Chapter 10

Kathleen

I'm on fire. From head to toe, all I can think about is doing exactly what I am.

Namely, kissing Ira.

Her lips are tender against mine, although I feel the force of her every movement within this kiss. When she moves from my mouth to my chin, I think it's over.

I am wrong. So blissfully wrong.

Ira kisses the underside of my chin, caressing my skin as she descends my throat. Sitting here like an idiot, all I can think about is how good her hot breath feels against every part of me. Just because she isn't kissing every part, doesn't mean I don't know what it would be like…

Her hand uncurls from mine as she pulls away. I'm left sitting here, dazed, hungry for more. Someone has opened a Pandora's box I'm not sure she can close. Not until she stands from her chair, signaling for me to stay where I am. She's coming to me, you see. Rounding the table, slowly and surely, hand reaching out to cup my cheek and press her thumb against the corner of my mouth.

"Kathleen…" No matter how many times she says it, I still can't get over it. Especially now that her touch encircles my throat. Ira's grip is gentle but firm, and I know that right now she wants to take me like she takes her other lovers.

Before I can protest, her hand slips down the front of my shirt. I let it.

I want her to touch me.

My eyes remain on Ira's face as her fingertips reach beneath my bra within my shirt and stroke my nipple. The fire is born from electricity. It's a shock, all right. A shock penetrates me faster than she can. The tiny pinches I receive on my flesh command that I moan, encouraging her to keep going.

"Kathleen." Ira kneels beside me, eager mouth pulling away the buttons of my jacket and blouse. Just as I reach around and curl her hair in my hand, her tongue lashes against my nipple, one of her hands stroking my thigh.

"Ira…" I can play this name game too. All day.

We're going a lot slower than we did ten years ago. No rush. No need to prove ourselves. Ira's affection for my body has me reeling in admiration. She is not a stranger to the nipple between her teeth. She sucked it back then, her powerful lips making me come from that alone.

Oh, God, coming. I'm full of the urge now, and it's worse than at any other point this week, although I was generous with myself in the shower last night. All I want is for Ira Mathison to strip me bare, and…

Do I have to say it? I want her to fuck me. We're over halfway to sex now. I want more. I want what I was denied a decade ago.

She's in the chair beside me, facing me, her tongue snaking into my ear and making me whimper from the exquisite stimulation. Ira's hand continues to massage my thigh. Soon enough, she brushes against my mound, and I moan against her mouth.

Ira is fumbling with my zipper. My hand is searching for hers too… but not before I wrap half my hand around what I had already noticed she's been covertly wearing all day.

Groaning, Ira puts her hand on my breast, her voice reaching new depths. My grip hesitates. That moan of approval was so… unlike anything I have heard from someone in a long time.

"I can take it off if you want." She interrupts my dirty thoughts with a husky voice I was never treated to when we were two dumbass kids pretending to know how to have great sex. "It's fine. I don't mind. Not everyone is into–"

I, in turn, interrupt Ira's reassurances that we can do this any way I want. Because I don't want to hear this side of her right now – the uncertain kid who is afraid of offending me with what she likes on a day-to-day basis. How many prospective partners have been disgusted by her? How many only saw her for what she wore? Can I be that woman somewhere in the middle?

You know, horny but reasonable?

"Why would you take it off?" No, I don't sound reasonable, just horny. "What the fuck do you think I've been thinking about since I saw you in… with…"

Ira holds her breath. It's endearingly charming… and I'm endearingly aroused, so let's stop beating around the bush and find my bush!

"If that's how you feel, I hold no qualms."

"Me neither," I hiss as my desperation mounts. She's still wearing clothes. I'm still wearing clothes. How even? Why? Shouldn't I be halfway to Pound Town by now? "But wear a condom with that thing."

I'm snappy, I'm losing it. She's mild, she's contemplative.

"I just want to fuck you," Ira admits. "Badly."

There are no mind games now. We both clearly want this. Why compromise that with our bedroom nonsense? We're not even in a bedroom. The excuse to do whatever we desire is there, and it's perfect.

I tentatively touch her through her pants again. I can barely see anything in her lap, let alone when she's wearing black pants in the dark, but I'm not disappointed by what I find. Without even seeing it, I discover that Ira is so used to this that she's found the perfect medium between fun and practical. It takes me three dire seconds to imagine what she can do with it.

Instinctively, I loosen up, like a snake uncoiling.

Ira wraps her hand around mine, keeping it on her lap. I tell myself it's not real. My grip can be as needy and hard as I want. I won't hurt her. I won't bring this to a premature end. All I'll do is turn us both on to the point I'm on my back and Ira is finally showing me what she's been practicing all these years. With other women I won't think about right now. Like Stephanie May, the lucky bitch.

