Alternating Thursdays

His Thursday

He never sits on the couch. It's such a subtle thing, but Casey always stands when it's his Thursday. it's strange. Rosalinda thinks that if she were a guy, sitting would be the preferable way to get a blowjob.

They worked in one of those big buildings on Capitol Hill and ventured into the basement on break. It was a maze, but they ventured down a long liminal hallway where they found a room unmarked and unlocked; their new hideout. It could have been an old storage room, or maybe a breakroom for some long-ago blue-collar guys since it had a table, four chairs, and an old leather couch.   

Standing just feels so tedious, especially when there is this couch right here.

But somehow, in its own Casey sort of way, it made sense. Leave it to him to make things harder than they needed to be.

She wants to ask him about this, but they've never talked about what they do here. Outside of this room, their little hideout in the basement, they are upright, moral, and professional people. Here, behind this closed door, Rosalinda and Casey can roleplay and give voices to the selfish and immature parts of themselves.

"You're such a fucking incel." Rosalinda chides him while reaching down into his slacks, where she finds a rigidness that she may or may not have fostered. She wonders what it would be like to fuck him. Their little agreement does not exactly forbid sex, but they've never crossed that line, and they've never discussed it. But it always crosses her mind, especially on Thursdays.

"Yeah," Casey smirks. "Well, that's some high praise coming from a woman that's about to suck the soul from my body. What does that say about you?"

Rosalinda strokes him once and thinks about how easy it would be to push him down onto the couch, straddle him, and slide his cock into that sopping spot between her thighs. It would change their game forever, wouldn't it? And she isn't certain if she's ready for that, though she enjoys the fantasy.

"This is a mercy," Rosalinda explains as she slowly drifts down to her knees. "How else is a sweaty little wastrel like you going to get some action?"

It takes her a moment to wrestle Casey's slacks open. When she finally pulls it free, Rosalinda gives it an adoring look. She's seen it at least a dozen times already and it's not a bad cock, but this late week indecency they shared never wore off. Whether it was her Thursday or his, doing what they do four floors down from their office, in this forgotten room in the basement, always gave Rosalinda such a charge.

"Says the bitch with my cock already in her mouth."

Casey's words confuse her, and she looks up at him curiously. "It's not in my-" But before Rosalinda can finish, he forces her down onto his cock. Surprise takes her, but when Casey's cruel chuckle dissolves into a moan, she gives in, spurred on by the sound. She swirls her tongue around him, and summons up as much spit as she can. When Rosalinda has him nice and slick, she pulls away a derisive smile. She can see traces of his smugness there, but from his furrowed brow and slack jaw, she sees a crack in Casey's composure now, and Rosalinda loves that she can do that to him.

She watches as Casey tries to keep his head above the lustful waters he's been plunged into, but Rosalinda doesn't make it easy. "You should see yourself," she says in an unkind tone. "Pathetic." She opens her mouth wide and makes a show of licking the length of his cock. "You even taste like an incel."

"A femcel like you would know, wouldn't you?"

Rosalinda opens her mouth to answer but realizes all too late that she's fallen for the same trick twice. Casey forces her back down onto his cock again, only this time he begins thrusting into her mouth, shedding any pretense that he's not enjoying himself.

"Your mouth," He begins in a voice thick with dark amour, "Feels better than it has any right to."

She feels his hand grasp the back of her head, then loops her long dark hair into a ponytail with his fingers. If she could look up, Rosalinda would probably see him practically drooling. She imagines Casey's dumb face half filled with determination, half crumbling under the burden of his arousal. She likes him like this: desperate and - well, not exactly feral, but close enough.

It doesn't take long for Casey to reach his apex, not with Rosalinda's lips wrapped around him. Really, how could he hold back when she had a throat lined with silk? How could he control himself when Rosalinda was all sloppy vowels, Aulk-aulk-aulk; the sound of her submission filling their secret room? Of course Casey can't control himself.

He erupts in her mouth, clutching desperately at Rosalinda's head and shoulders. He thrusts into her mouth, once, twice, then thrice, before forcing her all the way down until she can practically taste his bones. His body becomes taut, and he makes this noise that sounds like a grunt being pulled into a hiss, and it fills her with satisfaction.

She presses against him defiantly, inching that much more of Casey into her, until his voice gives out. When it does, he releases her, And Rosalinda retreats off of his cock, falling back on her hands and heels. A surprised gasp escapes her as Casey stumbles back, and for a moment it looks like the two of them have first collided, then bounced off of each other.

"God, I needed that," he explains as if Rosalinda didn't already figure that out.

