1. Time Off


    Date: 11/13/2014, Categories: Fiction, Bondage and restriction, Consensual Sex, Job/Place-of-work, Male/Female, Oral Sex, Author: wantsomefun, Rating: 86.2, Source: sexstories.com

    idea about this!” “One of my secrets.” She got on her knees and put her face on her pillow. He tied her wrist restraints to the upper corners of the bed, loose enough for her to move but not turn over. For her ankles, he used fastening points at the middle of the sides of the bed and posed her with her ass in the air. He pushed her legs apart, spat in his hand, and moistened her. Then he pulled on her hips to plant himself against her opening. “How hard do you want it?” “Not hard enough for us to need to go to the emergency room.” “No.” He pushed until her tissues parted to accept him, and then advanced until he tickled her cervix. “I could give you a good pounding from this position.” “Go ahead.” He held her by the pelvis to show her the rhythm he wanted. When he found her clit with his hand, she pushed back hard to meet his thrusts. She shifted her weight so every stroke made her nipples scrape deliciously on the bottom sheet. “Harder,” she moaned. He increased speed and force until her buttocks made obscene slapping noises against him. “Yes, like that!” she hissed. A growl was his answer as he drove himself again and again into her hot wetness. The first signs of his orgasm made him thrust deeper still, until he pushed forcefully on her cervix. She cried out as he swelled and spilled inside her. When he felt himself deflate, he withdrew. Her bruised opening closed to try to trap their combined mess. He dismounted, released her, and pulled her shaking body into his arms. ...
    “Oh my,” she whispered against his neck. “That was fun.” “Yeah.” “Guess we should clean up again.” “Probably.” They lay in silence, calming their breathing, until she said, “I'm too tired to move.” He stroked her hair where it spilled onto his chest. “Me too.” “You're helping me change the bedding in the morning.” “Uh huh,” he muttered. She burrowed against him for the night. He was in his boxer shorts making coffee when she stumbled downstairs in her robe. “Morning, sleepyhead!” “How can you be so cheerful? It's before noon,” she grumbled. “There was no 'good' in my greeting. I know you're not a morning person.” She grunted, “Coffee.” He poured a mug for her, black and strong, the way she liked it. “Careful. It's hot.” “Duh.” She sipped greedily. “Ah, good. Think I'll live.” He fixed a mug for himself and sat across from her at her tiny table to watch. Eventually she looked up. “What?” “A woman always looks her best when she first wakes up.” “You're kidding, right?” She rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes. “Look at my hair. I didn't do anything with it yet. Brushed my teeth and peed. That's it.” “No, I'm not kidding. Right now you remind me of the way you looked when I'd stop by your dorm to make sure you were awake for class as an undergrad. The way you look after chick-flick night now. It's those times when I think of you as a woman.” “As a woman?” “Instead of as my best friend.” She gave a naughty smirk. “Are you trying to tell me something?” “You made a reference last night to ...
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