I think the cute new receptionist has a thing for me [M27/F20s] [blowjob at work]

“Are you– are you doing ok?” Esme’s green eyes and button nose are scrunched up with concern, her hand resting on my shoulder. This small gesture catches me off-guard, it’s the most human touch I’ve had in months.

I blink the sad revelation away. “Uh-oh. What did I say?”

“At the stand-up this morning,” she tilts her head to the side, “You were… well, cranky. And, no offense, Peter, but you’ve been that way a lot lately.” Her words roll through their syllables, inflected with some sort of English accent, but not one that sounds particularly proper.

I slink back into my chair, twiddle with the mechanical pencil on my desk. The desk has a cheap computer on it and is set against a big glass wall, rows of new cars lined up outside. An SUV, blue and shiny and sleek, sits on a pedestal behind me. I look around, scanning for customers and co-workers alike. We’re alone for the moment. “I’m not offended. Thanks for letting me know, Esme. I’ll work on it, somehow, I guess.”

“Well, let me know if I can help,” she says.

“Thanks.” I watch her walk back to her station behind the polished black laminate counter, her green dress and tall, high waistband sashaying as her black platform shoes clack across the floor.

She’s cute, our new receptionist. She wears heavier makeup than I prefer, but I can’t argue that she draws it on with precision. It works, and her look and friendly demeanor and accent that catches the unprepared off-guard make her a favorite. The customers tend to treat her nice and us salesguys always seem to gravitate around her desk, at least until Bob comes and shoos us away.

People trickle through the lot, enough to keep the rotation rotating, but I’m not making any sales. I steal across the street for lunch, grabbing a burger, and brace myself for a slow afternoon as I see the rainclouds billow overhead. Sure enough, an hour later the sky opens up and the customers dry out, and I sit at my desk trying not to fall asleep, or at least trying not to let Bob see me if I do.

The patter of rain against the glass mixes with the bland pop music piped in from corporate, and it’s a powerful cure for insomnia.

“Brought you a coffee,” Esme says, setting the paper cup down on my desk.

I jolt alert, looking at her in shock. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah,” she grins.

“You keep this up, Esme, you’re going to have me spoiled.”

“It’s just from the machine,” she says, sitting down across from me in the customer chairs, “But I thought you could use a little niceness, you know? Something to brighten your day?”

I sip the hot brew. It’s such a salve. “Was I being grumpy again?”

She makes an apologetic shrug. “That couple? Just before you took lunch?”

“They were so indecisive,” I mutter.

“Yeah, but…”

I sigh. “Say it.”

“You were being kind of short with them, you know? You gotta keep your sales face perky and cheery, right? That’s what moves cars, not a grumpasaurus.”

I smile at her. “That a sauropod? Or one of your flying-type dinosaurs? Cuz I’m pretty sure a sauropod could move a car quite easily.”

She rolls her eyes. “What happened to that picture you used to have on your desk? The one of you with that cute redhead? It brightened up your workspace, made you more approachable.”

My smile disintegrates. “I had to get rid of it. It… it’s a long story. Well, no. We split up.”

“Wasn’t she your fiance?”

“Yep.”

“Oh,” Esme takes this in, then asks, “She cheat on you?”

“Something like that.”

She pauses another beat, then says, “This why you’ve been grumpy?”

I shake my head, look out at the overcast skies, the drizzle descending from them. It doesn’t even have the dignity to develop into a real rainstorm. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I’m over it, though.”

A voice barks out from across the sales floor, loud and gruff. “Peter!”

I sit up. “What’s up, Bob?”

“Stop bothering Esme. Where are you on your list? I want to see you emailing, calling. Hell, send carrier pigeons. Get busy. Rain is no excuse.”

I lean forward and put my hands on the keyboard, making an apologetic shrug towards Esme. She shrugs back before slipping away.

A half-hour later, I walk past Esme’s station to refill my coffee. “Thanks again,” I say, pointing at the cup.

“Hey, come here,” she whispers.

I turn around, scanning the room. Nobody’s near. “What’s up?” I whisper back.

“I got a cure for your blues,” she says.

“Drugs?”

“No,” she frowns and giggles, “Not drugs. Get key number eighty-three and come with me out back.”

I’m probably breaking some sort of rule, but I don’t care. Keys in hand, I follow her down the hall. “Where are we going?”

“Shhh.” We walk past the service and parts departments and out of the building, out around the maintenance bays and into the storage lot. It’s where we store the extra inventory, more cars of models already on the front lot.

Esme takes the key from me and pushes the button. Four ranks in, a minivan door slides open, and she weaves her way between the tightly parked cars to reach it. “Come on,” she beckons.

I follow her, and we climb in. She shuts the door. “What are we doing?” I say, “If you want to get drunk, there’s a bar around the corner, much more comfortable.”

“No,” she giggles, “I don’t drink. Take off your pants.”

“What?”