"Katie." Ira kisses my shoulder, nails still biting my thigh. "Let me have you."

"Have me?" Deep down, I know what she means. Anyone could say that they wanted me, that they were going to fuck me. What Ira said was intriguing. "What do you mean by that?"

All kissing stops, but her grip is as firm as ever on my thigh. "Let me prove to you that I'm a worthy lover."

Since she won't kiss me, I kiss her. The air is warm, but not as warm as it is against her lips. Ira's hand is halfway down my pants, her fingers riling me up for the main event, whenever that supposedly happens. I won't say no to a hottie like Ira touching my clit in the office.

You'd think I was a virgin from how I miscalculated the width of her fingers. She's not even inside of me, but I'm moaning because holy fuck one finger alone is enough to fill the space between my folds. She chuckles into my ear when she discovers how wet I must be. So stupidly smug, and I don't care, because now the smugness is turning me on.

I want Ira to get drunk on how wet I am for her. I want her to marvel at my hard nipples and the heat pouring from every part of my body. Fuck me here, fuck me there, I don't care! Of course, I want her to fuck me where it counts most. All week I have been fantasizing, in my chair, in my bed, in my shower… fantasizing about this woman right here making me feel things that I'm not supposed to feel for another dominant type.

I know she's not submissive. She's not going to submit to me. I'm fine with that, once in a while. Sometimes, even a Domme wants someone like her to split her in two and take her, pieces and all. The right person, anyway.

Once again, I remind myself that this isn't BDSM. This is plain ol' hot sex. It doesn't matter who is on top, as long as we both get off as hard as possible.

"Ira," I murmur, delighting in how fun her name is to say. She glances at me, but her eyes would rather feast on my breasts poking out from my blouse and on her fingers slipping in and out of my pants, wetter, wetter, dripping. "I need to fuck you."

It must be the Domme in me. Making my intentions clear like that. I look into Ira's eyes, which are whirling in lust… lust for me. Yup. I made the right decision by getting vocal because she knows that I want to fuck her. She knows that I'm waiting for the right moment to jump on top of her and get lost in the labyrinth of our lust.

"Going farther than this," I begin, my hand clutching her crotch, "means we're fucking."

Her teeth tug on my earlobe, her hand pushing so hard against my slit that she must know I'm ready for whatever she throws my way. I'm so relaxed that none of our awkward positions or the discomfort from the chair beneath my ass bothers me. So consumed with my need for sex, and all I can think about is getting this woman naked and hearing her come.

My hand barely on her hips. I don't have small hands.

"Yes, ma'am," Ira hisses in my ear, drawing her hand away and showing me how wet her fingers are. As I press mine against her stomach and pull her pants low enough to see what I'm working with, she pushes her fingers into my mouth, and all I taste is the salt of her skin and the sweet familiarity of me.

I push my tongue between her fingers, hearing her groan. An image of me bending down and pretending that I know what I'm doing with an everyday prosthetic enters my mind. Suddenly, I am taken back to a week ago, watching Stephanie May act like this wasn't her first time at the rodeo. For God's sake, she was having the time of her life with this thing!

That's it. The reason I was so annoyed watching Ira Mathison get attention from a hot blonde was because I still had yet to get mine from her.

Ira Mathison owes me.

How to do it? The easiest thing would be to straddle her lap and have her thrust up into me, letting gravity pull my hips down onto her as the table bumps into my ass. I love riding. I love feeling someone between my legs as I hold onto their shoulders and chest and slam myself against whatever I can find. I love the freedom it gives me, even when they're sitting down. I can be wild in my movements and bask in my own carnal glory as my lover's eyes roll back. Some of the best orgasms of my life have come from me riding a bucking bronco.

But I want more. It's not enough to slip into Ira's lap and feel her fill me. If we're doing this, then I want to be consumed. I want…

I want to feel her all around me. I want it to be how it was supposed to be twelve years ago, regardless of the kind of sexual creatures we are now.

There's the table here. I could sit on it, legs open. My arms will hold me up, but I will have to rely on her to pinch my nipples and stroke my stomach. Or we could take over Annie's poor little desk in the corner. Let the room prop me up while Ira pounds into my pussy and completely loses herself. God, that sounds so fucking good!

I'm about to suggest we take this party elsewhere, when her voice is inside my ear, pushing away my thoughts and plummeting toward my gut. "I can't stop thinking about bending you over this table and taking you."

Shivers claim me. I haven't been bent and fucked in a long, long time. It's not my style. It's too submissive for me. If my partner isn't beneath me, I want to at least be able to look into their eyes. Bending over the table would be too…

Nevertheless, the way Ira said it thrills me. I want more dirty talk like that.

