Sunday, November 20, 2005

Why Does It Take Ten Guys To Fill A Hole?

Towards the end of the day I was warming up a cup of coffee in the microwave in preparation for my drive home.
The office was empty and as I waited for that familiar ding that let me know my java was hot. I looked out the window. On the street below were ten workers from the highway department working at filling a large pothole. Seeing that only about four guys were really working I thought about something I’m sure has passed through all our minds at one time or another, especially while driving: “Why does it seem to take ten guys to fill a hole?”
At that moment the microwave demanded my attention. I got my cup, but went back to the view out the window. Most of the guys were quiet nice looking. I sipped my coffee, took a deep breath, let the caffeine slowly hit my body, and that’s when:


One of the nicer looking, more muscular guys looked up and saw me. It wasn’t too hard to see the office; we’re only on the second floor.
It’s strange, but it seemed as though the rest of the world either disappeared or wasn’t paying attention to the workers. More of the guys looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back coyly and daintily waved. They were ‘bad boys’, I could tell, and I’m a sucker for bad boys. I sipped on my warm java some more and it was as though I was taken to a calm place where these men below me had complete control. I put my cup down and kept gazing outward at the landscape of men below. Tingles, ever so light began to radiate over my body. I could feel my nipples tighten and become hard. I could feel my skin dampen and the temperature rise ever so slightly. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and they seemed to fly down past my navel to the walls of my woman hood, starting to make my pussy slippery. My breasts needed to feel a loving hand so I unbuttoned the first two buttons of my blouse and began to caress them, still standing right at the window.

The feeling was marvelous and the guys below seemed to enjoy it. Quickly the show progressed; I unbuttoned all the button, removed my blouse, and pulled my 40 D’s out of the prison of their bra cups.
I pressed my tits up against the window. The cool glass was a terrific sensation and one hand slipped down to massage my now aching mound through the fabric of my jeans. The guys below hooted and tore off their shirts; some chests were hairy, some almost bare, some in between. The guys quickened the pace; most had undone their belt buckles and holding their crotches, making all kinds of lewd gestures at me. I loved it for some reason; maybe it was that I knew they were just being their bad selves.

Again, the whole situation just took me over. I rotated my hips and shook my tits for them. I could seem most of their hard-ons making bulges in their work pants by now. I moved and did what I thought they would want, it was like telepathy, I just went with it. I took off my shoes and slid my jeans slowly down my legs; I exposed the purple and black satin thong I was wearing. More applause, whistling, and gestures ensued. I turned around bent over and pushed my ass against the glass, this of course, presented a glimpse of my pussy to the crew below. Suddenly I didn’t hear anything, no hoots, no applause, nothing. When I turned around to see what was happening they had all pulled their dicks out and were just smiling at me. It was as though an army of cocks were standing at attention for me. They were all wonderful in their own way. I marveled and enjoyed the art of man before me. Different lengths, different girths, different balls, some that took a little hook at the cock head, and some were even twitching. I gave the best salute I could to them and applauded. This seemed to make them turn into little boys, laughing, excited, and hopeful.

Nothing seemed to exist but my body and theirs. My thought process seemed to be purely animalistic. I was on auto-pilot, almost not knowing what my body would tell me to do next. Then it decided: I opened my mouth slightly, licked my lips, and waved the crew upstairs.
Strangely and happily enough it seemed as though there were there, in my office, instantaneously. Like magic, I was in our employee kitchen surrounded by ten men with throbbing, hot hard-ons. What’s a girl to do? What’s Dirty Debbie to do? I smiled and fell to my knees.


Suze said...


What a deliciously naught picture you paint.

I don't know what I would do with the surplus guys. I guess I'd come up with something.

However, I do have a recurring dream about several guys standing over my naked body wanking. Me just laying there watching expectantly.

gigi said...

The extra guys are the audience!
I am a whore for an audience!