Quicie at Wor

"Psst," I hear and I turn, seeking out the source. I spy the mostly closed door to the Comms room, a tassle of blonde hair showing and a sultry look. I look around to see if anyone else was in view, but the coast is clear. Intrigued, I move forward and open the door slightly. Instantly a hand grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me forward. The door closes quietly behind me and I hear the satisfying click of the lock. Thank god for the security conscious public servants that we work with.

A mouth firmly plants itself on mine, tongue insistent and urgent. I respond with the same fervor, conscious of the risk that we take. I feel busy hands unzipping me and pulling my cock free from its constraints, as I lift up your short black skirt, running my hands up your thighs. As you soft fingers frantically pull, almost painfully on my shaft, I reach your hips, to discover them bare. I quickly move my hand to your belly and down to your moist waiting haven, encountering no resistance. I push you back against the wall roughly and bend my knees, pants absurdly around my ankles. Hurried hands guide my stiff prick to your cunt, wet and inviting. You wrap your arms around my neck and sink your tongue deeper into my mouth, probing, demanding. I drive into you, hard, fast, no time for subtlety.

You lift yourself up onto your toes, spreading your legs wider, wider, meeting every thrust with ever increasing rhythm. I lift you higher and you wrap your legs around me, drawing me in further than I thought possible. My hands hold a cheek each, firm and hot, as I pound harder and harder. You pull your tight sweater up to your neck, baring your breasts, braless and free. I release a cheek and grab your breast, kneading the flesh, drawing the nipple bigger, darker.

You tilt your head back against the wall, grimacing, grinding, face contorted in pleasure. Sightless you undo several buttons on my shirt and slip your hand inside, grabbing fistfulls of my chest hair, pulling me hard towards you. The seed boils within me, and I feel your heat begin to rise. I bend down and bite your nipple, blood engorged. You let loose an animal sound, low and unnamed, as you buck in the throws of your orgasm. You pound again and again, tipping me over the edge. I bite my lip to stop the cries as I burst, mountains of cream flooding your womb, filling you to the brink, continuing to work in and out, not wanting the feeling to stop. I play it down, as you lower your legs to the floor.

I raise my lips again to yours, a lingering, soft brush of tissue, before you quickly push me away and begin to straighten up. You pull down your sweater and skirt, running your hands through you hair, leaving me to hurriedly pull up my pants, putting my flaccid cock away. A smile crossed your lips as you move to the door. I spy a trace of cream running down your thigh, but say nothing. I am dressed as you open the door slightly and peer out. Quickly you are gone, a nymph lost to sight, with only the memory of your soft breasts and warm thighs to last me until tonight...