Mitchell shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t for no other reason than his body was outright exhausted. He hadn’t had a chance to relax, truly, in over a week. His muscles ached for sleep, but his mind kept retching him from that unconscious place.
All because of her. All because of Ella.
*She’s not interested*, his conscience continually insisted. *She’s your coworker, she’s off limits*.
*But she gave you her number*, the hopeless romantic and animalistic side of him retorted. *All on her own, and she is constantly looking for you, asking about you, about your day. She wants to be near you.*
And to be near her, oh, God. She always smelled amazing, always looked so soft. More than once, they’d be stacking shelves, and he had to resist the urge to reach out to her. To touch. To let himself feel the exposed skin at the small of her back when she reached for a high shelf and her shirt rode up. To see if the curve of her hip felt as plush as it looked. And sometimes, when they were both bent in half, throwing bags of frozen produce into their respective places in the freezers, his body would go electric. All he would have had to do is dare to lean over, press his lips to the pulse of her neck. But no.
He hadn’t consciously taken himself out of his pants. Hell, he only registered he’d done so when he felt the weight of his cock, hard and heavy, plop against the lower section of his stomach. *Shit*. He needed to get looser jeans if it felt like this much of a relief to just have them unbuttoned and pulled down those necessary inches.
Still, he wasted no time in fisting himself, a groan bubbling up from this throat at the relief of tight pressure around his erection. That’s when his imagination kicked into gear. This wasn’t his hand on his dick, no. *It was Ella’s*.
Ella, straddling his legs, on all fours save for the arm reaching between their bodies to stroke him. Ella, wearing that black, sleeveless top that Mitchell’s eyes feasted on for what must have been only a minute before a manager clocked it and threw her a tee shirt. It hadn’t even shown cleavage, not straight on. But it clung to her deliciously and definitely made her ample chest an apparent asset.
In Mitchell’s mind’s eye, he saw straight down that shirt, saw a black and lacy bra that housed Ella’s tits in a lethally sexy cage. In this little fantasy, he felt her breath fan his neck as she leaned in close to his ear. “This all mine?” Her hand squeezed teasingly around his shaft, making Mitchell swallow hard. “This thick cock… I think it belongs to me now, don’t you?”
“Fuck…” Mitchell moaned under his breath, his head throwing itself back into the pillow beneath him as the pace increased.
Imaginary Ella licked a stripe up the side of his throat, nipped at the sensitive spot under his ear. “Well?” She purred. “Are you just going to lay there, or are you going to touch me?”
His hands — which were absolutely not fisting the sheets below him and jerking the hell out of his dick in reality, not at all — sprung immediately into motion at her request, kneading at the supple mounds of her breasts with reverence. Mitchell’s thumbs brushed over the clothed peaks of her nipples and he felt dizzy at the sound of her moan. So he went a step further, pinched them between the knocker knuckles of his forefinger and thumb. Fantasy Ella keened, her fist closing around the head of Mitchell’s dick in appreciation. Her head fell forward, jaw going slack as he repeated the action. “Oh my God…”
It was then that Fantasy Ella removed her hand, much to Mitchell’s distress, only to situate herself further up his legs. On his lap, to be exact. Within the scope of reality, Mitchell reached for the pillow beside him, used the soft cotton of the pillowcase as a surrogate for Ella’s panties rubbing against his naked cock.
“Need to feel you… *Oh*.” Fantasy Ella mewled as she rolled her hips forward, grinding up and down on Mitchell’s shaft. “So good, fuck…” One of her hands found purchase on his chest while the other grabbed his hand, covering it with her own as she showed him exactly how she loved her breasts played with. Her shirt was off now, the reel of this erotic, imaginary scene conveniently editing out the process of removing that and her bra. So Mitchell’s mind’s eye only saw the expanse of her skin — so damn *soft* — and how it lightly jiggled with every grind against him.
Her name fell past his lips as he rolled his hips up, desperately craving further friction. The Ella in his brain giggled, but pushed her hips down to meet him, causing his eyes to roll back.
“Yeah? Like the way this pussy grinds on you, baby?”
Mitchell whined. “Don’t fucking tease…” It meant to come off as a warning, but felt more like a desperate request pushed through his clenched teeth.
“No? Well then…” Imaginary Ella reached down between them again, this time to pull her cotton panties to the side. Mitchell’s precum stained the pillow above him, mimicking the wetness of Ella’s folds as she rubbed herself against him. “Is this want you want? Hmm?”
“God, yes,” he moaned. “Let me fuck you. Please, I *need* to fuck you.”
Real-world Mitchell bucked his hips up into the pillow with abandon as the Ella in his head chuckled low, answered him not with words but by flawlessly lowering herself onto him. She gasped, lids and long lashes fluttering at the sensation. “So b-big,” she commented, breathless, making Mitchell’s ego swell along with his cock.
She set a ruthless pace to match the desperate one set in reality, let out the most erotic noises as she bounced on his dick. “Oh, fuck, yes! Feels so fucking good. G-gonna cum all over this perfect — *ah!”* Mitchell was losing it, hips stuttering as the knot of arousal in his belly grew impossibly tighter. And so Fantasy Ella reacted in kind. “Oh, my God. Cum inside me. Please, I need it. Need all of your fucking cum…!”
And with that, the knot snapped, rope after rope of hot, thick spunk shooting deep into Ella’s imaginary womb. Mitchell’s skin burned with ecstasy as he rode out the orgasm, the scene fading away to make room for white-hot bliss.
It took a minute for him to come down. His already tired limbs felt like absolute lead in the afterglow, unwilling to move an inch. But the stickiness of the quickly-cooling cum all over his pillow and cock insisted on being addressed.
“Shit,” he grimaced, loathing the gross feeling of his own spend on his skin and the knowledge that, damn it all, he had to wash his bedsheets now. That tore it. Either he had to make Ella his, and fast, or he needed to invest in a highly durable sex toy.
For the sake of his bank account, he settled rather determinedly on the former.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/zq8uv7/solom_20smitchell_fantasizes_about_his_f_20s_work