He taped the hand written sign to the glass door at the front of the shop, turning, he grinned at me. He was like a snake, and I the trembling mouse. The muscles in my thighs buzzed as I took his hand and followed him through the door marked Staff Only” to the back room. The small space was lined with shelves, stocked ceiling high with colorful craft beer cans and cleaning supplies, totally utilitarian and not at all sexy. Not yet.
He crowded in behind me and pushed me up against the wall, his fingers gripped my chin tightly as his lips pressed into mine. I felt as though I was going to melt, just this kiss had my cunt throbbing. And it didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on mine, his tongue darted inside, his teeth bit my lower lip. I felt like a teenager, sneaking off to make out with some boy.
I was trapped, the weight of him pinned me to the wall. His hands grasped my hair, pulled at my clothes, they grabbed and pinched and held me close. I could only feel that heat between my legs and a growing dampness, as I floated in his strong arms. He knew he had me. His snake grin widened as my head fell back, my chin pulled up by the tugging of his hand on my hair. I was moldable, easy, like soft clay; his nails left half moon indentions in my skin.
He laughed. And, turned me around, my face pressed against the dry wall. I could smell the fresh paint. His hand was still in my hair, still tugging my chin to the ceiling, and his teeth found my shoulder, sinking into the fabric of my t-shirt, into me. I wanted him in me.
Roughly, he shoved my pants down, yoga pants with an elastic waistband, easy to wear, easy to remove. I thought he would shove into me right then, greedy, but he didn’t. He paused, and the air in the small room crackled around us. I wasn’t good at waiting, and I wiggled my bared ass at him. Come on. His palm smacked me, branding my right cheek with the shape of his hand. Be patient. I groaned, my open mouth gasped. He was only making it harder for me to wait. I ached for his touch, the pad of his finger on my clit, the feeling of him sliding inside me, stretching, pushing. His hand crept under my shirt, cool on my warm skin. He grabbed me, his fingers digging into my waist, moving upwards and finding the flesh of my breast and crushing it in his firm grip as his left hand found my other cheek, evening out the color on my backside like red paint splashed on a canvas. He pressed himself against me, the fabric of his jeans an unwanted barrier between us.
I was stuck in his arms, held against the wall, back arched, mouth open, eyes closed, cunt dripping, panting. My knees threatened to give way, but he had me. His breath tickled my ear with a quiet chuckle. He slowly pulled my pants back up over my hips. I groaned in frustration as he kissed me one last time, leaving me there in the stock room on wobbly legs, my hair fluffed around my face. Five minutes is up.