Hierarchy Ch. 02

From above tumbled a low-pitched roar. The hand at the back of her head contracted, scraping her hair into a tight fist, and the pelvis she had been leveraging herself against pumped at her mouth hard. Even with the distracting pleasure burning on her clit, these thrusts were too much, and her moans became small gags, until in one fluid motion he pulled the length of his cock from her mouth, and his fist pulled her head back so that her eyes watched his contorted face, barely visible as it was back-lit by the streetlamps glowing behind him. His other hand grabbed his cock, and pointed it, slid it into the L where her neck connected to her jaw, and he heaved, and spurted one jet, then two, then a river of sperm onto her throat where it coursed down, collecting on her collarbone, blazing paths down her chest.

*

At least he didn't drown her, a harrowed Rich thought. Unfazed by the desecration of her pristine chest, Rich was grateful at last to finally turn the tables toward his own gratification. And when Rob squeezed his last drop and scraped out one last gravel moan, Rich picked up before the moment could allow her to freeze up again. He kneeled into her back, lining his bare chest along the full length of her back, and nuzzled his head alongside hers. One finger he kept stroking that hard nub between her legs, resisting the urge to plunge as deep and dark and wet as he could. The other hand he brought up, along her belly, pulling hard at her soft skin. A moment's pause, and then he scooped up her left breast, held the fat thing in his hand, oh hell yeah, squeezed it and found her nipple and pinched it and pulled it; he realized he was pulsing his hips onto her from behind, and wished he hadn't gone the conservative route and left his pants on. He pressed on, and slowly, regretfully pulled his hand down from her breast to reach his own belt. Now he was fumbling, the smooth assuredness from before stretched to near-breaking with the events of the last minutes – were they minutes? The sun was completely gone now – and he felt his "good cop" intentions dissipating with the sun, his hands trembling from the effort it took to not rip his pants off and attack her. He was in danger of losing himself, and feared shattering this opportunity he had painstakingly built.

In the end, she was the one who saved him. Her voice – muffled, as his ear was pressed next to her head – was low, and steady. It grounded him, gave him direction, informed him that there were two people involved in their own internal struggles. Her voice brought him back to the office, with streetlamp light splayed onto the walls around them, stiff industrial carpet in his knees, the scent of Rob's sperm cooling on her skin.

"Rich."

His ears prickled with this strong sound, rising so much clearer than the contorted moans and gasps of the last minutes, hours, the last of the sunlight.

"Fuck me."

His hands stopped, letting the words drop onto industrial carpet and streetlamp light-splayed walls, letting silence confirm her statement.

And then his body took over.

His jeans ripped through space and landed somewhere behind him, to the tinkling of pens raining onto the floor, and Anita's torso was on the ground before he realized what he was doing. Blood flooded his veins, drowned his head and blocked out any sounds, but the sight of his cock head stuffed into her vagina, and the wetness and tightness that met his corona, pitched his body forward on top of hers. A light breeze hit sweat on his forehead, and he pushed, nudged his hips, and was eaten by the delicious walls and wetness that was her vagina. His throat shuddered, and he realized he was making sounds, guttural sounds, hard sounds, loud enough to reach his stuffed ears through the molasses darkness in the office.

Fuck, I'm going to break her in half, but he couldn't stop pushing, and holding her as he pulled out and thrust back in, spreading her knees farther apart and grabbing anywhere, her hair, her neck, her waist and shuddering, fleshy ass –

And she met him. Each thrust of his hips, she pushed and met him with a soft splat of skin on skin and an intoxicating tightness on his cock. A rumble from her back, and he realized she was speaking too –

"You wanted to fuck me so bad, didn't you?"

Had she actually said that? Or was he hearing things? More -

"You held out for me, didn't you? You good -" splat "-boy" Her words were punctuated by that fantastic collision of flesh on flesh, and more words, dirty words dripped from her mouth, seemed to excite her as much as it did him, as if saying them made it okay to DO them.

