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Anything Goes
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Straight Female / 37
When I Thought My Life Was Over He Gripped Me And Had Sex With Me
I was recently graduated from college, working as first year accountant at medium sized company on the 15th floor. I was in the office of the VP of Planning when the earthquake struck and things started to move around. He grabbed me and I went down under him as he lay on top of me under his desk. He had me in a death grip and I could feel his hard penis against my butt crack. He was humping me as he held me, shoving harder and harder against me. I was getting fucked as the noise and the building shook under me from time to time. Out of instinct or some other force larger than me I pushed my pants down and he gained access and he went all the way in. I must have been as wet as he was hard, he fucked me hard, gripping me to him until he gripped me even harder and he came. Only then did he release me a bit. He helped me pull my pants back up and he got his pants back up and we stood up.
The office we were in was all in one piece, but the pictures were off the wall and things on top of the desk or on the bookshelves were all on the ground. It wasn't an earthquake, it was a gas line explosion and we were trapped on the fifteenth floor along with many others, because the explosion was on the third floor. It was a long time before the firemen were able to make it up to us and evacuate us down the back stairwell. He held my hand all the time we waited, I didn't even notice that I was being held by him. Some people on the third floor lost their lives and others were burnt and injured. On our floor I was the only casualty, to him, but I kept my mouth shut and held onto him until we were on the street below.
Days later, as people were getting their fright under control, a couple of girls from the fifteenth floor talked about how I hung on him and wouldn't let go, and how he held me against him, protecting me. We had to move out of the building and another place was found, a temporary assignment and we lost our offices and our desks and were working off of foldout tables crammed into whatever space was available for us to work. He kept me close all the time, close and closer. He had one of the few offices and he let me go there and work beside him at a foldout table against the wall. When I arrived he expected me to kiss him and I did, and when I was close to him he put his arm around me, and I put my arms around his waist. By then everyone knew I was with him when the explosion happened and he had protected me. No one said anything to my face about my need to be with him. And everyone knew without knowing that he was fucking me every chance he got. They could see it my eyes, they knew he was fucking me.
We didn't move back into permanent offices for six months. My office was placed close to his, on the same floor and I had a new job and title. When I saw him in the morning it was always the same, I stood and held myself up to kiss his cheek and he put his arm around me to hold me when I did. When he came around to see me, I fixed dinner, or we went out. We had sex, he gripped me when we did, held me so I almost couldn't breathe. He nailed me down as he had sex with me. I was always wet, it didn't take more than be held to get me wet, and he was always hard. All he had to do was press me against him and he got hard. No one cared that he was seeing me after work, no one cared that I was his office 'piece'. No one cared or talked about it, at least not with me. Everyone knew, even the people who didn't know anything, they knew I was his 'piece'.
Later, I'm talking several years later when life was back to normal, and he woke up with me and I fixed his morning coffee, a coworker that worked with me at the time of the explosion, told me that I had 'the look' on my face when he was in the room or he was close and I could hear him. That look that you have for that man that grips you to him and holds you and doesn't let you go. That look is what they noticed. I had the look. And the look never goes away. According to my friend, she can see it every day.
I never told anyone about what happened under the desk. That's just between two of us. But I'm sure that is what the look is about. Yes he protected me, and yes he took me over, and yes he's kept me by his side. But the 'look', 'the look', is from what happened under the desk when I thought we were going to die.
The office we were in was all in one piece, but the pictures were off the wall and things on top of the desk or on the bookshelves were all on the ground. It wasn't an earthquake, it was a gas line explosion and we were trapped on the fifteenth floor along with many others, because the explosion was on the third floor. It was a long time before the firemen were able to make it up to us and evacuate us down the back stairwell. He held my hand all the time we waited, I didn't even notice that I was being held by him. Some people on the third floor lost their lives and others were burnt and injured. On our floor I was the only casualty, to him, but I kept my mouth shut and held onto him until we were on the street below.
Days later, as people were getting their fright under control, a couple of girls from the fifteenth floor talked about how I hung on him and wouldn't let go, and how he held me against him, protecting me. We had to move out of the building and another place was found, a temporary assignment and we lost our offices and our desks and were working off of foldout tables crammed into whatever space was available for us to work. He kept me close all the time, close and closer. He had one of the few offices and he let me go there and work beside him at a foldout table against the wall. When I arrived he expected me to kiss him and I did, and when I was close to him he put his arm around me, and I put my arms around his waist. By then everyone knew I was with him when the explosion happened and he had protected me. No one said anything to my face about my need to be with him. And everyone knew without knowing that he was fucking me every chance he got. They could see it my eyes, they knew he was fucking me.
We didn't move back into permanent offices for six months. My office was placed close to his, on the same floor and I had a new job and title. When I saw him in the morning it was always the same, I stood and held myself up to kiss his cheek and he put his arm around me to hold me when I did. When he came around to see me, I fixed dinner, or we went out. We had sex, he gripped me when we did, held me so I almost couldn't breathe. He nailed me down as he had sex with me. I was always wet, it didn't take more than be held to get me wet, and he was always hard. All he had to do was press me against him and he got hard. No one cared that he was seeing me after work, no one cared that I was his office 'piece'. No one cared or talked about it, at least not with me. Everyone knew, even the people who didn't know anything, they knew I was his 'piece'.
Later, I'm talking several years later when life was back to normal, and he woke up with me and I fixed his morning coffee, a coworker that worked with me at the time of the explosion, told me that I had 'the look' on my face when he was in the room or he was close and I could hear him. That look that you have for that man that grips you to him and holds you and doesn't let you go. That look is what they noticed. I had the look. And the look never goes away. According to my friend, she can see it every day.
I never told anyone about what happened under the desk. That's just between two of us. But I'm sure that is what the look is about. Yes he protected me, and yes he took me over, and yes he's kept me by his side. But the 'look', 'the look', is from what happened under the desk when I thought we were going to die.
- That's Juicy! 18
- Remove It! 1
