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Lunchtime
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Lunchtime
By Dulcinea
Since she had the day off, they were going to meet for lunch.
Stepping out of the shower, she opened the closet to see what she
should wear. Jeans, turtle neck, sweater -- wait a minute!
She grinned at her reflection in the mirror, an idea forming in
her mind. A little tingle began in her pussy, and she put the
clothes back into the closet. A little seduction was in order,
she decided. And she would have to dress accordingly.
"Hey, honey. Ready for lunch?" she asked from the door of his
office. He held up a hand, indicating he didn't want to be
disturbed for a moment, his pen flying across the paper.
"Ready!" he said, his head snapping up. "Oh my!"
He let his eyes rake across her body, down to her toes, then back
up again. She wore a black sweater that showed off her ample
breasts, the V-cut neckline showing deep cleavage between the
delightful swell of her creamy skin.
A short wrap-around denim skirt showed off her long legs. She
stood with her leg peeking through the slit of the skirt, the top
of her stocking showing. Teasingly, she pulled the skirt back
just a bit more, her pale flesh a stunning contrast to the dark
nylon.
He forced his eyes back to her face, seeing the wicked smile she
wore. His cock was twitching wildly, almost painfully. "I
assume you have a plan for lunch?"
"I might." She turned, looking back over her shoulder.
"Coming?"
He jumped up, following her. Down to the street, into her truck.
"You look incredible," he told her, shifting uncomfortably. His
pants were growing tighter and tighter. She smiled, but said
nothing, turning into the parking lot of a quaint little cafe.
He chose to walk behind her as the entered the building, watching
the way her hips moved, the way the heels she wore shaped her
calves. He hoped they made it to the table soon; his erection
was getting painful.
She seemed to know the waitress, chatting pleasantly for a moment
before they were led to a quiet, circular booth. Sliding around
the seat, she pressed up against him, her breasts heavy on his
arm. "I think you'll really like the food here," she whispered,
her voice low and throaty. She captured his hand, bringing it
under the table to her lap. Under the opening of her skirt,
right between her soft thighs.
He groaned, his fingertips feeling the moist fabric of her
panties. "Have you decided what to order?" the waitress asked
pleasantly. Today's special is lasagna."
"The special," he said, feeling her thighs open a little wider.
"Make that two," she answered.
The waitress nodded, walking away. He felt her hand creeping
across his thigh, rubbing his swollen cock through the material.
"Ooh! Why do you torture me this way?" he asked with a groan.
"Well, if you want me to stop...." She leaned away, withdrawing
her hand.
"No! Don't!" He squeezed her thigh lovingly. "I love it when
you torture me. I love it when you make my cock so hard it
absolutely throbs." He grinned as her hand found it's way back
to his lap. "And I'm going to love driving this big, thick, hard
cock into you."
The food arrived, and they fell on it hungrily, the meal as good
as she'd promised. He ate one handed, his fingers busy inside
her panties. She squirmed wonderfully for him, and her hand
often found its way back down to massage his erection.
"How was it?" the waitress asked. She left the bill on the
table, then dropped a key next to it.
"Thanks, Kelly. I'll bring it back in a bit."
He looked on in amazement as his lady picked up the key, dropping
a twenty on the table. She slid out of the booth, smiling.
"Coming with me?"
He slid out behind her. "Where are we going?" She only laughed.
He still had half of his lunch hour left. She led him to the
back of the building, up a flight of stairs to a plain wooden
door. The key slid into the lock, opening to a small, tidy room.
"I called ahead and asked Kelly if I could borrow this little
guest room of hers," she said, answering his unasked question.
Stepping into his arms, she kissed him. "She's an old friend of
mine."
"Great!" His hands pushed her skirt open, lifting it up over her
hips. "Your panties are wet," he whispered.
"Well," she unzipped his slacks, freeing his cock. "Your shorts
are wet. I guess we're even."
Half carrying her to the bed, he laid her back, lifted one leg
over his shoulder, spreading her wide. Pushing her panties aside
he plunged into her, making love to her in fast, hard strokes.
His cheek rubbed against the stocking, and he turned to kiss her
ankle, rubbing his hand up and down her leg. "You seductive
wench!" he said, watching the passion on her face. "I love you!"
She cried out, her hips bucking up against him, her breasts
quivering delightfully in the sweater as her body shook. Leaning
forward, pushing his as deep into her as he could, he erupted,
his cum pouring into her still pulsating pussy.
"Wench, am I?" she asked, when she trusted herself to speak.
"Yes," he answered. "A beautiful, sexy, delicious, wench." He
pulled out of her reluctantly, releasing her leg. "An
incredible, seductive, bewitching wench who is about to make me
late for work."
"Late for work? Is that all the thanks I get?" She straightened
her clothes, running her fingers through her hair. "Well, don't
worry. It's the last time I show up to take you out to lunch,
cretin!"
"NO! Honey!" He pulled her against him, wrapping his strong
arms around her body. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, the
swell of her breast. "Please. Make me late for lunch any time."
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