"What else do you want to do to me?" I whisper, my hand desperately attempting to figure out if there's some way to make this silicone prosthetic anything but soft. My thumb moves behind it and finds her mound. If I were still trying to seduce her, I'd tease her clit and discover her flavor. Fuck, I want to know what her wetness tastes like…

Not now.

Ira takes me by the chin and turns my head toward hers, lips mauling mine as her tongue threatens to choke me. More wetness covers my finger as my hand is trapped between her hot slit and her prosthetic. She tenses. Her breath hitches.

Don't do it, Ira. Don't come now. Your fantasies aren't anywhere near as good as the real thing I offer you!

"I don't care what I fucking do to you, Kathleen. I just want to do it. Right now. Holy shit, do I need to do it right now." Her groan is telling. "Anything you want, Katie." She clutches the underside of my breast and holds it up, her lips diverting from mine and onto my nipple. The woman is worshipping me. She's not submissive, but she's worshipping me, and I want to die.

We both say it at the same time.

"The wall."

I'm up. She's up. Yes, yes, this is the only way we can do it. This is the only way we can move on with our lives, after holding this small grudge with each other for over a decade. I promise that I won't be angry if the same unfortunate thing happens again. This is as much my redemption as it is hers.

This is our second chance, and I'm not botching it up!

"Just a sec!" Ira doubles back to her bag pushed beneath her desk. I hesitate, my clothes half off as I try to keep the mood alive as she hastily rummages for something in the bottom of her bag. "Trust me, it's important."

"You know," I say with little regard for how it sounds, "most prince charmings keep a condom in their wallet or one of those little metal things that–"

"This isn't that! It's for my… you know!"

The fact she's flustered calling her prosthetic anything out loud in front of me is kinda cute. "Hurry it up, because I needed you humping me like ten minutes ago!"

"Oh, you don't think I know?"

Her voice is slightly shrill. Behold, the multitudes of octaves one person has to unleash depending on the situation: from husky and seductive one second, to hilariously shrieky the next.

I lean against the wall, pulling open my blouse and tugging on my hem. "I'm assuming you still want this?"

"For the love of…"

She finally finds what she's searching for. Whatever she has to do to get her prosthetic ready, she does in record time. Maybe that's why Stephanie Freakin' May was able to be all over it in Midnight – and why I'm about to be wrapped all around it, God willing.

Fuck, I'm dying!

And that's a smoking hot smolder coming right at me from the other side of the room.

"Kathleen!" I delight in my name as she pushes me against the wall, her mouth on my throat and her hands all over me. There's nothing to brace myself against. Nothing to sit on, nothing to lean with… just this damned wall. I feel like a teenager again, wearing my gala dress as the hottest co-ed around pulls it up, pulls it down, releases me to her hungry, horny eyes, and anticipates me way too much. Yet I'm able to capture that feeling I had twelve years ago. The sheer amount of want I experienced. Even now, as Ira finds the fortitude in her lust to dump out her wallet and produce a tiny metal box that holds a single condom. Always ready. And me, always right about these things.

Like hell she gets the honors.

I snatch the condom from her hand, rip it open, and press the rubber opening against the head of her now erect prosthetic. Yes, I see now what she was so panicked about only a minute ago. One day, when I'm not swept up in the tide of lust, I'll ask her how it works, because God knows I'm curious. But not now.

When my hand comes back up, I unbutton the rest of Ira's shirt, marveling at how delicate her chest is. She's not binding, nor wearing a bra. She doesn't have to today, I suppose. Yet I'm enraptured by her physique, her perfect proportions. A shudder tickles my lips as I kiss Ira there, lifting my leg while she pulls down my pants far enough to expose my ass to the wall. Fuck it! I'm taking them off.

After I kick off my trousers, Ira shoves my leg against the wall. I'm exposed. Although I'm still covered by my underwear, it means nothing when one finger pulls them aside and dips into my wetness. My head tilts up, and I'm staring at the ceiling.

It's insanity.

Moans leave my body as Ira's mouth traverses my chest, her tongue flicking against my nipples and becoming intimate with the cleavage between my breasts. Both are pushed into her face, Ira burying herself in them, her driving need for me so great that she'll revel in anything she encounters.

She spreads apart my opening. Oh God, oh fuck, it's rubbing against my clit, and my wetness damns me, right down my thighs, and probably leaving evidence of our hookup all over this office. My arms are wrapped tight around Ira, my hands clutching her shoulder, her cheek, and my mouth searching for hers.

