Two Minutes

(As in, written in) Another little vignette, with the usual provisos. Enjoy.


There’s this guy outside my office door. He’s checking me out. I know, because I can tell. Little signs, a shift in body language while they go slack, neutral, assessing.
Boys I mean.
He’s cute in a rough and gay, toolbelt strapping sort of way. He can read me, or he thinks he can. He can read….something, and he thinks he understands it. I don’t correct him. Maybe it’s the black outfit I’m wearing today that makes me look like Johnny Cash’s undertaker, maybe it’s the long hair, severely bound up, maybe it’s the way my hips sway when I walk.
Whatever.
I think I’m going to have my way with him. Take him, with an air of authority as he is clearly, just hanging about in the hallway, awaiting instructions to fix this or bolt that, to somewhere a little secluded but more public than my office would be. Someplace I can work and yet still be dangerous. Take him, and show him – just for a moment – what awaits those I take into my world. The heights of heaven and the depths of hell all on a two minute pass. Just enough to get him going, make him engaged, twist until he <i>wants</i> to play in so active a manner that he will pursue.
Then, maybe, I will indulge him.
In a tiny access corridor with two nonfunctioning elevators I hold his eyes with my own and I can smell him – that warm, sour ruttiness that brings a slight pain in my head as my blood pressure swells to match his. I move closer, fingertips just brushing the surface tension of his personal space.
My breath is hot and I wonder if he can smell the contempt. Cute buys you five minutes of screen time, but it simply is not sufficient for more.
“Show me.” I tell him.
Quick and tight, like a scar, I am on him – my hands pinning his own, outstretched to clasp, vicelike upon my body, pressing him to the cool metal of the elevator door until his palms are flush with the strain. I lean forward, now utterly violating his space, and obediently he nudges his chin up and over just ever so slightly. I move into that hidden crevice betwixt us and smell deeply.
I let that moment wash over us both, my tits mashing up against his chest, sliding just ever so down his chest until I can see a light of comprehension. Pressing against me, I can feel it. His cock, engorged, is enormous. Smiling and yet holding him with my eyes, I part the neckline of my shirt and something in my manner betrays me…his eyes widen with recognition even as his swollen blood thick shaft strains with fleshy screams against me.
I can turn your screws with a look, in an eyeblink I can change your religion.
The moment passes.
Your minutes are up boyo.
I can feel his eyes on me as I go, tracking without understanding of what has happened to him, his universe contracting and contorting like a birth canal, forcing him into a new and brighter existence.