SEXUAL AUDIT

Nerdy women are super hot, a tad dangerous and name-calling during sex,

The auditing analyst, I think it was Mandy, maybe Amanda, was frickin making me wait. 

I hated over time. 

Well, particularly this night, it was shaping for a date, then a possible missed opportunity.

I was upbeat and hoping for an all-nighter with a cute barmaid, Shelley. We had hit it off last night. 

Now, it was already Friday, nearly seven p.m., and I was meant to pick her up at eight.

Shelley would think it was a brush-off if I called to say I was late on a first date. She was so hot; I couldn't believe she was currently single and giving me a chance.

The nerdy auditor in her tight-fitting, well-cut grey suit, with her shiny brunette hair perfectly held in place and those big glasses only knowledgeable women wear — looked intimidating; because it was my account keeping under scrutiny here as the head bookkeeper in a large clothing firm. 

And boy, was she giving my accounts the entire audit.

I had nothing to do. I had to be there in case she had a query and to sign off once she finished.

She looked like she had no social life, and I would be here till midnight. 

I idly checked my emails. 

I was bored shitless. 

I searched for Shelley's Instagram without success.

Then, as the auditor scrutinised another page of figures— I figured I should at least know her proper name — if the shit hit the accounting fan!

Her name was in an email from my boss, reminding me she was Amandine and, by reputation a snooty bitch, wrote my jittery Director. A woman who insisted on being called by her proper name.

It was a lilting, pretty name, but I couldn't see her figure or figure her out.

Besides, Shelley — thinking of that cute barmaid from last night was getting my cock hard in my pants.

Of all the nights to be stuck with an arrogant witch in Nerdsville.

That Mandy was so focused on endless data.

She was double-checking accruals, virtually sniffing data closer than a quizzing mum about her daughter's virginity the morning after prom night.

I had had enough. It was time to hurry the bitch up and get out of here because I believed my cock had a date with Shelley. And maybe her date locker!

I would hustle Mandy or Amanda up; as soon as I calmed my pecker down, it was still slightly bulgy.

Shelley's booty had stirred a hard-on.

Whoops!

Shit!

"Trent," the auditor called, "You need to come over here now."

Her French accent gave every syllable equal weight. 

I knew trouble was brewing.

She had spotted my recent creative accounting, the figures inside the rules but outside the spirit. A loophole is a hole until it's closed by the law. Debt is best managed until it's cleared and a bit of inventory manipulation; well, the stock would clear it with an upcoming hot monster sale.

She needed to chill out. 

Frigid, over-focused, Miss.

I was leaning over the computer screen next to her when she said, "Is this what I think it is —you and the Boss should know better."

Well, I should have known better as I had a date with Shelley, but boy, did Amanda have a sexy vanilla perfume.

Her hair was so tightly bunned up close, giving an elegant line to the back of her white neck and shapely jawline. 

I was taken in by the hint of school mam authority in her clear French accent and how her elegant polished nails held the rim of her large glasses.

For a second, I visualised her in leather as a French dominatrix. 

"Mmm," I said, "And is this what you think it is" as I pushed my still partly erect penis through my pants along her stockinged thigh.

"Oh," she gasped but didn't withdraw her leg.

She pressed it back against my pants. 

A happy friction bloomed instantly.

She slapped my arse hard.

"Oh, I should know better," I said, as my hand was under her thick skirt and lowering her pantyhose awkwardly while keeping up the rubbing and kissing the back of her neck and nibbling on her earlobe. 

Her pantyhose rested at her ankles. 

Fuck her heels!

If I stopped giving her attention, her mind might take control of her body. 

Currently, she was being seduced by her flesh needs and ignoring her sensible, organised brain. 

I had to keep it that way. 

Then I realised she was in the touch.

She kicked her heels off and whacked my buttocks twice.

Her pantyhose were nicely off, too.

So I eased her around and onto the desk, pushing her frickin laptop as far back as I could. There she was, this nerdy woman, with her legs spread, with crisp, startlingly white tight knickers guarding her womanhood. 

Her slit was still a mystery but certainly up for the audit.

