It had been six weeks since Jim had flung open the conference room door and asked Pam out to dinner, a date. Six weeks since they’d sat across from each other in a darkened corner of Scranton’s finest Italian restaurant, both unable to wipe the grins from their faces as they’d talked and talked, and Pam had cried a little, and then they’d talked a bit more. Six weeks since they’d stood on Pam’s doorstep, a few minutes before midnight, and he’d pressed her against the door and stolen kiss after kiss as she’d trembled and gasped into his mouth, finally at this point, finally allowed to give in to each other. Six weeks since she’d pressed her hands to his chest and reluctantly pushed him away, panting, eyes dark, and whispered, lips swollen and shining, “Slow down there, tiger.” Six weeks since they’d agreed, for the sake of appreciating the proper beginning of their relationship, to take it slowly. There was no rush, there were no obstacles in their way, they had all the time in the world to get this right, to take their time and savour each kiss, each touch, each moment.
It had been six weeks of glorious, exquisite torture and it had made them both feel like teenagers again, sneaking around the office, taking different cars from work but going to the same place. Six weeks of making out on her couch, of heavy petting as he’d pressed her down into his mattress with a knee pushed between her thighs, of her hands in his hair clutching his face to her neck as he’d sucked wet bruises into her skin, thumbs rubbing at her nipples over her blouse, only one shoe between them toed off at the foot of her bed. Six weeks of Pam’s hands on his shoulders pushing him away as she’d urgently panted, “stop, stop,” as she’d tried to regain her composure and stop her legs from trembling so hard. Six weeks of Jim’s hands pushing her teasing fingers away from his fly, of angling his hips away from her as they’d lain on her couch indulging in deep, open-mouthed kisses, of needing to excuse himself and step into the bathroom to take long, steadying breaths and try not to come in his pants.
Six weeks was a long time to wait, and had built a thick and charged tension between Jim and Pam that permeated every moment of their lives, and it was just a little harder to cope when eight hours of their day were spent in the company of others. It was difficult for Jim’s touch not to linger on her wrist when she’d deliver his messages to him, or for Pam’s cheeks not to warm in a blush whenever she stared too long at the side of his face, imaging his lips on her neck, his mouth sucking at her tongue. In the last few days it had been teasingly deliberate, amped up another notch, Jim sitting in his chair with legs spread and his fingers wide open across his thigh as he’d feigned concentration on a particularly challenging sales data spreadsheet. Pam bending over to reach her mixed berry yoghurt riiight at the back of the fridge, only to make eye contact with him through the closed kitchen door as she licked the foil topper slowly, decadently.
On Monday morning, Jim gets his first taste of just how badly this self-imposed abstinence is taking its toll on Pam. Behind Pam’s desk, the IT guy is sifting through the folders on Pam’s computer while the two of them lean over the counter, watching him work. Pam is so close that Jim could bump her with his hip, but they’re in full view of the office, so it’s easy to keep their conversation light and happy, and silently enjoy the simmering undercurrent of delicious tension running just between them. Trying to find the source of a computer virus, Sadiq asks Pam what exactly she had clicked on.
“It was for a…video,” she says vaguely, clutching at her mug nervously and casting her eyes about, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Yeah, what kind of video?” Sadiq asks her.
Jim’s eyes almost bug out of his head when she falteringly admits, “a…celebrity sex tape” and ducks her head, but out of the corner of his eye he can see she’s smiling, thoroughly embarrassed, thoroughly scandalised to be saying these things in front of Jim, never mind Sadiq, and to have been caught out as a real living, breathing, wanting woman.
“Really?” Jim asks in an overly curious tone. “What kind of celebrity?”
She’s looking at him with a smirk, unable to dampen the thrill in her belly that comes with discussing sex right here in the office, right here with Jim when just last night he had been sucking kisses along her collarbone, a hand slipped down the unbuttoned front of her blouse and his thumb rubbing the rough lace of her bra into her pert nipple as she’d gasped beneath him. “Not relevant,” she replies quietly, ducking her head again with a smile to avoid his gaze.
“How much did you pay for it?” he asks easily, quickly, looking at her to see a blush creeping up her neck.
“Not relevant,” she practically whispers in her same tone, and he whips his head around in overblown surprise, incredulously asking, “You paid for it?!”
“It all happened so fast!” Oh, and there it is, Pam looking across at him with that beautiful smile, the one that was just for him, laughter and a certain kind of twinkle behind those eyes. Jim just stares ahead, absolutely tickled, unable to wipe the smile from his own face.
Later in the morning, walking past Jim’s desk on her way to the break room, Pam feels bold enough to run her fingers fleetingly along the back of his collar, brushing his neck lightly. She doesn’t even look back at him, just swings her hips as she pushes open the door to the kitchen to make her way through, but Jim knows fully and completely, even without seeing her face, that she’s smiling, and glowing. He counts slowly – one, two, three, four, five – and stands up to follow her. Passing through the annex, Jim hears Ryan and Kelly arguing loudly and indignantly about something (“Ryan, you’re allowed to say she’s hot, it’s not like I’m gonna freak out on – ”) and finds Toby working away at his desk, eyes downcast as he tries to steadfastly ignore the argument going on behind him, looking very putout at his current circumstance.
