Gina Scratches the Itch

With him, work was an option. I mean, it was a temp agency; nobody would notice another anonymous woman coming in. And he was the manager; no boss there to offend, I presumed. That might be the best option, I reflected as Montoya pretzeled us into Toe Stand. Show up at his office, have a fling over the desk, and call it a day. Then come on back and thrust my hard body back in silly Meaghan's face, only this time filled with her husband's spooge.

The prospect was delicious. I stared at him again, very boldly now with my decision made. He was no longer even trying to hide his interest. I couldn't see much of a tent down there in those khakis, which gave me hope: there was no way he wasn't hard as a Greek column right now, and if I couldn't see it that might mean he was more my size.

"Aaand, exhale as you move into Cow to finish..." Ah. Cow. A great way to end it today; Cow might as well be called Fuck My Ass. I started getting into position, my lips falling into a wanton, open-mouthed smile for Rob as I settled down on hands and knees and gave my spine that extra arch I could tell he liked. I actually saw him sigh as he watched me, and then at last he reached down to adjust himself. Shit. About time.

When it was over, I decided on a whim to cement my dominance over Meaghan by propositioning her husband while she was standing right nearby. I'd never done anything that brazen, but what the hell? My yoga workout had exhilarated me, and I was feeling buoyantly wanton. "So, Rob," I said casually, "did you see anything you liked?" I was standing right in front of him, nearly naked, my legs at shoulder width while I calmly let my hair down. Sweat ran all over my body.

He glanced once at his ginger shadow, who didn't seem to know what to make of this. He swallowed. "Actually, yes," he managed, smiling enough that it could maybe, possibly, have been a joke.

"Where is it you work, Rob? I might have some tempting needs in the near future," I said, tossing my hair back.

"Um. You mean 'temping,' right?"

"That's what I said," I went glibly on. "I'd love to drop by and discuss things with you, say, after my school lets out on Monday?" I did not even waste a glance on Meaghan, but Rob sure did. She could not possibly have been pleased, but what was that bitch going to say? She wasn't the type to stand in my way. I'd knock her to the curb, then stick the boot in.

"Sounds fine," he said, a little tense. He was still sitting, no doubt wanting to make sure his cock shrank adequately before he stood up. "What kind of needs do you anticipate?"

Oooh! That was a surprise. "Well," I said, relishing the hunt, "it's actually kind of personal. I was hoping to get a good feel for the kinds of services you can provide for me before I commit to anything."

"Of course," he nodded. His eyes were alert, his mouth slightly open. "I'm with Nash Datasys, over on the corner of Hall and 37^th. What time would you like to come?"

"We'll say 3:30." I smiled slowly to let him now I'd received what I hoped was his double-entendre. I finally finished with my hair and slung my bag over my shoulder. "Goodbye, Rob." I didn't say a word to his useless husk of a wife. No point, really.

* * *

I was telling Shannon about Tricia the next day at work; she could only go to the Sunday classes.

"How's your downsizing going?" she asked, nibbling at a strawberry. It was just the two of us in the lunchroom before school. I grinned wickedly.

"Easy-peasy Japanesey," I sang. "That little troll's husband isn't going to know what hit him. How about you?" I winked. "Has Kyle called you yet?"

"No," she said slowly, "but maybe, just maybe, I stopped into Zimbardo's last night for a quick drink."

I laughed. "Of semen?" I thought about Kyle's copious load and smiled.

"Some of us," Shannon replied primly, "do not choose to work at your accustomed speed, Gina."

I shrugged. "If you can't figure out where to fuck him, I'll let you borrow my car." My backseat was nice and large, though she'd need to take out the carseats. I wouldn't be caught dead giving anyone my vag in her stinky Nissan.

"You're a peach," she said dryly. "I'm more than capable of figuring out my own infidelities, thanks."

I popped one of her strawberries into my mouth. "Offer still stands, Shan. I don't mind driving your shitbox for a couple days."

She glared.

* * *

Monday came oozing toward me with painful slowness, my pussy in a flaming hell of anticipation the whole time. It got so bad I let Mike fuck me twice on Saturday night, thinking the entire time about poor Andy. Which was weird. But my husband's familiar cum at least banked the fires for a couple days, which was something.

