There's a thing you need to know about Michael: he's every teen-aged girl's wet dream guy.
For someone who hates big corporations as much as I do, closing for one of them on a Friday night seems really ironic to me. I mean, I'm a teenager! I should be sneaking into movies at the theatre across the street, or getting drunk at whatever party is raging this week. Not stocking shelves and making sure all the lanes have enough bags for the next day.
Add to that my boyfriend of six months broke up with me this morning — during a rendezvous in the bathroom at school — and I am one extremely pissed off and horny girl. He didn't even let me finish.
I work with my ex-boyfriend's best friend, and up until closing time, I had been doing a pretty good job of avoiding him, mostly by letting my eyes linger on the manager of the front lanes, the thirty-six-year-old Michael. Eric, the Best Friend, works up at the service desk, and when all the customers are finally out of the store, I go up there to return anything left in my checkout lane. And I finally cannot avoid him. He hovers over my shoulder as I sort my abnormally large stash. "I'm really sorry about Charlie," He buzzes in my ear, breath stirring the small hairs on my neck. "He's been really fucked up lately. Got himself into a whole load of shit when his parents found what they thought was some crack. Turned out to be the really rank baking powder he kept in his gym locker." Eric laughs, thinking of some inside joke of which I am not a part.
"Shut up and fuck off," I hiss, tossing a pair of jeans into a cart harder than I probably should. My core has been burning all day, and even though I have never been even remotely attracted to my ex's best friend, any male within close proximity stirs up feelings that should probably remain buried. Especially at work.
"Look," He pleads, following me to the next cart, "I'm not talking to you on Charlie's behalf; I think he's a total prick for what he did to you. I'm talking to you on my behalf." He presses his groin into my hip, and I feel the outline of his hard member rubbing against the waistband of my pants. I glare up at him, ready to jam the candle in my hand down his throat. "I find you so incredibly sexy, Red. Your ass, your chest, your lips..." He traps me against the half-wall between the area behind the service desk and the carts. My clit throbs against the zipper of my pants as his hands slide around to the front of my shirt, groping my breasts from behind me. Despite his fumbling fingers, my nipples peak against his palms. I can practically feel him grin against my neck. "You have no idea how many times Charlie has bragged to me about your skills in the sack. About how good your mouth feels or how tight your cunt is or how you love to scream." He pinches one of my nipples and I gasp, digging my nails into the wax candle still in my grasp. One of his hands wanders down to the button on my pants and begins to inch between it and my skin. "God, I can't tell you how much I've wanted to just fuck your brains out—"
"Rose, are you ready to do...bags...yet...?" Michael comes around the corner abruptly and stops upon seeing the two of us. Eric quickly retracts his hands and makes use of the computers at the service desk to hide his predicament. I lower my head in shame. If Michael hadn't stepped in...I don't know what I would have done. Eric just might have raped me right there in the front of the store.
I smile brightly at Michael before glowering at the Best Friend. "Yeah. Actually, Eric just offered to finish the reshop for me. Thanks again." Shoving the basket into Eric's stomach, I walk around the desk to stand in front of Michael, who towers over me by a good foot: I'm a very petite and nimble girl. Grinning, I say, "Bags in the bag room?"
"Yep. I'll help you with the ladder."
There's a thing you need to know about Michael: he's every teen-aged girl's wet dream guy. Even though I've never seen the man out of his work uniform, I just know he's of the leather (maybe suede) weekend jacket, blue Oxford with rolled-up sleeves at his full-time job, and ass-framing jeans persuasion. He's a lefty. He has delicious callouses from his full-time job. And his smile...devastating. It makes my heart melt and flow straight to my pulsing clit. And since we work in retail, he smiles a lot. Every time I see him come through the doors, all I can think about is coming myself: I get instantly, constantly, thoroughly wet whenever he's around me.
Which makes our current situation that much more difficult.
Per usual, the lower shelves (at least, the ones within my reach) are empty, and Michael sets up the tall ladder so I can climb to the higher shelves. "So," He begins, occupying his eyes with the feet of the ladder, "what were you and Eric talking about?"
I shrug as I watch his forearms flex. "Nothing much. Just school stuff." His eyes dart to mine in disbelief, and his green orbs coax the truth from my lips. "My boyfriend broke up with me this morning, and Eric was just rubbing it in."