Jim pushes open the breakroom door, swings it closed behind him, and finds her standing in front of the vending machine with a dollar in her hand. She turns to greet him with a smile, opening her mouth to speak, but instead what comes out is a gasp as he strides toward her expressionlessly and collects her on his way, guiding her forcefully into the corner of the room behind the vending machine and the potted plant. They’re tucked away a little, not hidden but certainly out of view should anyone enter the annex, and Jim roughly pushes Pam against the side of the vending machine. Her breath huffs out of her at the force and her stomach flips over on itself when he bends down to push his lips against her impatiently. She’s like a woman starved when she reaches for his tie to tug him closer, opening her mouth and licking into his parted lips with her hot tongue. “Mm,” she sighs against him. They’ve gone all morning without a kiss, and it’s clear that this sex tape discussion has amped both of them up, her flirty looks and subtle touches stoking the fire in Jim’s belly.
They indulge themselves in a few seconds of heavy kissing, feeling wild and scandalous, before Jim draws back. “You know, Beesly,” he breathes against her mouth, eyes flicking up to hers then back down to her lips, “if you wanted to see two people having sex, you didn’t need to download a video on the Internet.” He shifts to press his thigh between hers and a hot flush crawls rapidly up her chest and neck, her head swimming from his words and his touch. “And on your work computer, no less,” he admonishes mock-seriously, drawing her lower lip into his mouth to suck hard, “bad girl.” She moans brokenly but he pushes her hips back against the vending machine and shushes her. “Toby’s just outside,” he reminds her. “But you can make those noises tonight, if you want.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he’s offering her shotgun on a drive or letting her choose what movie to watch that night.
His casualness is causing something in her pelvis to tighten like a spring. She feels bold, pent up, leans forward to grip his belt buckle in her hand and tug him closer so that his thigh pushes more solidly into her heat. “You wanna make me?” she asks, lifting her chin to kiss his lips again. “I don’t think you’d need much coaxing,” he breathes. She opens her mouth to say something, but they both hear the rustle of Toby’s papers on his desk and the hydraulic pressure of his chair releasing as he stands up. They move in tandem and quickly, and by the time Toby enters the breakroom, Pam and Jim are just moving past the vending machine, Pam smoothing her skirt down as she flashes Toby a too-bright smile, and Jim can’t even look up from the floor. Walking back to their desks, and unable to continue their conversation, Jim just enjoys the sight of Pam walking in front of him, hot and bothered and aching for another chance to surprise her and touch her.
He just doesn’t expect that she’ll do it first.
In the drowsy, slow period directly after lunch, Jim needs a distraction and makes his way to her, popping a jellybean into his mouth as he rounds her desk. He finds her flushed, breath coming a little quicker than he would expect it to, considering she’s only playing FreeCell, and she looks almost guilty when she meets his eyes. He settles to stand behind her and bends down slightly, one hand resting on the edge of her desk and his other hand falling casually at the base of her neck over her blouse, like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. “Six on seven,” he points to a card on the screen after a moment of analysing her game. “I know,” Pam says chirpily. “Thennn why don’t you do it?” he questions, tone teasing. “Because I don’t want to?” she replies in a similar tone, turning slightly in her chair to gaze up at him.
“Just trying to help, Beesly,” he raises his eyebrows and tucks his chin, about to make a snarky comment, but she beats him to speaking first, casually, so casually, as she glances fleetingly over to accounting, then reaches out to her keyboard and taps on the mute button, even though he can see when the icon pops up on the screen that the volume is already turned down to zero.
“Could you maybe help me with this, then, too?” His stomach nearly bottoms out as she clicks somewhere at the bottom of her screen and her FreeCell game disappears into a corner, only to be replaced by a video, already playing, that fills the screen.
Holy shit, he thinks, freezing. HO-LY shit. His knees feel weak and he’s sure he feels his blood pulsing somewhere in the middle of his body, confused whether to go up to his face or down to his groin. Across her screen there’s a smiling woman stretched out belly-down on a bed, the camera near her head and peering over her shoulder, where a dark-skinned man is propped up over her on his fists, sinking his cock into her fluidly, repeatedly, the thickness disappearing between the woman’s cheeks. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He knows his mouth is hanging open, and he tears his eyes away from the screen to look down at Pam incredulously, who’s looking up at him with an enigmatic expression. “I haven’t played this game in a while,” she says in a steady voice, keeping eye contact with him but speaking at an even level, not even lowering her voice, like she didn’t just open up a pornographic video on her computer while he’s standing behind her, like Michael isn’t right there in his office, like he can’t see Stanley through the kitchen door, stirring a cup of coffee, oblivious to this filthy minx at reception.
