Inspired by Image 5, my third one for this month’s contest!
Nothing fancy here. It’s far more restrained than my last one. Hope you enjoy!
Something about “hold music” lights my every nerve on fire.
Sitting on a bed of nails–glowing hot ones–for minutes, hours on-end, stuck with computer-voiced reminders of how important I am and whatever this droning cacophony is.
I always think maybe this time of day will be better, but it never is.
At least in the early morning, my senses remain dulled from sleep.
I resent that I even have to do this–checking up on whether people who are paid to do something are actually doing it, because my future hangs in the balance!
Well, my reason for calling is not really so dire, not this time.
Maybe short content has destroyed my attention span, my ability to handle delayed gratification. Maybe I’ve been reprogrammed for immediacy in all things and my brain can’t stop screaming DOPAMINE NOW!
Why do I even have to call? Don’t they have e-mail?
I set the phone down on my desk and take a deep breath.
I know I’m just frustrated. This fucking thesis has me on empty and I have barely left my dorm room this week. Graduation and moving and starting my job won’t be a picnic; at least they will be different.
But right now, my whole world is this phone call. I fear looking away for too long or opening an app that might accidentally disconnect me. I have waited too long and now all I can do is stare and it’s just too much for me.
Maybe I’ve lost the ability to be idle, unproductive. Waiting.
I let out a sigh-slash-scream and feel movement inside me. Low. And sliding lower.
Is that from last night? That came back out in the bathroom afterward. I think. It’s been like… 14 hours. Can’t be.
I’m not shy about my bits, my bobs, or their generally-exemplary time-keeping abilities. I keep an eye on what they’re up to on any given day–their looks, their textures, even their tastes and smells. They’re all built-in warning systems for something. Or nothing. It’s usually nothing urgent, except when it is.
All systems were go this morning and now my two-fingered check is less than conclusive. Clear. Neutral-ish. Sticky.
But I’m alone and curious about just what’s going on in there. And I certainly have the time.
I throw my feet up on my desk and wiggle in my chair, feeling more slide out of me, to tug my PJ pants off my hips and bring them to my knees. As I do the same for my underwear, I’m met with that wet sucking sensation, the pull of long sticky strings that cling as well to cotton as they do to skin.
As cool air finds my hot wet mess, a startle finds the rest of me. Light. A presence. A VOICE.
“Tina, what the fuck? LOCK THE DOOR,” my neighbor shouts from the doorway of my dorm room. “Your door wasn’t even shut all the way. I just pushed it open!”
I look over at the door, then down, then at my neighbor again. Of course it’s the hot one. Not the average-looking quiet one I borrowed last night. The. Hot. One.
“Oh! No, no nonono. That’s not… This wasn’t…” I move to stand up, but I’m rather indisposed. Feet caught on the back edge of my desk, hunched in my chair, pants strangling my knees, underwear halfway down my thighs, one hand on my bits, preserving the little dignity I had in the moment. “Just get in here and shut the door.”
“Uh…”
“Get in here!” I look around for anything I could use for… well, for anything. Clean-up, coverage, the ability to transport me somewhere far away.
“I brought you a snack… Thought you might need it. I guess we have different ways of refueling…” he says as the door clicks shut.
“I wasn’t masturbating. I was… changing.” Because I always do that with my legs over my desk…
“Sure, I mean, it’s fine.”
“But I wasn’t.” I saw his eyes go wide seeing my sopping wet gusset dangling from the twisted fabric that’s stretched between my thighs. I’d been trying (unsuccessfully) to get his attention all year. Well, now I had it, but in the least flattering manner.
“Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line until a representative is available to help.”
“While you’re on the phone? Wow, Tina.” Rob looks like he’d laugh if not for his shock.
“No.” I sigh. “Just get me the towel back there.”
He walks behind me to set his tray on my bed. A black hand towel lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t look.” I take a swipe over my pussy, then another. And one over the snapped strings on each thigh. My Spiderman undies feel painfully appropriate in the moment; I’d laugh if I weren’t trying to hold back tears. I bend one leg up and wrangle my underwear off it, then guide it down my other leg before wrapping it in the towel and tossing the ball to the floor.
