The Pick Up (erotic tale)  

rm_aranayd 46M
898 posts
8/21/2006 9:13 pm

Last Read:
12/8/2008 10:26 pm

The Pick Up (erotic tale)

Okay, I thought of another story to tell. Unlike my other ones, this one isn’t true. Instead, I thought I’d share a little fantasy of mine. A very “guy-ish” kind of fantasy. Something I’ve thought of, hoped for, but never really expect to happen. Real life just doesn’t work that way. That’s why we have imaginations, isn’t it?

The Pick Up
A fictional erotic tale

A typical Friday afternoon; cloudy and gray in that late-autumn, Midwestern way. It matched my mood. All the usual customers calling for last-minute service before the weekend starts. All the traffic on the highways bunched and snarled since noon as people cut out early to get a jump on the traffic. Nothing marking the day as anything special or different than any other. A leaking machine here, hard-water issues there, a filter change, and a quick delivery or two. Average.

My mind already on what I plan to do with the upcoming weekend, the van bounces into a nondescript building’s lot without grace of any kind, but comes to a halt with precision. Last stop of the day before I get to patiently wait-out the trip home. From the lot where I park, I can see 494 is already bumper-to-bumper and crawling.

The service call itself should be quick and simple; a customer quit, or went with another coffee service, so I have to pick up their equipment. For all I know, they could be closing the office, or moving, or any number of other things. I don’t get that kind of information. Just go here; do this or that; move on to the next. This one is a bummer, though. I like the people who work here. When I have to visit, when they have trouble, they’re friendly and understanding. Sometimes even helpful; a rare thing from any customer. And, to top it off, the receptionist is rather cute.

Toolbox and bucket resting on my dolly, I ride the elevator alone. The answer to an earlier question given as I approach the proper door. “Office Closed,” a handwritten sign reads. “Please visit our Edina location.”

With a sigh I try the handle, finding it locked. A few quick taps with my knuckles brings a response. It’s her; the one I’ll miss the most.

Not quite as tall as my chin, she’s a tightly-packed, bundle of exuberance and jovial vigor that seems ready to explode in any direction without warning. Laid back, and still daring at the same time. Her demeanor continually makes me think of those ‘fake-snake-in-a-peanut-brittle-can’ toys; before the lid is opened. Her hair, loose and a bit wild, yet neat. And she is ever quick with a smile, laugh, or conspiratorial wink.

“I made it,” I offer, knowing it’s after four and I should already be on my way home. She knows that too, but Fridays rarely work out that way.

“I was beginning to wonder.” Her voice is light, unconcerned. Stepping aside, she lets me in, locking the door behind me. Her cheeks are flushed, likely from the hard work of closing the office. Glancing about, I figure that must be it.

The office around me is nearly empty. A queerly vacant sea of bare desks and skeletal cubes. Random walls, lined with stacks of labeled boxes, while wiring from network connections dangle helplessly from coverless sockets or access-holes in the desktops. It looks like lost jobs and unpaid bills to me. Unfortunately, it only deepens my gloomy mood.

My little helper–as I have come to think of her over the past few years–sets out for the break room at her usual, near-running gait. I have to step lively to catch up. Long legs are a benefit sometimes, and mine eat up twice the ground that hers do. Even burdened with the dolly, she’s not more than a step or two ahead of me when we reach our destination. Stopping just inside the, equally barren, lunch area, she gestures with one graceful hand at the counter where my charges sit. One Bloomfield, three-burner machine, and a counter-top water cooler. Simple.

Brought up short in the doorway, I don’t have time to move before she pushes past me. My left arm, dangling at my side, feels her whole body pass by. With excruciating detail, my mind registers the supple way her right breast presses against my elbow. The silk of her shirt, smooth against my khaki one. A slight pause before she slowly squeezes through the narrow space. Pausing again with my arm resting in the valley between. Her chin brushes my shoulder, as she murmurs a noncommittal apology with hard buttons grazing my forearm, and stiff denim skirt tickling the back of my hand. Then the left breast squeezes by, and she’s gone; the warmth of her body lingering in the material of my shirt.

With a slight shake of my head to clear it, I begin my work; unable to overcome the image. Hell, the entire left side of my body still tingles from her slow caress. Did she do that on purpose? No, not her. She may dress a little sexier than those around her, but she wasn’t the type to do that. Not at work. It was just happenstance, nothing more.