He’s staring down at her, just absolutely flabbergasted, shocked at her boldness. “But I think you’d be really good at it.” He closes his mouth with a start and stands up straighter, his hand on her neck feeling heavy, weak. In fact, his whole body feels heavy and weak. “You could show me tonight?” This question is spoken a little quieter, a little shyer, and her eyes when she looks up at him flash with just the barest hint of uncertainty as she waits for his response. He feels dizzy and shakes his head slightly to clear it, blinking his eyes to refocus, and sneaks his fingers down over the inside of her collar to rub lightly at the back of her neck. Her eyes almost flutter closed.
“No, yeah,” he manages, loosening his tie where he suddenly feels like it’s choking him, “I’m an expert at that game.” Then he has to stay behind her desk for a minute or two while he tenses his thigh muscles and wills his semi to go down. She clicks back into her FreeCell game while they’re waiting, his fingers still smoothing promisingly along her neck, and drops that six onto the seven, and smiles brightly up at him.
They sneak in two more impromptu make out sessions before five o’clock rolls around, one in front of the elevator when Pam chases Jim out the door with a ‘fax’ that he’d ‘forgotten’ on his way to an afternoon sales call, and one with Pam pushed roughly against the door of his car when he’d returned and called the office from the carpark, asking her to come down and help him bring up a few excess reams of paper that he needed the barcode from. At five, they wait for everyone to drive away, the sun dipping low down by the horizon, before Jim unlocks his car and drops down heavily in the passenger seat, one leg still out and the door wide open, while Pam climbs into his lap and they kiss, teeth clacking together with the ferocity of it, and rut together. “Follow me home,” Pam whispers after ten minutes, tearing herself away regrettably, sucking in a huge breath as she pushes his hands down from where he’s been squeezing at her breasts. Then she hurries to her car and tears out of the carpark with the sun in her eyes, pressing her legs together.
They don’t even eat dinner. Jim finds her front door unlocked and she’s only just hanging up her coat on the rack – god, he must have been booking it, she thinks with a jolt of longing. They share a look and there’s an anticipatory kind of tension in the two, maybe three steps between them. Then they lunge for each other and it’s just like in the movies, her hands in his hair, his fingers working the buttons of her blouse open and pushing it down over her shoulders. Jim guiding her backwards up the stairs, their lips hovering and bumping as they try to keep kissing and Pam tries to work his belt buckle open with too-eager fingers. She shrieks with laughter when she falls backward, ‘oof’ing down heavily onto the step, and he yanks her back to her feet and spins her around at the same time, encouraging her toward the bedroom with a hand at her back, laughing and saying, “go, go, come on.”
Once they’re on her bed, laying against the soft pillows with Jim propped up on an elbow half leaning over her, time just…stills. The frenzy of undressing has left them in their underwear, and the feeling of their skin touching is almost too much for both of them to handle. The brief, almost embarrassed glimpse Pam had taken below Jim’s waist confirms that he’s definitely affected too, straining against the stretchy navy of his boxer briefs. Somehow he’s managed to work her bra off in all the commotion. She can’t really remember when, honestly, her head is spinning and the past few minutes are fuzzy at the edges, all blended and tumbled with the raw lust that’s pulsing through her. Pam notices Jim’s eyes scanning down and then up her body, lingering at her peachy lace panties – she’s started to dress up a bit in the last few weeks, feeling sexy, feeling womanly and desired – and the swell of her breasts, the pink, puckery circles of her nipples, moving up and down as she breathes heavily with anticipation.
He must see the sudden nervousness that moves over her as he drinks in the sight of her half-naked body, or hear the catch in her breathing, because he drags his eyes to hers and his face is open, kind, supportive. He leans down to kiss her lips gently, one hand coming up to smooth tenderly across her bare shoulder. “Is this still okay?” Jim asks. There really is no question. She’s nervous, but god, her body is singing for him, she feels warm, and wet, and shivery. “Yes,” she breathes against his mouth, and while it sounds like an answer to his question, she knows it’s the answer to every question he’ll ever ask of her. Yes, yes, yes. Anything. Everything. They kiss. They begin.
The very tips of his fingers are slowly ghosting up and down her forearm tantalisingly, feather-light, his touch barely there. Dragging upwards from her wrist, they play at the tender skin on the inside of her elbow for a moment, drawing one light circle, two, three – she gasps into his open mouth – before he continues up to her shoulder. Her body is buzzing, alive and responsive to his ministrations. It’s so erotic, Pam thinks, how turned on he can make her though he’s barely even touching her. On one delicate sweep, the heel of his palm catches on her pebbled nipple and it’s so startling that she jerks against him, jumps in her skin and gasps. “Shh,” he croons, and flicks his tongue against her lips, and presses his palm flat against her breast in small circles, rubbing her nipple.
Cupping her and holding her, he tightens his hand in slow increments as he squeezes the soft flesh of her breast, as if testing where her limit lies. Turns out, when Jim’s involved, Pam doesn’t seem to have a limit. He’s played with her breasts before, and squeezed her, and kneaded her, but never skin-to-skin, never with the bare span of his hand encompassing her whole breast, the heat of her warming him. Just before he lessens the pressure, sure that he’s about to hurt her, she pushes her breast up into him with a squeak caught in her throat and, without really realising she’s done it, covers his hand with her own, clutching.
