I’m in a mood

“What?”  She was finishing applying her lipstick in the mirror as I sped along the carpool lane.

“One of those days where all I can think about is anal sex.”

She laughed.  I smiled.  I like making her laugh.

But here’s the thing.  It *is* one of those days.  Those distractingly horny days when I find it hard to focus on anything other than *want.*  So much *want*.  I remember reading it somewhere here – the idea of being “reduced” to an instrument for pleasure.

Yeah, those anal days turn into objectification days quickly.

(Do not attempt to objectify me without my fucking consent, because these types of days very quickly turn into toppy-phi days when I’m angered.)

I had a meeting today…like, my real job kind of meeting.  So I’m dressed up a little.  It looks sexy, if I do say so myself.  I’m wearing a form fitting black sheath dress with beige fishnet textured stockings and heels.  I even put on my pretty gold jewelry to go with it.

I like looking at my legs in this dress.  I like the idea of someone getting ever-so-close in the elevator at my office and running his hands up my thighs and under the slightly stretchy material to grab a firm handful of my ass.   I like thinking about him wordlessly pushing the elevator stop button between floors and grabbing my wrists, affixing them to the metal bar that runs across the back of the elevator with a squeeze to let me know that I should not remove them under any circumstances.

I like the thought of him grabbing me by the hips and pulling them away from that back wall, so that I am bent over, ass out.  And how he not-very-delicately or slowly lifts the skirt of my dress up to my waist and pulls the pantyhose down to my thighs, underwear and all.

He reaches around to shove his fingers into my mouth.  If I want lubrication, I’m going to have to do it myself.

Of course, I’m wet already, and what he doesn’t get from my mouth he can easily pick up with a couple finger thrusts into my pussy before he circles his rough fingers around my tight puckered hole and preps it for use.

It doesn’t last long.  It doesn’t have to.  We’re not doing this for me.

With his come slowly seeping from my hole, he pushes the stop button back in and the elevator jolts back to life.  I have only seconds to pull my panties and hose up and my dress back down before the doors slide open and he walks away.

Never having said a word.