Michael ♥ Eleanor

‘Where are we?’ ‘This is my old desk, in the bad place. It’s where I designed the neighborhood.’ The desk was a drafting table, angled and littered with tools- circle templates and pencils, with a few papers tacked around a central image. Whatever the design was supposed to be was lost on her.  The words, printed in the corner of the technical drawing, were in the same alchemaic language as his untranslated files.

A murmur rose up and Eleanor glanced across the room.

‘Why are there people here?’

‘They’re not real people,’ he said, ‘They were my coworkers, the other demons that worked with me here.’

‘But are they…?’

‘No, they’re just constructs.’

‘Right,’ she said, though she eyed the few men and women who were looking over at them with curiosity.

‘Now,’ he said, and Eleanor felt somewhat intimidated by this Michael. He was serious, with his hair parted to one side. His suit was harsh, grey tweed on a white shirt (he never wore white) and his tie was a strip of dark red against it.

Like a wound she thought, then remembered. She remembered what he is, and where she was, and that if there was ever blood on Michael it never would have been his. For some reason the reality of that never really struck her until now.

He raised his hand and paused, pointedly, before snapping his fingers.

The cold air hit her naked body, and she yelped, but Michael stepped forward, took hold of her shoulders and rubbed them reassuringly.

‘Is this okay?’ Michael whispered.

‘Yeah, I was just surprised.’ He nodded and let her go.

Whatever she expected Michael to do, sitting down wasn’t it. He gently sat in his office chair, a vintage one, she noticed. Wood, with leather pads and metal wheels. He sat back, and stared her up and down, his eyes lingering on her breasts and the junction between her thighs before meeting her eyes again. She felt like she should be doing something, so she put her hands on her hips.

‘You like what you see, bud?’

‘Mmm,’ He grunted. The sound was deep and dark, and she felt heat gather between her thighs.

His eyes shot back down, and she realized that he knew.

‘Nine dimensions, remember.’ She expected him to smirk, but his expression remained rather neutral, if intense. ‘Normally, giving oral gets you ready for sex.’

When she didn’t move he raised both his eyebrows and spread his legs.

‘Well?’

He didn’t help her. One hand was pressed to his mouth in mild interest, the elbow of it on the arm of his chair, while the other hand was loosely curled around it’s own armrest.

Eleanor looked over her shoulder to see the other people in the office were watching. They looked shocked and interested, and she felt suddenly embarrassed, but she didn’t want to stop this so soon. This was about him after all, she just hadn’t pegged him as an exhibitionist.

Eleanor got on her knees, and shuffled between his legs. She smiled up at him, and ran her hands along his thighs, letting them brush over his hard on. Michael made another deep sound, and she took it as permission to start unzipping his pants. She reached for his belt, but his voice stopped her.

‘No. Leave the belt on.’

Eleanor switched to his fly and, gently, slowly, pulled it down, making sure her hand brushed over his length as it went. With both hands she reached in and released him from his underwear. She gripped him with two hands and began pumping him, then wasted no time in applying her mouth.

Michael did groan then. The hand on the armrest tightened, and his legs twitched, but he didn’t touch her otherwise.

She took as much of him as she could in her mouth, but his tip was all she could manage as she continued to pump him with both her hands.

‘Look at me.’

Eleanor opened her eyes and, with her mouth full of him, made eye contact. Michael let the hand against his face fall, but placed it instead on the armrest. If he wanted to reach out, he was stopping himself from doing so.

The light of the room caused deep shadows behind Michael’s glasses, and suddenly Eleanor felt like she could see the demon he was lurking there.

Michael leaned back slightly, letting his head go back. She swirled her tongue around his tip and then kissed it like she would his mouth. She pressed her hand against his balls and gave a gentle squeeze which earned her another one of his low moans.

‘I think you’re ready for me, Eleanor.’ Michael said, his voice rough around it’s edges.

He didn’t pause this time in snapping his fingers, and suddenly she was on his desk, her breasts pressed against the cold wood of it. Her legs were spread, braced against the edge, while her feet dangled unable to reach the floor. She grabbed the top edge of it to hold herself in place. She yelped again, but Michael’s hands were there, on her hips this time, giving gentle, reassuring squeezes. He stood behind her, the fabric of his pants brushing against her thighs.

‘You’re safe.’ He murmured. She could feel his hard cock pressed against her bare ass as he leaned over her. She moaned.

‘Not that you seem worried about it.’

Eleanor was a petite woman, and it was difficult for her to take an average sized cock, let alone Michael's. He started slow, pressing one finger inside of her. It was a tight fit. When she moved against him though he pulled it out, and scolded her.

‘If you can’t be still, I will have to keep you still. And trust me, you won’t like it.’

She tried to calm herself down and let Michael work her, but after only a few leisurely pumps of his finger her hips bucked again, and this time, when he removed his finger, he leaned over her, hands splayed on the desk, and his hips keeping her firmly trapped as he ground his cock against her ass. He leaned down to her ear and murmured, softly.

‘I’m going to do something, Eleanor. If this is frightening, you just have to tell me and I’ll stop.’

She nodded, but prepared herself.

She heard his fingers snap again, but Eleanor was confused when nothing changed. She was still on the desk, still naked, but the intention was suddenly clear when Michael surprised her with two fingers. Her body tried to buck backwards against his hand, but she couldn’t move. His fingers pumped her steadily, agonizingly, and there was no way for her to move against him to get her relief. He purposely pumped just a little too shallow a couple times. She moaned, loudly, trying to chase her own needs.