“Yesss,” she groans, tipping her head back against the pillow. They both knead at her breast for a few moments, and he tries to calm his own breathing as a hundred ideas and fantasies stretch out in his mind, all the things he could do to her, all the sounds he could draw out of her. All the pleasure he could give her. His stomach gives a little flip at the sudden realisation that they really do have all the time in the world now, that she really is his. He can worship her out in the open. He can fall at her knees and she’d let him.
“You like that?” Jim asks. He has his eyes open and searches her face. Though her eyes are squeezed shut, there’s a little furrow of concentration and pleasure between her brows. She nods and makes a quiet little noise of affirmation, barely a sigh. He loosens his grip around her breast – her own hand falls away – and twists his wrist, feeling the puckered ridges of her areola beneath the pads of his fingers. Finding her stiff nipple, he rolls it around between his thumb and forefinger a second, just testing her as she trembles beneath him, then pinches firmly, tugs on the pink little bud. “Oh!” Pam cries out, body jerking closer to his. It’s all so different, so much more intense when there aren’t clothes between his hands and her skin. Her eyes open dazedly, heavily, and she finds him staring right at her, drinking her in. “Yeah, you like that,” he confirms darkly, but there’s no question in his tone, only a confident understanding and, she thinks, knowing Jim as well as she does, a mischievous, almost threatening tone that matches the little twinkle in his eyes.
“God Pam, I want to know everything that turns you on,” Jim sighs against her mouth, still plucking at her nipple. He pauses briefly to slide his hand upwards, across the expanse of her chest and neck, then rubs the pad of his thumb against the inside of her bottom lip. His skin is rough against the smooth, wet slide of that red skin, and when he drops his hand again to rub his slick thumb against the flat tip of her nipple, she can’t help but catch her lip in her teeth with a sharp moaned cry. He nudges her mouth immediately open and takes over for her, slipping his tongue inside and out, sucking on her bottom lip as he works firmly at her nipple again. “Tell me what else you like,” he implores when he pulls back, prick twitching in his briefs when she lifts his head to follow his drunkenly, chasing his kiss. “Tell me how I can make you scream.”
Pam bites down on the anticipatory groan that statement elicits from her. With Roy, they had fallen into a tedious routine over the ten years they had been together. In the last six months of their relationship, they had slept together maybe three times, and Pam had resigned herself to finding pleasure only by her own hands, with Jim’s face and jawline and strong shoulders swimming in her mind’s eye, in the slow wake of Roy’s neglect of her bodily needs. Not that it was entirely his fault. By the end, as the weeks had ticked along and their inevitably doomed wedding had drawn closer, the face she pictured when she came (lying in bed beneath the comforter next to him while he slept, lips and eyes pressed firmly shut to keep the fantasy and silence, fingers working at herself in quick familiarity) was never his. Never Roy. He never really stood a chance, she thinks.
Even in these past six weeks, she’d only touched herself a handful of times, wanting to heighten the inevitable experience when it actually happened, only allowing herself two or three times after Jim had left at night to sink down into the couch, slip her hand underneath her panties, and hump against her circling fingers until she’d nearly screamed.
Now, pressed half-naked against Jim, her body throbs with the promise of his touch, knowing how good it could be, knowing how he longed to take care of her. Pam hesitates for a moment as if in deliberation and Jim takes the time to really look at her face. She’s flushed and panting – already, he thinks, god, imagine what he could do with the rest of their lives – with dark eyes, the pupils blown wide with lust.
Keeping their gazes locked together, she fumbles for and finds his hand, then closes her fingers over the back of his wrist, pulling him away from her breast. Wordlessly, she drags his hand down her body, over her trembling stomach as she takes a hitching breath, and pushes it between her warm thighs at the apex of her legs. “Jesus, Pam,” he exhales, pressing his forehead to hers as his fingers slide down to cup the mound of her sex. He wiggles his fingertips experimentally against the dewy moisture he can feel at the centre of her panties and she moans brokenly against him, her warm hand moving to slide across his ribs and settle against his back, clutching him to her. She turns more onto her side and tucks down a little, and her breasts push into his chest, her nipples rubbing at the light smattering of hair covering the broad expanse of his chest.
“You’re so wet,” he moans in adoration, “you’re so wet.” He can feel the rate of her breathing increase, feel her fingers gripping at his side, as he rubs his finger in firm circles against the spot of wetness that’s seeped through her panties, pushing up into the dip he finds. “Uh!” she cries, her hips jerking into his touch. Through the cotton of her panties, he feels her muscles clench like a spasm against his fingertips and the resulting wave of lust that spreads over him is white hot. He can’t stop himself.