He growled something, drowned out her words, and his hand moved to the back of her head. His body was contracting, and he wanted to grab every inch of her, wanted to pound the ground and holler until he was hoarse, but all he could manage was to tilt his hips back and grind forward again until hips met ass with a splat, and that tightness converged on his shuddering cock again, oh god,

Oh god I can't take this any more,

and he sat up, off her back, far enough to see her writhing body worming against his, that undulating ass and the inflamed labia sucking his dick, and his palm delivered a tremendous crack onto that soft, bouncing ass before his brain closed up, and something deep inside him heaved.

He poured everything he had inside her, and only when the last spasm shook his insides and his dick squeezed out the last drop did he realize he was shouting.

*

She was clenching her teeth, lips bared in determination and ecstasy.

You like that? I can tell. Splat.

His cock was bigger than Rob's. She hadn't seen it, only felt it fish out her starving vagina and push in, parting her walls that clenched reflexively, shoving the large head in past her tightening entrance before forging the way along her vagina. It took him a couple thrusts and pivoting his weight onto her hips to push his entire length into her, and when she ground her hips out toward him, she could feel that fat head hit bottom.

Oh yeah. She wriggled against him. Oh yeah. Pushed herself up to try to get it from him harder, met his thrusts, every one –

"Oh yeah," came a voice from somewhere deep inside her throat. "Oh, yeah"

she turned and saw his face screwed up, sweat beaded on his forehead, and she felt…great.

I am in control here.

"Oh, yeah. Is this what you wanted?" splat

Oh god, I want to crawl backwards into his cock, eat it all, drown in him, suck his life from him,

"You wanted to…to fuck me…so bad" splat "didn't you?"

Talking dirty let loose every last filament of hesitation, of reservation she held, and it drove her wild. He may have been on top of her, but she had him in the figurative palm of her hand.

And she continued to talk, low, hoarse, dirty things spilling from her swollen lips, purging her of guilt and uncertainty and fueling the fire that drove her animalistic movements. His thrusts became short and deep, and she bucked, threw her head back, met with his hand which ground her face forward. Her hands clenched at nothing, air, industrial carpet, and the breath caught in her throat, her jaw was sore, and her pussy grabbed his cock and sucked it hard, sucked all the while it spasmed, fluttered, and she howled out a violent orgasm into the industrial carpet with fingers at the back of her neck, then a loud smack at her ass, and pulsing spasms inside the depths of her vagina. His sweat dripped onto her back, and her sweat coursed down her arms and hands, feeding the hungry carpet that burned their knees.

*

The scene before him reached a fantastic, if loud, end, unwinding in a mess of glistening arms and legs and sodden orifices. Their chests heaved as if they had been running. From his vantage point in his office chair, Rob had seen Rich's Samaritanism, had seen him finger Anita while keeping his self encased, ripening the opportunity until neither of the two fiends could contain themselves. Rob watched it all and gathered – for he felt that his post-orgasmic state left his assessment unbiased with the heat of flesh and fluids – that she, that bucking wench whose skin crackled with his drying semen, she was playing Rich like a violin. He saw her mouth move, barely heard the stream of filthy words as she directed them at Rich, and saw his eyes widen, his buck shorten, his hands grab at her.

The motherfucker. That S.O.B. had always been the one, throughout their years in college, to fuck and run, and now she dangled him out of her pussy, and if Rob wasn't careful, he was going to shove off Rich and go for seconds…

No. Too late for that.

He was tired. Tired from just watching it build to an end. Glad he wouldn't be there next week to struggle with whether or not to do it again.

"I'm quitting," he croaked, breaking through their thick gasps.

She, of course, was the only one to respond. Rolling from belly to back and rising slowly, dark holes where her eyes were, where the street lights did not reach, settled in his direction. He knew they were boring into him, and he was grateful he could not see them.

"That's what I've been doing this week - closing up things on my end. You're my replacement."

Rich, kneeling, toes curled under and ready to rise, took her intense gaze as she swiveled it from Rob to him, and back again to Rob.

"You're my replacement. You know it's been coming for a long time – Rich's taking your position."

Again Anita looked at Rich, this time with a hint of a smile. Rob envisioned the scenarios galloping through her imagination, of future Fridays, and his stomach clenched.

He stood, dressed, and headed for the door. He stopped to shake Rich's hand, leaning in close to whisper:

"You win this round, bud. But she'll have you before long."