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Rooftop Distraction

I'm just trying to get my work done to hold on to my job!
She was out again today.

She was sunbathing on the roof across the street from my office window. From the 15th floor, I could look slightly down on her. The nearby buildings, also taller than hers, surely had more gawkers.

My seat was just close enough to see her, yet I still remained seated at my desk.

A quick look over my shoulder and voila, she was right there, but if my boss popped his head in past my cubicle partition, my face was already back on the computer again.

When I first noticed her coming out, a week earlier, I was like, "Pfft, whatever, what a brazen attention suck." Her generous applications of sun lotion, which she took forever to rub all over herself, reinforced the idea of trying to be the centre of attention.

I was able to brush her off and focus on some accounts that were nearing deadline, requiring my full attention. Unfortunately, because she was so easily in view, my peripheral vision immediately picked up even the slightest movements she made such as sipping demurely from her water bottle, swatting a fly away, smoothing out an oil splotch on her belly, picking up her phone.

Over the past week, however, the accounts increasingly became more and more of an albatross, more and more difficult to concentrate on. The deadline was coming up in a couple of days. I cursed there were no blinds, as my window faced northwest, never getting any sun. I even thought of positioning my chair and desk to the opposite wall.

Instead, I just tried to bear down, my nose to the grindstone, and ignore the tall, slender girl, too far away to tell if she was Latina or African American, 19 or 25 for all I could tell, in her white crochet bikini, with that dazzlingly glistening-with-oil, dark skin.

Each day she came out, the harder and harder, and rock fucking harder, the bulge in my pants would get. The more it throbbed, straining against my pants, the more it shot bolts of electric bull-lust all though me. My shaft swelled defiantly against its increasingly cruel, textile confines.

It felt good to occasionally sneak my hand over my warm bulge, gently kneading it, forcing me to type one-handed at those points. I cursed myself for this hampering of productivity, a week ago I was laughing at her for being a barstar on the roof, and now, I was her blueballed fool, falling behind on deadlines that were actually crucial to my placement at this firm.

I was flustered at how could she get away with suntanning all day like that. She had to have worked nights. Regardless, as long as she was there, I was giving her more and more attention time, and this both angered me for leading my attention astray, as well as arousing me for leading my attention astray.

It was two days before deadline, and I was hopelessly behind, reduced to a ball of nerves, or, a blueball of nerves. In the last day or two she had taken to stretching out on a yoga mat. This really slowed down work.

She was nimble, her long, thin, preying mantis legs spreading into an insanely wide “V” as she raised her tight ass high up in the air, and then swoop her long, lithe frame down, down towards the mat like a bird of prey, rearing her head up again so that her long, shining back was now arched, and repeat.

It was in the middle of these swooping exercises that I saw something that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

The roof door opened, and a man came out, dressed in black slacks and white shirt. I figured it was some office stooge on his work hour. However, upon closer look, it turned out to be my boss. He looked up toward our building and I found myself ducking my head out of sight.

I slowly peeked again. My boss approached the statuesque, mocha sunbather. Meanwhile I was trying to process how this could possibly happen. Was everyone in the office (with this view) doing the same thing? Watching? Eventually participating? How on earth was he able to hook up with her? Did he just wing it and make a cold call on her?

This was all too surreal to take in. My jowly, overweight boss with hair plugs, nonchalant, hands in his pockets, stood next to her, chatting her up. As she lay down on her belly, she picked up the lotion bottle and waved it at him, not looking at him.

Ogling her like the disgusting-joke-telling-pig that he was, he loosened his tie, and then shot another glowering glance up my way, making me stupidly duck again. When I peeked up again he was rolling up his sleeves, and took the oil bottle from her and cumbersomely squatted down over her.

As he began to apply the oil with slow, admiring ministrations, I realised: well, okay, fuck it then, I guess I don't have to worry about him popping his head in here, when his other one could soon be popping in somewhere else.

Dying to be freed, to hang out, way out of my pants, to point throbbing north, my erection sprang out immediately. It felt good to be jerking my cock in an awkward place where there was no worry of being caught. The accounts took a back seat for a bit.

My leering creepo of a boss, who unfortunately bore a resemblance to Rob Ford not just in looks but in classiness, actually turned around while he was on top of her and looked back up my way with a leer that I didn't really need to see.

I didn't let that affect what was otherwise a hot situation, and was able to stroke away as she hiked her thumb up in the air, indicating him to get off.

He did so, as she pointed to the ground.

My boss was now on his back, his pants off. His surprisingly large cock started to curl its way to hardness as she grabbed it, spat on it, and stroked it into quick rigidity. She had a condom on him before I could blink.

She was squatting on him, her back to him, so that she was facing my way. I loved this position because she completely blocked the fat, gross fucker out of my view, except for his pasty, ghost-white legs sticking out underneath her. Not to mention having a nice frontal view of her.

