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Title: The Doodad
Author: Tullius &lt;tullius@cantshootfs.cjb.net&gt;
Summary: Mysterious objects start showing up in our hero's life, with sexy results.
Part: 1 of 7
Keywords: MF mc oral



                                   The Doodad

   Tullius
   &lt;tullius@cantshootfs.cjb.net&gt;

   Author's Note
   This story was inspired by the MC Forum's Arena event for February
   2011, for which the theme was Object Domination. As always, feedback is
   love, concrit is how I learn and flames are garbage.

   Copyright
   Copyright in this work lies with the author, who can be contacted at
   the email address above. This story is licensed under a [1]Creative
   Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

   *

   You know how sometimes, when you're looking for something, you'll find
   the thing you were looking for last time? I guess it happens to
   everyone, but once upon a time it happened to me every day for a week,
   and it was the strangest week of my life...
     __________________________________________________________________

Monday

   I'd overslept that morning, I was running late for a fairly important
   meeting, and I couldn't find my watch. I'd got to the desperate stage
   thirty seconds before the end of the five minutes I told myself I had
   to find it: I was looking to see if, by some strange chance, I might
   have left it in the oven, that sort of thing. Anyway, right at the last
   second, I looked in a drawer where I was certain it wasn't, and found a
   watch I thought I'd lost ten years ago. I decided it was close enough,
   and ran out the door.

   During the meeting I remembered why I hadn't cared much ten years ago
   when I couldn't find the watch I was wearing: it was a bit too big, and
   rattled around on my wrist in a way that made it uncomfortable to
   simultaneously wear it and jot down notes. I wasn't jotting down
   anything of Earth-shattering importance, in fact I was mostly just
   trying to look busy, but taking the thing off still made me more
   comfortable, and helped portray the image, to boot.

   The meeting was with Lyle Standish, a client we all cordially hated,
   because he was so obviously insecure about his status. His watch was no
   ill-fitting plastic cheapie, but a Rolex, naturally. If you asked him
   he'd probably claim he bought it for everyday wear to keep the Cartier
   pristine. The same went for his suits, his car, and, most odiously of
   all, his PA, Jenny. We all cordially adored Jenny, and not just the
   guys, either. When Mr. Standish (as he insisted on being called) all
   but told her to run along because it was time for man talk in the big
   boss' office, she would pass the time with us cubicle-monkeys out in
   the bullpen. She would always remember our names, ask after anyone we'd
   mentioned the last time, that sort of thing, and when we asked her what
   it was like being a status symbol for a guy with such an obvious
   inferiority complex, she'd just turn about a million candelas of smile
   on us and say "I can't complain. It's easy work, and he doesn't chase
   me around the desk."

   We were all glad to hear that, though some of us wondered how the old
   boy restrained himself. She really was beautiful, and still is, I
   assume: naturally she was blonde and blue-eyed, that much was almost a
   job requirement. But there was more: I could wax rhapsodic about how
   she had the cutest little ever-so-slightly upswept nose, or how her
   cheekbones were so fine they could cut glass, or how she had the kind
   of body businesslike, but figure-hugging charcoal-gray pantsuits were
   made for, but I won't. After all, I've got a story to tell.

   So, after the meeting broke up, we were all going our separate ways
   when I heard an unmistakable voice behind me.

   "Hey, Tony?" Jenny was calling. I turned around.

   "Can you tell me what time it is?"

   "Sure," I said, "it's..."

   As I lifted my arm I noticed that her attention abruptly shifted: she
   seemed to be following the motion of my hand. I didn't have time to
   look down at the watch before she suddenly darted forward, ducked
   smoothly under my arm and turned around. I could swear she actually
   pressed her caboose against me as she took my left arm in her right
   hand and turned it so she could see the watch-face. The contact was
   over as swiftly as it had begun: she twisted around again and seemed to
   unwind herself from me along the length of my arm, ultimately capturing
   my hand with her cheek for a brief moment before breaking the contact.

   "Got it," she said, as cute and breezy as ever. "Thanks!"

   I was dumbfounded. Even accepting that she might find me attractive
   (which seemed unlikely. I mean, I'm not hideous, but I am a bit heavy,
   plus I'm about ten years older than her), Jenny just didn't behave this
   way, at least, not in the office.

   As I was making my way dazedly back to my cube, I realized that in
   among the distracting sensations I'd felt during our unexpected moment
   of intimacy had briefly been the feeling of her hand in my left pocket.
   I checked, and sure enough, I found one of Mr. Standish's business
   cards in there. Jenny, I remembered, was in charge of handing them out,
   as though any contact less manly than a firm and dominant handshake
   would be demeaning to the "great man".

   On the back of the card I found two important data: one was a phone
   number, the other was the words "Call me" written in a distinctly
   feminine hand. There was also a smiley face and a rather
   creditably-drawn pair of puckered lips, but these were less important.
   I put the card down and tried to concentrate on my work.

   At lunch, when my hands stopped shaking, I took out my cellphone and
   dialed the number.

   "Jenny Bain." Her tone was so professional I thought I had to have
   imagined the way she'd given me her number. Then I remembered she
   didn't have my number, so she didn't know it was me calling.

