Take the Heat

Held in this strange half-lifted position, I felt Glen's cock slide deeper—or rather, I felt myself slide inexorably down his shaft. Once the head had passed the tight entrance, the pain lessened some. As if in reflex, Glen's hands caught convulsively at my hips, pulling me the rest of the way onto his hot member, until I could feel his expensive shirt against the soft skin of my derriere.

Spike maneuvered around the end of the table, clutching me by one shoulder and a breast, pressing me back and down. I felt like a doll, a toy, something to be used, and I reveled in the surrender of control.

We were still moving, like some weird three-person dance, until I felt jolted against Glen as we were backed into a corner. The impact drove him even farther into me, flattening my perfect buttocks against his pelvis.

I took a breath and felt Spike pull my bra down and spill both breasts out over the top. His hands clamped onto them, mauling my lovely mounds and tweaking my nipples, forcing me to wriggle and moan, each move making me more and more conscious of the cock in my rear.

Finally, Spike kicked my feet apart, then melded himself to my body, his burning cock sliding up into my well-wetted cunt in one hard thrust.

I gasped and flinched as one tattooed hand shot toward my face, but he reached past me to grab Glen's ear and pull his head forward against my shoulder. Spike hissed, “You better not fucking come until I'm done.”

Glen groaned, but I felt his chin move against my bare skin as he nodded. Then Spike was moving, fucking up into me, pressing me hard against Glen, as if he was fucking us both at once. Each thrust of his nasty, hard cock hit deep inside me, rubbing against Glen's stationary member, separated as they were by the thinnest of barriers.

I took every chance to torment my erstwhile coworker, tightening and rolling my ass back and forth to meet Spike's thrusts, jerking on Glen's cock in my ass each time. Vindictive? Yes. I wanted him to fail and fail spectacularly. I made painful sexy noises, trying to push him prematurely over the edge. He was too timid to even grab my breasts, the lump.

Glenn was breathing hard in my ear, trying to hold on, but I could feel his cock twitching, could feel his muscles clenching, ready to shoot. Too bad—Spike showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. I clamped my hands on Spike's shoulders, digging my nails in, and whipped my head around, catching a glimpse of Lewis the guard, plastered to the glass of the door. I smiled at him and ran my tongue around my lips and was rewarded with a look that said he just came in his pants.

Now for Glen. I clenched my ass tight and screamed, “Oh God, Glen! You're hurting me!” And he climaxed. And he would never be able to forget that, I though smugly.

Glen let loose with a long gasping scream and shot a torrent of come into my ass, the hot blast starting me on a chain of orgasms, shaking and twisting and grinding my cunt on Spike's unstoppable cock. Spike pulled out of me with a juicy sticky noise, leaving me to fall forward with the lack of pressure. I felt Glen start to slump behind me, exhausted, and threw myself back against him, hard, keeping him tight against the wall so, flaccid or not, he wouldn't be able to get loose before I was good and ready.

Spike grabbed my chin and tilted my face downward to stare at the tiny slit in his glans, a couple feet below my eyes. He stroked himself, making me watch; then his body tensed, his hand sliding down to my throat and tightening as hot jets of white gooey come shot out of that slit and felt like boiling oil as it sprayed all over my belly. He snarled like an animal as he came, shooting so hard that a drop even made it up to my cheek. He kept pumping and shooting, though none of the aftershocks were anywhere near as powerful as that first one, until I was well coated.

Then he yanked off the last shreds of my blouse and wiped his cock, casually tucking himself back into his industrial oranges.

I finally released Glen, feeling him slide limply out of my ass as I stumbled toward the table, my legs buckling from the exertion and the fierce pounding of the blood in my veins. Spike shoved me, though not roughly, into a seat, and took his own place on the far side, shifting his chair with a harsh scraping noise. We both ignored Glen as he tidied himself as much as he could, then stumbled back to the table.

Glen swallowed and looked at me, though I only saw him in my peripheral vision. I sat there, the ice queen again, despite my state of dishabille—my blouse shredded and gone, my bra only a sling that my breasts were spilling out of, and my skin coated in semen. My skirt was still hiked up, and I sat bare-assed against the chair since I could still feel Glen's juices leaking out of my hole, and I wanted to avoid dry cleaning if I could.

I swiftly put my hair to rights and wiped down my torso with my ruined blouse. As if it were nothing, I slid each breast back into its cup.

Realizing he wasn't going to get any reaction from me, Glen cleared his throat and addressed Spike in a slightly high voice, a this-never-happened tone, “So, um, my client—”

Spike interrupted him, sliding his white tee off over his head as he spoke. “Fuck him. You need to work on your timing.” Spike shot to his feet and threw the shirt onto the table in front of me, then strode to the door.

Glen sputtered, “But—but you—”

“Come back in a week. And you better fucking do what I say next time.” With that, Spike slammed out of the room.

I slipped the wifebeater tee casually over my head, breathing in the sharp tang of Spike's sweat. My trophy. Something dark caught my eye—black ink at the bottom edge of the white cotton. Four letters.

MINE

And written upside down, so I could read it when I put it on. I suppressed a smile and quickly tucked it into my skirt, feeling Spike's mark against my skin.

Pulling on my jacket, I stood, craning my neck to see how much semen had spotted my skirt. Not too bad, I decided, then caught Glen's anxious look. “What? You came too soon. You need to work on your timing.” I grabbed my case and swept out.

As we drove off in silence, I was turning over possibilities in my head. Making a list of coworkers—who else might I enjoy being forced to fuck?

Last Day

By Trent Evans

Alyson Hart’s nightmare began with a simple envelope.

She arrived, late as usual, mumbling another excuse to the scowling office manager. The yellow manila waited for her on her desk. Opening the envelope, the damning contents spilling onto her cluttered desk, the certain write-up for her tardiness no longer mattered anymore.

Oh no. God, no.