EROTIC SERIES :

Voice - PART 2
© remittance girl, 2007.

"Good God! There's a rock somewhere and a creep factory beneath it, and they're all crawling out from under tonight," murmured Sandra.

Jillian swivelled in her office chair, winked and held up two fingers. "Oh, yeah, baby. That's it. Stroke it nice and hard for me. Mmm," she purred into her headset mic.

"Mister Magoo?" Sandra whispered.

Jillian nodded and rolled her eyes. "Ohhh. Fuck that's good. Spurt that hot cum all over my tits. Now, baby, now!"

"Christ," muttered Sandra. She turned to face her own desk and punched the 'hold calls' button. Wearily, she pulled off her telephone headset and hung it by the little hook on the side of her cubicle.

"So good, oh, yeah. Mmm. I'm rubbing it all over my big tits. It feels so good." Jillian blindly groped the back of her chair, pulling her cardigan off it. She wrestled her arms into it and buttoned it over a t-shirt-clad pair of very modest breasts.

Sandra stood up and shouldered her backpack, tapping on the face of her watch loud enough to get Jillian's attention. Jillian shrugged and cooed into her headset mic. "Ahh... that was wonderful, James. Call me again soon, okay? Yeah. Bye."

Punching the disconnect on her handset, she quickly engaged the 'hold calls' button and pulled off her own headset.

"Right. Done. Dusted!" She felt beneath her desk and pulled out her purse. "Breakfast?"

Sandra grinned. "Fry-up?"

"What's the point in me going to a gym three times a week if you're just going to lay waste to all my good work by tempting me with fry-ups?"

They walked down the long fluorescent-lit corridor of cubicles, waving to girls, each headsetted and making erotic noises.

"After eight hours of boredom, a girl deserves a bit of sinful luxury."

"I suppose your right," replied Jillian. "Fry-up it is then."

They turned left at the end of the corridor and walked through a swinging office door, into the reception area.

"It's that time," chirped Sandra, signing herself out of the register. The supervisor behind the desk, Marcia, countersigned and slid the clipboard over to Jillian.

"You went past the ten minute mark again," said Marcia. "You don't get paid for that, you know."

Jillian bent over and signed. "I know. But it's just not nice to hang up on them in the middle of an orgasm." She handed the pen and the clipboard back to Marcia. "Especially Mister Magoo. He's sweet."

The two other women burst into laughter. Sandra put on a adenoidal Scots accent: "Cum on, Lass. Here it comes. Here comes magooo!"

Vaguely annoyed, Jillian tugged on Sandra's arm. "At least he doesn't want me to pretend I'm choking on his cock. Come on. Breakfast."

Sandra pulled the street door open, and they both blinked into the greyish light of another London dawn.

READ PART III