She didn’t say anything for a moment, and I guessed that I had gone too far. But then she dropped her eyes, and suddenly I felt her hand brush mine, quickly, and so gently I wasn’t entirely sure whether I had felt it or just imagined it. Then she spun around on the ball of one foot, so fast that the hem of her dress flared up, and marched straight back to her desk. When I came to myself, I looked around to see Deborah smiling at me. She held my glance for just a second, but for that time I felt the ground fall away from beneath my feet, as if there were nothing holding me up anymore.
In the days after that, I started noticing details about all the women: not just their clothes, but their hair, their makeup, the jewelry they wore, their perfumes. I felt, sometimes, like an anthropologist, studying an undiscovered race of people; undiscovered, at any rate, by me. It was hard to be sure, since I had no data to compare with from before I began my experiment in flirtation, but it seemed to me that as I noticed, and complimented, the women began taking more care with their appearances. Arlene especially seemed to blossom: necklines crept down, until fully half of her pale, fleshy melons was exposed; at the same time, hemlines crept up, above the knee, and she seemed to sense it when I couldn’t help but look, wiggling her delightfully painted little toes in the stiletto sandals she had begun to wear. I couldn’t tell if Jean was losing weight, but she began wearing dresses that showed off an ample bosom, securely anchored in tasteful support bras. Her hair, which had always struck me as rather nondescript, changed, too: fuller, wavier, blonder, and, without a doubt, sexier. Sally, who had been, from the start, the sexiest dresser, didn’t have too much room to work with when it came to upping the ante (while remaining professional enough not to attract the attention of my father, who would not have approved); still, I noticed that she occasionally defied decorum and came to work without a bra—not that she needed one; those luscious tits were still clearly pointing up.
And me? I was in heaven. It didn’t take long to realize that Deborah was right: these women liked flirting with me; they made it easy for me. They encouraged me. My fantasies grew wilder. I imagined them in all sorts of combinations; in my favorite, I fucked all four in the office after work. First Jean would kneel before me, begging me to suck my dick. Dropping my pants, I would lean back against a desk while she sucked and slobbered over my cock. The other women would gather around, licking their lips, and awaiting their turns. When I was ready to cum, I would motion to Arlene, and grunt, “Take out her tits.” Arlene would kneel behind Jean, unzip the dress from behind, then unlatch the bra, and shake it free from Jean’s monstrous mammaries. Each a foot long, they’d sag to the top of her thighs as she knelt. As I felt myself lose control, I would shove her back, her mouth still hanging open in lust and surprise, then, grasping my spasming dick by the hilt, I would come in thick ropes on her fat titties, watching the cum ooze thickly down towards her saucer-sized nipples, until she scooped it up with her fingers, and greedily slurped it down.
Arlene would shove Jean aside and, kneeling in her place, begin sucking my cock back to life. Knowing what I wanted, as soon as she had me hard she’d peel off her top and bra and encase my rigid fuckstick with her soft, white globes. When she could tell that I couldn’t take any more, she would stand up, sweep everything off of the closest desk, and unzip her skirt. Stepping out of skirt and panties in one smooth motion, she’d turn her back to me, setting her feet wide apart (still in those stiletto heels, hiking her ass way up), and bend over the desk. “Fuck me,” she’d beg, and I’d oblige, stepping up behind her to shove my fat dick into her hot cunt. I’d pound her furiously, as she hung onto the edge of the desk. As I’d feel the cum boiling up from my balls, I’d release a roaring grunt, then I’d coat her insides with my sticky seed.
Arlene, fucked to exhaustion, remained bent over the desk while I stepped back and slid my lovebone from the viscous soup in her gaping slit. I’d turn, and there would be Sally: panting, wanting it so bad her knees were shaking. Meekly she’d unzip her tight dress and pull it down, the sheer fabric snagging on her nipples, the size of fat, red gumdrops. “Please, please,” she’d moan. Hungrily, I’d reach for her, grabbing her by her narrow hips, pulling her to me. Bending over her, I’d devour her perky udders, biting and nipping and pinching and licking, while she threw her head back and groaned with ecstasy. Soon enough I’d be stiff again; feeling me poking into her flat little tummy, she’d grasp my scummy rod in one hand, and hoist herself up by my shoulders with the other. Grasping her ass, digging my fingers deep into her crack, I’d lift her up, while her legs sought a purchase around my hips. With my proud manhood still in one hand, she’d find her slit and sink her weight down on it, as we both would heave sighs of pleasure. Both arms around my neck now, her head lolling back and to one side, she would surrender to the feeling, as I’d raise and lower her along the length of my shaft. All too soon, I’d pass the point of no return, erupting up inside her as she’d scream, “Yes, yes!” My balls drained and my arms heavy, I’d let her slip to the floor, where she’d lie, unconscious, in a heap.
Now panting with exertion, I’d wipe my brow, and drop into the nearest chair. A hand on my shoulder; I’d look around, up into the hungry eyes of Deborah. “Didn’t forget about me, did you?” she’d ask, with a pretty pout. “You aren’t finished yet. Get up!”
She’d be naked, having prepared herself while waiting her turn. Deborah was only about 5’2”, almost a full foot shorter than I, even at age 16. Her tits were larger than Sally’s, and their weight pulled them downward; but the nipples, with their firm, tight, pink areolae, pointed straight out at me. I’d bend toward them, salivating.
But Deborah would have other ideas. “No, no,” she’d croon, pulling down on my shoulders with a light but insistent pressure. “That’s not what I want.”
Understanding, I’d kneel before her, my nose at a level with her sweet little innie bellybutton, perched in the middle of an ever-so-softly swelling belly. Clearing off another desk with a sweep of her arm, she’d hop onto the top, mashing the two perfect globes of her ass onto its surface. As she spread her legs, I’d see a shadowy triangle of dark, curly hair, and suddenly I could smell, again, the wonderful smell of her sex—the same funky sweetness I’d first breathed in her car. Unable to restrain myself, I’d bury my face between her thighs, rooting with my nose and tongue, grasping her hips to pull her more tightly against me. How much time passed before she bid me, “Stop,” I couldn’t tell; but I’d again be ready for action. Rising to my feet, I’d approach her; again, she’d stop me. “Wait,” she’d say, “I have something special for you.” Turning away, she’d bend, like Arlene, over the desk. “In my ass,” she’d demand, “stick it in my ass. Hurry!” Lining it up, I’d sink my dick into her asshole. “Give it to me! All of it!” she’d roar. And I would—sawing back and forth, I’d fuck her with my last burst of energy, and fill her breathtaking butt with the final few drops of my immortal sperm.
Like I said, heaven. Lying on my bed, surrounded by clumps of semen-soaked tissues, I’d gently caress my chafed and shrunken penis, and dream of the day when I would become—in more than just my adolescent fantasies—the cock of the walk.
