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At the risk of sounding like the person who writes to (or for) Penthouse Letters and starts stories with the line “I still can’t believe it happened it to me,” I still can’t believe it happened to me. I have worked in a warehouse for over 10 years and for at least 9 of those years I’ve been admiring a woman named Annie. And for six of those years I’ve felt guilty flirting with her because her husband Randy transferred to my department around 2001.
Recently Randy was involved in a serious car accident that put him in the hospital for over a month. He is currently unable to walk and may never be able to perform warehouse work again. Understandably Annie has been under a lot of stress and not at work a whole lot. A week ago she returned part time to catch up on the mountain of paper work that has been piling up on her desk. On the way to lunch the other day I walked by Annie’s windowed office and peeked in, waving. Annie looked up, a winning smile spreading across a pretty face that had recently been in an almost perma-scowl, an indicator of the amount of stress with which she was dealing. I immediately noticed that she had on a new striped, button-up blouse that accentuated her huge breasts. It should be noted here that Annie is fairly petite and that her boobs have always been way out of proportion with her smaller frame. A couple of kids and a love of chocolate have added twenty or so pounds to Annie’s early thirtysomething figure and made the gap between body and breast size a bit more realistic, but I still find myself picking my jaw off the floor every now and then when sneaking a peak at her mammoth mams.
Not wanting to stare too longingly at her much-coveted chest, I quickly raised my eyes and noticed also that Annie had added some blond highlights to her just cut, now barely shoulder length brunette hair. Though I was already late for lunch I HAD to stop in and say hello. We made small talk for a few minutes, discussing Randy’s recovery and how her kids were dealing with their dad being home all the time and unable to roughhouse with them, and then I mentioned how much I liked Annie’s new hair style and color. She blushed and said that she was disappointed that it hadn’t turned out quite the way that she had envisioned. I remained firm in my praise and brazenly told her that while it may not look the way she had hoped, it was totally working for me. Where was I going with this? I wondered to myself. A sexual harassment suit couldn’t be too far off in my future.
Annie blushed slightly, but then winked at me knowingly, keeping one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Whatcha gonna do now? Ball’s casino oyna in your court.” I’m still not sure what I was thinking and I was praying that I hadn’t gotten my wires crossed, but it was way too late for those kind of thoughts as I turned and closed the blinds on her window and locked the door. As I turned back around to face Annie she was up and ready with open arms and mouth, her breathing accelerating rapidly as our tongues and hands expertly explored one another. I wasted no time cupping her giant breasts, and they were just as round and full as I’d imagined they’d be all those years of shamelessly staring at them, not really caring whether she noticed.
Annie grabbed my already super-stiff cock through my cut-off camouflage pants (inexplicably the latest fashion trend at my place of work) and rubbed vigorously. She soon freed my already pre-cum-moist cock from its 100% cotton confines, and dropped down to her black-slacked knees and took me into her warm, wet mouth. The look she then gave me, which combined equal parts lust and, strangely enough, comfort, would have, to paraphrase The Rolling Stones, made a dead man cum, but fortunately I had already jacked off in the shower prior to work, so I was safe for a few more minutes.
Annie stood back up and kissed me hard. My hands finally remembered that big boobs are typically more fun for guys than girls (but not always, judging by the hardness of her nipples and the moans issuing regularly from her mouth as I kneaded them thoroughly) and worked their way down to the button on her slacks and undid it, sliding further down past her panties to her soaked pussy. I gently massaged her swollen clit and easily slid two fingers into her wet warmth. After a few minutes of writhing around on my now juice-coated index and middle finger, Annie pulled away from our tongue lock and asked me if I had a condom. I didn’t. Uh oh. I feared that this might be a deal-breaker.
“Well, what do we now?” Annie asked coyly, licking her lips.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, hoping I didn’t look or sound like a doofus.
“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy,” Annie teased. “Tell me what you want. It’s not like I haven’t seen you visually undressing me for almost a decade now. Surely you’ve played out some scenarios in your mind. Tell me all about them and I’ll see what I can do.”
My mind immediately raced through all the thoughts and visuals that fueled my solo spank-fests and many of them, like a good portion of the DVDs that filled a shoebox at the back of my closet, involved female masturbation, often with outlandishly large toys. canlı casino Now it was my turn to blush as I admitted this to Annie.
