play. Her foot crests my thigh and then she’s easing it into my crotch, slow at first, then firmly. I harden against her.
As suddenly as that she pulls away and mutes our line. “Behave yourself,” she says, jotting something in her notebook. “This is important, so no distractions. And take notes in case I miss anything.”
Sometimes Boss Hayley isn’t very fun.
On the phone the meeting proper has started. The first topic on order is…a discussion on the schedule of committee meetings going forward. Great.
Always a dutiful employee, I begin doodling random words in block letters and let the ISC bleating wash over me. Nothing on the agenda concerns or interests me, even though I’m supposedly of critical-cog-level importance. The committee is still in its infancy and will accomplish nothing today; there will be no worthwhile notes to take.
Aimlessly drawing is not enough of a distraction to kill my libido, so I turn my mind back to the things I’d rather be doing with Hayley. There are a lot of them, an almost infinite amount, even in an open conference room in the middle of the work day where anyone could see.
And just like that inspiration strikes.
Hayley quirks an eyebrow as I flip to a blank page and flourish my pen at her. You want notes, Hayley? Well then, you’ll get notes. Time for another surprise.
*Hayley,* I write, and pause to admire my work. Not bad, but now that I’ve started, what do I actually write? What would I want her to do right now?
I watch as Hayley launches into a fervid explanation of one of our obscure processes that only she can remember. It’s pretty hot when she starts to act the boss and take control of a meeting. Maybe, then, she should take control of me.
Pen to paper once more:
….
On this page I can make you do anything. On this page I can bend your every action and want and need to my will, can make you beg me to fuck your mouth or pussy or tight, tiny ass. Anything I want, anything I can think of can happen here. On this page I am the boss.
This is my fantasy:
I sit across from you. My hair is a tidy mess today, dark waves and curls barely corralled. The buttons on my shirt strain against my chest, and its sleeves are tight over well-muscled arms. You’ve told me that it’s arrogant to show off the way I do; you’ve told yourself that such arrogance is an ugly trait, that you shouldn’t find it so attractive. But the sight reminds you of my strength, of the way I can dominate you utterly if I so choose, and desire overcomes distaste.
Yet I don’t have that power over you here. In this environment your word is law. In this room, you can dictate my every move.
You feel me growing hard and know I wasn’t lying when I said I need you. For the past few days you’ve felt the same need yourself. All of the hidden flirting — all of the tension building between us — has left you with a burning desire to fill yourself with me. Your mind has been in overdrive leading up to this meeting, wondering if anything would happen. A few breaks to catch some air hadn’t helped calm you, nor had your attempts at relieving yourself at your desk. You just plain need to fuck.
And now I’m here, ready for you. All you have to do is reach out and take it…
Voices rise in consternation on the phone but you ignore them. Instead you focus on the desire you feel. You recall how I pinned you to the bathroom wall, my arms around you, my manhood entering you, and you decide that you want it again. The thought of fucking me here terrifies you, but with that terror comes a deep thrill, a rush of excitement.
Arousal clouds your judgment and you welcome it. Yes, you can do this. With the shades down nobody can see in. Most of the company is out of the office early today for the coming holiday. Nobody will disturb us and you know it.
The decision practically makes itself.
My eyes widen as you slide out of your seat and duck under the table. The sight of my surprise and eagerness spurs your own. Then you’re on your knees below me, unbuckling my pants.
Someone on the conference call asks a question that you can answer, but you have no intent to respond.
“Answer them,” you tell me. “I’ve stepped out for a breather.” You pull my boxers down and then you have my cock in your hand. A dribble of semen pools at the tip. I un-mute the line as you lick it off.
When I begin to answer the question, you engulf me. My body shudders as you take me deeper.
After too long a pause, I can finally speak. “Sorry everyone,” I choke out. “This is Connor. Hayley had to step out for a moment but I can take this topic.”
