Hot Lunch

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He always smells so clean, it drives me insane. The smell of his skin, radiating from the warmth of a shower, that fresh-scrubbed smell seems to last forever. I love to just bury my head against his neck and breathe in the very essense of him.

Today was no exception. He'd showered and then shaved with his straight razor, the way he'd learned from his grandfather, the way that left his skin so smooth there was nothing left to do but to sneak a little flick of my tongue against his cheek. He would give me a knowing little smile whenever I did this, the corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly in a way that only I could tell what was going on in his head. It was our own little game, and it was the best foreplay that I'd ever known in my life.

I'd had a rough morning. Work was filled with complications that I had no control over and a boss that expected me to make miracles. The phone rang off of the hook, one call after another just another person that I couldn't satisfy. As noon began to approach, I started to hear my stomach screaming over the voices on the other end of the line and was just about to step out to sate my hunger. Little did I know which hunger was going to be satisfied.

I was almost out the door when the phone rang shrilly. I sighed, knowing that I should just leave it, but also feeling that stupid sense of obligation. I lifted the receiver and pressed it to my ear, speaking my name in a flat tone. His voice practically purred my name into my ear. He had gotten out of work and decided to go home and relax. Did I want to join him for a bit?

I knew that his idea of relaxing would've included a hot shower and shave, and my mind began to work in overtime. I could almost smell the clean sweetness of his skin while still standing in my office, one foot out the door. I told him I would be there in 10 minutes. I raced out to the parking garage, jumped in my car and sped off. I arrived home in 8.

I threw open the front door and followed the hint of remaining shower steam down the hallyway and into the bedroom. He was at the door, clad in nothing but a towel and that hint of a smile. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me in close, whipping my body into the position I loved so well; body against his, cheek to cheek, nose in his neck. I inhaled and exhaled with the most painstaking precision. I let my mouth drop open and my tongue flip out. The very edge of the tip of my tongue touched his cheek and I ran it from his jawbone up to the corner of his eye. He pulled back, that mischievious look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled again. He strained to keep from breaking into a full-fledged grin. He leaned forward and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. I closed my eyes and inhaled as deeply as my lungs would allow. Fucking christ, he smelled unbelievable!

I was on the bed in a split second. He'd put his hands firmly on my shoulders and pushed me down, then threw his own body on top of mine, running kisses down the right side of my neck. He ripped at my blouse, sending buttons flying as his hands pulled it open, exposing my black lace bra. He yanked the cups down and freed my breasts, alternating briefly between sucking and licking on the right and then the left nipples. His teeth scraped the flesh ever so slightly, bringing them to full attention, and making me gasp hard.

From the corner of my eye, I saw his wrist flick and then a glint of light. I curved my head and saw that he had his straight razor open and ready. I held my breath. His left hand crept under my skirt, slowly easing the material upwards. I had on my professional attire, boring business suit and unflattering pantyhose. His right hand, deftly handling the straight razor, hovered above me. His mouth curled again. Within seconds, he'd swiftly brought the shaving instrument down and was carefully slicing through the delicate nylon of my panty hose. First up my left leg, then my right, exposing my soft white skin through the no-nonsense black colour. He paused briefly before raising the blade again, watching my face, looking into my eyes in that crafty way of his before bringing it back down again, slicing through the nylon above my smooth crotch. I gasped as I felt the air hit my delicate exposed skin.

He flung the razor across the room and proceeded to rip the severed nylon, giving himself just enough of an opening with which to access my dripping pussy. His face disappeared from my view, and the next sensation that overwhelmed me was the warmth of his tongue, sliding expertly between my folds, lingering on my inflamed clit before sliding deep within me. I closed my eyes and arched my back, grinding my hips up into his face. He slid his hands under my ass, eager to accept the challenge. He licked and flicked and swirled his tongue in directions I wasn't even sure were humanly possible. I was inches from cumming when he delivered the masterstroke; lightly closing his teeth on my clit then flicking at the trapped flesh with his tongue. I let the orgasm crash through my body, my eyes roll back as far as they could go in my head, my legs began to twitch uncontrollably and my pussy juice gushed forward in a hot stream, soaking the bed covers below me.

He was upon with within seconds, his cock gliding inside of me more smoothly than a warm knife through soft butter. I raised my legs, placing one ankle on either one of his shoulders, letting my body fold in two, creating a springboard for him to thrust hard against. I watched his face as he looked down at mine. His eyes always seemed to speak to me, to tell tales far better than the words escaping from his mouth ever could, which was surprising knowing what an adept storyteller he could be in the right company. I could never look away from those eyes, most of the time too afraid to blink, to miss a moment of what they might tell me next. He stared down at me, directly into my own eyes and continued to pump his cock into me as deeply as my body would allow. We never looked away. Even as his orgasm approached, even as his juices were deposited deep inside of me, we never broke our gaze. We never blinked. This was another one of our little games, experiencing the full intensity of our orgasms but never cutting off any of our senses.

He eased my legs down off of his shoulders and slumped down onto the bed next to me. His arm creeped under my shoulders and he pulled my face back into its rightful spot, my nose nestled against his still sweet-smelling neck. He kissed my forehead once more and I curled my tongue forward, letting it slowly drag from his collarbone to his ear, where I clamped his lobe in between my lips and sucked. We laid like that for as long as was possible, before I needed to slide off of the mattress and start rummaging through the drawers for new pantyhose and a new blouse. He watched as I dressed, his mouth curled in that way that was so fucking endearing. He murmured something about seeing me later in the evening.

I drove back to the office with the radio blasting and the windows down, feeling the air breeze across my newly sensitized skin. I rode the elevator up the 11 floors to my offices. The head secretary raised an eyebrow at me as I walked past her desk.

"That's not what you were wearing when you came in this morning," she observed.

"No," I blithely replied, "No, it's not."


Every story you write should

Every story you write should include a cigarette at the end... :)

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