Ruth glanced at the keys in front of her. One thing about these Apple laptops was how easy they were to see with the keyboard lighting up on her lap. The screen was the familiar post site for her blog, Zephyr Writes. A slight shift against the two pillows behind her followed before she allowed her fingers to fly.

I’d never really looked at how smooth a cock tip was until that moment. Sure, I’ve had plenty of cocks to play with, but never thought to study one. With its bulbous head and veiny shaft that both now glistened from the saliva of my initial tonguing of it, it was fascinating.

Hugh stirred beside her, pulling covers and causing the laptop to shift. A rough snore proved he was not awake during this redistribution of his body on the king-sized bed.

Her wide eyes were briefly pulled from the screen to her husband but returned quickly. She wanted to slip her hands between her legs, but typing one-handed was never an easy thing. Besides, with what her pussy wanted now, she’d not be able to type at all. For now, those hands were kept in what she felt was the cyber equivalent of the dashboard light on the keyboard as Meatloaf began to sing the tune going with that in her head.

With the blinds down on the window above the headboard, only a crack of dawn’s daylight began to seep into the room.

Focusing her mind on Friday’s adventure, Ruth began to type again.

When she had gone to work Friday morning, she had a very specific goal in mind. The goal was completely unrealistic, but what fun would it be chasing down something easy? As her mother used to say, “If you throw your stone at the eagle and miss, you might miss altogether. Throw your stone at the Moon and miss, you still might hit the eagle.” Granted, it wasn’t a perfect metaphor, but it almost fit her plan.

Randal, as usual, was already at his desk when she arrived at the office. His black denims and black Firefly t-shirt were his Casual Friday announcement that winter was finally over. Blue eyes looked up as she walked past. “Good morning, Ruth.”

“Morning, Randal.” Turning into her cubicle, she set her large purse down. Pulling her long black coat off, she set it on the coat tree beside the desk. Most workdays she only used a clutch for her purse, but today, just in case, she brought a change of clothing and needed the extra space. It was uncertain if her black pencil skirt would be clean by the time this morning was complete. Certainly the black t-shirt she had tucked into the waistband of the skirt would need replacing, but the unbuttoned blue blouse she had over that could at least be removed. The knee-high black boots, however, had no replacement possibility.

“We finally made it to Friday,” Randal’s voice came from the other cubicle.

“Seems we did,” she agreed. “Randal, can I borrow you for a moment?” Marching back out of the cubicle, she walked past his and into the stationary closet.

He quickly followed and stood at the door awaiting her instructions. “How can I help?”

Pulling her brunette ponytail over her right shoulder, she played her fingers through the ends. “I need one of the window envelopes from the top cupboard and…”

He stepped forward and chuckled. “Was it not Randy Newman who sang about short people?”

“Bastard,” she said with a grin and lightly smacked his shoulder. Watching him reach up and open the cupboard, she stepped closer and allowed her right hand to rest on his ass.

He froze only briefly. Pulling down a box of envelopes from the top shelf, he turned and placed it on the counter in front of him.

Her hand, however, did not move as he did. The fabric slipped beneath her fingers. Where she had once held the curve of his ass, she now felt the outline of his testicles.

“You didn’t really need to envelopes?” he asked with amusement in his voice.

She shook her head. Her left hand found his waistband and her right tugged on the thick zipper holding his jeans closed. “No, I don’t need the envelopes.” Hands slipped along the waistband to his hips and pushed pants and black briefs down to mid-thigh. Lowering to her knees, she held the erection that now stood at attention for her and played her tongue along it.

He groaned and simply watched with hands back on the counter he was leaning on.

Holding the cock, she studied it. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” she whispered and opened her mouth.

“Aren’t you married?” he asked with a voice mixed with concern and hope.

She stopped and locked eyes with his. “Why yes. Yes I am.” Her tongue slipped from her mouth and played with the hole at the top of the cock’s bulbous head. Mouth, once again, opened, but this time she did not stop as she slipped her lips around him.

It was a quickie. There was no telling how long it would be before other workmates arrived that morning, so there was no other choice. It was, however, a perfect quickie.

The memory of it now, as she lay in bed almost twenty-four hours later, was jumbled. The feeling of his pierced tongue on her clit was an unexpected highlight…she had not noticed his tongue was pierced until she felt it.

Another highlight memory was with her skirt rolled up to hips while she straddled him on the closet floor. Her top and bra having been discarded, he held two tight handfuls of breasts. She leaned back, her right hand was flat on the floor for balance while her left played with his balls. Feeling his hips thrust and hearing his orgasmic moan just before his cock exploded its warm payload inside her…

She looked at the screen.

Payload wasn’t the right word. It sounded too militaristic for what she wanted. The cock had convulsed a number of times before it put its warmth inside her, but she was uncertain how to describe it. Backspacing a few characters, she began typing a new sentence.

Luckily, I brought a fresh set of clothes.

The kiss that followed, and the knowing glances she and Randal exchanged for the rest of the day had given a lovely taboo knot in her belly.

Her eyes studied what she had written on the screen. A picture would need to be added and some editing done yet, but it was a good piece. Closing the laptop, she put it aside and picked up the mobile phone from the nightstand. The text that he sent her later in the day was still there.

Next time we get a room. I want multiple shots on goal.

Her eyes studied the message for a moment. Having yet to respond, she considered her options before tapping out a response.

How about tonight?

Hugh stirred, again, beside her.

Putting the phone down, she laid back until flat. Closing her eyes, she imagined the bulbous head and veins again. Not able to stop this time, and with no keyboard in the way, her hands went between her legs.

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