“Let me – ” he starts breathlessly, sitting up slightly to hook his fingers in the elastic of her panties to tug them over her hips, down her milky thighs. A sticky, glistening line stretches from the centre of her until it breaks of, falling against her thigh. Jim bites back a groan at the sight, and at the fact that she’s finally bared completely to him, Pam is naked and panting and stretched out waiting for him to touch her. Once her panties are untangled from her feet and freely in his hand, he can’t help himself. He brings them to his face, unashamed, and inhales the scent of her deeply, the damp, sticky crotch pushed against his mouth and nose. “Oh my god,” Pam whimpers, blushing, “Jim!” He turns dark eyes to her, a new wave of lust overcoming him at the heady smell of her sex, and throws the panties somewhere in the expanse of her bedroom. When he lays fully down beside her again, tangling their limbs, he encourages her with a firm hand to bend her knee and hitches it up against his hip. Her pussy makes a slick noise as it opens up at the new angle and he buries his agonised groan in her hair, pulling her tightly to him. She tucks her head beneath his chin and settles in, trembling with anticipation as she waits for him to touch her again.
She doesn’t have to wait long. He can’t keep himself away. Unimpeded now, the hot scent of her reaches Jim’s nose and he lowers his hand again, looking down to watch the connection of their flesh. She’s trimmed her pubic hair neat and close to the skin, red-brown curls rubbing deliciously at his palm as he slips his hand between her legs and feels her slick juices on his skin for the first time. Her labia are silky and stuck wetly together, and he eases the fingertips of his pointer and middle finger between them to touch against her fleshy hole. Oh, she’s burning hot. She jerks violently against him with a moan, breathing, “oh yes,” and grips his side tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. He feels her little puffs of breath hot against his chest. “I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long, Pam, you have no idea,” he breathes against her hair, then pushes his two fingers up inside of her in a single smooth stroke as she groans out a long, high sound, marvelling at the brief resistance before her body opens up to him, sucks his fingers inside. “No idea.”
The first draw back of his fingers is delicious, her inner lips gripping him smoothly, and when he twists his wrist as he pushes insistently back inside, she bucks up at him with a high, reedy sound that surprises both of them. He sets a steady rhythm, not fast or slow but regular and firm, and the pressure has her twisting her hips and roughing her mouth against his chest hair as she groans and groans and groans, lost in the sensations. The wet sounds coming from between her legs are obscene as he fucks her with his fingers, wrist angled, his other fingers curled against his palm so that his knuckles bump against her perineum with each thrust. It can’t have been two minutes but already there’s a low pulsing in her belly, like a red-hot spring coiling tighter, tighter, like she’s climbing a tall mountain, reaching the peak. His thumb finds her clit and slips over it, and then he’s got a perfect rhythm going, rubbing her in tight little circles while he fucks his fingers in and out of her, his own breath ripping through him as if it were turning him on just as much to see her coming apart, which it was.
“Oh god,” she pants, “just like that, just there, just there.” Pam indulges herself in the sensation for long minutes, giving in, her toes starting to curl as she reaches that peak. She’s losing herself in her pleasure, almost, god, but has to pull herself back from the brink with a start, like swimming up from the bottom of a murky lake to find the air at the top. As incredible as this is, as much as she’s so ready, she’s right there waiting to tumble over the edge, she doesn’t want to end like this. She wants more than this. They’ve waited so long to do it properly.
Her hand shoots down to grab his wrist, stilling his movements as she pants, gasping, “stop, stop,” as she tries to regain control. She takes a moment against his chest to collect herself, kissing impulsively at his chest hair, raking her breathing back in, clawing herself back from the edge. “You okay?” Jim asks her in quiet concern, shifting so that he can look at her face. The expression Pam sees there does as much for her swelling heart as it does for her loins, the tender care, the slight worry, the love-fueled, pliant give behind his eyes that says he’d do absolutely anything for her, absolutely anything. Pam tilts her head up to kiss him then, overcome with it all, with the way this man is staring down at her, like he loves her so completely and utterly. Which he does.
“Better than okay,” she breathes, and because she’s still holding Jim’s wrist in her trembling fingers, she holds him still as she angles her hips and pushes down selfishly against the press of his fingers once more, against his stilled thumb pressing at the side of her clit, drawing a breath of pleasure. “I just want…” she trails off, not sure how to articulate her thoughts. “You don’t want to come like this?” Jim asks, his own breath heavy, eyes dark and transfixed by the sight of her, naked and flushed. Pam shakes her head shyly and her lips tense like she wants to speak, but she stops herself, looking briefly away from his eyes.
Jim knows her face well enough to recognise her shyness, her hesitation, no matter that only seconds ago she had been riding his hand, about to come around his fingers. There’s always been so much between them they could never say, and he supposes old habits die hard when you’re used to biting your tongue. Besides, he’d barely even heard Pam curse. He had no idea what she would be able to bring herself to say, or not say, during something as intimate and raw as sex. “You want something else?” he asks, and by his almost mock-oblivious tone, she knows he understands all she could never say, will take over for her and give voice to the words that she lacks the confidence to say right now. She nods, breathes “yeah” on an exhale, and her eyes drift down to his lips wantonly, shamelessly. She licks her own lips distractedly. Jim’s body absolutely thrills at the possibilities these little gestures open up.
