Page 69 of Use Me Up

His breath hitches. “Oh, Hannah, your clit is so fucking huge right now. Look at this little eager clit.” He starts making circles around it. “I make you come in and get my coffee and stuff. Maybe I tell you, uh, that I lost something on the floor, and I make you get down on your hands and knees and look for it. All the while, uh, I’m on the phone, not paying a bit of fucking attention to you, but if you try to get up or if you try to tuck your breast away, I notice, and I put my hand over the receiver and just shake my head at you.”

A moan leaks out of my mouth. I’m aware of something really embarrassing. I can smell my pussy. I can smell how aroused I am, and I don’t think it’s a good smell, but I kind of don’t fucking care right now. My whole pelvis feels tight and the place where he’s stroking me is hot and tingling.

“Sometimes I change it up. I’ll let you keep your boobs covered, but I’ll make you do the whole day without a skirt, just in your blouse and panties. And I make you do lots of tasks that involve bending over, but I never even look at you while you’re doing it.”

I gasp.

“One day,” he says, “a man comes to the office, and I let you be dressed to let him in, but then, while he and I are in the meeting, I call you in for something. I tell you to go over to him and show him your breasts.” He pauses. “Is this bad?”

“No.”

I can hear in his voice he’s smiling. “I tell you to let Mr.—let’s call him Mr. Oliver. I say, ‘Be a good assistant, Ms. Wihlbilt, and let Mr. Oliver fondle your breasts.’”

I gasp. “What’s he look like?”

“Oh, he’s fucking ugly as shit,” says Ellis.

I groan.

“Yeah?” he whispers, as if he just gets me in some awful, horrible way. “He’s fat and balding, and you do it. You stand there while he touches you, and you look over at me, and for the first fucking time, I’m looking at you. I’m sitting at my desk with my legs spread, and openly watching this, clearly enjoying it, and you and I just hold each other’s gaze while he rubs your nipples real stiff and gently pinches them.”

Out of nowhere, I come. It’s one of those orgasms that sneaks up on me, just roars in and is clenching through me. The first clench is good, but I climb for another one, even better, and then I hit an intense and bright peak, a shower of intensity, and I clench like mad, and I’m gasping and gasping.

He feels it and presses his thumb right into me, giving me just what I need as my orgasm stutters through my entire body.

I open my eyes, kind of horrified at myself, and he’s down there, on the floor, with his finger on my clitoris, grinning up at me like he just solved world hunger. He is very fucking proud of himself.

We stay like that until the last vestiges of my orgasm are done, and then he gets up and sits down next to me on the couch. He unzips and he’s hard, and he starts casually stroking himself, and I watch as his foreskin slips up and down over the head of him.

I’ve never been up close and personal with any penis except his, but I like that he’s not circumcised. Of course, I like everything about him. I’m kind of badly smitten for him, I have to realize.

He leans back on the couch and he says, “I fantasize about stuff like that a lot. I have this pet fantasy, one I use a lot, where I’m in this room and I’m naked, and this woman is walking around me and inspecting me, and I get hard, and she can see, and she makes fun of me for getting aroused—”

“She makes fun of you?” I’m curious. My voice is soft. This is very interesting to me.

“Yeah,” he says. “She tells me I’m pathetic and that my dick is way too small—”

“It’s not,” I say.

He laughs. “It’s not an alpha cock.”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe.

He kisses me, still stroking himself. When he breaks away, we’re nose-to-nose. His breath comes in little gasps.

I whisper, “Do you want me to do that to you? Make fun of you?”

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s whispering, too.

I don’t think I can. He’s this specimen of male perfection. I couldn’t think of one thing to complain about with him.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t want to do that to you, either. That’s why, like, I made it…”

“A fantasy,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Do you want me to make up something pretend about you? Do you want me to say I bring you places and tell everyone you’re my boy toy, not very bright but very pretty, and that I like to make you show your dick off to my friends?”