Yes, I can handle this. No reason for you to stop what you’re doing. The meeting goes for another forty minutes and we need to stay for the duration, so you can truly enjoy yourself. Maybe this committee won’t be so bad after all.
I speak on as you pleasure me with your tongue. You run it over the ridges of my head, feeling the shape of it, the size of it. A few moments there to savor the way I fill your mouth, then you’re licking down my shaft. I’m living steel in your hands, and you relish the thought that you elicit such a response from me.
My words become stilted as you service us both, hand and head and tongue moving in unison along my full length, fingers of your other hand massaging your pussy. You take as much of me in as you can, over and over again. Fear and excitement surge within you as the noise of your cocksucking grows louder.
Someone is bound to hear. My hands bunch in your hair and I try to push you away but you continue, ignoring my plight. This is for you, not me.
You’re moaning and gagging on me now, and your clit begins to sing beneath your fingers. I raise my voice over the sound of your ministrations and soldier on, barely controlling myself, trembling as you work. When you break for air I clear my throat (“Sorry, allergies getting to me”), finish my statement, and pound the mute button.
You’re up and kissing me before I have time to react. I haven’t even touched you yet but you feel taut, ready to burst. The last thing you want right now is to stop.
We break, but you hold a finger to my lips to stall me. “Don’t say a word. Just sit there and pay attention to the meeting.”
With your other hand you slip off your panties. I scoot forward as you straddle me and we shuffle against each other, working to fit properly on the chair. I wrestle against the armrests in silent fury, and as I conquer them my cock rubs against your pussy and it’s like a jolt of electricity through you.
“Oh, God,” you say. “Don’t you dare come before me.” Then you lower yourself onto me.
In the background the meeting carries on. In the foreground I fill you completely.
The throbbing heat of my manhood radiates through you. You work back and forth atop me, rubbing yourself as you go, focusing on the sensation of my cock spreading you apart, the strength of my hands gripping your hips and helping you move.
With every passing minute the risk grows and your pleasure grows with it. Warmth is building in your stomach, your pussy, your legs, everywhere. Release is close. Finally, thankfully, it’s so close.
From the phone: “I’m not sure. Connor, is this something you can answer?”
I reach to un-mute the line but you slam my hand down. Not now, not yet. Your breath is a ragged gasping and you’re shaking so much you can barely stay upright in the chair.
“Connor?” They need an answer, but you can’t stop. You keep my hand pinned next to the phone and take me in fully again and then you’re there. A deep fire ignites in your clit and rushes through your body, ass and pussy spasming uncontrollably, toes and fingers curling, clenching. Your mind goes blank as a wave of bliss rolls over you.
“Connor, are you muted?” Laughter on the phone.
It’s a classic meeting gaffe, but this time I’m thankful for it. You collapse on me with a cry, limbs quivering, the walls of your vagina fluttering around my cock.
I wait a few agonizing seconds to let you subside before responding. “I was muted!” I tell the ISC. “Sorry everyone. Guess I have to start over again.”
You lay on me while I speak, breath slowing. I’m still hard inside you but you don’t have the energy to finish what you started.
Besides, you got what you wanted out of it.
….
Back to reality. I’ve managed to work myself into a state of excitement that is clearly noticeable. Hayley eyes me with a speculative look on her face.
A chorus of goodbyes and promises to speak soon mark the end of the ISC’s first official meeting. Silence settles in the conference room as Hayley and I stare at each other.
“So,” she says. “Ben asked me to write up a summary to share with him when he’s back in the office.”
Ah. That explains why she was taking this so seriously. “Good thing I spent the entire meeting taking notes for you, then.” I try to sound convincing, but I don’t think she believes me.
“Mmmhmm.”
“You, ah, want to take them with you? To read and whatnot?” I proffer the alleged notes facedown. It’s like a scene from a spy movie or something, some clandestine packet slowly pushed across a table to an unsuspecting victim. I feel suddenly ridiculous. What if she really wanted me to take notes?
Too late. “I think I will,” she says. She tucks my notebook under her arm without glancing at it. “They seemed to be pretty thorough.”
