by Robert Neilson
I work in the Accounts Department of an insurance company. It’s an open plan office but the call centre section is separate from us because of the noise. We’re divided into sections and we’ve got our own boss, our own budget and different hours from the call centre lot, of course. But this afternoon most of us are in the boardroom at the Christmas party. It’s the usual crap, cheap sparkling wine and supermarket food, but it’s good to have a laugh with some of the women, who get pretty drunk, tell dirty jokes, flirt and dance as soon as any music comes on.
There’s a guy I don’t recognise over at the food. He’s in a suit. His tie is loosened. He looks twenty-something. I wonder who he is and go to pour myself a coke. Then he’s there at my shoulder, holding a glass out, asking me to fill it up too. He introduces himself as Stephen.
We stand and chat and I learn he’s an intern, working here unpaid for two weeks before Christmas. He’s on holiday from University and hoping that by working in places like this, unpaid, he might increase his chances of a job when he graduates. He’s got a gleaming smile and, when I glance down, I notice he’s got a hefty looking package too. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get to explore it though.
He asks me a question. “Have you got a photocopier login number?” Of course, I tell him. He explains he hasn’t, and asks if I can spare 10 photocopies for him as a Christmas gift. Sure, I say. He grabs my arm, a bit excitedly, and, taking our drinks with us, leads me to the photocopying room.
“What have you got to photocopy?” I ask as I put my number in.
“This!” he says gleefully, unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers and boxers down. He sits his bare arse on the glass of the machine. “Hit ten copies for me mate. I need to keep still.” I do as he asks, trying not to stare at his thick dick. The light slides along the glass and I pick up the first piece of paper that comes out. “You can see your bollocks as well as your arse,” I tell him. He takes it from me, but the photocopier has stopped now. “D’you think that would be a good Christmas present?” he asks. “Well, it would make ME want to fuck you, but I don’t know if that’s the effect you’re after.” He jumps down, kneels in front of me, and starts to undo my fly. “Let’s get this baby hard so that it can give me a good fucking,” he says, as he gets my dick out. Almost immediately I feel my dick start to stiffen in his hot wet mouth. It’s really horny looking down at this good looking guy, his suit trousers round his ankles, dick hard in front of him, blowing me.
He gets my cock rock hard and gleaming wet with his spit. Then he’s up and turning round, offering his arse to me. I spit on my index finger and rub it on his puckered hole, which opens invitingly. Getting more spit I slide my finger in. Stephen’s an experienced bottom and before long I’ve got two fingers comfortably in him. He groans as I move my fingers around inside his arse. I take them out and push the head of my cock against his hole. As I do so he reaches his hands back around and spreads his cheeks apart. I edge my cock in, but before long he’s thrusting back against it and soon I’m hammering away at him. My hands have been on his shoulders up until now but I move one down to jerk his dick, and as I feel his swollen shaft in my hand I start to groan, and then shoot my load inside him. Clearly turned on by this, the spunk starts to squirt out of his throbbing cock, some landing on his trousers and boxers, some on the floor.
In a minute we’re dressed. We decide to leave the spunk on the floor, though the photocopies of his arse might be a bit of a clue.
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