I pushed my fingers into her panty fabric, using the cotton to arouse her girly-shaped flaps underneath it. I could feel the downy softness through her panties of a lush pubic garden.

Mandy or Amanda, oh fuck I knew it wasn't quite her name, had her head back, cooing softly in appreciation. 

"Mmm, mmm, mmm."

And nerds do actually need it more. 

They are so coiled. 

So tense. 

They need a regular fuck, more regular than a quarterly audit.

I pushed into her pussy crack through her now slightly damp panties.

Her head swayed. Her breathing ragged. 

I had never seen or had a woman who was so aroused by touch, yet it wasn't my tongue on her clit or my cock pounding her pussy, just my finger pressing through her knickers.

I got her head forward. Nothing turns a guy on more than a fully aroused woman.

Her defences were down, and her libido was way up and so receptive. 

She nearly swooned between a series of sensual French kisses as my fingers went under her panties, now tugged to the side and met her dense, furry wetness.

I eased her skirt and knickers off with a bit of jiggling and wriggling help from — Amanda?

No, it was something French—and this lass in her late twenties had amour entirely in her vocabulary as I cradled her back, her head supported by her folded skirt, spread her legs over my shoulders, and met her muff paradise — face first. 

Her bushy pubes suited her creamy skin and were a real contrast to her manicured exterior and personality. I'd never been a full-beaver fan, but suddenly, I was rapted because of her effusive acceptance of my touch in her most intimately revealed zone.

Her "Orrhh's" of delight quickly echoed around the small office as I dived tongue-deep into her spread pinkness.

Nothing was shallow here; this was like plunging from a high cliff into the depths through a stunning tangle of kelp, seeking a grotto of happiness. 

I wondered if she was a romantic or a BDSM in disguise.

Anyway, no time to reflect. My approach to her pussy was down to earth.

I was spitting, slurping and swathing my tongue in sweepy or flicky motion wherever I could press it or tunnel it. I was doing my dirty best, and she was appreciating it.

"Uugh, uugh," she moaned.

She was so goddamn feminine under her nerdy exterior. She deserved a lingering, teasing, slow-building approach. But deep down, I knew, just like any girl, however sweet, they crave the grubby exposure of their sexual being.

Her "uughs" of growing fem-delight stayed soft and slightly restrained as I started to include her indented, runnelled, ribbed pink arsehole in my licking.

Enough to indicate that she liked or wanted to experience the extra.

I had to know, though, how she would approach cock. As a guy about to hit thirty, I offer no apology for trying to source that woman in my life who would give me the head job from heaven. 

A lot of girls couldn't get the balance right between the sucking and the pressure.

I mean, any head job is good.

 But all males crave head job perfection.

I urged my French-accented brunette up to play with my cock. See what a nerd could do.

I was surprised when she grabbed my shaft but pushed it up and licked my balls. It was great. Then she was sucking slowly along my length.

A lingering sucky tuggy action.

Drawing my cock away from my body and following it with her lips, backwards and forwards. I think what turned me on was the fact her eyes were shut. Her mind was fully on the job at hand.

She was sucking cock happily.

She looked like she was enjoying my pecker. In the end, it was strangely captivating. I liked her leisurely style, and it was driving me to the point of needing to stick my dick in her body.

I commenced to languidly shape her from her hips to lay back across the desk.

My head was wrenched into her face by a pair of stockings twisted around my neck.

Holy crap!

She pressed and squeezed my neck as her tongue dived for my tonsils.

My lightheadedness intensified my sexual euphoria.

"Kink, kink, kink," she whispered in my ear.

 My lungs bloody near internally exploded.

My back arched.

My toes curled, and fingernails raked down her back.

She released me.

I gasped like a blowing whale, but the auditor knew how I would respond before I did myself.

Ravish.

Ravisher.

Ravishment.

I pushed her back, spread-eagled her legs and curtly fucked her.

I mean, she was ripely wet for penetration. No drama of being too dry or too tight. Her erogenous zone was ready. Her pussy lushly embraced my cock as I set about a rhythm incorporating our combined pleasure sensations.

She was moaning, panting, interspersed with regular "Orrhh's" of satisfaction as my thumb dug into her clit, as I stoked her pussy.

