A cut above the rest

I work in a call centre for a computer retail outlet, handling customer enquiries and complaints (mainly complaints!). Every day I arrive at my desk, log on to my computer, don my headset and wait for the first unsatisfied customer to begin their tale of woe. It wouldn’t be such a bad job if the staff were more friendly but, as a result of the head office hiring generally unsociable loners and implementing a policy of employees being banned from talking to each other during working hours, each day is the same monotonous experience.

In an effort to relieve the boredom, I volunteered to take on the role of Health and Safety Officer. Now health and safety in the office is a pretty dull topic, but it does mean that, for one hour of my day, I am allowed to circulate around the call centre, asking employees if they have any ‘issues’ that need to be brought to my attention. Most of the time there are few issues raised, but it does at least give me a chance to talk to someone. Of course the conversation is usually brief as health and safety issues in the call centre are rare. But there was one incident that did grab my interest. Not because of the nature of the issue, but the woman who related it to me.

Heather was tall, slim and had long black hair that was always arranged meticulously on her head. She gave the impression that she was just there to earn money, not to converse or make friends. She did her job and nothing more. As I was doing my rounds she swung round on her chair, raising her leg and placing the heel of her shoe against the photocopier, blocking my path. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes transfixed by the sight of her shapely leg, encased in blue nylon.

“Hey, Health and Safety man!” she snapped.

My eyes tore themselves away from the leg and focused on Heather’s red lipstick. “Yes, can I help you?” I asked nervously. Heather could be quite scary when she was angry.

“I need you to report my chair. There is a loose screw.”

“O.K.” I said, reaching for my logbook, “I will report it and we should have it fixed in no time.”

“Damn right,” she retorted, “have you seen what it has done?”

I was confused. Seen? How could I have seen what it had done?

“Well can’t see you see!”

I stood there puzzled by this. Just then she grabbed my tie and pulled my face down so that I was staring at her knee. Then I saw what she was talking about. There was a run in her tights where the loose screw had caught them.

“Oh I see.” I said and tried to straighten up. But her hand held my tie firmly, while her other hand grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up to her thigh. The run continued up her leg almost to her panties, which I think were red. My eyes were transfixed until, in one swift movement, she brought her skirt down, released my tie and swung her chair around to her desk.

“Tell them to fix it by tomorrow,” she said, “I can’t afford to keep spending money on tights.”

“I will.” I mumbled, still phased by the sight of her thighs, and scuttled back to my desk.

The rest of the day I was preoccupied with the incident. I could understand she was not happy that she had snagged her tights but why did she feel it necessary to show me the extent of the damage? Had she done this for her benefit or mine? It wasn’t until three weeks later that I found out.

As usual the day had been dull. I was sitting at my desk watching the last five minutes of my shift pass by when one of my fellow employees came over.

“Could you go to the filing room? There’s been a health and safety incident. Typical! Nothing to do all day and then something happens just when you don’t need it! I walked past the mainly empty desks and opened the door to the filing room. It was Heather.

“Well don’t just stand there. Help me!” she pleaded.

The sight before my eyes was intriguing. In the filing room we have an office shredding machine, which we use to destroy personal records of ex-clients. The machine was jammed. Heather had been shredding some documents when the hem of her dress had been pulled into the machine. She was now stuck in an embarrassing position, although this didn’t seem to affect her manner.

“Get some scissors! Cut me loose and, for God’s sake, shut the door and lock it when you come back. I don’t want anyone else to see.”

I got some scissors and, locking the door, went to hand the scissors to Heather.

“I don’t want them. You do it!” she snapped.

I knelt down at the shredder and looked at the dress. I decided that the best way to free her and protect her modesty was to cut from the hem in a semi-circle around the part that was jammed in the machine. But as went to begin cutting I felt her hand on the back of my neck. It moved around under my chin and raised my head so that our eyes met.

“I want you to cut me out of my dress.” She whispered.

Her manner had changed. This was not the curt tone of before. This was the voice of a passionate woman.

“I could just unzip you.” I suggested but she placed a finger on my lips.

“I know. I want you to cut my dress off.”

And so I began. I began at the hem, which was knee length, between her legs. As the blades sliced through the material my eyes focused on what was being revealed. Stocking tops, milky thighs, silk panties, a belly button stud, and finally a matching bra. The dress fell open. I was now standing in front of her. She grabbed the back of my neck and bent her head down. Her tongue licked my ear and she whispered “Cut it all off!”

I was very meticulous. I began by making incisions in the dress across the shoulders so that it fell to the floor. Then the bra. Three snips and her breasts were free. She sighed with every snip. Rosy red nipples that stood out like miniature marshmallows. Then the panties. I knelt at her pussy. I could smell her dampness. I began with the left hand side. As I cut through the material it fell to one side revealing the edge of her black pussy hair. One more snip and the full beauty of her pussy was before me.

As I put the scissors down her hands grabbed my head and pressed my face into her pussy. It was soft and warm and I began to lick the juices produced by her excitement. Her hands were grasping my hair tight. But it was a pleasurable pain that I felt. Suddenly she jerked my head away from her.

“Fuck me now!”

I didn’t need asking twice. With every snip of the scissors my cock had been getting stiffer and stiffer. I dropped my trousers and pants revealing my thick hard cock. Before I had a chance to make a move she grabbed it, placed it between her pussy and, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my thighs pressed down hard so that it disappeared into her warm, dark pussy. Struggling to maintain my balance I slammed her against the wall and began to pump her pussy hard. Again pleasure and pain. She bit into my neck, between screams of pleasure. Then she leaned back, revealing her breasts.

“Bite them. Hard.” She gasped.

So I bit them. First tentatively but, encouraged by her moans of delight, I bite hard into the soft skin.

Then suddenly her body tensed. Her arms locked tight, her eyes closed and her legs squeezed me so hard that I thought I would lose consciousness.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck yes!” Heather squealed as her orgasm overwhelmed her.

Her eyes, now open, stared at me.

“I’m going to suck you dry.” She said, as if it was a challenge that only she could rise to.

She climbed off me and pushed me against a filing cabinet. Kneeling at my feet she took my whole cock in her mouth, right down to the balls and sucked me hard. My balls were in her hands, being squeezed so hard that I thought she would burst them. This was the roughest blow job I’d ever experienced. As her mouth moved up and down my shaft her teeth scraped the skin. Pleasure and pain. I could feel myself reaching the limits of self-control and I pushed her head down with my hands so that my cock was tickling her throat as I came hard.

I sank to my knees. She stood over me, in just her stockings, licking her lips. Then she picked up the remains of her clothes and walked towards the door, her pert bottom swinging from side to side.

She unlocked the door and, without looking back, said “Don’t forget to get that shredder fixed by tomorrow.”

I hurriedly got to my feet and, as I was trying to put my clothes back on shouted after her.

“How are you going to get home with no clothes to wear?”

As I rushed into the main office Heather was taking a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt out of her bag.

“Oh it’s no problem,” she grinned as she pulled the sweatshirt over her gorgeous breasts, “I always carry a change of clothes. I always come prepared.”