, ,

*This is sort of a cheat, because I used two locations. I did not, however, use adverbs.

This room is full of idiots, I think. They aren’t actually idiots; most are nice people. But this meeting is taking too long and I’m frustrated.

I’m naughty-texting my FWB while this group struggles with a very simple concept. I can’t listen to any more silly questions. I’m fading fast, and the burnt coffee isn’t helping.

There are a lot of gray heads here. A lot of defeated faces and frown-creased foreheads. Ill-fitting jackets, tight shirts stretched across expansive bellies, dreadful shoes. The air of misery hangs thick in the atmosphere. Even the pastries look depressed.

We’re going to have to enter the data twice! a woman across the room cries. I wonder if she hates her job or if she is just terrified of technology. Or change. I scan the room and see a lot of heads nodding in agreement. Poly-clad shoulders sag at the very thought of change.

Meanwhile, back on my screen: I wish you were here to suck my cock… Just this one line carries me away from all this blah. It’s so much better than anything that’s happening in this room. The tingling in my gut, the throbbing between my thighs – even the budget update can’t kill this high. I’m imagining him now in his bedroom, naked on his bed, his fingers wrapped around his hard cock, thinking of my tits, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to concentrate.

I have the brief thought that if I press them together and squeeze the right muscles the right way… But no. There are about fifty very unsexy people here harshing my sex buzz. I can’t come here, though I want to when he starts talking about grabbing my hair and making me deep throat him. Fuck, yes…

In my mind I’m in that faraway bedroom, on all fours, in just my bra and pencil skirt and high-heeled sandals. The skirt is up around my waist and he doesn’t want it off. He likes me this way, the debauched businesswoman on her knees taking his cock. My bra is unbusinesslike, a peacock blue color, as vain as the erection jutting from between his strong thighs in the picture he just sent.

I have a vague sense of lunch being served. My table mates lurch toward the line, but my mouth is watering for something else. I have no interest in a BLT. It’s a fucking I’m hungry for.
Tell me how you’d take me, I text back, and he does.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

Someone plunks a bottle of water down in front of me, but I’m lost again. in that fantasy bedroom far away. My peacock bra is down around my waist, he’s holding my hair like reins, and he makes good on his promise. He’s not a gentleman this time and I fucking love it.

He does not relent and I climax once, twice, almost a third time. When he comes it’s almost violent and that makes me smile through my curtain of hair. He collapses on me, easing me to the bed, and then I’m back in the conference room, dazed and reconsidering the BLT.