I want her so tight around me that I completely forget where we are or what we're supposed to be doing.

"What are you waiting for?" I say, attempting to penetrate myself with something that is her, but not her, but also totally her. "Fuck me."

All I hear is a determined groan, and then my back is slammed against the wall, my leg held out…

And Ira Mathison takes me.

I can't hold in my cry of surprise. I thought I was ready. I thought I was so wet already that nothing else mattered. I was wrong. I was super fucking wrong.

It hurts at this angle, and I don't care. The silicone extension of Ira's gender is stiffer than the rod she jammed inside of it, and now it's spreading me apart, forcing its way up and in, pushing aside anything in its way as it awkwardly settles inside me. My eyes are wide open, my mouth wordlessly screams, and my breath is caught in my chest. That is until Ira pulls out, slowly, the prosthetic covered in my arousal and more replacing what she just took.

And she slams it back in.

Let's be fair. I asked for this. I told her to fuck me, and that's exactly what she's doing. She's impaling me against the wall. She's not only deep inside of me, but her prosthetic is reaching higher, pushing so far that her strength alone is enough to hold me there as she raises my other leg. Oh fuck. Oh FUCK. My feet aren't on the ground. The only thing keeping me steady is her holy shit oh God what is this talent and her hands holding me up beneath my knees.

Never in my whole slutty life has anyone held me up against the wall like this!

I hold onto her shoulders, my body completely at her whim as she thrusts into me, my body lifting the dam until it's all smooth sailing down there. I witness the serene carnality on her face. I hear the sounds of our union, that rhythmic, erotic movement of our bodies that is only matched by the whimpers in my mouth and the groans in Ira's throat.

It's all too much. I am simultaneously sexually sated and eager for more. I've never felt anything like it. When she pulls out, I feel empty. When she thrusts back in, I have to accommodate her all over again. It gets easier with every careful thrust, but I'm still amazed. Who has ever felt it like this before? Not me. Maybe it's the angle. Maybe it really is her. All I know is that I've never had sex like this before. I'm sliding up and down the wall with every thrust, my chest shoved right in her face. Her tongue flicks against my nipples before her lips suck on them, the sensations sending bolts of pleasure through my whole body and making me cry in wonder.

I don't care who hears us. Security guard, cleaning personnel… enjoy the sounds you hear. All I care about is the right here, right now… and right now Ira Mathison is giving me the greatest pleasure of my life.

"That's it…" I whimper, entranced. "Fuck me, Ira!"

She does.

She's an animal. A sex monster unleashed in some eldritch ritual that we can't put back. She pierces me with everything I want and everything I fear, forcing my opening so wide that I crack like a mirror beholding some otherworldly beauty. Her beauty. Ira's unique yet oh-so-familiar confidence that says, "Why, yes, I'll fuck you with a fake dick and you won't know the difference, but yet you will, because you'll be agog at how womanly I am while I do it. I am the best of both worlds. I am the cake, and you get to eat it, too."

I've been wall-banged before, and it wasn't like this. Now. My thighs are sore and my legs don't know where to dangle over her hands, but I don't care… because my thighs are meeting Ira's hips, her talent driving the full length of her prosthetic to the base. By some twisted cosmic power, she has found my goddamn G-spot.

Goodbye. I'm gone!

I don't even come from my clit being rubbed. I don't come from my nipples being sucked and bitten. I don't come from her tongue down my throat, her groans echoing in my mouth. No, I'm coming purely from the pounding I endure, my core swallowing its pride as I let this unyielding woman fuck me like she's fucked so many others that I've been infernally jealous of. Because I wanted this. I needed this.

My climax comes so swiftly that I barely have time to enjoy its arrival… but boy do I enjoy its stay. So long, so drawn out, my toes tingling in my heels that tap against the wall with every thrust. I'm so aware of my breasts, of the air tickling my areolas. Every nerve in my body is alive and on fire. The burn spreads through me, wildfire, and halfway through my orgasm I'm coaxing my body to find some way to make this woman come with me.

I look into her eyes, my moan shameless.

"Fucking come for me," Ira growls, her voice tired, but her body unrelenting. "Come for me, Katie. Do it for me."

I am, Ira. You've got me right where we both wanted me. Trapped.

The world blackens as I close my eyes, my orgasm subsiding but Ira taking me to a new level. She's not stopping. I've come, but she's still fucking me, everything so wet and slick now that it's almost embarrassing how easily she pummels me. My orgasm has subsided, and yet here comes another, quicker, dirtier one, threatening to make me whine, to make me beg.

I don't beg. I swear I don't.

"Make me come!" I'm begging anyway, her speed so intense that my voice shakes. "I wanna come with you!"

