Michael is the man of my dreams.

Actually, Michael is the man of my dirty fuck fantasies.

He comes to the office twice a week to deliver papers from corporate, and he always spends a minute at my desk. A minute longer than he has to. He could simply slide the envelope into my slot — when what I’d like him to slide into my slot is a lot bigger, a lot harder, than any manila envelope. He’s brawny and blonde, and he wears buttoned-down clothes for the job, but once I saw him out of work at the beach, and fuck does that man have a bod to be proud of. Rippled muscles in his arms, a solid six-pack bordering on a twelve-pack. I peeked at him over my sunglasses and tried not to leave a wet spot on my towel.

But back to work, which is where I was this afternoon, when Michael came in with the... Read More