Our exchange concluded, we part without another word. She heads to the restroom and I to my desk.
The smell of hand sanitizer and air freshener announces Kyle’s presence. He comes around the corner ahead of me, pencil behind each ear, a stack of papers in his hands. “Ben called a few minutes ago,” he tells me as he hustles by. “He asked if you or Hayley were available to speak to him, but I didn’t know where you were so I told him no.” Then he’s gone. Off to shoot someone with his finger guns, no doubt.
Thanks a bunch, Kyle.
The gray walls of my cubicle rise around me as I sit. Rita is droning in her monotone way in the next cube, talking someone through a report that could easily be understood if the person just spent a few moments actually using their brain. Poor girl. No wonder she always sounds so bored.
Now what?
For a while I do nothing except stare at my login screen. I just gave my boss a two page story about orgasming in my lap during a meeting. Sure, we’ve slept together a few times, but this seems a bit… excessive. What if she doesn’t like it?
I could try and get my notes back. Say I need to check something for another project, then…what? Never speak to her about it again? Accidentally drop my notebook into the shredder? Jump out the window with it? No, I’m committed now. I just have to hope for the best.
I log in to my desktop and pop open my email. It’s a quiet day so there’s not much to read outside of some ISC-related follow ups (really? Already?), including one from Ben (“How’d it go?!”). He seems really into this. Perhaps the story was a bad idea.
A few minutes later my phone rings. It’s Hayley, sounding supremely annoyed. “Did you see the email from Ben?” I had. “He left me a voicemail, too. I don’t know why he’s so interested in this but he’s driving me nuts about it. I have to send an email to a bunch of people, now. It’s so unnecessary.” She sighs and is silent again for a few moments. “Did you also see that we received more defective product today?”
That I had not. A few weeks ago we had volunteered to review product that was supposedly easily damaged. It was mindless work but it had to get done, and it had the added benefit of giving us a few moments of convenient privacy.
A few minutes alone with Hayley. Either she’s going to tear me a new one, or…
“Are we going to check it out?” I ask.
“Yeah, let’s get it over with,” she says.
Well then. I take a quick minute to fix my hair before emerging from the safety of my cube. Hayley is already down the hall, heading toward the storage room.
She’s not very graceful in her heels (was she wearing those before?), her legs wobbling with every step. Somehow she always seems on the verge of toppling over when she wears them, like a newborn giraffe taking its first steps. It’s amazing that she hasn’t broken an ankle by now. I attribute her difficulties to being a bit too top-heavy, but she says it’s because of her slender feet.
Either way, she manages to make it to the storage room without dying, which is good news for me.
I step in to the room and close the door behind me. Calling it a storage room is a bit of a misnomer, of course. It’s really just one of a few empty offices in an unused part of our floor. A desk and office chair still occupy the room, but they are buried under a pile of boxes. A large potted plant in the corner is the only living creature within 100 feet of us.
Hayley is standing at the window, arms crossed over her chest. I step up beside her and look down sixteen stories to the streets below.
“What do you think they’re doing down there?” she asks. The courtyard across the street is a flurry of activity. A group of men are rolling barrels around a set of tables, and something akin to a stage is being constructed in the middle.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Some sort of keg party?”
“A keg party. With empty wooden barrels.”
It seemed like a good enough explanation to me. Apparently she doesn’t have much else to say about it, so we lapse into silence.
Quiet seconds except for the sound of our breaths, then: “I read your… notes. Compared them to mine. We seem to have attended very different meetings.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, a sly look. “Not at all realistic, either.”
“I was winging it a bit.”
“You know I wouldn’t beg you to do me in the ass, right?”
“That was just hypothetical,” I lie. “You know, to make a point.”
“And I hate to take control. And there’s no way you wouldn’t finish if I did that to you.”
I turn to face her. She’s still looking out the window, watching the men below mill about. “So you’re saying you didn’t like it?”