“C’mon, Peter,” she says, “I’m doing this for you. Take off your pants and sit down there.” She points at the middle seat on the bench.

“Uh…” I mumble, but I do what she says, unwilling to let my consider what happens next. My pants are loose around my ankles, my shirt hanging baggy and useless down my front.

She kneels in the open space in front of me, eyes sparkling despite the darkness. “It’s pretty obvious what you need,” she says, “What it is that you’re lacking.” She pulls my shirt up and reaches through the fly of my shorts, her fingers closing around the shaft of my cock. Her grip is cold and my dick limp and I gasp.

“Esme!” I hiss.

“What?” she says, mocking like this is the most everyday, normal thing.

“You’re making me hard!”

It’s a stupid thing to say, really. I mean, of course she’s making me hard, she’s cute and playing with my penis, yanking it stiff in smooth, strong strokes. And as my cock surges fat and stiff, I lean back and spread my knees.

“Been a while?” she giggles, sticking out her tongue and licking up my shaft.

I moan, my jaw dropping. She pops my dick in her mouth, and the soft, silky warmth of her tongue and lips slides down my length, making me shudder with pleasure. I watch my cock slide farther and farther into her lips and her fingers drag orbits around my balls, and I know this is something special, that she’s giving me a gift. She pulls back, then goes down again, and the second time is even better than the first.

“Fuck, girl,” I mutter, looking at her in awe, hearing her begin the quiet slurps and rhythmic lapping, “You’re incredible.”

She pops my dick free of her mouth and grins at me, the most incredible grin. “I’m just getting started.” She rubs my glans across her smiling lips, eyes twinkling in the dim light, and takes me back in.

I sink into the seat, the pleasure she’s giving me washing through my sinews, a powerful cure. I have to fight to keep my eyes open and focused, but I do it, because she’s watching me. Her gaze is locked on, and I can see it in her eyes. She’s amused, entertained by this.

My fiance, on the rare occasion I could get her to suck cock, used to just look bored. It was terrible. I had to close my eyes and look away or else I’d go limp.

Esme, though, that happiness contained in the gleam of her eyes — like she really enjoys sucking my dick — this alone already makes it the best blowjob I’ve had in years.

And as my cock surges stiff in her mouth, she knows to pull back, whispering, “Not yet,” as she edges me along. She licks at my balls, pushing them to the side with her tongue before running it up the underside of my shaft. She starts doing it a second time, but sits back.

“My phone’s ringing,” she says.

I groan in frustration. She wraps a fist around my dick and pumps me while fishing her cell out from wherever.

“It’s sales.” She taps the screen and pulls it to her ear, eyes swiveling back to meet mine, grinning at me. “Esme here. Oh, hi Bob. What can I help you with?”

I stare in horror as she again runs her tongue up the full length of my cock.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, “I’m just out on the lot, doing a little cleanup for the boys, you know?” She opens her lips wide, taking my shaft in.

Through the phone’s speaker, I can hear the tinny, distant sound of Bob’s voice. His words are indistinct, but his timbre is unmistakable, and he’s going on and on.

“Mmmhmm,” Esme mumbles, responding to some question, her mouth filled with my dick, “Mmmm.”

She does this thing with her tongue, swirling it around the head of my cock, and the bliss mixes with my dread of being found out. It erupts into something new and intense, and I shudder, my cock pulsing harder.

“Sure thing,” Esme says, fist pumping me like a piston, “Give me, maybe ten minutes to finish up?” She eyes me. “No, make that fifteen. Then I’ll jump right on it.”

She kisses my glans. My cock throbs and twitches and my balls pull in tight. I know what’s coming, and so does she. She strokes my shaft with glee and grins at me, winking. “Sure thing, boss.”

I lose it, clenching my teeth to suppress a groan. Cum jets from me, through her open lips, and coats her mouth. I spurt again and Esme sticks her tongue out, letting my spunk drip down and pool at the tip. She hangs up her call and focuses on my cock, milking more and more of my seed. With a swallow she empties her mouth, then sucks clean the cum that continues to ooze from me.

I whimper, panting, watching her with reverence on my face. “You–” I gasp, “You’re–”

“What do you think?” she says, sitting back, smiling at her own handiwork.

“What was that for?”

“You looked like you needed it,” she shrugs, looking thoughtful, “But if you’d rather I hadn’t…”

“No!” My eyes widen. “That’s not–”

“I’m just having a laugh,” she waves me down.

The bliss reverberates through me. “I… I feel like I should buy you dinner or something.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says. She looks down at herself, straightening out her outfit, inspecting her dress for wayward drips. “But if you want to, I know a place.”

“Can I?”

She giggles. “You’re so silly. Of course you can. After shift tonight. Say, seven-thirty?”

I nod.

She hands me the keys. “I gotta run. Lock up.”

I’m left alone in the van, a load of tension released I didn’t even realize I was carrying, and a grin on my face as I look forward to tonight.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/1308yg9/i_think_the_cute_new_receptionist_has_a_thing_for