Not My Type - Sex Stories

Not My Type

... pooled.

Zoë humped my hand, becoming more animated. Started to lose herself, breath huffing faster. I made a mistake: my hand twitched and I offered resistance. Curled my fingertips upward, and on the next grind of her hips, a pair of digits slipped between her folds. She gasped. Rocked her hips and began fucking my fingers, soaked and dripping around them. Fuck, she was tight.

The mezzanine vibrated and I thought it was her legs quivering until the clang of safety boots on the metal staircase outside the office shattered the moment of intimacy. She snatched her cunt from my grip and grabbed a pen from the ledge under the whiteboard. Removed the cap and started to draw a small grid. I closed my fist, her juices oozing, and spun the chair to face the board just as the door opened and Larry burst in, flustered in his usual jeans and T-shirt a size too small, showing off impressive gym physique.

“Boss, do you have the shipme… oh, sorry.”

Turning back to face him, I prayed he didn't look at my wet fist. “No worries. Which one?”

He paused only momentarily to flash Zoë a look—might have been regret or relief or dismay—which she reciprocated. “The Carter account. I'm missing one and need to trace it.”

I nodded at the filing cabinet. “Top drawer.”

He crossed the room and slid the drawer on its runners, rifling through the hanging files until he found the one he needed. I made a habit of keeping hard copies of current shipments around just in case the system went ...

... wonky.

Zoë shuffled her feet and drew some more on the board. I glanced at her bare legs. A trail of juice smeared her inner thighs where she'd squeezed them together. My cock flexed. I flicked my eyes to Larry and hoped he wouldn't spot the signs. Wasn’t sure if the entire office reeked of her sex or just the bubble we occupied.

“Got it.” He muttered some numbers under his breath, committing them to memory and dropped the file back in place. “Thanks, boss.”

Pacing across the room, he let the door swing shut behind him and descended, boots fading, the slight tremor of the mezzanine floor ceasing as he stepped off.

Zoë replaced the pen and we eyed one another from a few feet apart. She focused on the outline of my cock. I unbunched my fist, her sticky grool in my palm. Sliding my attention up her body, we locked eyes and I gradually lifted my unfurled hand to my face. Inhaled. Brought it to my lips and slithered them in her arousal, coating my mouth and chin. My cock raged and tented my trousers.

She didn’t move, her breathing laboured. Bit her lip. “Now you’ve had a taste, one question remains.”

Returning my hand to the armrest, I took in her stark beauty. “Which is?”

“Are you gonna live a little, or are you gonna wimp out on me? Play it safe with your vanilla life and vanilla wife, or are you man enough to take more?” I dug my nails into the armrest. “Will you show me the real you? The one you’re too scared to unleash in case you upset little miss prim. ...