This is a work of fantasy. It is not about real people, and if it is, it´s not what they would do. (not that you are likely to know them anyway). If you are under 18, go away, since I don’t like to get in trouble. If you are turned off by perversion, what are you doing at ASSTR? In other words, go away. If none of this applies to you, great! Read on! Have fun! Let me know what you like!
Oh, and I work hard on my writing…so guess what? It’s mine. That’s right boys and girls…it’s copyrighted…so if you want it? Just ask—we’ll talk.
I rapped my knuckles on the screen door as I held the box with my other hand. Another quick job; replace a CDRW drive, get in and get out. I sighed as I looked at my watch. I waited a few moments, then saw her peek through the glass.
First I was struck by how her girl-next-door features fit the voice I heard when I called to set up the appointment. As she opened the door for me, the second thing I noticed was a bit more unprofessional of me: her nipples pressed out against her soft sweater.
"Come on in," she said as I shook myself out of my reverie. "Ignore the mess, I haven't had a chance to clean."
She led me through the kitchen. A few breakfast dishes sat in the sink. On the table, an open tin of crayons sat beside a small stack of coloring books. This was nothing compared to some kitchens I'd been forced to walk through. "Whose kitchen DOESN'T look like this?"
She shrugged and kept walking. I followed. She was truly small--barely five feet. At six-foot-four, I tower over the average woman. She would barely reach my chest.
We passed through an equally lived-in but well kept living room to her office. She looked embarrassed as she led me in. "I'm sorry it's such a disaster. It's supposed to be my office, but all sorts of stuff ends up getting tossed in here."
I could see her point--broken toys, a Barbie house, and linens all jockeyed for space with the books and computer equipment in the small room. This was obviously her workspace, so why did everyone throw all their crap in here? Didn't they care?
I sat down at the computer and began work--reset the screen, checked drivers and such. Verified the specs on the RAM, virus protections and the CD-RW driver. Her computer's system wasn't going to support the new CDRW that was sent so it was a good thing I brought the new program. After optimizing, it was time to open up the housing.
I'm used to having clients hang around and watch what I'm doing. After all, it is their system, their house. Doesn't bother me. She stayed close though, closer than most carrying on inane chatter;
"Have you been doing this long?" She moved things about on her desk without any sort of rhyme or reason, her arm occasionally bumping into mine.
"A while; about five years." I watched her from the corner of my eye as I worked. She flitted about like a bird, staying at my elbow, shuffling papers, then reshuffling them.
"Are you nervous?" I finally asked.
"Not at all!" she answered shrilly.
"No need to be," I said as I opened up the tower. I turned to explain what I was going to do. She leaned over my shoulder for a closer look. Her breast brushed against me, and her nipple, hard as a pebble, pressed into my shoulder. It took a moment for me to refocus on what I was supposed to be doing. My fingers fumbled.
She pointed to the small flashlight I was using. "I could hold that for you if it would help." I didn't really need it, often doing this by sense of touch, but with her body so close to mine, my hands were unsteady. So I agreed.
She moved behind me and scrunched up close in the tight confines of the room. Her chest grazed my back. She moved like a feline--soft and sleek--but something was holding her back.
"Just a bit more this way." I placed my hand over hers, redirecting the light. I was amazed at the difference; my large, thick fingers over her delicate, pale hand. Her fingers were cold, belying her earlier contention of not being nervous.
"What do you use the computer for?" I asked, trying to get back on track.
"I design web sites. Work for a couple different companies." She shifted, bringing her body close to mine again. "I like the flexibility of working from home. If one of the children is sick, I don't have to worry. If I want to go out for lunch, no big deal." She was animated yet more relaxed than before.
"Well, it's a lovely home you have." Not bad for working from home.
"My husband's and mine." Her entire demeanor became subdued. The energy she had just seemed to disappear.
"You're married?" I was surprised.
"What does your husband do?" I straightened up, having gotten the drive out.
"He's a bus driver." Her tone was abrupt.
"Kinda opposite ends of the spectrum there, huh?" She nodded, focusing on my hands. I pulled the new drive out of its packaging.
"That's it? That's great! They told me they wouldn't be able to upgrade!" she rubbed her hands together, suddenly excited once more. I wonder if she realized how quickly she changed the subject, or for that matter, her mood in general.
"Well, your old drive was actually obsolete. Can't even find it anymore. So now you have this one. It's why your old driver won't work."
She grew silent as I worked the drive into the casing. She leaned closer into me, and I have to admit, she was making me feel hot under the collar. I knew she could hear my quickened breath, but damned if I could stop it or quiet it. I focused myself on getting the disk drive into the housing. It was a tight fit.
Of course, that set my brain in a whole other direction; at five feet tall, she would fit so snugly against my body, and my body shifted at the thought. I finally forced the stupid drive in, and I pinched my finger.
"Shit!" A really good blood blister began to bubble up. I made a tight fist until the sting diminished a little, and turned back to my work. With the drive in, I was able to close the tower back up and install the driver.
While it was loading, I asked her where the facilities were.
"Right around the corner," she said, nodding towards the hallway.
I took care of business in the small room then washed my hands in the sink surrounded by children's toothbrushes and Blue's Clues soap.
