A Is For Adam

V sat alone in her cubicle at work, eyes unfocused, skin flushed. It was mid-afternoon. The smokers were outside smoking; the social nonsmokers were sharing gossip and coffee in the employee lounge. V just sat, hands slack on her keyboard, knees pressed together under her desk. She daydreamed sex dreams and breathed carefully, hoping to be discreet, hoping to spend the whole afternoon with her thoughts.

She licked her lips and shifted in her seat, pretending she didn't feel her sweater dragging across her nipples with every careful breath.

A, she thought, silently shaping the letter with wet red lips. A is for Adam. Adam, she decided, was blessedly, ravenously, unendingly horny. An unsubtle anatomically correct Ken doll just waiting to jump Barbie. An Adam with a whole world to populate. Her abdomen clenched. Her scalp tingled. She reapplied lip gloss, picturing herself in the Barbie Dream House, in the Garden of Eden.

She wandered restlessly, nudging throw pillows, bending ostentatiously from the waist to straighten a rug, pretending she was doing something other than waiting for her man to come home and fuck her brains out.

Maybe a shower. She smiled wickedly and wandered into the bathroom. Nothing like a shower for such a dirty girl. She pressed her hips firmly into the edge of the counter, watching herself in the mirror. She planted her hands and stuck her butt out, back arched, and tried a little shimmy. Maybe a bubble bath instead, innuendo first and blatant nakedness a little later. She bent to retrieve the bubble bath from the cupboard under the sink and good strong hands clamped onto her ass.

She tried to straighten, but a hand caught a fistful of sweater between her shoulder blades, holding her down and dragging her back half a step so her ass rested against his pelvis. Her hands braced on the floor. She gyrated a welcome all over his fly. She smiled when a hand moved to her hip, clenching and steering, holding her more firmly against him. The hand moved down her hip, under her stomach, searching for a fly on pants that zipped at the hip. The feel of him fumbling at her clothes tickled, but she liked it.

The hand stretching her new sweater clenched. He growled his frustration and pulled her upright. He leaned into the counter with her. He wrapped his arms so tightly around her and bit her ear, feeling her reaction roll through both of them. Her head fell back onto his shoulder and he mouthed her trapezius. It far more sensitive than anticipated. She fell forward into the counter and he held her down. She felt her breasts flatten on the cool marble beneath her, felt her whole pelvis creased by the edge of the counter, felt her labia pulse in anticipation. She reached back, trying to urge him on, but he backed up until all she felt of him was a hand balled in the back of her sweater keeping her in place.

She heard keychain sounds and small metal snicks, then almost jumped out of her skin when his Swiss Army knife tore through the waistband and seat of her pants. She heard metal hit the floor tiles as his chest covered her back. His hands struggled between them, impatient with the existence of clothing. She writhed against his wrists as he tore open his jeans. She gasped and bucked as he destroyed what was left of her pants, shredding her panties in the process. He fingered her too soon, too hard, just right, as his other hand aimed his cocked and jammed inside. He nailed her so hard, so fast. She felt crazed and desperate, unable to breathe, on the verge, flailing and thrashing. She braced her arms against the mirror and tried to push into him, fucking him back. He lifted her far enough to yank her sweater and locked eyes with her in the mirror, mauling her breasts, fucking her hard enough that their reflected images wobbled in time. Her thighs trembled. Her hands covered his, digging into the backs of his hands, clawing and pinching, totally out of control. Kicking her feet unbearably far apart, he gripped her shoulders and growled profanities in her ear and sucked her neck and owned her completely. She could feel him solidly thumping her cervix. She squirmed and shook, grabbed at the counter and pushed back hard into his insistent hips, and exploded around him. He held on tight and rammed and rammed and rammed and came.

They collapsed forward onto the counter, utterly destroyed, and V's boss's secretary dropped a stack of files on her desk, shattering the afterglow.