Still, reminders of my lust were everywhere. Yoga on Sunday saw my freshly-fucked self dealing with Rob's scarlet piece, Meaghan pointedly ignoring me as I greeted her with an exuberant "Hi, Meg!" Then, brunch with Shannon at Zimbardo's brought my fruit platter, well seasoned with a side of attentive Kyle. He was plainly taken with Shan, who was handling the whole thing very capably, but there were still a few lingering glances at me; poor boy wanted back in my mouth again.

Monday was no better; Dylan's class met that afternoon, and I'd noticed before that he had a tendency to pine. Lately, he'd begun hanging around after class in a transparent attempt to get me to suck his dick. "I've told you, honey," I said, nearly sprinting for my door at 2:45, "it's over. No more nookie from me, Dylan. It has to end."

"Aw, c'mon Gina!" I cursed inwardly; it was a mistake to let him call me that. "You can't leave me like this. Ms Boyle won't let me fuck her either anymore! I need you!"

"Dylan, sweetie," I said, patting his ass impatiently as I ushered him toward the door, "you need to start using that cock on girls your own age. You know that's true."

"But, like, you've spoiled me for other bitches!" he whined. My heart went out to him, but my pussy didn't.

"You know, Dyl," I whispered, walking rapidly down the hall with my former lover trailing in my wake, "I hear Shelley Nason's kind of into you..."

"Goddamn, Ms Torrey," he hissed; we were in the hall now, and he knew I'd kick his ass if he called me Gina out here. "Are you the one spreading those rumors? Shit! That bitch has, like, kalydia or some shit."

"It's chlamydia, Dylan."

"Whatever." He continued pouting all the way to my car, but there was no way I was going to put out for him today.

"Bye, Dylan!" I called out the window as I floored it for 37^th Street. Goddamn, couldn't he tell I was in heat? And not for him? I'm telling you: lack of perception. I was choosing inadequate males these days, apparently.

* * *

Nash Data Systems occupied a smooth, modern building in a tree-shaded neighborhood next door to a nice restaurant I'd been meaning to try. The whole second floor was presumably Robert Quinn's domain, and I was impressed; it was much more of a professional-type place than I'd imagined. I'd made myself up carefully, going with scarlet lipstick and wings over my eyes; I looked like a hooker, but a high-class one. Rob seemed like the kind of guy who'd enjoy seeing red lipstick on his dick.

I'd debated about that rust-red wrap dress. Its recent track record was flawless, but it didn't go with my lipstick; besides, I'd already selected some kick-ass lingerie that wouldn't work with that dress. I didn't often spring for teddies or babydolls, but Secret Whispers had been having a sale on extra-smalls; sold! The corset frilled up to a pair of fantastically engineered cups that almost gave me cleavage. It was a new sensation. The whole set was in red and white, and I felt like a candy cane; I'd developed a few one-liners along that theme if necessary. I'd never liked garter belts, but I know men can't resist them; I took one for the team and strapped it on, with a bold crimson thong on top. I wished I had an easy way to see my own ass; it had to be looking incredible surrounded by all that red lace.

Over all that, I reasoned, did the dress really matter? I hoped there'd be a way to just appear before Rob wearing nothing but the lingerie set. I wasn't in the mood for bullshit today, and he knew exactly why I was coming. Might as well play that sex-goddess part up to the hilt. I wasn't sure how much foreplay he'd expect nor how long he'd last while drilling me, so I'd told Mike I had a union meeting of indeterminate length after school.

Everyone in Nash was very professional, from the receptionist on up. I was semi-incognito, wearing my glasses and carrying one of my nicer school bags, with my hair in French braids; it didn't matter to me whether people there thought I was a consultant, a client, or an applicant. I looked like all three, at least until my dress came off; after that, I'd merely look like a whore.

"Can I help you?" grinned the pretty receptionist. Her nameplate referred to her as April. I snapped into Gina Mode.

"Yes, I've got an appointment with Mr Quinn at 3:30?"

"Just let me check," she breezed, diving into her computer. "He had me clear most of his afternoon appointments today." For me, no doubt. I felt my cunt go damp against the red satin. "You're Mrs Toro?"

"Torrey," I corrected her gently. "Gina."

"Of course, Ms Torrey. Why don't you take a seat? He's in a meeting at the moment; it's going over, but it should be done shortly."

"Oh. Actually," I said, thinking fast, "I don't want to trouble you. I wouldn't mind just waiting in his office; that way, you won't need to babysit me." I smiled reasonably.

April beamed. "That's actually very kind of you," she said. Not that she looked busy, but the little folk always appreciate it when you appear to take an interest in their well-being. "I appreciate that. His office is straight back. I'll let him know you're waiting."