Routine and humdrum causes the moment to fade. I check water-line shut-offs, disconnect fittings, wind cords, and collect pots in near total silence. Even the horrid elevator-musak had been silenced. Just as I set the cooler on my red-steel handcart, I hear a voice from the hall. “Hey,” she calls, “c’mere a minute.”

My pulse comes to an abrupt halt.

Following the voice, I find her standing on tiptoes outside of another doorway, trying to see something beyond her ability. I get closer, and see a shelf in the small, forlorn room; empty like everything else in the office. “Are there more coffee pots up there?” Her gesture made it clear that she meant the top shelf.

Getting on my own toes, I see the rim of an orange pot up there. I nod to her and reach up to grab it, hearing the tink of it striking another. There are four in all, and as I set the last on a lower shelf and turn, we collide.

Without my noticing, she had slipped up behind me. Stepping right into her, we go stumbling across the narrow room until her behind strikes a low counter. Row upon row of square mail-cubes line the wall behind her, inertia bringing our bodies together again. This time full on and facing. Her slightly embarrassed look and teasing laugh are all it takes. I can’t help myself, and slowly move to kiss her.

Eyes widen, narrow, close. We kiss, hesitant and questing. I try to move back, but she locks me close with her ankles behind my legs. I deepen the kiss, and press against her more.

Things turn desperate, animal. I run my hands over her body, untucking her blouse to get at the real skin. Her hands go for my belt, deftly undoing the closings of my pants with an attention that seems driven. Hands roaming over each other, mine find her hosed thighs and slide upward. The denim skirt in a bunch at her waist, I begin to caress her through the material of her pantyhose. Sliding my thumb up and down, pressing against her and dragging a nail across her hidden opening so it grates against the silken cloth barrier.

She manages to push my pants down, freeing me. Nearly at attention already, her cool hand shocks a gasp from me, but she’s not into waiting. Her eyes plead for me to be inside of her, lower lip caught between her teeth in anticipation.

Unable to resist such a demand, I grasp the thinner material across her ass, and tear a small hole. Putting two fingers into the hole, I tear the entire crotch of her pantyhose upward, and out of the way. One thumb immediately goes to her moist softness, sliding and working the juices around. Like me, she’s already excited enough for anything.

The satisfying joining is soft, hard, clinging, lonely, joyous, dark, infinite and momentary; all at the same time. She grips my arms, pulling me to her with legs that cross behind me. Her hair bunches above the back of her head where it rests against the mail-squares. Her nails dig in as she climaxes to our primal rhythms. Eyes shut, a look of mixed pleasure and pain, pleading and satisfaction on her face. I alter, slow, tease, and build again. I can’t go much more, not like this. I can see her building up. Getting closer. I have hope. My own pressure surges, a warm gush of sensation across the base of my shaft. She cries out, hands flying to cover her mouth in shocked surprise. I abandon my feeble attempt at control and spasm inside her, grinding as deeply as I can in blind passion.

Before I can even recover from my orgasm, reality crashes in. Practicality. “Are we alone,” I ask quietly. Hands still crossed over her mouth, the further widening of her eyes tells it all.


Okay, just a reminder… This was fantasy. And, in case anyone local was wondering: NO, THE OFFICE WOMAN IS NOT A REAL PERSON. I didn’t even go into any detail about the female character except to say that she is short and supple. I can’t deny my liking of shorter women. And, everyone likes supple. At least I do.

twirly_girl 47F

8/21/2006 10:07 pm

Ohhhh my. That was just extremely hot.
Think I need to go take my shower now.

Very good story!


rm_aranayd replies on 8/23/2006 6:19 pm:
Thank you. In my opinion, that is the highest of praise.

rm_loneremily 33F
328 posts
8/23/2006 5:06 pm

What about pendullums breasts? Do you like those?

feedhercum 53M/57F

1/14/2008 3:06 pm

Oh my! I see what you mean . . . you should have at least a part 2 to this one..... And you're right: it gives me ideas, but not about something to write!

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rm_aranayd replies on 1/14/2008 3:44 pm:
THOSE are the kind of ideas I like to inspire! Part two, huh.... I'll have to consider it.

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