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 regular delivery. Except, this time, there were boxes. That’s a rare occurrence for us. Generally, he brings papers that need pen-and-ink signatures. Documents that can’t be emailed or faxed, that have RUSH and PRIORITY stamped on them in bold red ink. (For some reason, even those words always have made me hot. As if my libido was the thing being stamped. RUSH me to a climax. My orgasm is a high PRIORITY.)

He asked if I would help him move the multiple cartons from his truck to the copy room, and the whole time I was making small talk, banter, that sort of normal chitchat, all I could think about was fucking him. Right there. Somewhere.

“I made small talk but all I could think about was fucking him.”

Anywhere.

“That’s the last of them, Rochelle,” he said, when we’d brought in the final banker’s box and stacked it in the corner.

“Damn,” I said, giving myself away with a single syllable.

He cocked a brow at me curiously. “You enjoy lugging heavy boxes?”

“Anything for a break in schedule,” I tried, helplessly. What I honestly wanted to say was, “Look. There’s only the two of us. We’re in the copy room, all by ourselves. We could do anything we wanted to. Fuck making multiple copies. We could make multiple orgasms…”

Now, that wasn’t totally true. There were other people around, of course. I work in a busy office. Someone is always coming or going. But I wanted to be coming. And I wanted to be coming right then, on Michael’s thick cock. I hoped it was a thick cock — thick and long and...

Michael was closer to me than he’d ever been before. I could smell the erotic, subtle scent of his aftershave. He said, “Maybe there was one more box in the truck, now that I think of it.”

At first, I didn’t realize what he was implying. I’d been momentarily lost in lust, wondering what his dick looked like, whether he was cut or uncut, whether he tucked to the left or the right. So there was one more box in the truck? So what? Michael put a hand on my shoulder. He gently squeezed me through my crisp white blouse. From his subtle touch, I understood…The truck! Even better. The truck was in the parking lot. I had no reason not to follow him back outside. Perhaps the box was heavy. Maybe it would need two sets of hands. Delirious visions began to unfold in my brain. I trotted alongside Michael out of the office and into the parking lot.

But wait, I thought. What if he wasn’t kidding. What if there was a box, and I had misread his honest statement as flirtation? I’d be crushed. I’d have to come up with a reason to hurry off to the ladies’ room to rub out my frustration.

My brain was full of babble.

When he opened the back of the truck, I nearly swooned with relief. The vehicle was empty except for an old blanket. We didn’t say a word to each other. We both got in the back, and Michael pulled the door shut behind us. Then we were in the semi-darkness of the rear of the delivery truck, and all sorts of filthy innuendos kept popping in my head. I wanted him to fill the rear of my delivery truck... that sort of thing.

Michael brought one hand up and gently brushed a wayward strand of my glossy dark hair out of my eyes. At any other time, I might have melted at that gesture. But on this afternoon, I thought, No, Sir. Not today. We have got, probably, six minutes until someone realizes that no box could be that unwieldy. Niceties would have to wait. Besides, we’d had months of what felt like foreplay. Talking. Flirting. Fantasizing.

I launched, pressing my body against his hard form, smacking my lips to his. He almost laughed. I could feel the rumble in his chest. He was surprised by my take-charge attitude. Quickly, his laugh died into a smile, and then he kissed me back, really kissed me. Electricity seemed to be traveling up and down my spine. I had dreamed of this moment for months. Every time I’d signed for delivery, every time he’d turned and walked away and I’d clocked his tight ass in those tight chinos, this is what I’d wanted.

Well, this and more.

We broke the kiss long enough for me to hike up my short navy skirt and for Michael to undo his belt and slacks. I was giddy from anticipation. That burning yearning I’d felt every time I’d seen him? Clearly, he’d felt something of the same. I could see the outline of his cock in his tight briefs, and I realized my desires had been answered. He. Was. Hung.

“Rochelle, I’ve been wanting...” he said.

“And waiting...” I panted. I kicked off my shoes in order to take off my nylons. I was so horny that I could have simply shredded them off myself, but I worked to stay in control. At some point, I was going to have to return to the office. No need to appear as if I’d been mauled in the parking lot.