I swivelled my chair closer to the window. Slowly, I worked my hand up and down my comparatively modest six inches, making sure to quickly cup my palm over the mushroomy head of my erection at the top of each downstroke, always giving me that extra zing of pleasure.

My other hand kneaded my balls, slowly pulling them down until they gently “popped” out of my grip, repeatedly doing this until I reached a good, solid, edging horniness.

The sunbather slowly rubbed my boss's erection, back and forth like a metronome, against her slim, tight, glistening, brown tummy, almost creating the illusion that the cock was hers. Her loins slowly ground forwards, back, forwards, back, forwards, back, in a gracefully “mini-swooping” manner. This made him lock his hands on her ass, and made me want to explode, but I managed to hold back to savour this.

And then, I noticed her head move oh-so-slightly to precisely where I was. Or, so I thought, as my heart beat more quickly.

I stood up from my chair now, and went right up to the window. As demonstratively as I could, my right hand gently stroked up my erection, immediately followed by an upstroke with my left, and back and forth, right hand, followed by left hand, a nice, quick, easy rhythm, each fist alternating their way up my shaft, like I was constantly pulling up a rope.

Wonderfully, the mocha temptress whipped the condom off and began stroking my boss's hard-on in the exact same way I was, with alternating upstrokes with each hand. Occasionally she would gently slap his erection against her tummy, and then resume the left-hand, right-hand upstroking again.

This gave me an idea, and I started slapping my erection at her. Whack, this way, whack, back the other way. Back and forth, giving my cock good hard smacks, letting her know she was driving me crazy.

Nodding at me, she began slapping my boss's cock this way and that, just like I was. The animalistic look in her face, glaring eyes, mouth open, baring teeth, was enough to send me over the edge. She looked behind her to say something to my boss, giving his shaft a couple quick strokes, and then turned to look at me again, going back to alternating slaps of his erection, nodding at me.

I put my hands against the window and placed my erection right up against it. At first the cold glass stole a little bit of mojo, but all the pre-cum that I was starting to coat the window with provided the necessary lubrication to get my erection standing at full attention again.

I didn't care about nearby windows that provided views of the show that the roof bar-star was making me put on for her now. The thought of onlookers contacting police to report them about indecent exposure (or lewd public acts, or?) crossed my mind, but only briefly. Part of me cursed this brazen hussy for bringing me down to her level like this, while another part of me was on fire for her, at her beck and call.

I'm glad my boss was still blocked out of view as I fucked the gooey window. Looking at me, she waived the head of his erection all around the entrance to her pussy, round and round, without touching. My boss tried to thrust up into her, but she avoided his joust. Smiling, she looked back at him, teasing him, stroking his cock, shaking her head no.

She looked back at me again and rubbed his erection with the left-hand/right-hand upstrokes that we were doing earlier. As I found myself doing the same, I realised I better be careful or she'll start playing me like a puppet.

The dark-skinned temptress gently slapped his hard-on a couple times against her tummy. With her other hand she reached down to toy with my his nuts. My boss's arms flailed around in response.

She slipped another condom on him again. Without actual insertion, she raised herself up and down against his cock, which started to glisten from her pussy juices. Up and down, she slid the length of his cock along her pussy lips. Her long, slender, tight-as-fuck body looked so hot as she did this, her long-nailed, oily fingers keeping his condomed cock pressed against her shaven cunt (with zig-zagging air-strip just above, or, at least I think it was, from this distance).

Looking up at me with an O mouth, she stopped at the top of an upthrust. She began teasing the head of his cock against her slightly open labia. With very slow, deliberate circles, the wicked sunbather used my boss's cock as a stirring wand for her wet pussy-meat.

Stirring away, she wiggled her eyebrows at me. I could tell the boss was begging for it, begging for her to lower her pussy down on to his cock, or to let him stab upwards into her. With mock shock, she put her hand up to her mouth and looked back at him, wagging a finger at him, shaking her head again.

Looking at me again, she dexterously bobbed her core up and down, each time stopping right at the head of his erection. I marvelled at the strength of her quads to do these buddha squats, those rail-thin legs forming a contracting and expanding “M” above him.

I couldn't take this any more. That welling-up feeling surged inside me, and I realised that ejaculating my sperm load was imminent. As she continued her buddha squatting (with teasing, lingering cunt kisses on his cock, and then back up again) I unloaded ropes of semen all over the window. I even tried to aim each jizz shot over as much window as I could.

After unleashing my week's worth of pissed-off, pent-up lust for her, I slumped a bit forward, truly admiring her. The expression on her face suddenly changed, however, and she suddenly stood up, complaining to my boss while pointing up my way.

My boss looked up my way again as I (hey guess what?) ducked again. Not sure now when to look back up again, I slunk back to my desk with spermy cock and crawled into my chair, my pants still down around my ankles.