"Fucking pig," She responds, but there is no venom in her words.

"What?" He huffs. "Last time I came on your face, you got super pissed."

"You could have at least warmed me." But she sees he's too fixated on the thin silver thread drooping between her mouth and his wet cock.

He finally answers with a weak shrug. "I'm sorry, but your mouth just felt too good. Besides, you'll probably never taste a man's cum again, so really, I was looking out for you." He tucks himself back into his slacks before glancing at his wristwatch. Then he helps Rosalinda up before asking "By the way, how do I taste?"

Rosalinda doesn't really have an answer to that. In the past, she's either stroked him to finish, with the exception of the last time when he absolutely covered her face, which had been alright despite her show of annoyance. She's heard that cum tastes horrible, but fortunately for her, Casey shot his pale spunk straight down her throat. There was a hint of something acrid there, but nothing Rosalinda really cares to articulate on.

Still smiling, Rosalinda says "Like a lonely little troll," She takes a moment to wipe her mouth, fix her hair, clear her throat, and straighten her clothes. Then she unlocks the door and says to Casey over her shoulder, "See you next Thursday."

Her Thursday

Casey locks the door behind them, then turns to her and pulls Rosalinda's sweater up, revealing a thin blouse and little else. "Hey!" She wriggles out of grip and fixes her sweater, but not before Casey notices her hard nipples making starbursts out of the fabric. She either took off her bra or never had one on.

He's never seen her chest before, their little agreement doesn't allow for the loss of clothes. It isn't as if Rosalinda has a massive chest, but as they bound from one Thursday to another, curiosity had blossomed in his mind about it, which in itself is odd considering that Casey is a self-proclaimed ass-man.

Lately, thoughts of Rosalinda have plagued Casey's concentration. Though they worked in the same office, this Rosalinda was different from the one he saw upstairs. Down here, she was brash and bold, a take he didn't see much of between the hours of nine o'clock and five o'clock. He wonders why she isn't always like this, and on the heels of that, he wishes he didn't have to wait so long to see this side of her.

"What the fuck Casey?" She gives him a grimy look before looking down at his crotch. Then, her disdain gives way to a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Did you get a hard-on just from seeing I wasn't wearing a bra?" She gives him a sharp, pithy laugh, and nods to his crotch. "Guess that guy is going to go to waste. Last I checked, it was my Thursday."

Rosalinda drops onto the old couch, scoots her hips forward until she is comfortable, then beckons to Casey with a gesture of her finger. She looks sexy and radiant, and Casey has no problem prostrating himself before her. But when he tries to fulfill his end of the agreement, Rosalinda clasps her legs together, like the pages of a closed book. She won't open up to him. Instead, all she offers Casey is a contrarian's smile.

Casey responds by prying her legs open, which prompts an excited gasp from Rosalinda. If not for his hands running the length of her thighs, fingers gently raking the skin there, perhaps she would have resisted more, but Casey knows it's been a long week for both of them, and he suspects Rosalinda is eager for this Thursday's release.

His fingers brush up against the thin strip of her panties where a small dark stain has emerged. He smiles and looks up at her. There is a particular stoicism Rosalinda is known for around the office; a faint yet professional smile that never reaches her eyes, except for right now. Right now, Casey sees dark passion and eagerness brimming in her eyes, like two dancers tangled in each other's arms.

"Don't act like you're not fucking loving this."

Rosalinda falls back on the couch with her legs spread and answers with, "I'd love it better if you could-" She finishes by snapping her fingers and pointing to her crotch, a gesture that perfectly says, "Get to work." Then, playing the part of an insoluble bitch, she reaches for her phone and starts scrolling.

Casey lets out a mirthless chuckle, then leans in and nuzzles his nose against her fabric-lain pussy. She smells so good, so good, so good. That jungle scent of arousal wafting up from her damp panties is so intoxicating. How could he resist tasting her?

He said, "Don't act like you're not enjoying this," as if he wasn't chomping at the bit to taste her. It's been two weeks since he had her taste in his mouth, a taste comfortably between bitter and sweet; a taste that stayed with him long after they finished their Thursday affairs. To say he wasn't looking forward to this would be a morsel too hard to swallow.

He hears Rosalinda's breathing change, though he thinks she is trying to hold on to her Stoic facade as if determined not to be bothered by this contractual oral act. "You femcels," he starts, admiring how the crotch of her panties is now nothing more than a dark patch of fabric. "Can't keep it together, the moment a man even breathes on your pussy, you just-" Casey finishes by making a gushing-whooshing noise.

"Says the fucker who can't wait to taste me?"