"Damn." Michael gives the metal structure a little shove to test its stability. "That's sucks. This guy sounds like a prick. Leaving such a beautiful girl as you...God, can't he see how good he had it?" Our gazes lock, and we blush mutually in embarrassment. He offers his hand to help me up the ladder (it doesn't have a guard rail), and once I get high enough, his hand drifts down to my backside. I jump slightly at first, but let it stay. Gently, he begins to rub the globes of my ass, running his fingers along the seam between them. If possible, my pussy gets wetter.
"What do you mean?" I ask, no longer looking for bags. His fingers are doing wonders to me...and we're both still clothed.
"I mean," He clarifies, bringing his fingers around to cup my cunt, "you're a sexy woman, Rose. I've been watching you for a while, now, and you turn me on like no one else. My cock fucking jumps whenever I see you. God, I can't tell you how much I've wanted to just take you in the middle of the store." I back down the ladder so that we are at eye level. He takes my hand in his larger one and guides it down to his groin. "See how hard you make me?" God, he's fucking huge! WAY larger than my ex, or any other guy I've been with. They've all been scrawny teenagers. This is a real man with a real cock that will really fill my cunt. Hopefully.
"I-I've noticed you too, Michael," I whisper, stroking his cock through his pants of my own will. I feel it straining to get out. My lips gravitate towards his, but when they are a hair's breadth away, I stop."Fuck me, Michael. Spear me with your nice, fat dick."
Our tongues begin tangoeing to a primal dance as our clothing gradually ends up on the floor. As Michael unhitches my bra he asks, "How old are you?"
"I turned eighteen last week."
"Thank God. And birth control?"
"The Pill. I hate condoms."
"Me too." He smiles against my neck, and I pull away slightly.
My smile grows devilish, and I drop to my knees in front of him. "Let me show you what a young mouth can do." My eyes remain fixed upon his, daring him to deny what I undoubtedly do to him. At the apex of his thighs, my thumbs meet and fan out, tracing his hipbones through the layers of clothing. In one swift motion, I unzip his pants and yank them and his boxers down past his knees. His penis, already hard and standing tall, springs free and almost seems to strain towards my eager lips. Diverting my eyes from his face, I stare at his most intimate of regions, the new sight eliciting eager wetness. “I’m gonna blow your mind,” I quip before sheathing him to the hilt.
But as quickly as I engulf him, I released him, eliciting a loud groan from my co-worker’s throat. My left hand lingers on the head, sketching tantalizingly slow circles as my mouth moves farther south. My right index finger traces the sensitive membrane separating his scrotum, pausing every time he refuses to moan for me. The soft underside of my tongue follows first immediately proceeded by the rough tip, causing him to thrust erratically, hands gripping the shelf so tightly, I think I hear the metal crack. I smirk at his impatience, but continue with my torture all the same.
I place small open-mouthed kisses about the spheres of his scrotum, purposefully avoiding the spots that send all men into a frenzy, tongue darting out for a split second before I move on to the next patch of skin. My finger wanders to the underside of his balls and to his most sensitive area: the small stretch of skin connecting them to his body. I trace it carefully, my speed coordinating with that of the other hand at his head. He murmurs unintelligibly, throwing his head back against a box of bags. Licking him one last time, my mouth leaves his sack all together and travels up to join my left hand.
Latching my lips around the head of his penis, my exceptionally skilled tongue swirls about his tip as if it is the lollipop to end all lollipops. He involuntarily thrusts his hips again, urging me without words to give him more, but I refuse, splaying my left hand across his hips to hold him steady. My rotating mouth muscle matches the rhythm of the hand lingering at his scrotum, and soon his head begins thrashing back and forth in ecstasy, and I have to back off, reeling him from the edge with a jerk. He growls ferally with the denial, and I see his hands twitch eagerly, yearning to dart into my signature hair. I allow him this concession; both hands leaving his body, I grab his own appendages and placed them on the back of my head before returning mine to their posts. Our eyes lock for a moment; I nod my consent, and he immediately pulls me down to engulf him completely again.
I allow him to use me, to dictate our pace for his pleasure, but just when I think he has settled into his role, I begin to hum. He groans through gritted teeth and begins to thrust faster.