In my normal sitting position, I was able to turn my head and see them, so I had to slouch back to make sure my head wasn't seen from their perspective, and was thankful this crazy new ergo chair at least still had the leaning-back spring function to enable this new, somewhat awkward, working position.

I couldn't concentrate on accounts. There was way too much post-sperm in my pants. This slouching position was feeler dumber by the second. The urge to look was starting to bug me. Whatever she could have been yakking about to my boss was baffling me too.

After a bit of aimless fumbling around in accounts, bossy-poo showed up, glowering.

“Get the fuck over there and fuck her before my balls explode like in 'Scanners'.”

“Wasn't that heads that exploded in Scanners?”

Get the flying f-”

“Whoh whoh whoh whoh wait a minute. Just hold the fuck on. Um, what the fuck is going on here?”

After explaining that he bumped into her while she was walking her pug yesterday and agreed to do her on the roof today for $3,500 (but then she angrily reneged after seeing me come too soon), my boss leaned forward, with both hands on my desk, and said, “So, you premature-ejaculating mother-fucker, she ain't finishing me off until she has you, like, now, you catch my stinking fucking drift?”


“Yeah. You. I'd probably like to get my $3,500-worth, ya think? Her code is-”

Cutting him off again and holding my ring up to him, I said, “Hey, hey. Remember this? Remember Leah? The Christmas party gift she gave ya? The parka you returned?”

All the air seemed to go out of him. Leaning back up and turning around to leave, he caught sight of the window, and said, walking away, “Clean that up, eh?”

I sat and stared dumbly at my computer, and tried to set my mind back to accounts. Part of me was glad to have that tidily resolved, but the other part wanted my head turned to the right.

Willpower be damned. I looked, and saw her still out there, applying more lotion. Unfortunately, her head jerked distinctly in my direction, spotting me, making me duck again.

This was starting to get ridiculous. I thought, no, I'm not going to move my desk. No, I'm not going to look at her. No, I'm not going to be a lackey on these accounts and possibly jeopardize my position here at this admittedly awesome-paying job, especially with my wonder-boss being a little pissed at me right now.

So, I proceeded, opening a particularly bothersome, annoying account that I wished would just “go away”. I was doing pretty good for a couple minutes when I figured I'd just “check up” on her and took a quick little peek out to see her running both hands slowly up her shiny, left leg.

I tried to discern the colour of her nail-polish at this distance but couldn't, but the growing bulge in my spermed-out pants had no problem with the way the sun reflected and sparkled off her claws.

My bulge also didn't seem to mind that once she had my attention, she swiftly went into that swooping exercise again, which I had to admit was one of the juiciest, most irresistible, mesmerizing displays of feminine agility I'd seen since the legendary 20 Minute Workout Show, from many years ago.

Like some strange, mysterious force kicking into overdrive, I looked at Leah's photo on my desk. It also ran through my mind that even if I did take up the offer of crossing the street, the amount of Youtube videos coming out the next day of this roof soiree made the issue a done and dealt one. (The boss, being a single slob, was most likely praying for any limelight he could get, especially if he got the chance to finish the job.)

There was, however, a left-over from Hallowe'en party shenanigans, sitting in the lowest left drawer. It was a Mexican wrestling mask made of that stretchy lycra stuff and was gold with sparkles, and evil blue paint around the eyes.

Like the fool I was I saw that she had stopped and was about to get up, but saw me again and whipped right into her swooping exercise, this time doing a little shimmy with her ass at the high apex point, when those legs were forming that mind-numbing “V” again. She looked behind, at me, as she did this, and went down for a swoop. When her back ended up in that wonderful, long, sleek arch, she looked back at me again, more askance, more wicked, her mouth in that orgasmic “O” again, and then swooped back up into her hypno-V again.

As quickly as I could I grabbed the mask from the drawer, hoping my brief disappearance from the window wouldn't upset her routine. I put it on for her, and pointed to it with both hands, and then flexed my muscles. She reacted by stopping her routine and clasped her hands together and placed them by her head, like she was suddenly in love.

I grabbed my groin and thrust it at her. She responded by swooping again and spanking her ass a couple times. She nodded, with eyes that flashed with a lascivious hunger that I could easily make out from across the street.

I pointed to myself, put my hand on my heart, then pointed to her. She stopped again, put her hand on her heart too, then blew me a kiss. I returned the kiss and made a show of putting on my jacket, hoping she gathered that I had a particular destination in mind.

After we returned okee-dokee signs, I stormed out of my cubicle.

The boss, seeing how I was walking up to him with a mission, said, “Yeah, no shit, Einstein. I was thinking about arguing it, but then I thought, nah, she'll do all the arguing, heh, heh. Good thinking with the mask. Oh and you might wanna take it off, though, until you're up there with her, eh?”

“Oh... yeah.”

It was time for me, now, to lean forward on his desk with both hands.

“Digits please.”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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