She seems reluctant to engage with me, but why have me come to the empty office if she didn’t want something out of it? Maybe she’s just playing at being coy. I decide to make a move and hope for the best.
The scent of her hair hits me full force as I come around behind her. I slide my hand up her dress and feel her legs widen in response. My fingers trail up the back of her leg and then onto her ass. She’s not wearing panties.
“I didn’t say that,” she says.
I push her hair to the side and kiss my way up her neck. She leans her head back against me in response. “You know, you may not like taking control,” I say. “But I ‘m willing to take up that role. Do you want that?”
“Yes.”
I unzip her dress and tug it over her shoulders, revealing her upper back. I kiss my way down her spine. She shivers in response, then finally uncrosses her arms, spilling her tits out of her dress. No bra, either. “Oh, I think someone lied about defective product in the storage room. I think someone just wanted to get fucked.”
“Who, me?”
She turns her head to kiss me over her shoulder as I begin fondling her. Her breasts are heavy and firm in my hands, her nipples stiff. I can feel her heart pounding beneath her tits. We stay like that a while, framed in the window, my fingers tickling and pinching and my tongue dancing around her own.
Eventually I spin her around to face me, then drop down to my knees. Her dress is still tight across her midsection but I have no time to waste getting it off of her. “Hold this,” I say, lifting the hem of her dress.
With her heels on she’s the perfect height to put me face to face with the fat pussy I’ve come to know so well. She gasps as I take her inner labia into my mouth, tugging at them, running my tongue over them. I place my hands on her hips to help support her, then start to lick deeper, harder, from her taint to her clit.
Her free hand rests on my head as I lick my way around her, kissing her lips, penetrating her, tasting her. I linger on every part of her, savoring her pussy.
She leans back against the windowsill and pulls my head in toward her, grinding her crotch into my face.
I continue on, bobbing up and down as we move together, her hips helping my tongue run against her harder and deeper. Her breaths are coming heavier now, and more of her weight is falling into my hands as her legs weaken and shake. She begins to moan and her gyrations become more fervent.
I turn my attention to her clit and she practically jumps out of her heels. “Stop,” she says suddenly. “Stop. I’m going to fall out of the window.”
That probably wouldn’t be the best way for this to end, so I pull away. She’s sitting on the windowsill now, her hands gripping the frames for dear life. Oops. A bit of a mishap, but I’m not stopping here. I look around the room but there are no uncovered surfaces, and I can’t very well lay her on the floor.
There are walls, though. Time to put my muscles to work.
“Fine,” I say as I work to unlatch my belt. “I’ll stop for now. But only because I’m going to fuck you.”
I take my cock out and look her in her eyes as I enter her. She bites her lip as I work myself in. “The window?” she reminds me.
“Hang on to me,” I tell her. She wraps her legs around me and I lift her from the windowsill. I step to the side and then I have her wedged against the wall, my hands under her ass, her tits pressed against my chest. She claws at my back as I lean against her.
We kiss, our passion slow at first as we both take the time to enjoy the way her pussy grips my cock, then faster as need overtakes us. My hips and hands work in unison to hold her up and against the wall while I drive myself deep within her.
Our pace becomes wild, my thrusts harder and less coordinated. The window rattles in its frame as I practically ram Hayley through the wall. She’s crying out every time I fill her (“Yes! Oh God, harder!”) and the sound of her enjoying my cock pushes me over the edge.
I almost drop her as a jolt of pure pleasure grips me, buckling my knees, but I hold on and empty my seed into her pulse after pulse after pulse. She takes my face between her hands and kisses me as I come.
When I finish I sink down to my knees, then onto my back with her atop me. We lay there awhile, Hayley resting her head on my chest, eyes closed.
But inevitably, I have to ruin the moment. “Hey, do you think anyone is watering that plant?”
Hayley looks up from my chest. The plant in the corner looks a little worse for wear. “No. But I think we should make a point to visit more often.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8tf77n/for_a_friend_part_3_c_h_mf