“You want me to eat your pussy?” he all but groans, leaning down to capture her lips, his belly flip-flopping at the mere thought of tasting her between her legs. Her eyes half-close at his question, lust pulsing over her in a heavy wave as her pussy throbs at his eagerness, at just the thought of his mouth on her. “Let me eat you out, Pam. God. Let me lick you open.” His fingers still mostly buried inside her, Jim feels her walls flutter and quiver around him at his request. She parts her mouth against his kisses and he feels her lurid groan vibrate against his tongue. “I want to taste you.” She squirms against him as if in pain, but her face is flushed, her eyes flickering up and down between his eyes and lips as she rubs herself shallowly on his fingers. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” she pants, but her words are surprised, reverent, a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to talk about my mother when we’re doing things like this,” he says simply, and pulls his fingers against the spongy upper wall of her pussy, much to her delight.
He notices she doesn’t deny his request, and he slips his fingers out of her carefully, feeling her muscles clutching at him, trying to keep him inside. He can’t help himself and brings his hand up to taste her, sucking the juice from his fingers as his eyes close in pleasure. She’s sweet and just a little tangy, her fluid viscous and silky as it stretches between his two fingers. It’s the best thing he’s tasted, and he urges her to roll completely onto her back now with a hand against her thigh, turning her. She watches him with dark eyes and lets her knees drop open, exposing her slick, pink centre, so thoroughly finger-fucked open.
She watches shyly as he kisses her neck, her collarbone, stops to suck a nipple into his mouth and it nearly all ends there with her bucking up into his working mouth, learning there must be a direct line between her nipple and her clit. He pulls off with a pop, mouth still hinged open as he glances darkly up at her, and then he’s there, nestling between her thighs, inhaling the heady smell of her as the heat pours off her centre in waves. His arms come to slide across the mattress on either side of her, curling up, over and around her thighs, where he holds her open and steady. He gives her one last look, and god, she’s never really felt that phrase if looks could kill more keenly than now, with the dark promise of his desire burning in his gaze, and then he ducks his head, closing his eyes. His nose nudges at the folds of her clitoris first and she jerks violently, his hands on her thighs pushing her back down against the bed easily, like he’d predicted she was going to jump and jerk beneath him. He flicks his tongue out against her labia to taste her, and then there’s not really any preamble, because he can’t make himself wait any longer, and the smell of her is driving him crazy, and when he lets his tongue sink against the depths of her slit, the sound that cries out of her is magical.
He’s not even embarrassed by the huffing, groaning noises that he’s making as he licks at her, jaw working as he runs his tongue in and along and over her, moving up the sides of her pussy, wiggling his tongue against the tiny slit of her urethra, barely touching it against the sensitive, smooth pearl of her clit. When he dips it into her open hole, and points his tongue to stiffen it, and wriggles it in shallow circles around her sensitive entrance, she squeals and throws her head back, and the words tumble out of her in a delirious stream, “ohmygodohmygod,” a harsh inhalation, “ohgoood.”
He can feel she’s tense and quivering, sucking in deep breaths through her nose with her body twisting and moving. Her hands are fisting in the sheets beside her hips, gripping and pulling like she’s in pain, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. He reaches up and slides his hand around on the bed, searching for her hand. He finds one gripping the bedsheets in a death grip, and pulls it up from the bed and into his hair, where he curls his own around it, encouraging her to hold tight. Turns out, she doesn’t need much encouragement. He feels her other hand slide into his hair, joining the first, and then her fingers are spread and tangled, holding him to her as her legs part wide open. Her fingernails scrape his scalp affectionately, lovingly, gratefully.
He gets back to work immediately, quite pleased with himself, and moves up her slit to draw her clit into his mouth, sucking at the skin of her hood, tugging it away from her body half an inch or so before sinking his lips back down over it completely. He sucks lightly, in small bursts, and spurred on by the incredible noises she’s making, sucks a little harder, pushes his tongue firmly against the underside of her clit, where it crests nakedly at the top of her swollen labia. She cries out and tugs hard on his hair and he feels her pull strands of it out. Her clit pops from his mouth with a wet noise as he pulls away in a grunt, pressing his face against the inside of her thigh for a moment as he catches his breath, reflexive tears springing to his eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” she pants, lost, swimming in her pleasure, making to remove her hands, but he firms them back onto his scalp, murmuring, “as hard as you want,” with a press of his hand and dives back in, not missing a beat as he pulls her clit back into his mouth. This isn’t about him right now, and besides, he can take it. Anything to be between those thighs again, to be sucking at her gorgeous pussy.
He’s tonguing her quivering hole, flicking her entrance in shallow, firm strokes as he just dips in, just sneaks out. She’s a woman gone wild, holding his face tightly to her pussy as she grinds wetly against his mouth and tongue, moaning and groaning and squeaking, and he files away the sounds in a folder in his brain marked ‘Holy Fucking Fuck’, mind reeling at the thought that Pam Beesly, mild-mannered office receptionist, was fucking herself on his tongue and enjoying the hell out of it. He chances a look up and finds her eyes squeezed tightly shut in concentration, curls spread out in a halo as she tosses her head back and forth against the pillow, one lock swept over her forehead, breasts heaving with her rapid breaths. Her face is a thing of beauty, her eyebrows tented, her mouth parted open in pure pleasure.
