Assignment # 7: Ring My Bell
I hate those first couple of months after Christmas, don't you? The rubbish weather, the Christmas tree corpses on the pavement, and most of all the horrible realisation that this year is going to be just the same as the next. Despite the joyful yuletide, the pretty songs, the change of numbers, everything is still…exactly…the…same. Including work. Back in the office, still the same grotty desk, the same tasteless coffee, the same whinging person in the next cubicle. Such an anti-climax.
Well. I'm not anti-climax. I'm rather pro-climax actually. So this afternoon I decided I was going to do something about it.
Rob has been particularly bogged down with work recently. He has quite a good job I think – well, he has his own office with his name on the door anyway, which in my book is the same thing – but it does have its pressures. So what with one thing and another, the last couple of weeks have been rather…tame, on the exotic, erotic front. I've been round to his flat a few times, but there has been a lot of sighing, moving papers from the sofa to the floor and back again, and staring morosely at spreadsheets, while I watch interior design programmes, which is hardly conducive to sexual bliss. I understand, really I do, but a girl has NEEDS! Also deadlines.
12.30 in our office is the lunch-time stampede. And usually I'm well up there in the front, champing for my baked potato with the best of them. But not today. Today I pleaded overdue work (true) and stayed firmly at my desk, with the result that by 12.35 I was alone in the office. Alone, and dreadfully horny. Just me, a spider plant, and a telephone. My heart thudding, I picked up the phone and dialled. Rob doesn't usually take lunch breaks, so I knew he'd be there in his office, on his swivel chair, with a supermarket sandwich for company. And so he was.
“Hello?” My heart started racing just at the sound of his voice. Not surprising really; I had been thinking about him all morning. In the quarterly meeting someone had asked me a question, but I'd been imagining his head between my legs at the time, and there'd been a very long pause while everyone stared at me. So now prickles broke out on the back of my neck, and I immediately became wet between the legs. I leant back in the chair and tried to play it cool.
“Hi. It's me. What are you thinking about?”
“Angela, hi. Advertising forecasts. I've got a meeting at 2.” He was clipped, almost terse. I was obviously interrupting. Well, I was about to interrupt a lot more. “Are you ok?”
“Oh, I'm fine. Want to know what I'm thinking about?”
His voice darkened with suspicion. “What? What are you up to?” I didn't say anything, just gently began to stroke my thighs. He huffed with impatience, but there was also a hint of intrigue and…yes…excitement there in his voice too. “Ok then. What are you thinking about?”
“I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about the last time we had amazing mind-blowing sex. On the sofa, do you remember? I'm thinking I want to do that again.”
He's still reluctant. “Well of course we'll do that again Angela. But can it wait? I'm really busy now.”
“Maybe you can wait. But I can't. I'm remembering, you see. I'm remembering how you stripped me naked, while you still had all your clothes on. I'm remembering how you turned me around, so that you could look at me from every angle, look at every single part of my body, before you even started to touch me. Do you remember?” It's there now, the hint of excitement, definitely. “Yes, of course I remember.” Before I speak again, I stretch my legs out, put my heels up on the desk and hitch my navy skirt up a little so that I can get my fingers up to the top of my legs. “I remember how you stroked my hair, then my neck, then my breasts ever so gently, before you put your hands on top of my head and pushed me down to my knees and made me suck you off, while you were still sitting on the sofa fully clothed. You weren't doing anything, you weren't moving, you were just watching me, naked, letting me do all the work, enjoying me swallowing your cock.” My hands were in my knickers by this point, feeling the wetness, moving slowly, but I was still keeping one eye on the door, just in case someone decided to come back early. “And I licked you, and sucked you, until you came right in the back of my throat, for such a long, long time. And then I swallowed all of it. Do you remember that?” Now I can hear his breathing, hard down the phone. And when he speaks I can hear in his voice that he's stiff. “Yes. I remember all that.” “So what happened next?” I ask him. “Tell me. What did we do next?” He kind of grunts down the phone, but I need him to talk to me. “Tell me Rob. What did we do?”
“Well,” he says. “After that I pulled you up, so that you were lying on the sofa, and I spread your legs, so that I could see all of you. And then I kissed my way down from your breasts to your stomach, and then I spread you wide, wide apart, and pushed my head between your legs, holding your ankles down so that you couldn't bring them together. I kissed you, then I started to lick your clit, firmly and slowly, until you were gasping for it. Then I shoved my tongue inside you, pushing it into you, and then I licked you some more.” Ok, now I was lost. My fingers were moving fast inside my prim little skirt, my white knickers, probing inside me where his tongue had been. I didn't care if anyone walked in or not. The top button had popped on my blouse, my bra strap was showing, and my nipples were pushing against the thin fabric. All that mattered was his voice.
“Then,” he went on, “I pulled you up on your knees on the sofa, and took you from behind. I held onto your hair and took you fast and hard. You were so wet, you wanted me so much. I could have done anything to you, you wanted it so bad. I fucked you hard, on your knees on that couch, and you were crying out for me…” “How did I feel Robert? Tell me how I felt!” “Your skin was soft, really soft under my fingers. I had one hand in your hair and one grabbing your arse, and it was so soft. But inside you were hot, you were burning and dripping, and you gripped my cock so hard that I forgot to be gentle and I just fucked you and fucked you…”
And that was when I lost it. In the middle of the office, my heels on my desk, my skirt rucked up to show my stockings and my knickers, my hand moving fast, I lost it, and I broke, and I screamed out at the memory of him fucking me, at the sound of his voice, at the remembered feel of his cock throbbing inside me, and I came right there on the office chair, next to the photocopier and the spider plant. I came for him.
When I had finally calmed down and rearranged my clothing, the line was dead. But when the lunchtime crowd began to amble back in, clutching cookies, there was an e-mail waiting for me. It was just one word.
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