To my surprise, an hour passes and then two. No one comes around to say hi or introduce themselves either, so I decide to head to the bathroom. After relieving myself, there’s still nothing to do, so I decide to take myself on a tour of this place. I’ve been to Kombuchaid headquarters before, of course, but it was always with my dad and we pretty much just stuck to the reception area and his office. This time, I’ll show myself around a bit.
The building is huge, with several floors, and there aren’t any access codes or badges needed in the elevator, so I’m able to roam freely. Strange. I decide to start at the bottom, in the basement. But when I get down there, the elevator opens to what appears to be a construction site.
“Hello?” I call in a moderately loud voice. My voice seems to echo into the quiet.
Then, I step outside and begin to make my way around the construction. There’s plastic sheeting on some of the storage boxes to protect them from all the dust and grime, and the furniture is bound in saran wrap. There’s a ton of dust flying in the air, and I cough a bit, masking my nose and mouth. Damn. I swear the plaster’s getting in my air passages. Maybe I should just go back.
But then I see a women’s restroom and duck inside. Thank god. It appears relatively clean, without the layer of dust covering everything. I look at myself in the mirror, and see my tousled hair and rosy cheeks, not to mention the smart gray suit. Damn, why isn’t Gray here? I wish he could see me like this, when I’m wearing a professional outfit with an ID badge dangling from my waist. Would he laugh? Would he chuck me on the chin, and call me “sweetheart” again? I grow warm inside just at the thought.
God. Gray Jamison. Dammit, why do I keep having to think of him? I haven’t seen him in ages, but his image continues to haunt me even here, in the most inappropriate of places. He owns this building, for crying out loud! Well, at least he co-owns it with my dad.
But I want him too badly, and I can’t stop the urge. His hands on my skin…his cock in my mouth…Gray whispering my name in my ear. It’s too much, and the ache overpowers me.
Like a bad girl, I whip out my phone and google Gray’s picture. I quickly find one of him on vacation in Hawaii and I was right about his body. Damn. Tan, muscular, with a smirk that drives me wild. Unhesitating, I hitch my skirt up and then prop one leg up onto the counter, while holding my phone in my left hand while my right hand slides up my thigh and into my panties. I wish it were his hand, and not my own.
I keep thinking of what I would say if he spoke to me the way I long for him to. What would he say? Would he growl my name in my ear? Would he kiss my jaw before bending down to swipe his tongue across my clit?
I drop my phone on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror, panting. I want the view he would have of me. The feel of his mouth all over my pussy, with his fingers burrowing inside me. Him sucking on me there, forcing me to come again and again, until I can’t take it anymore, and then thrusting himself into me with that massive cock. It’s too much and I let out a high, keening cry as my body shudders and then explodes.
“FUCK!” I scream heartily, not caring who hears. I shatter on my fingertips and my pussy squeezes violently as I dream of Gray coming hard in my sweet passage. I pant, moan, and touch myself more, even as my body crests. I’m sweating now and ramped up higher, if that’s possible. But there’s no help for it. Gray’s not mine, and this is just a naughty fantasy, and nothing more.
3
Gray
I used to love summer. When I was a kid, summer was the best time of year because it brought a sense of freedom and fun. Even though I grew up poor, I always had neighborhood kids to play with or I’d go hiking by myself, not coming back until late. It was a great way to live.
As an adult, summer means boredom. Kombucha season is definitely summer, so our sales are skyrocketing, but it’s not enough anymore. Nothing seems to be enough anymore. I need a new adventure. Something dangerous. Forbidden, maybe.
I’ve tried a lot of ways to hit this craving. Skydiving, climbing Mount Everest, the usual. But I need the thrill of the chase. To be clear, I don’t need a conquest. I don’t know how much I care about making the kill because it’s the chase that pushes my buttons. The journey of it all. Poor little rich boy, right? Or even worse, maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis, whining about
