Black Friday action with a co-worker [MF] [long]

For the past few months I’ve been working as an assistant manager at a retail clothing store in the mall. I won’t say which store, but it caters to teenagers and twenty-somethings and has obnoxiously large photospreads of waify models falling all over one another on the walls, and a too-loud playlist heavy on dubstep with some neo-folk sprinkled in for good measure. Working there is usually boring as hell and the pay sucks, but at least all my female co-workers are really hot.

Until very recently they were also way off-limits, not only because we have a draconian personnel manual that makes dating a co-worker about as fun as being a crackhead on parole, but because I genuinely wanted to be professional. Most of these girls had enough creeps in their lives, including the preening college jerks who came in bunches and the middle-aged men who sauntered through, sometimes with adolescent daughters and sometimes alone, always spending more time browsing the merchants rather than the merchandise.

I think the girls appreciated my attitude and kept me in their circle of acquaintances as a benign, slightly-older guy who was neither a threat or a prize, a goofy but respectable brother who happened to sign their paychecks. Sometimes they invited me with them to drinks or a late supper after work, where they asked for good-natured critiques of their Instagram photos and advice on their Tinder profiles. I guess there may have been something a bit sad in that, but I enjoyed their company and wasn’t expecting anything more, so I had no worries about being friend-zoned.

Then Cara started working there a few weeks ago. I hired her for the holiday rush, and at first I wondered whether she would be a good fit. She certainly looked the part: really cute, though maybe more alt-looking than most girls who apply at our store. She had a few streaks of neon blue in her sandy blonde hair, wore a tiny nose stud, and was peppered with discreet and esoteric tattoos: on her inner wrist, a pixelated video-game heart; on her forearm, a small snake knotted into a cross; and behind her left ear, the outline of an octopus. She was quiet but said that she would succeed at retail sales because she liked meeting new people and was excellent at folding t-shirts. I had more experienced and more outgoing applicants, but there was something about Cara that made it difficult to tell her no.

Cara oozed a latent sexuality that was at the same time understated and dominant. For example, when I trained her on the cash register, she leaned in close at my side. I could feel the soft peach fuzz on her arm against mine. She didn’t press close enough to make it skin on skin, but she rubbed her arm back and forth on the counter in a way that made it feel like (as weird as this sounds) her arm hair was FUCKING mine. This went on for five minutes, and I’m glad she stopped when she did, because I almost came in my buy-two-get-one-free chinos. I couldn’t walk out from behind the register for a half hour. And the thing is, I couldn’t tell whether she even noticed what she was doing. Was it a nervous habit or a seduction? Was she teasing me or just itchy? Was she clueless or in control? I’d soon find out.

Yesterday was Black Friday, and we both worked noon till close. Cara and I spent most of the day working registers next to one another. Twice, when she was reaching to throw something away under the counter, her hand brushed against my crotch. The second time, she flicked her fingers outward as she tossed a balled-up receipt into the can. She hit me right in the tip of the cock as the wadded paper thudded inside the trash. I winced. She smirked. “It’s good,” she said, raising her arms like referees in football do after a made field goal. “Wrong sport,” I grunted. “Eh, whatever,” she replied. “I know my balls. And don’t be such a baby. I wouldn’t have gone for it if it was fourth and short. I get my kicks on long downs.” Then she went right back to ringing up customers like nothing had happened, and she didn’t mention it again all night.

After the mall finally closed, I was lowering the entrance gate when Cara told me she needed a ride home. “My car’s in the shop,” she explained. “And my roommate drove me here earlier. She can’t pick me up because she’s waitressing tonight. Do you mind?” So I drove her to her apartment. On the way, she connected her phone to my Bluetooth audio and played a bunch of indie rock. “Isn’t this so much better than that mind-numbing shit they play at the store?” she asked. Cara scooted closer to the console and fiddled with the audio controls. As she did so, she placed her left hand along my inner right thigh and tapped in rhythm. My dick, which happened to be on that side at the moment, swelled up. With no hesitation, she strummed her fingers along it like she was plucking the neck of a bass guitar.

