the life and musings of a kinky slut


There is this guy I occasionally work with.

He’s not the most attractive man. Not particularly muscular or athletic in any way. He doesn’t have a face you’d think of as handsome per say.

It’s his eyes; the knowing behind them. And his demeanor; it’s always obvious who’s in charge.

Every time I work with, without fail, the thoughts come.

Recently I was standing in a hallway waiting for a freight elevator to return to the floor. I leaned against the wall, my arms behind me, my hands resting at the small of my back, my hips just a bit forward.

I knew he would be on that elevator when it returned. Instantly my mind painted the scene.

The doors opening. He’d see me, be looking at me already, right in my eyes, as the doors parted. He step straight towards me, pin me against the wall, gripping my arms. He’d lean down (He’s much taller than me) and have this sinister look on his face. I wouldn’t know if he was sizing me up or just debating what he wanted to do first.

He’d kiss me, taking the embrace rather than sharing a moment of pleasure. His nails would dig a little harder into skin. He’d bite my lip, pull on the skin as he stared at me dead in my eyes, daring me to react. I wouldn’t flinch, wouldn’t whimper. Not yet.

He’d unbuckle my belt, slip his hand in. Then I’d whimper.

My lip free, I’d instinctively close my eyes, lose myself in the dance of his fingers on my clit, his digits so close to my pussy. One long slow caress of my wet lips.

And then he’d bring his hand up, right to my face. I’d open my eyes, and lick my essence off of his fingers. I would demonstrate for him what I hoped would be in my future, another of his appendages in my mouth. My tongue licking the way I knew men loved. Rolling my tongue ring all over, flicking it across the tip of his finger.

He’d grip my hair, punishment for my brattiness. The resolve would return to my face. He’d take hold of my chin, tilt my head up. His eyes burning through me.

“Get to work,” he’d say. And I would enjoy my labor.

Every time I come home from a gig where he is on it, without fail, my panties are soaked.

Categorised as: Random | Sex | Work

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