Then I stroked her hard; sometimes fast, then slower, then jagged at an angle, then fast again. She liked the rapid action.

I had her on her side, her pussy slit, so eye-pleasing between her legs; it gave her coochie, I found, an extra tightness, though she was deliciously tight from any angle, as I worked in and out of her.

I had to take her from behind to see all of her peachy creamy arse and to catch a glimpse of that cute arsehole I had already licked, equally remembering her appreciation of that action.

My brunette Frenchie, fuck what was her full name, was leaning over the edge of the desk, one leg up on the desk, so I could really pummel her from behind and enjoy rimming her arsehole at the same time.

Well, this tipped the balance of her angelic and devilish sides as she writhed and panted deeper than she had at any point in our coupling so far.

"Ooh, ooh, orrgh, orrgh, uggh, yes, yes!"

She liked her arse getting some attention.

Nerds, I finally understood, need it even more in their cute tight arseholes.

Fuck number crunching, I wanted to crunch into her arse.

There was an audit worth undertaking.

I was thumping away, grinding into her sweet, now sopping bushy pussy, but my fingers were playing around, then in her indented exposed inner arsehole pinkness.

So tight.

But nothing was hidden from me as I eased it open with two fingers and spat generously deep and felt her relax as I guided in my happy pair of digits, knuckle deep.

"Oh God yeah," she went as I twisted my fingers around, seeking space and getting up the courage to ask her if I could take her arse, here and now.

"You prick, you dirty conniving bastard, "she said as I worked my fingered pair in and out of her sweet pink starfish.

"Orrgh yeah," from her, as I went even deeper, with both my fingers in her bum and my excited cock in her pelted coochie.

"Amandine," she said clearly, then again, "Amandine," somehow, between jagged breathes of mounting pleasure, "You can fuck my arse, but only for as long as you repeat my name, Amandine, okay."

Well, it is stating the obvious that I never forgot her name; in fact, whenever I have had anal sex with my beautiful wife following this startlingly amazing sex-changing night, all I can think or say is "Amandine."

"Amandine," I said as I eased my dick into her puckered, ready balloon knot. 

So tight. 

She moaned

I felt the squeezed constriction as I sought that deeper space in her arse, but added the magic mantra required for this pleasure, "Amandine."

"Orrgh fuck, Amandine," as I found that relaxed depth in her now buggerised being, which was beautifully juxtaposed with her clenching sphincter tightness around my pecker at her exposed crack's openness.

I pushed in, felt the squeeze, pulled out, felt the enveloping anal channel tightness, and managed a guttural, slow "Amandine."

"Jesus, Amandine," yeah, it's a strange pairing, but God, on the depth stroke, she was wrapping tight, and on the easing withdrawal, she was constricting like cling wrap.

"Amandine", "Amandine," and seemingly endless "Amandine," because I kept saying it, I had given my word. 

Her arse was the tightest I had ever experienced. And strangely, the squeezed thrusting and outward tuggy enfolding while rasping out her name gave me a rhythm, gave me a focus, and made me hold my load beyond what was possible in such a paradise of encasing flesh.

Then it was ego-filled joint depravity as I bent Amandine over, asking her to spread her legs and grab her ankles as I held her hips firm and jacked in and out of her now fully buggerised back passage.

"You bastard Trent," she foully mouthed as I speared into her consuming need. 

While I kept up the sodomising litany of her name. 

"Amandine, Amandine, Amandine."

Then my amazing nerdy Amandine was chanting my name as I cornholed her.

"Fuck my arse, Trent! Poke my cornhole, Trent. Bugger my crack, Trent!"

We were flush with the knowledge of imprinting each other's being into each other's minds. 

Our names reinforced our carnal fixation. 

Arse delight for two.

How she had the willpower to ease herself up and take my explosive load in her sweet mouth and all over her sexy glasses; well, at that point, I just accepted pure sexual wonder.

Six months later, we were married, screwing and buggery being our joint delight all the way to the altar. 

We are still together, strangely locked in the intense joy of each other's body and the intoxicating hold of hearing your name during sex, repeatedly. 

Ego meeting ego and taking, but extraordinarily delivering back; so much more.