When we got to the parking lot of her complex, I pulled in front of her building and she hopped out. “Ok, I’ll see you when? I forget. You work again tomorrow?” I asked. “You’ll see me now,” she answered. “Come on up. I’ve got a bunch of leftover lasagna and half a bottle of wine my roomie’s dipshit boyfriend brought her last night.” I winced again. “Not sure if I should.” She rolled her eyes. “Keep making that face, and I’m gonna think you’re the most pussy-ass manager in the mall. I read that stupid personnel policy at the store, and there’s nothing in there about lasagna. Come on.”

Per her instructions, I started heating the lasagna up in the microwave and poured two glasses of wine while Cara changed clothes in her bedroom. She came out wearing nothing but a pair of nylon jogging shorts and a cotton tank top. No bra. She had perky little tits and long, skinny legs. There were tattoos I couldn’t have seen before: a native-American dreamcatcher on one calf and a half-moon and constellation of stars along the arch of her bare foot.

As promised, we ate lasagna and drank wine, then settled onto the couch. Cara tuned in to one of those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies and started adding her own dialogue. She made it a hell of a lot funnier.

I was sitting upright. She lay across the couch with her feet in my lap. It wasn’t long before she was poking around with her toes to find me. “Are you sure–” I started to say, then she cut me off. “Shhh. You’re not gonna wince again, are you?” She stuck her tongue out and resumed the movie dialogue. I listened and watched as she stroked paths down the length of my shaft over my pants. Then she squeezed me with both feet, starting at the bottom and moving up, like she was trying to move toothpaste to the mouth of the tube. There was a little pool of precum soaking through at the tip, and she tapped that with her big toe.

I leaned towards Cara and slid my hand up her smooth leg and into the opening of her shorts. I traced a finger along the front of her cotton panties until I could feel the outline of her pussy. She had her own wet spot. I reached inside and gently rubbed her clit. Her running dialogue of the Hallmark movie became breathier and more explicit.

She scooted up and crawled my way on the couch. Unbuckled my belt. Unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. Reached into my boxers and pulled me through the front flap. Then she gripped my dick with one hand and caressed my stomach and chest with the other under my shirt. Cara leaned in for a kiss. I could taste salt and the wine, so wet and sensual.

I pulled her tank top off and cupped a pale breast in my hand. With my thumb I ran circles around her areola and against the supple nipple. Then I reached inside the hem of her shorts and fingered her with more vigor. There was no more movie dialogue now. Just intermittent squeaks and “oohs” and “ehrms.”

Cara bent over and took me into her mouth. She was on the small side and her teeth scraped once or twice, but no wincing from me. The feeling of being sucked was so warm and intimate. She paused only to jerk my pants and underwear down to my knees so she could reach my balls. She sucked them, too. I had never had a girl do that before. It felt amazing.

“Be right back,” she muttered and padded over to the bathroom. She returned completely nude with a condom. “This is from the dipshit boyfriend. It was left unopened from last night so I guess the lasagna and wine didn’t work like he thought. Not for him, anyway.” It was super tight, but she unrolled it down my cock like a pro.

Cara climbed on cowgirl style, easing herself on slowly. I could feel her pussy lips gripping and slipping all the way down. She clenched and released in powerful bursts and started bouncing like she was due for some cardio. I cradled her ass with one hand and toyed her clit with the other. She tucked her feet under my ballsack and hung onto my shoulders with her hands.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huhhhh!” she moaned. Then a line of “fuckfuckfuckfuck” in a constant rhythm that sounded like it came from one of the dubstep songs from the store. Then “Uh-huh. Fuck. Oh yeah. Uh-huh! Fuck! Oh yeah!” I provided a steady “mmmmm” bassline that exploded into “AHHHHH” as we both came.

Cara fell over and bit the hell out of my shoulder. Her hips and hands were trembling. “Fucking wow,” she whispered.

We spent the rest of the night half-asleep, half-drunk on the couch. Other movies came on. Her dialogue became less coherent but was still funny. She works again Monday. I hope her car is still in the shop.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/7fhvj7/black_friday_action_with_a_coworker_mf_long