“That’s cool,” Annie cooed reassuringly. “But I didn’t bring my collection in today. I guess we’ll just have to improvise.” I laughed just a little nervously as Annie retreated to the back of her office and opened up the spacious and super-messy supply closet, apparently in search of something vaguely phallic to satisfy my just-confessed desires.
My eyes rested on an orange safety cone that was over a foot long and super-wide at the bottom. To my surprise and excitement, Annie grabbed it and turned to face me. “Do we have a winner?” she asked. I nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly, as Annie scrubbed the orange cone off with a wet wipe. She then sat down, semi-sprawled, in her ergonomic office chair, swiveling around to face me. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse halfway, unhooking her front-clasped bra, her huge boobs practically leaping out of her shirt, as my heart did almost exactly the same thing out of my chest. Her areola were huge and a lovely darker pink color that contrasted beautifully with her winter pale skin.
Annie squeezed her twin wonders a couple of times, watching my reaction with near-amusement , and then slid her slacks and black panties down around her ankles, a slutty but super-sexy sight that reminded me where we were and how fast she’d have to dress (and how swiftly I’d have to disappear into the supply closet) should a knock on the door come unexpectedly.
“Uh, so I’m pretty much giving you a free show of a lifetime here and I think the least you could is touch yourself a bit too,” Annie said assertively, nodding at my already freed cock, which was just about as full of blood as it could be without bursting. I grabbed my swollen dick in my hand and began rubbing methodically as Annie carefully poised the orange cone at the entrance of her pussy, which was framed by a neatly trimmed bush. I also noticed that Annie was so wet that a tiny trail of girl juice was sliding down her right leg.
I had to slow down my self-love to a snail’s pace as Annie eased a few inches of the cone into her sopping pussy. I was amazed at how easily it slid in and savored the sight of her pussy lips stretched around the cone. While she didn’t get a lot of it into her, she established a gentle rhythm that allowed an inch or so to go in and out of her as she massaged her clit.
“What do you think?” Annie asked, near breathlessly. I could only nod appreciatively as I watched the orange cone’s tip dip into her widening wetness.
“I think I need a kaçak casino little more cone in me,” Annie moaned as she kicked off her shoes and pants and placed the cone standing on the floor, slowly lowering herself onto the unlikely phallus. Her boobs swayed heavily as she leaned forward to balance herself and rub her clit. While I didn’t get the advantage of seeing her pussy as well as before I could tell that she was getting a lot more of the cone (at least a third of it and probably a bit more) into her. Judging by her frequent moans and the prolific amount of pussy drool that coated the orange cone whenever she raised off of it, this was totally working for her.
As she rocked back and forth on the cone, Annie looked me in the eyes and suddenly became a sailor. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard on this giant orange cone and I wanna see you shoot your hot fucking load halfway across this room.” At that moment I was really thankful that Annie’s semi-private office was right next to a noisy conveyor system that would make anyone hearing her pre-orgasmic blue streak an unlikelihood.
Annie came with a series of unbelievably loud yell-moans, her huge boobs bouncing heavily against her unbuttoned shirt, her outrageously overstretched pussy lips spasmodically clenching the orange cone. I came quietly but hard, shooting my load quite a ways across Annie’s office, just as she had hoarsely instructed a few moments earlier. Annie practically fell over from the force of her orgasm, but steadied herself. I had been clenching my legs so hard during my own release that a full leg muscle cramp was about to overtake me.
“Easy there, fella, wouldn’t want you to get a work-related injury, now would we?” Annie teased gently as she regained her composure and noticed my laughable plight.
“Oooh, looks like we’ve got a bit of a liquid spill over here. Good thing I’ve got this trusty safety cone to mark the wet spot so nobody hurts themselves.”
As Annie dressed and cleaned up my mess, the lunch bell rang, signaling the end of break. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be eating lunch now, but I wasn’t even close to sad. I was busy thinking that a few visits a week to Annie’s office might be just the diet plan for which I’d been searching to drop that annoyingly elusive 20 pounds I’d been meaning to lose permanently for the past half dozen years.
“You may need a break from your break,” Annie laughed as she waved goodbye. “See ya soon.”
Later that day, I almost crashed the forklift repeatedly while pulling pallets down in a secluded corner of the warehouse as I gleefully reenacted my unbelievable lunch hour over and over in my fevered brain. I suddenly remembered a shirt I’d seen a co-worker wear once recently that said, “My worst day of fishing is better than my best day at work.” For once, that was sooo not true.