He spread that blanket out on the floor of the truck, and I spread my legs. Michael sucked in his breath when he saw me. My pussy was so wet that I knew the tender folds must be positively glistening. I could feel how slippery I was. Now, I wanted him to feel me, too.

“He pumped into me, thrusting so that I felt his cock all the way to my core.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“Your cock,” I begged.

“Not so fast.” He shook his head at me, as if he wasn’t dying like I was for the fucking to begin. All those months of double entendres, plays on words, sexy winks. Even the little shimmery jolts I’d experience when he’d hand me a pen to sign for the papers.

I knew he was as aroused as I was, but he acted the opposite. Cool. Calm. Concerned for my wellbeing. Or if not my wellbeing, at least concerned for my clitoris. Truly? That was fine with me. He could get to know me intimately if he so desired.

He took the time to taste me first. I was wooed by the gentlemanliness in the gesture, Michael’s tongue fluttering over my throbbing clit, his hands parting my petals wide so he could get in deep. He made a ring with his lips right around my hot button. I ran my fingers through his thick blonde hair. His hair was soft and silky. When he moved his head back and forth, his tresses tickled my inner thighs in the most perfect manner.

He sucked on me, then let his tongue tap rapidly against that pulse point. I could have come right then, with Michael’s mouth on my mound, but as delightful as that felt, I wanted more.

“I need something to suck on,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, shifting so that in that truck bed, we were suddenly sixty-nining, and I had a mouthful of Michael. How many times had I excused myself to the ladies’ room, only to jack off in a stall while I sucked my thumb and imagined drinking from Michael’s cockhead? Too many to count, that’s for sure. His manhood more than matched my expectations. I bobbed on his plum-like tip before moving slightly so I could really work the shaft. Michael groaned at the oral onslaught but didn’t break from his own task. I could tell he wanted to get me off before getting inside me. I had no problem with that plan. With his large cock down my throat and his tongue twittering over my clit, I was in heaven.

“Cup my balls,” he whispered when he paused for breath. I did more than cup them. I licked my palm and then cradled his sac so that he could feel the wetness on his sensitive skin. That move had an immediate effect. He bucked and drove the last inch of his rod down my throat. I swallowed so that he could feel the constriction, and he moaned at the velvety tightness.

How much time did we have left? I no longer cared. I’d left my post unmanned, but Michael’s post was so much more important to me at the moment. Messages could go to voicemail. I wanted to use my mouth for something far sexier than answering the telephone.

All of those months of fantasies had brought us to this point, where I was bestowing the best blowjob of my life, and Michael was the lucky recipient. I’d sucked my own thumb and thought of him! He was going to experience every trick in my book, every lick of my tongue, until he gave me what I was after. That was my plan, anyway.

To my utter surprise, he grunted and withdrew. I felt empty, and I followed after him, so we were squirming together on the rough blanket, I in search of his cock, he after something else.

“Your mouth is unbelievable,” he said. “So warm, so wet, but I want to be inside you.” As soon as he voiced the words, I wanted what he wanted. It was as if we were magically bound together in X-rated urges, connected in our dreamy desires. But then he added the kicker: “After I fuck you, you can lick your juices off me.” And I nearly exploded right then. Holy hell. He was handsome, hung like a porn star, and filled with explicit instructions? I’d won the erotic jackpot!

“Would you like that, Rochelle? Would you like to taste our juices mingled together?”

I shivered at his delicious dirty talk. In all the times I’d imagined having sex with him — fucking him on my desk, in the men’s room, on the long wooden table in the conference room — I’d never thought to add a soundtrack. He had a filthy mouth. I’d scored even more than I’d hoped!

“Tell me,” he said, and I realized I hadn’t answered verbally, that I was almost too far gone to respond. I nodded excitedly, and said, “Oh, yes. I will lick off every drop of my come for you. I’ll give you a fucking tongue bath…” There. I’d done it, too.

“Dirty girl,” he said, and I could tell he meant the words as a compliment.

“Blowing him was turning me on in a major way”

He positioned himself now in a missionary style, hands on either side of my face, and he pumped his cock inside me. I could feel the fabric of my skirt between us, could feel his slacks against my bare skin. His cock was wet from my mouth, and then his cock was wet from my cunt. I closed my eyes for a second to revel in the way he felt, so raw and hard inside me. But he clearly wanted us to be connected because he said, “Look at me, Rochelle.”