   "Hi, Jenny. It's Tony."

   "Oh, hi Tony! I was hoping you'd call."

   OK, so she sounded happy to hear from me, but I was still hoping she'd
   give me a few more clues. I couldn't manage repartee more scintillating
   than "Great, umm..." Fortunately, she came to my rescue, bless her.

   "Listen, would you think I was totally shameless if I asked if I could
   come over to your place tonight?"

   "Uh, I guess not."

   I know, I know, very suave of me. But you get how that was
   approximately the last question I was expecting to hear at that point,
   right? She didn't seem to mind, at least. In fact, she gave a throaty,
   sexy chuckle that went straight for my spine and raked it up and down.

   "You're a lousy liar, but that's OK. You have any movies?"

   "Sure."

   "Great! We'll chill out, watch one, open a bottle of wine... I feel
   like having a night in, but I also want some company, you know?"

   "Sure, I get it. Hey, how about I cook us some dinner?"

   "And he cooks as well, wow!" she said, with laughter in her voice.

   The rest of the conversation went as smoothly as if it had been on
   rails: we agreed she'd come over at seven, I promised to text her my
   address, which I promptly did, and, just like that, I had a date with
   Jenny. I felt like I was dreaming, and I really can't vouch for
   anything I may or may not have done at the office that afternoon.

   *

   In between the time when I came home and got the pasta puttanesca
   started, and when Jenny rang the doorbell, I was about as nervous as a
   teenager. Should I have cooked something else? What if she's allergic
   to anchovies? Will she like any of my movies? What if this is all a
   great big practical joke? What if I'm about to be raped by a black guy
   dressed as Batman?

   That last one was a bit far-fetched, I acknowledge, but so was the
   situation. A beautiful younger woman, who's never shown any more
   interest in me than in anybody else, suddenly gives me her number in
   the most flirtatious way possible, and when I call it, she invites
   herself over to my place. Anything could happen, I thought, and checked
   my watch yet again.

   It's lucky I had that watch, really, since it means I can tell you
   that, objectively speaking, thirty-five minutes passed before Jenny
   arrived. If you'd asked me to estimate it, I would have gone way over.
   But, well, eventually seven o'clock did come.

   When I opened the door I learned that Jenny also has the kind of body
   that tank tops and jeans were made for. When she saw me her eyes lit up
   and she grinned as though the door had been answered by a
   freshly-buttered Brad Pitt.

   "Hi, Tony!"

   "Hi! Come on in. Dinner's almost ready."

   "Cool! What are we having?"

   "Pasta alla puttanesca," I said with a flourish.

   "Well, how Freudian," she replied with a mischievous grin. "This ought
   to go well with it."

   "Oh, hey, you didn't have to bring wine."

   She giggled. "Well, I did spring this whole thing on you, so I didn't
   know how prepared you'd be."

   "It's true, I was never a Boy Scout, but I have my moments."

   So saying, I went to impress her with what I call my "Kitchen-Diner
   Maneuver", in which I seat her comfortably at the table and let her
   watch as I manipulate my culinary tools with consummate skill and
   perform the last couple of steps in whatever recipe I'm following.
   Damnedest thing is, I think it actually worked. I flatter myself that
   she enjoyed my cooking too.

   Now, I swear to you that I didn't decide to keep my DVDs on the bottom
   shelf with this in mind, but I have to admit that I did find the view
   very enjoyable as Jenny browsed my collection. The thin denim clung to
   her hips like a second skin, and she was wiggling her supple backside
   around more, it occurred to me, than was strictly necessary.

   "You know," I said, "I can't believe you don't have a boyfriend."

   "Oh, I do," she replied, looking back at me with that same mischievous
   smile, with the wickedness turned up a couple of notches.

   "You do?" I couldn't hide my disappointment. "Then how come you aren't
   having a night in with him?"

   "He's out with his buddies," she replied shortly. Then the grin came
   back: "When the cat's away..."

   Before I could press the point, she straightened up with an air of
   decision and said "Nope, these aren't really what I had in mind. You
   got any pornos?"

   Once again I was paralyzed and dumbfounded. She turned around and
   looked at me: indulgent amusement at my expression was written all over
   hers.

   "No?" She asked, in a butter-wouldn't-melt tone, then took two slinky
   steps towards me.

   "Would you admit it if you did?" Two more steps. Now she was looking
   down at me as I sat back on the couch, hypnotized by the sudden
   sensuality that infused her every word and movement.

   "No? Oh, well," she said, and whipped off her top. She wore no bra.
   Well, I reflected, she didn't really need one. Her breasts were two
   perfect, perky handfuls that didn't seem to know the meaning of the
   word "gravity". I watched her cute little nipples descend perfectly
   vertically as she folded her knees, putting her hands out to steady
   herself on my thighs as she, um, went down.

   "I guess we'll just have to do like Grandma's always saying."

   My confusion at what I hoped was a non sequitur was evidently plain to
   see on my face, since she looked me in the eye and provided
   amplification:

   "Make our own entertainment."