Jim slides one of his arms down from where it’s curved around her thigh and instead brings his hand up between her from the front, his forearm and elbow keeping her thigh pushed away while he settles his fingers over the swell of her mons, thumb angling down to rub at her clit, slippery where he’s been sucking it. He’s working those tight circles again, pushing the fleshy folds of her hood against her clit rhythmically where she’s too sensitive to touch, and the air in the room sharpens, crackles.
He hears her breathing change incrementally, each inhale a shaky draw, each exhale groaning uncontrollably out of her now, and her head stops tossing on the pillow, her hands still where they’re gripped in his hair, her thighs begin to tremble violently, and around his tongue, Jim feels her muscles fluttering, quivering, and fuck, if it isn’t the best thing he’s ever felt, the feeling of Pam beginning to lose control, and come apart around him.
“Oh!” she suddenly gasps on an inhale, rolling her hips against his face. He feels a push of fluid pulse out of her and then she’s stuttering, forcing out from the depths of her, “Com – oh, Jim – I’m coming,” crying out wordlessly, grimacing. Her thighs clench tight around his ears to squeeze his head in a vice-like grip as her body folds in on itself, her head lifting up off the pillow and chin tucked to her chest, the skin of her stomach rippling as she tenses and spasms. One hand leaves his hair to fly up and grip the pillow next to her head, clawing at it as she grunts and groans, bearing down strongly on his mouth, against his grinding thumb, hips stuttering up and down. He holds her bucking body to his mouth with the arm curled around her thigh and pushes his tongue fully inside her at the crux of her orgasm, and she actually screams, giving his hair a sharp, sustained tug on the tail of a long, loud moan. Her muscles are clutching and clenching in uneven waves around his tongue, spilling fluid right into his open mouth.
It’s the most turned-on Jim’s ever been, with his face buried between Pam’s thighs, hearing and feeling and tasting her come against him. He works her back down slowly when he feels her thighs give a little around his head, his thumb lightening the pressure on her clit as he rubs the skin tenderly, flat tongue lapping leisurely against her opening as he cleans up all the juice her sopping pussy had squeezed out of her. He grinds his aching cock into the bed just once, maybe twice, his senses spinning around him, almost dizzy with the thought of sinking into her sopping, still quivering pussy in a few moments. Her hands fall from his hair limply, dropping to the bed on either side of her as she gives a final, tremulous shiver. When she finally stills and her hips stop giving little jerks, and she sighs deeply from her belly in satiation, Jim lifts his head and crosses his arms across her pelvis, settling his chin on top of them. When he looks up her body at her, Pam’s hands are covering her face, soft breasts rising and falling as her heartrate works its way back down. He sees that same pink blush colouring up her neck and underneath her hands, where she’s hiding.
“Not going shy on me now, are you, Beesly?” he comments lowly, his voice gravelly and rough. When Pam whimpers in response but doesn’t move her hands, he rises to his knees and crawls up her body with fisted hands pressing the mattress down on either side of her. He feels primal and powerful, like a jungle cat. Hovering over her, their bodies are pressed together and his aching prick butts up against her hip, leaving a wet smear of pre-come that’s seeped through his briefs, leaving a dark spot on the fabric. “Hey,” he says gently, carefully pulling back one hand from her face, then the other. Her eyes are closed. It feels like a bizarre game of pass-the-parcel, peeling back the layers of her. “Open your eyes,” he implores, his voice full up with love and tenderness. Slowly, she peeks open one eyelid, then the other, barely meeting his gaze, seeing in her peripheral the tugged mess of his hair, the pink scrapes along his hairline where she’d scratched him with her thumbnails. “I’m sorry,” she squeaks. The beat of silence between them is heavy – from her, embarrassment, and from him, confusion – as she takes in his glistening mouth, nose, cheeks and chin. “I got you all…messy,” she says, tone half admiration and half mortification. She closes her eyes again and slaps her palms back over her face, hiding from him. “It’s just never felt like that before,” she admits in a small voice. It’s easier to say all this if she’s not looking at him.
“Well, not to act like a big deal or anything, but you better get used to the way that feels,” Jim states matter-of-factly, tucking his chin again, speaking in that bravado voice he effects at the office sometimes, when his confidence makes Pam’s heart leap in her chest. As he’s speaking, he peels his underwear off and drops them at the side of the bed, then rolls back over onto his belly, unable to stop himself from giving the bed a little hump, just one, just to ease the pressure. She still doesn’t look at him and he gives her a moment to hide, leans down to kiss her lips instead. She opens her mouth without hesitation to his ministrations and he licks inside it, smearing her come against her lips.
“Mm,” she breathes, and parts her lips further, kisses him open-mouthed, erotic and charged, all tangling tongues, the wet sounds of smacking filling the bedroom around them as she tastes herself on his mouth. Her hand slides down from her face, lost in the moment as she is, and he takes the opportunity to grasp it and pull it down between their bodies, wrapping her fingers around his throbbing cock for the first time as it juts against her hip and belly. She gasps and their mouths separate as she pulls away on a little moan, tightening her fingers around him reflexively. He’s so hard, his skin so soft and smooth, stretched over the pulsing length of him. He drops his head just to the side of hers, panting into the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, not resisting the urge as it rises in him to place a kiss on her skin. “I loved feeling you come on my face,” he breathes into her ear, and she tugs his cock in surprise at his dirty admission, a quiet cry falling from both their lips. “Can you feel how much I loved it?”