I opened my eyes and stared into his. How blue his eyes were.

“I’ve thought of this so many times,” he said, lifting the words out of my own mind. “I have fantasized about fucking you since we first met.”

“Really?” I was breathless. This was happy and sad news to me. The happy was that we’d finally connected. The sad was that we’d lost six months of prime fucking, and we had nobody to blame but ourselves. I ought to have written my number down when he’d asked me to sign for a package. He should have made a pass earlier.

“You sit there so prim and proper at the front desk, and all I’ve wanted to do was muss you up.”

Oh, dear lord. Muss me, I thought. Muss me, Michael. Make me all dirty so that everyone guesses what we’ve been up to.

He pumped into me, thrusting so that I felt his cock all the way to my core. Then he started up a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out. I lay back and sighed. When he spiralled his hips, his cockhead seemed to brush my G-spot, and a burst of pure pleasure expanded throughout my entire body. If I believed in auras, mine would have been 24-karat gold. I was floating in that dazed moment of bliss when he pulled out and did what he’d promised, moving us so that he was kneeling. In a flash, I was bowed before him, sucking my juices from his beautiful dick.

I behaved as promised. I licked and sucked his rod clean, my tongue working every last inch of him until he was the one sighing. I couldn’t wait to taste his come. I started to work on mission, indenting my cheeks with the intensity of my suction. Michael, however, had other plans. He had us doggy-style next, his hand wrapped in my hair as he gave it to me hot and hard.

Suddenly, I had a flash of the future. Of how we might connect if we weren’t confined by time and space. No, I wasn’t interested in otherwordly sex, but sex at my apartment, with toys, with gear, with lube, with a whole night, with a bed…

Michael fingered my asshole, and I mewed. “You like that,” he observed, and I imagined his eyes glittering in the dim light. “That feels good, doesn’t it? My finger probing you there.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I do. It does.”

“You want more?”

“Yes,” I demanded. “More…give me more.”

He wet one of his fingers in my copious juices and then started to slowly, gently, trace the circle of my asshole. I was nearly transported by the tawdry pleasure of this move. I could not believe that minutes before I’d been sitting at my desk, daydreaming out the window, thinking of what Michael might do to me. One day. Someday. And now he was! Now he was doing all the naughty things I’d imagined.

Well, almost all of them.

He slowly slid the tip of his finger into my asshole. I cried out at the intrusion. He was fucking my pussy and working my backdoor in tandem. I didn’t think anything could possibly feel better than that. Not until he said, “Touch yourself. Go on, baby, and touch yourself while I fuck you.”

Balancing carefully, I brought one hand to my clit. I started to rub myself in rhythm to the way Michael was fucking me. I had my eyes shut so tight, I thought I could see sparkling stars. He kept doing exactly the right thing, filling me up with his cock in my pussy and teasing me with his finger in my rear hole. I couldn’t have given him better directions on how to take me to orgasm. I felt poised on the brink of an earth-shattering, mind-blowing climax. There I was, teetering, until Michael suddenly thrust his finger deep into my ass, and that was what ultimately made me come. Like a rush. Like a wildfire. Like something untamed.

I cried out, my release so fierce and freeing that I forgot completely about our location. If one of my coworkers had been walking past the truck, my cries would definitely have caused consternation. I didn’t care. There we were, back of the truck, Michael’s finger in my rear, his cock in my pussy, and me — lost and found, to the other side and back.

It took me a moment to catch my breath, to regain my senses, and then I realized that Michael hadn’t come yet. He was still driving into me, working me at that steady, hypnotic pace. That made me think I still had a shot at tasting his come, which was high on my to-do list of desires. Obviously surprising him, I pulled forward so that his cock slipped out of me, and then I spun around. He was starting to protest, when I shut him down by beginning to stroke his balls once more as I slurped my juices off his cock. There was even more this time. I’d made him drippy wet.

“You’re so fucking big,” I said when I paused for air. “I feel like a won the lottery. The Long-Cock Lottery.”