"Perfect."

"He knows what this is about, I take it?"

I smiled, wondering how much this little tart could guess. Hell, maybe she was fucking him too. "He knows," I said confidently. "Thank you, April." And then I was off, moving quickly through a cubicle farm; there was an excellent chance I had alumni here, and I didn't need any of that drama.

I shut Rob's office door and scanned the room. Wonderful: couch, desk, metal wardrobe, bookshelf. Office chair. No windows, but a skylight gave the place a nice warm glow. Large framed Ansel Adams print behind the desk. A picture of fucking Meaghan and some carrot-haired nonentity I assumed was Leonardo sat on the desk; I left it showing. He'd be able to see it as he took me, which should provide a nice, dark thrill for us both.

First things first; I got my clothes off in record time and hung them on the bar in the metal wardrobe. He had some sport coats and khakis in there, mostly the kind you'd find at a department store; fuck that Meaghan. The woman was a lawyer; she shouldn't let her husband leave the house in rags like this. My green dress soon took its place in there among the polyester, and there I was, alone in Rob Quinn's office with the most scandalous stuff I owned.

Now then: staging. He'd already seen my body, thinly wrapped in lycra and twisting suggestively, so it wasn't like I had to lounge seductively anywhere. I could sit casually on the couch, but there were suspicious stains there that my OCD wanted nothing to do with right now. It might be a fun gimmick to come bursting out of the wardrobe like a callgirl in a bachelor party cake, but I had no idea how long he'd be. Besides, jumping out of a wardrobe? What was this, Halloween?

In the end I decided on the desk chair. He'd come into his office, having heard of my presence from the delightful April, he'd shut the door, and he'd be looking at a hard-bodied woman in lingerie, her legs up on his desk, toying with some of the stuff from his desk. Then he'd smile and the fun could begin; it would be a simple matter to start toying with some of his other stuff, like say his cock, especially once he saw my little lace-framed butt.

Oh, the excitement was palpable already. My nipples, already low-grade stiff for days, ached. I could feel the emptiness in my cunt like a goddamn canyon. I was prepared, to an extent, to let Rob Quinn have his fun; I'd be considerate and respectful. I'd blow him, lick his balls, whatever... for a few minutes. Because I wasn't going to wait at getting his cock into me. I was simply too horny.

There was no plan B today. Hung like a horse or hung like a chicken, Rob Quinn was going into my cunt. I'd been reflecting, and I now understood I'd made a mistake with young Kyle. I should have let him have me, either cunt or ass; at least then the itch would have been scratched. It would probably have been worth the soreness, because here's the thing: it wouldn't have lasted long. I'd sucked him dry in two minutes; dipping that prick into my other holes would have taken even less time.

Instead, here I was desperate to give myself to an enemy's husband. Not that that, in itself, wasn't fucking awesome; I was just worried that he wouldn't get the full Gina Experience. I'm good at lots and lots of things, and I had my pride; Rob would leave here today with less than my best because I just couldn't wait.

Poor bastard.

Maybe I'd get lucky; maybe he'd cum early and often, and I could scratch the itch fast and then have, say, another forty minutes to play afterward. Regardless, I doubted he could justify more than an hour behind closed doors with a client, or applicant, or whatever people here thought I was. I didn't want to spoil things for him here, after all.

Those were the kind of thoughts I was brooding about, rocking slightly in the springy office chair, when a clank at the office door suddenly made my ears perk up. Too late, I had a wild thought: what if he wasn't alone? What if he was bringing in a colleague from his meeting, just wrapping up loose ends and finding a slut behind the desk? Of course, I could certainly handle two; could Rob?

So there was some anxiety, uncontrolled by my meds, as the lock rattled a few times and the door came open on squeaky hinges. I forced myself to a smooth, calm posture of relaxation; yoga breathing, Gina! Yoga breathing. I watched the door swing, assumed a placid expression, and arched my back just that much more.

He appeared in corduroys and a short-sleeved Cuban shirt, but more importantly he appeared alone. I calmed down at once; he was halfway to closing the door behind him via muscle memory, his eyes turning immediately to the couch, before I spoke. "You're late, Mr Quinn," I sassed just as the door snicked closed behind him. His eyes flickered off the couch right away; interesting that he'd expected me there, perhaps naked. Well, this lingerie was better than naked. He gasped when he saw me, his jaw giving in to gravity as his eyes flew open. "Better late than never, though."