He moves their hands together, helping her to fist his cock in a slow, smooth rhythm. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed about anything you do with me,” he breathes. “I love it all. Anything you can give me.” Her body presses up against his for a moment and beneath him, he feels one of her legs fall to the side, feels her parting open for him as she draws her knees up so that her feet are pressed flat against the bed. Their eyes meet and suddenly it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and it’s just her, looking at him, and him gazing back, in the still space of her bedroom, and this is really about to happen. “I want to give you this,” she whispers, and because he’s still fisted in her warm grip, it’s easy for her to move the head of him between her parted thighs, to touch him there against her.
“Pam,” he trembles, and her heart is positively pounding in her chest, watching the unguarded expression on his face, the way he tries to keep his eyes from closing at the first touch of his head against her wet centre. “I want it, I want it,” she breathes, and can’t help the tip of her head back against the pillow, the way her eyes fall shut and her mouth parts open in a raw moan as he pushes himself inside in one smooth, glacial-slow motion, filling her up just right, her skin singing, groin throbbing. “Oh yes,” she groans, “oh Jim.” He can’t seem to hold his head up anymore, overwhelmed by the vice-grip of her, like a hot, velvety glove clutching him, drawing him in. “God, you’re so tight,” he chokes, and draws himself out, only to push back in in a firm thrust, forcing the breath from her lungs. Everything fits into place. Oh, this, this, she thinks as her body gives in, this is what I’ve been missing, this is what we can be like together. It’s exquisite, the feeling of him inside her, the stretch, the passion, the knowledge that he is just as awed as she.
She draws her knees up higher until they bump at his ribs, and lifts her feet to cross at the ankles behind his back at the same time at her arms come up to cross over the back of his head, holding him close in a bearhug. He settles into this new position easily, his arms bracketed either side of her, his lips brushing small kisses, exhalations, exaltations against her neck. “God, Pam,” he groans, pumping into her, “you’re so good, so good. So wet for me.” His words go straight to her groin, and with a spark of delight and desire she realises that language just comes naturally to him, is just part of sex with Jim. Wow, she thinks in sudden realisation, sex with Jim. He shifts his hips then, pulling his knees up underneath him to give him more traction, so he can pound into her steadily, forcefully, settling into a rhythm. Each thrust knocks the breath out of her and she meets him at each one, panting breathlessly and grinding her clit down against his pubic bone where his coarse curls scrub against her tender, slick skin.
“Gonna fuck you open,” he grunts, breathing heavily in her ear, “gonna make you come again.” The wet slap of their bodies in the silent bedroom is obscene and it roils in her gut, makes her tremble. She can smell the hot scent of their sex rising up around them, the heavy, heady odour of sweat and fluids. It’s so dirty, she thinks, but she loves it, and revels in it, and breathes in deeply through her nose. Not missing a beat in his pumping rhythm, he reaches between their bodies to find her clit again, giving her a pinch and a twist that causes her to hump up against him with a cry, before settling his thumb against her again and rubbing in a half-faltering up and down motion. “Oh fuck,” she groans, oh, this is it, this is it. At some point his rhythm had bumped her feet uncrossed, and she pushes her heels into the small of his back, where she can feel his muscles tight and hard as he fucks into her, and lifts her pelvis up against him.
“Pam, I’m not gonna last,” he puffs out, hips stuttering, his head still pressing into the curve of her neck, his forehead sweaty and sticky on the skin just below her earlobe. It doesn’t matter. “I’m there, I’m there, don’t stop,” she gasps, throwing her head back against the pillow as her back arches and her mouth twists into an ecstatic grimace, and then she’s coming around him in strong, tight clutching spasms, milking his cock, squealing and writhing her way through the deep valley of her pleasure, the whole world falling away.
His breaths are long and hard, tremulous, punching in and out of him as he presses his hips down and against her as he comes, holding himself still and flush to her groin as she feels his cock jerk inside of her, once, twice, three, four times, as he pants and groans in her ear with each spasm. He shoves into her shallowly once more with a huff and groans, long and low, as he gives a final spurt inside of her.
They lay in the afterglow, sweaty and panting and recovering, with his heavy body draped over the top of her. Eventually her legs feel too heavy to hold up, and she relaxes, smoothing her feet down the backs of his thighs and calves until her legs are straight again, and then stretches them deliciously, moaning at the ache. He rolls off of her and onto his back beside her, spent cock curving wetly against his hip, arm flung out to the side, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Wow,” he states after a moment, eyebrows raised as he turns his head to look at her. “Wow,” she agrees, and giggles, and it’s all he can do not to roll on top of her again and have another go, the way she makes him feel inside, the way she lights up the inside of his chest. He settles for reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand and leaning in to press a smiling kiss against her lips, overcome with love. “Yeah,” he says, and he’s so happy. So happy.