One loud grunt fills the air. My legs are numb in the air. Another grunt. She's pulling all the way out and then heaving back into me again. I'm so wide, so fucking cavernous that every time she leaves me I'm begging for her to fill me again.

Another orgasm. A smaller one, but still intense. My voice is so loud in this room that I know someone can hear me. Fuck, I don't care. I open my eyes again and see Ira above me, her third and final grunt claiming the last of my sanity.

Her thrusts are still strong, still fast, but so much shallower now. Ira wants to be buried in there. She needs me to tell her it's okay to come like this, in this enchanting roleplay I don't think either of us ever anticipated happening tonight.

"Do it," I plead, although I keep my tone steady. "I'm ready."

My body lets me come a final time. Harder again. Ripping from my gut to my extremities and taking my brain with it.

"Katie!"

Pulses of pleasure claim the both of us, my mind reeling from the sound of her in my ear. She's groaning so loudly, drowning me out, her psychological orgasm as intense as the physical. Ira's face is in utter ecstasy as she finally, after twelve long fucking years, proves we can do this.

She holds me there. My legs are so sore, so spread. My arms fall weakly around her shoulders. I lean against her, my breath beating into her chest.

Slowly, she eases my legs onto the floor. They hurt. I can't walk. I can barely stand, so I slip down onto the floor, my body so weary from sex with a hard body and stiffer add-on that all I want to do is roll over and sleep on the carpet.

Ira joins me. She draws her knees up as she leans against the wall. She's looking up toward the ceiling, but her eyes are closed. My head falls against her shoulder. My twist has come undone and my hair is a mess.

I grab my pants but can't bring myself to put them on. Instead, I mentally tell my pussy it can finally calm the hell down now. We did what we set out to do. She proved herself to Ira Mathison, whom I can't believe got me to open up so much.

In more ways than one.

"Well…" Ira begins, tapping her head against the wall. "We got that out of our systems."

I both know what she means and not at all. Not at fucking all.

"Ira." I bump my hand against her leg and wait for an acknowledgment. "There's something that I need to tell you."

She glares at me. I'm sure this isn't how she wants to savor whatever afterglow we have.

"A week ago, when we were at Midnight…"

Ira snorts. "That was fun, having you watch me."

"Yeah, about that." My fingers linger on her leg. I wait for her to curl our hands together again, but she doesn't. "I was in the room next to you guys. I… I heard everything."

She's silent for a long time, and at first, I wonder if she didn't hear me. Might be best that way. Somehow, I can't believe that I shared that at all. Then again, what? Was I going to take it to my grave? That I heard her say my name on accident during sex with another woman?

"Is that so?"

Her voice is noncommittal. Probably because she just had an intense orgasm and is now shutting down.

"Why did that happen?"

"You're seriously asking me that?"

"Yeah."

Ira's leg moves away from my touch. Her hand goes to her prosthetic and removes the condom. "Why do you think it happened?" She reaches for a tissue on Annie's desk and wraps it around the condom. The trash can is on the other side of the room, not that I want her to throw it away in here. Bathroom, Ira. Take it to the bathroom.

I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them. It feels weird having my body all to myself again. It feels even weirder saying that. "Because you wanted me?"

She's staring at her crotch, but I don't think it's her equipment she's considering. "Would it freak you out if I said I was imagining that you were my date?"

"Freak me out? No. Although you might want to get your eyes checked. She's way hotter than me." Skinnier, for one.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're gorgeous."

Ira says it so smoothly that it's like she doesn't even realize she's saying it. Nevertheless, I gaze at her, Ira's profile striking in the shadows. I smooth down some of her short bangs with my fingers.

"Kiss me."

She does, lips fervent but gentle. I let mine linger until she pulls away, my hair gliding against her arm.

I know we're not going to have sex again. A part of me wants to savor this for as long as possible. Why? I don't know. It's not like she and I will ever… that we could ever…

It wouldn't work out.

Ira gets up, hands fumbling to clean herself up and become more presentable once again. She leaves her shirt untucked. It doesn't matter this late at night. "I think I'm gonna head out. Stop by the bathroom first. You know…"

"Uh-huh." I follow her out of the office as soon as I put myself respectably back together. We go our separate ways down the hall, the scent of lavender smacking me in the face when I enter a single-stall restroom.

I look at myself in the large mirror above the sink. My hair is completely disheveled. My breasts are still hanging out of my blouse. Navy blue cotton hugs my ass but is all disjointed in the front. I look like a woman who has just been fucked.

While I fix my clothes, I leave my hair. Who cares?

And why should I care that the office is empty when I get back, Ira's belongings gone, like her?