He grinned at me and licked his lips. “Me, too,” he said. “I thought a girl like you was out of my league.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You just always had that look on your face, like you never get your hands dirty.”

“I don’t,” I agreed. “Just my mouth,” and I went back to it, slicking the tip of my tongue into the slit in his cockhead, then deep-throating him all the way to the base. This was no easy feat. Michael was seriously hanging with the big guys. That didn’t stop me. I’m always up for a challenge, and at the moment I was on a mission, out for the sweet surrender of his come. I wanted to revel in the flavor — the salty warmth. I wanted to make him surrender to me.

He braced himself and let me loose, and I unleashed all of my powers. I sucked hard, then followed with a more easy motion. I teased him by tracing designs along his prodigious length, and then simply began to work him in the most powerful, old-fashioned blowjob style I could manage. Up and down and fast. I could feel myself getting wet all over again. Blowing him was turning me on in a major way. Soon — too soon — he announced he was coming. I think he wanted to give me the option of moving aside and letting him spray the back of his truck with his seed. Would I waste his release? No way. I stayed glued to him, my hands on his thighs, keeping my lips locked in place. He bucked and groaned and then released in a series of glorious spurts. I wasn’t jarred at all. I stayed with him to the end, making sure I swallowed every last drop of his pleasure. Only then did I back up and gaze at him, supremely sated and satisfied.

“Holy fucking wow,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” I agreed.

We were both demolished. I didn’t even know where my panties were. How trashy was that? Trashy in a good way. I went rummaging around the back of the truck while Michael adjusted himself. He looked similar to the way I’d spied him at the beach. Sweaty, maybe, but sexy as hell. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. We’d just performed one amazing workout.

I found my panties in my nylons and worked to untangle them. Michael watched me the whole time, somewhat lecherously. “You look as hot as fuck,” he said, putting into words precisely how I felt about him.

“So do you,” I said, and I grinned and slid my panties back on.

“I can’t wait to do that again,” he confessed. I actually hesitated then. Did he mean now? Was he ready for round two? I, for one, was game. Maybe he’d blindfold me with my nylons, or possibly tie me up…But then he added the words, “Tonight, after work,” and so I knew that I had to go back, had to complete the rest of the day, which reminded me of something.

“What are they going to say when I return to the office empty-handed?” I asked. “I was supposed to be out here, helping you carry a box.”

“You definitely helped me unload,” he cracked.

“Really,” I said, sliding on the nylons, and then locating my pumps. I’d flung them to the corners of the truck in my haste. Now, I slid them back on and smoothed my hands over my rumpled skirt.

“Say we couldn’t locate it. They have no idea that the truck is empty. Tell them I’ll have to make a return trip.” He shook his head in mock-sadness.

“Is that a promise?”

“You’ll see me by five o’clock,” he assured.

Hurrying, I made it to my desk and saw that I’d only been absent for ten minutes. All that fucking, and we’d only taken 600 seconds! I could count my brief absence as a coffee break, even though I had enjoyed a semen injection rather than a caffeine pick-me-up. The rest of the day, I floated around in a happy glazed mood. My itch had been scratched. My desires had been exotically fulfilled. At least some of them. Now, I only had to wait until five.

I was restless and sticky for the rest of the afternoon. My pussy felt sweetly pounded. My panties positively stuck to me. Every step I took reminded me of the way Michael’s dick had felt inside me. Every time I sat down, I thought of his cock in my cunt, his finger in my ass. It was going to be more than a finger tonight. I was going to break out the bottle of lube, let him hold me open, let him drive inside. I could only envision what his big cock would feel like nestled between my rear cheeks, and that was enough to have me all drippy wet again. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be leaving a wet spot on my office chair, and that would be difficult to hide.

I tried to think of dull things. I tried to focus on the work at hand. But nothing could drive the images from my head. Michael, gorgeous delivery man Michael, was going to come by at five. Somehow I managed to make it through the rest of the afternoon. To my delight, Michael pulled up right when I was ready to end my day.

“Do you have a delivery for me?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, yes,” he said. I’ve got something for you in the back.”

“I hope so,” I said, looking up at him. His blue eyes flashed. “Do you need any assistance in the truck?” I asked.

“Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

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