He sits up for a moment with a raised eyebrow and a condescending look in his eyes; that look that says he's about to mansplain something. "Oh, I just do this because-" but Rosalinda silences him, hooking a leg around his head and pulling him down face-first into her pussy.

"Less talking," she instructs him, "More making me cum, or did you forget how to do that?" Her question ends in a curious moan as Casey pulls her panties to one side and finally starts on his task. Rosalinda closes her eyes, and Casey hears her say in an easy and relaxed tone, "You have the nicest mouth of any incel I've ever felt."

It's meant to be a backhanded throwaway compliment, nothing to be taken seriously, but Casey does. He wants to ask her how many others there were. Did she have partners for every day of the week? Those questions both shift his gears into excitement and drive Casey's jealousy. He wants to ask her about it, but he doesn't have the language or courage to bring it up outside of their little hideout. Instead, he slides a finger into her.

Rosalinda moans again and paired with the squelching sound of her pussy, the room sounds magnificent. It's part of the Thursday soundtrack, and Casey can't help but drive his fingers down into the depths of Rosalinda while the soft tip of his tongue teases her hard little clit. After a moment she is dripping down onto the couch, leaving a filthy little stain on the fabric, which Casey loves. It isn't enough that his chin, cheeks, and mouth are marked, but the couch somehow makes it all real. Fantasies don't leave dark streaks like that.

He slides another finger into Rosalinda, and she drops her phone. No pretense now, no more pretending, he's thrown her in a bubbling pit of ecstasy and her heaving chest and closed eyes only serve to keep Rosalinda submerged. Casey is only spurred on when she reaches beneath her sweater and begins teasing her nipples.

"What a wanton sight," though he is speaking to all of her, Casey mostly spoke to her pussy. If Rosalinda hears him, she doesn't respond; too busy twitching as she draws closer to the rapture she desperately needs.

Her moans climb higher and higher, and Casey knows she is getting close. He decides to risk it all and reach beneath Rosalinda's sweater and blouse. His fingers find her thick nipple, and he gently pulls until she lets out an ardent noise of approval.

He is already turned on, has been since they stepped inside. Now, arousal struck him like a swing from a sledgehammer, and he began working every part of Rosalinda he could reach. He licks her clit mercilessly. He tests the depths of her pussy with a ring and forefinger, and with his other hand, he kneads her breast.

Later he'll think back on how ridiculous this must have looked. Alone, with the taste of Rosalinda fading from his taste buds, Casey will chuckle and think that his awkward crouching position was akin to a spider monkey. Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

A moment later, Her chest heaves and a tremble runs through her before she clenches her teeth, and then, POW! Before Casey can say anything snarky about her climax, Rosalinda squeezes his head with her thighs. Thankfully, her strength isn't too much for him, and she doesn't trap him in a vice. Instead, he feels Rosalinda gush her juices out onto his face; a baptism of both her need to climax and his need to give it to her.

Her voice comes in waves. As her orgasm first blossoms, then as it begins to ebb, she releases his head, and Casey gives her clit a break, sitting up and relieving the slight ache of his back. Rosalinda lay still for a moment. She looks as if all of her strength has left her, which doesn't surprise Casey. He's never seen her climax that hard before, and while this wasn't the first time she squirted, the sheer amount of her waterworks was a damp surprise. He knew that she needed this, but he hadn't expected a tide to wash over him, or for her to make an ocean from a lake.

Casey reluctantly releases her nipple and withdraws his fingers from her crotch. Her head lulls to one side and Rosalinda's lips part in an odd half-sneer, giving her an unflattering look. She was already precariously balanced in the seat, now Rosalinda slid off the couch cushions and to the floor with a soft plop. She looks so undone; miles from the button-up woman she was up in their office. He loves that he can do that to her.

"J-Jesus," Rosalinda stammers. She props herself up against the couch.

Rosalinda takes a moment, still in a bit of a daze. "That was-" but she pauses as if trying to find the right words. In the moment of silence, she adopts a smile Casey has never seen on her before. He thinks she's about to break character by complimenting him.

He hopes not. Casey likes the teasing, ribbing, hurling insults, and the playful unpleasantness they keep up during their Thursday meetings. He doesn't know who they'd be without those elements.

To his relief, nothing happens. And Casey breathes a sigh of relief. Rosalinda doesn't break character, and she doesn't compliment him. Casey stands and wipes his face clean before taking one final crack at her and says, "Clean yourself up," in that condescending sort of way he has. Then, helping her to her feet, he says in a gentler tone, "I'll see you next Thursday."