I spent my lunch break in the women’s locker room at the factory, buried balls-deep in Becca Ferguson, the nineteen-year-old press operator who wanted me. I didn’t want Becca. She was flat-chested and kind of dumb, no real ambition but to get married and start cranking out babies like a puppy mill. Still, she wanted me, and I was willing to use her to get what I really wanted, which was Susan.
Becca and I had our shirts on, but our pants around our ankles. I pounded into her, stroke after stroke after stroke. She’d slipped her hands up under my shirt and dug her nails into my spine. I cupped my fingers over her hips and tried hard to make sure I didn’t come too soon.
I knew when Susan was supposed to take lunch. I’d timed seducing Becca precisely. Of course that wasn’t hard, since I only had to get her to do what she already wanted to do. Becca and I took first lunch, and Susan was on second lunch. So I just walked into the women’s locker room as Becca was taking off her work smock, wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, and began sucking her earlobes. She leaned back into me. I rubbed my thumbs in figure-eights over her belly and pressed my crotch into the back of her jeans.
(…)
Read the rest of Breaktime With Becca (2,689 words)
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