“Cinthia, come in. This will only take a second,” the boss waves me inside his office while gesturing with his phone. “Talk to me. Yes. I said yes. No, not to that. Yes, that. Aha. Yup. Yup. I don’t think so.”
On and on it went. My boss, Marcus, is a brilliant guy. But he has a terrible habit: he is incapable of letting a phone go to voicemail. So every time he summons me to his office and the phone rings, I know I will be sitting there, waiting for the call to end. Sometimes it takes a couple of minutes; sometimes it is much longer. My coworkers hate sitting through his conversations, waiting. I, on the other hand, love it. It’s my favorite part of the workday. I like it because it is a sexy fantasy time.
I’ve always had a vivid imagination. My horny little brain has carried me through a lot of boring situations in a blissful cloud of arousal and desire. It happens anywhere for me: if I’m in a boring seminar, I make it enjoyable by fantasizing about hiding myself under the podium and giving the speaker a deep throat blow job. In tedious meetings, I dream of spreading myself naked across the table, offering my pussy to the man in front of me while the one behind gives me a cock to suck. During dull work lunches, I consider hiding under the tablecloth and then crawling to position my ass between the legs of the hunkiest guy, so he could reach down and finger my wet pussy until I come. Idle time is never boring in my dirty mind.
And nothing is more natural than fantasizing about Marcus. A smart, dorky-cute guy, the whole office knows that our nerd-in-chief has a horse cock. I have imagined it many times, taking it in different ways. Licking it, sucking it, feeling it stretch my pussy, taking him up the ass. The image of the boss’ cock is an endless source of entertainment for me. I also like to think that he gives great head.
As Marcus seems to forget that I am sitting across from him, my imagination takes over. In today’s daydream, I stand up and saunter around the desk toward him. He sees me approach and leans back in his chair, pushing away from the table. I lean on the edge and begin unbuttoning my blouse. Marcus keeps talking on the phone, but his eyes fixate on my lace bra and the treasures underneath. He reaches with his fingers, tracing the nipple that pebbles at the touch. Holding the phone between shoulder and ear, he frees the other hand to reach for the two mounds that wait to be caressed. Marcus runs both index fingers along the edges of the cups and uses them as hooks to pull them down, so my tits spill over them. The answers he is giving to the person on the other end of the line turn into mumbles because his mouth is busy, more interested in suckling nipples than in the reports from last quarter.
I reach behind my back to unzip my pencil skirt and pull it down until it slides all the way to the floor. Marcus is still on the phone, and I decide something needs to be done about it, so my panties join the skirt on the floor. He chuckles, letting go of my nipples and taking a look at the new offering. I sit on the desk and set one foot on each of his armrests. Without missing a bit, the bossman licks his fingers and slides two inside of me. Fuck. Those long fingers know how to find a girl’s sweet spot. I rock my hips to get into a rhythm that brings me close to the edge.
“Robbins, I’m gonna have to call you back,” Marcus says to his interlocutor before dropping the phone, so he can lean in and bury his face in my pussy. Fuck, he is so good at this. It takes only a few licks, some sucking, and a finger between my buttcheeks to make me come hard, my fingers curled in his hair, keeping his face right where I want it so I can ride my orgasm to the last wave.
“Bend over,” the boss orders, standing up and undoing his fly. I obey, and he buries all of his length in my pussy in one hard push; the delicious stretch almost makes me faint. He pounds roughly, holding onto my hips and only letting go on occasion to give a hard slap to my bare ass. I scream my pleasure and look out through the office glass wall to where several coworkers are watching, hypnotized.
I come — both in my daydream and in real life. I fake a sneeze to hide the moan that escapes my mouth.
“Cinthia, are you ok?” Marcus is looking at me with concern.
“I’m fine,” I say, pretending to wipe my nose. I cross my legs. My thighs are soaked.
“Sorry about that; it was an urgent call,” he says, putting down his cell phone.
“No worries,” I shrug.
“You know, I noticed you do not get upset with my bad habit. I know most people don’t like waiting for me to get off the phone. How do you stay so patient?”
“I have my ways,” I say with a smirk.