   It's not easy for a girl to sound or look ingenuous when she's just
   bared her tits to you and is now on her knees fiddling with your belt
   buckle, but, well, this was Jenny. Sweet, considerate, adorable,
   wholesome Jenny, I thought, has just delivered herself of innuendo as
   though it were the most innocent thing in the world. Aaand, now she's
   got my dick in her hand.

   I looked down into her baby-blues as she dragged my pants down: they
   were full of amusement at the effect she was having on me. Without
   breaking the eye contact, she moved her pretty face agonizingly slowly
   towards my member, and the connection was only lost when she went under
   it and started licking my balls.

   I couldn't help thinking that every time I saw her after this night,
   I'd remember this moment. She'd never quite be sweet, wholesome Jenny
   the office angel to me any more, now she'd be gorgeous, naughty Jenny
   the office temptress.

   What of it?, my mind demanded of me as she licked slowly up the base of
   my shaft before ringing the head with her pretty lips. The truth is,
   she was neither an angel nor a succubus, but simply a fellow human
   being. Like the rest of us, if you prick her, she only bleeds if you're
   doing it wrong.

   OK, OK, I admit it, I've post-edited my thoughts a bit. You try
   summoning up apt Shakespearean references while getting a blowjob.
   Seriously, try it, it's fun.

   She was hard at it now, holding onto my calves and bobbing her head and
   shoulders up and down with a will. She wasn't looking up at me with
   those teasing eyes any more, so I let my head fall back and
   concentrated on trying not to shoot my load too soon.

   Arguably, I failed. It's hard to say, really: as you can imagine, I
   sort of lost track of time, and I wasn't in the mood to look at my
   watch. Anyway, as I say, before too long she must have felt me start
   tensing up, because she took one hand off my leg and grazed my balls
   ever so lightly with a french-manicured nail just as I came. That
   scratch, light as it was, was the most intense sensation I've ever
   experienced.

   As I sat and let the aftershocks subside, Jenny got up briskly, making
   her boobs bounce prettily, and took a sip of wine. Enough blood
   returned to my brain for me to realize that she must have swallowed,
   and I guess she saw that I realized, because she winked at me.

   "Now let me guess," she said. "The bedroom's... that way, right?"

   I nodded, she winked again and I watched her still-covered butt
   disappear through the only door out of the room she hadn't already
   passed through. Presently I got back enough energy to follow, which you
   can be sure I did with alacrity, shedding my clothes along the way.

   I got to the bedroom just in time to see her on her knees on the bed,
   facing directly away from me. As I came through the door she leaned
   forward and slowly peeled jeans and underwear at once off her beautiful
   ass. When it was fully revealed, and she'd come just far enough forward
   to reveal a hint of neatly-trimmed blonde bush to me, she looked back
   at me saucily and said "You got your second wind yet?"

   I had to look down myself, but when I did I discovered that the
   butt-reveal had done the trick. I was, to my surprise, back at full
   mast.

   Wordlessly, under the spell of my siren, I advanced on her sexy
   posterior. I took hold of her hips as I'd imagined doing earlier, and
   she gave a throaty noise of encouragement at my forwardness. Just at
   that moment, though, my better nature unexpectedly came back for a
   flying visit.

   "What about..."

   "Protection? Don't worry about it," she said.

   My brows knit together. "Are you sure?"

   She nodded emphatically. The intensity of the moment, combined with
   some residual feeling that, well, this was Jenny, were insuperable
   together. I placed my glans at the gates of paradise.

   She gave a little shudder at the first contact, which threatened to
   shake me loose, but recaptured my dick as she settled down. I pushed
   forward, very slowly. She gasped and started to push back, but I
   shifted my hands round to her firm buttocks and held her still,
   relishing being the one to set the pace.

   I bottomed out inside her and paused for a moment, savoring the feeling
   of our thighs touching, her ass pressed into the base of my stomach,
   and, of course, my dick totally encompassed by her little pussy. I
   pulled back until I was in danger of slipping out entirely, then set up
   a leisurely rhythm, working my whole length in and out of her.

   When Jenny's moans reached what seemed to me to be the right pitch, I
   started to pick up the pace, until eventually I was sacrificing depth
   for speed, staying deep inside her but pulling out no more than half my
   length at a time, with swift snapping motions of my pelvis. She seemed
   to like it.

   Her cries reached fever pitch alarmingly quickly, in fact, and as I was
   contemplating slowing down to try and get us both across the finish
   line at the same time, she flushed suddenly and had a shuddering orgasm
   underneath me. I slowed down a little, but I was pretty close myself so
   it wasn't long before I got back into that fast rhythm. She was just
   starting to whimper in time with my thrusts again when I buried myself
   as deep as I could go and unloaded inside her.

   Shortly afterward, my legs became insistent in their refusal to hold me
   up any longer, so I pulled out and flopped down onto the bed. Jenny got
   up, let her jeans fall to the floor, stepped out of them and joined me,
   snuggling her naked self up to me in the crook of my right arm. After a
   while, she got yet another rise out of my dick and climbed aboard,
   riding me to a mutually satisfying conclusion, but after that she
   snuggled back down into the same position as before, and that's how I
   fell asleep.
     __________________________________________________________________

References

   1. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/