Then he lurches forward, caught in a fit of passion, sending his cock even farther down my throat than I thought possible. As he rears back for another assault, his member slips out of my mouth; the only thing keeping it in contact is my teeth catching around his head. I figure it's now or never. I regain control of our rhythm, bobbing my head up and down furiously. My finger begins stroking that small stretch of skin at the same pace, and almost instantaneously he tenses beneath me and comes, emptying himself down my throat in uneven and sloppy strokes, my name reverberating throughout the tall room.
I ride out his waves of passion, swallowing eagerly, and when he ceases to shake beneath me I withdraw, kissing his tip before sitting back on my heals. Licking my lips with a sated smile, I rise from the floor and lay a hand on his wilting member, attempting to stroke it back to life. "God, you taste so fucking good," I murmur, his seed still sloshing in my throat. My core is now so hot, I think my juices must be leaking down my legs. He must notice.
His hands roam my body with feverous curiosity, finally resting on my slick nether lips. "You're so wet." He slips a finger inside. "And so fucking tight." Just as I did, he kneels before me, mouth level with my pussy.
"I wanna feel you come on my face." Without warning he attacks, roughly shoving the flimsy material of my panties aside to make way for his steamy-hot mouth. I gasp his name, knowing I should keep quiet, but teetering on the edge of damnation anyway. My hands shoot down to grip his head — for both my balance and my sanity. He tilts his head and laps eagerly at my opening, probing his tongue inside just far enough to make me squirm for more. Moving up to my clit, he encircles the nub until I tighten my hold on the back of his head; then and only then does he nip at me, eliciting a high-pitched expletive from me. Holding my clit between his teeth and tongue, he begins moving the latter in a circular pattern, syrupy-slow and excruciatingly pleasant.
I nearly come on the spot, my knees begin shaking violently, and he hefts one leg onto his shoulder without breaking stride. One of my hands plasters itself against the cardboard boxes, a last-ditch attempt at remaining vertical.
This new angle allows for new excursions, and his lips leave my nub and travel back to my opening. Before I know what is happening, his tongue is inside me, wiping my walls clean. It pistons in and out of me like a mini-cock, and my hips begin bucking towards his face, eager for release. His hands grip the globes of my ass, and as I feel myself cresting the wave, one of his fingers begins tickling my asshole, effectively sending me over the edge with a muffled whimper.
And before I float down from my high, his member is sliding into me, his face evidencing his enjoyment of my soft aftershocks. We remain still for a moment, both reveling in my orgasm. Slowly, as if I might break, he slides his hands down to the backs of my knees and lifts me off the ground, guiding my legs to lock around his waist. At the same time, I lace my fingers behind his neck, bringing his mouth to mine in a searing embrace as I squeeze my inner muscles around him. When we brake away for air I nod, and we begin to move together.
His cock slams into me like his tongue before it, pounding me repeatedly into the shelving unit. I feel no pain, though: he's incessantly hitting my g-spot almost instinctually, and I rapidly approach yet another climax. He begins hardening inside of me, and his head drops to my breasts, peppering kisses upon them in an attempt to spur me along. He thrusts into me one last time before emptying into me, and I follow almost immediately, screaming out in pleasure despite the uncertainty of who can hear us.
We slowly drift back to reality, and he allows my legs to release his waist and crash to the ground, supporting me despite my gelid bones. We both redress, and when we look up and lock gazes, we both laughed. Our appearances are still far from presentable: sweat poured from our brows, and my hair could be cousin to a tumbleweed.
“Wow,” I murmur softly as he joins me in an attempt to detangle my head.
“Yeah,” He replies as I place my hands over his to quell him, “I should save you more often. You're so amazing. And so beautiful." Suddenly, a group voices talking indistinctly began advancing closer to their hideout. We savour one last kiss before parting for the night, pretending to work on the backstock of candy as Eric opens the door.
"Hey, we're done with everything," He calls into the room. I hope too late that he doesn't smell the distinct odour of sweat and sex. "You two can go home."
As the door swings closed, Michael and I fly together again, our lips crashing like angry waves. We break apart, and he caresses my cheek with his thumb. "Wanna go back to my place?" He suggests, our gazes meeting.
"I've got some wine and I can kick my roommate out...Or not." I raise and eyebrow and nod enthusiastically.