I was smiling my sauciest smile, a puckered confection of ripe lips and wrinkled eyes. It was my second time putting myself entirely on display for this man, and I'm sure his erection was immediate.

"Well." He recovered, smiling back with a predatory coldness. A shiver crept up my spine; I was going to get to see a side of Rob that his useless wife didn't, a ferocious passion he'd only feel for me. Excellent. "I'm glad you could make it, Mrs Torrey. I trust you found the place okay?"

"Perfectly," I drawled. "I spent a lot of time preparing for our meeting; I'm hoping you appreciate my presentation. As I said," I went on, loving this, "today I'm just looking to feel you out, maybe get a sense of the quality of the services you wish to offer me." I could hear the huskiness in my voice.

He laughed softly and viciously. "Your presentation is outstanding, Mrs Torrey. I must admit, my initial reaction is very, very positive." Physically incapable of taking his eyes off my body, he reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt as he slowly made his way toward the desk. My pussy began to flood immediately. "Given my lateness, should we dispense with further pleasantries?"

"Of course," I said, my throat constricting with need. There was a good deal of hair behind that shirt, but I could deal with that. Grooming was a nice trait in my males, but it certainly wasn't required; sometimes, there was even a rustic charm involved with a new man's pubes. He got the shirt off as he came around the left corner of the desk, now moving toward me with the grim certainty of a lava flow, and I responded by uncrossing my legs and placing my left foot deliberately on the carpet. The right foot stayed on the desk, and as he came around he saw me fully spread for him.

"I like your outfit," he murmured, and his eyes told me I'd made just the right choice, even though usually I preferred nudity. "Very professional." The shirt was forgotten behind him, and he now reached for his belt. Normally I'd have taken over at that point, as I enjoy few things more than undressing my men, but I decided to let him go ahead. After all, he'd seen me on display; maybe he wanted to reciprocate with a display of his own. Besides, it had been a long day and Rob's chair was comfortable.

So I watched and waited, the smirk still there, as he stripped for me. He was staring me in the eyes, both of us intent on the moment, moving slowly but with a palpable sense of urgency. We both knew we were going to get laid, and laid well; the anticipation was almost as enjoyable as the sex would be.

The belt came undone, and I allowed my lazy left hand to migrate down to where the red satin covered my snatch. I rubbed idly as he started in on his button-fly, and kept steadily masturbating as he realized he still had his shoes on. "Motherfucker." He swore clinically, precisely, and I simply blinked at him and kept going. I had no real urge to laugh, even though he immediately began hopping comically around while he tried to claw his shoes off using the toes of the other foot.

"I'm waiting, Robert," I said at last, once he was down to his socks. I was inside my thong by now, convinced the heat from my cunt would light the satin on fire. I couldn't smell myself as my arousal started to peak, but I was pretty sure he could; he gritted his teeth and finally got his pants off, then regained a little of his cool as he stood straight and dropped his drawers.

My sigh of relief was genuine. That cock of his was heavy and stubby, its girth just about perfect for me. It stuck out like a pistol barrel, just the right size for my hand, my mouth, or any other hole it might get a hankering for. I prided myself on my control, but I know he saw my eyes widen; I just hoped he didn't think I was disappointed.

His balls hung low between pale, hairy thighs. I licked my lips, already imagining the sound they'd make as they swung against my body. He had thigh and ab muscles that, in my experienced judgment, would support just the sort of fast, brutal thrusts I was looking for. I finally let my mouth relax and cleared my throat.

"So, Rob," I said conversationally, "I've been wondering about how you'd like to fuck me. Any thoughts, or should I pick?"

He stood tall now, his legs slightly parted, his cock pointing straight at me in grim accusation. He heaved a long sigh, his eyes fixated on my busy fingers beneath the crimson satin. "You're absolutely beautiful, Gina, you know that." It wasn't a question, nor a rhetorical flourish; he was stating a fact, and I nodded gravely. I had no doubt I was the single hottest thing he'd seen in his life.

Mission accomplished, in other words; now it was time to get it on. "I'll pick."

My fingers came out of me with a slippery squelching noise; I got fluidly to my feet, hooked my thumbs over the straps of my thong, and then it was gone. My naked cunt, shaved bald, was already sending a trail down my muscular thigh. "Want me naked, Rob? Or do you want me like this?" The answer intrigued me; I'd never once done it wearing lingerie. I was hoping he'd tell me to take it off, though. Rob was bound to get cum on the satin, and I'm not big into dry-cleaning.