As I grab the waist of my pants to pull them back up, his hand lands on mine. Gentle, tentative, but confident.
“If that’s what you need, you know…”
My mind races. Is this my chance? Fucking REALLY?
Half-heartedly, I mumble “That’s not what…” but his hand is already stroking my wrist, my arm. I push my ass to the edge of my chair and gesture to my lap with my head, my eyes.
Pressing my hands to my face, as astonished as I am embarrassed, I feel him crawling under my desk. At least he can’t watch me die inside anymore, and it’s too dark for him to see much under there. He doesn’t seem bothered by my hasty clean-up as his lips press over my mound, past my clit, his tongue lightly probing my still-too-wet slit.
Fuck, Tina. Really?
“Mmmm,” he hums.
Good? Bad? Can’t back out now? I try not to panic, or cry. It does feel nice, even if it’s not at all why I’m splayed over my desk. I’ve never had my pussy eaten to jazzy hold music before. Rock, pop, the din of the Commons’ elevator. So many soundtracks and themes to movies and TV.
His tongue works over me, gentle and slow like fresh butter on toast. Wet smacks from his soft nibbles meet with the scratches of papers on wood as my hips tug my legs toward me and they slide away again.
Fuck, Tina. Really.
Teasing my entrance with a finger, his tongue presses over my clit, flat, unmoving, just a perfect. Little. Press. As. Fuck. As his finger. Slides. In. Fuck.
My desk shakes under my legs. Chair creaking. Breath ragged. Grunts hitch in my throat.
“Hello, my name is Steven. How can I help you today?” The tinny voice chirps from my phone.
Shit. Fuck.
“Um… gasp yes…” My thighs clench, hips shaking as they roll.
He’s just going to keep going, isn’t he? God, I hope so.
“I’m just… unf” My voice, breathy, shaking, cracking, struggles as my words buffer in my head. “I need to… squeak”
“Ma’am? I can’t quite make out–”
“I never got my…” Focus! “invoice…” I try to suppress my whimpers, squeezing my tit so hard my knuckles go white, hoping a touch of pain will help me focus. I am certain he can hear me panting in his headset. My voice tightens, finding a higher register as Rob slips a second finger inside. “T… i… n… a… gasp J… o… n… e… s…”
“Ok, one second.”
Curling his fingers in reckless escalation, Rob abandons his restraint, because, well, fuck it, right? Why not embarrass me a second time this afternoon?
“On Maple Avenue?”
“ys,” I squeak, maybe hiss, not quite a word, but I’m at the mercy of my belly’s twist and pull. Beads of sweat form on every blushing inch of my skin.
“Ok, one second.”
My eyes slam shut, my head drops forward, heat spreading over me as my body vibrates in place. I can hear Rob lapping and the wet squelch of his fingers with poor Steven’s clacky keystrokes in the background. Stay quiet stayquietstay– The noise of my empty throat grasping at air echoes in my open mouth.
“And when was the service?”
“Um… the…” I tug my nipple. “Four… gulp …teenth.” Then twist.
“Ok, ma’am, I’ll make sure we send another. Can I do anything else for you today?”
“No,” I say on the inhale and swipe wildly at my phone, letting out the most wall-shaking moan as my finger hits the red “End Call” button.
“Ohhhhh my god….”
Rob erupts in laughter below and I try to collapse sideways onto my desk, but end up slumped sideways over the arm of my chair.
“Not. Fair. I could hardly enjoy it.”
“I was afraid you’d snap something with how tense you got!” His rich brown eyes find me from the void under the desk.
“It would have only been your fault.” My cheeks are burning again. Glowing, really.
“Well… it was the least I could do for interrupting you,” he says, resuming his kisses on my pussy.
“You didn’t– Nevermind.” His smile is almost enough to make me forget about earlier. But I know what will seal it for me. “How about you fuck me and we call it even?”
“I brought you cookies…” he teases.
“Fiiiiiine, Rob,” I huff, “Fuck me twice then!”
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