As I came back from the bathroom, I noticed it. A hole in the wall. Directly across from the office door, a large hole, as if someone had been leaning against the wall to break down the office door, and instead broke through the sheetrock. You could almost see the indent of a shoulder. Don't know how I missed it before. She'd apologized for just about everything else in the house, she must've forgotten the hole was there. How could you forget something like that? It reeked of anger. I shook my head. She didn't belong; but then again, no woman belonged in a place that bespoke of violence.
I went back into the office. Her back was to me, fiddling with books on the bookshelf, straightening papers on her desk. I watched for a moment, then cleared my throat. She jumped at the sound before turning around.
"You're blushing." I could smell her scent, could see her fighting some need.
Her hand flew to her face, cupping her cheek. "Really? I haven't blushed in ages."
"Mmmhmm. Right down your chest." I looked at the dip in her V-neck sweater. Her eyes followed my gaze. A crimson flush blazed across her pale flesh. She surprised me by lowering her hand and stroking her flushed skin.
"Would you like to see how far down it goes?" She said it so quietly, I almost missed it.
Her head was down, not looking at me, as if she were a good little catholic girl about to give her first real confession. My God, she was shaking! I cursed the fool who made her feel ashamed of her body, ashamed of her desire.
"Whatever you want to do is fine with me." I struggled with wanting to touch her, comfort her, but it wouldn't be me choosing how this thing continued. This was her battle, her demon. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her sweater, pulling it up over her breasts. My breath caught.
She was beautiful.
Her skin something a Renaissance artist would have painted. She looked up at me, saw the look on my face, my hands clenched at my sides.
"It's okay if you want to touch them." My fingers itched for just such a thing. The round curves leading up to her crinkled, apricot nipples. Slowly, as though reaching for a skittish colt, my fingers brushed up the outside curve of her breast. My fingers circled their heft, kneading them gently, then more firmly. Her body shivered and swayed against me. My thumbs flickered lightly over her nipples. She moaned softly at first, then with more fervor.
Her tone shifted, and I knew she was about to ask for more. My hands moved over her warm, malleable breasts as my brain raced ahead to what I should--what I _would_ do--if she asked. She deserved better than what I'd seen, certainly, but I also knew this wasn't about me. Her hand left my chest and I could hear the soft sound of a zipper being undone. Suddenly, she stepped away from me and left her skirt in a puddle on the floor at her feet. She stood there for a moment in all her nude glory. I didn't know what to do.
She took the decision out of my hands when she suddenly knelt before me. Her fingers raked my pants down my legs, raising a sigh from me. My dick popped out and her eyes grew wide. Her fingers touched me as she looked up. It jumped at her touch, and I was no longer able to deny her anything. She placed her warm lips against my head and sucked it into her mouth. My legs shivered, and I pulled the computer chair over to me. I collapsed in it, and she never lost connection.
She was amazing and enthusiastic, that much was certain. She could take my entire length in her mouth and throat, a feat all in itself. But she also managed to know exactly when I was about to come and pulled back just enough to keep me on the edge. It was about the third time she did this when my brain kicked back in, and I realized that this was all wrong. Not necessarily the sex, that was her choice, but that here I was taking and not giving. From what I'd seen, that in itself was a gross error.
Slowly, I pulled her off my aching cock and turned her around. She looked concerned until I began to stroke her steaming pussy. God, she was so hot and wet. Her knees buckled, and I caught her.
"Lean back." I hushed.
She fell back against my chest, her head nestled into the crook of my neck. My hands continued to investigate all her secrets, finding first her moist depths, rubbing quickly against her clitoris. Her body arched and climbed up higher on my body. Her moans became squeals, and then squeals became whines. One hand wandered back up to her soft breasts. I picked up speed over her clitoris, and whines turned into shrieks. Tension eased from her body as she lay against me, sated.
After a few moments, she whispered, "Let me return the favor."
"You don't need to do that," but she had already slipped between my legs, sucking my hardness back into her gifted mouth. She slid my thickness deep, making me squirm and utter sounds I haven't uttered in ages. My fingers gently stroked her hair from her face as I moaned what few words of praise I could squeak out. It didn't take long this time for me to feel the impending onrush. I grasped the chair's armrests until my knuckles were white as my orgasm erupted into her mouth. I was shocked as she continued to swallow. The head of my penis squeezed in her throat. My groaned "Thank Yous" mixed with my cries to God as I continued to pump into her mouth.
It took me a moment to regain my sense of self. At first, I felt a bit guilty for taking advantage of her, but her radiant smile soon put that thought, at least temporarily, out of my head. I sighed as I pulled myself back together.
I still had a bit of work to do. Reluctantly, I checked the new drivers, making sure everything worked well. I called my boss to let him know the new additions and the edited time of my arrival. I boxed up the old disc drive while she signed my paperwork. She led me to the door.
I stood at the door, looking at her dispirited beauty. Having to leave but not wanting to. "If he's not careful, he's going to lose you."
I looked for a moment longer, then stepped out the door.
This story had been nominated for the March 2003 Silver Clitoride award.
© Dryad (firstname.lastname@example.org) 2003