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Mac Crash
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Archive-Name: MacCrash
At the time I thought he didn't notice me. Later I found
that just the opposite was true. I had been watching him for
maybe two months trying to decide what it was about him that made
my hormones go wild. When seated next to him I got so wet that I
was worried about leaving a stain on the chair. I had read about
pheromone in relation to animals, but never thought that people
were subject to the same influences.
Why we frequently found ourselves in such close proximity
was another story. The English department where I taught did not
think a lowly adjunct needed a computer. In fact, they didn't
even think I merited a desk. In reality, I didn't need a
computer as programming was just a hobby for me. I just liked
the idea of making a machine my slave.
Thus we found ourselves seated in front of our respective
IBM clones on an almost daily basis. With a little detective work
I found out that his name was Alex and he was an instructor in
the computer science department. Even if he had been a sexual
zilch, I still would have probably noticed him as we were the
ONLY users of the two PCs in a faculty lab filled with Macs.
God! how I hated those machines. My prejudice, like most was
inherited, in my case from my father. He has been working with
computers for the last 30 years. As a memento, he gave me his
original IMSA 8080 still in working order.
I had been brought up to think that computers should not be
`cute'.
Herman, the director of the lab, must have picked up on my
vibes as he would barely give me the time of day. That is, until
I hatched MY PLAN.
One day, finally overcoming my shyness, I glanced over at
Alex. Actually, I looked at his monitor and realized that he was
trying to pirate an application.
"If Herman catches you, he will hang you by your
thumbnails and tattoo Mac icons on strange parts of your body."
Alex laughed and said, "Oh, Herman and I are good buddies.
I teach Pascal using the Mac and I frequently have to ask him
questions. Actually, I make up the questions so I can stay on his
good side."
After the ice was broken, we began to talk every day. On
about the third day, I found out about HIS OFFICE. Since he was
an instructor, the university deemed to give him an office. It
was a hasty sheetrock affair of about 70 square feet and a very
large Steelcase desk. On the downside, it was located off
the very room in which I sat. Despite these limitations, it had
a door with a lock. This was not the point when I began to
formulate MY PLAN, but I am sure that it was an inspiration.
MY PLAN took its focus the day Alex and I were on the
elevator together. It was the typical cattle car scene. We were
jammed in like sardines and the only redeeming factor that when
pressed against each other I realized that Alex was sporting a
very big hard on. After this revelation and a few later
surreptitious glances, I realized that he had an constant
erection whenever we were together. He seemed to have the same
chemical reaction to me as I did to him. This discovery was the
impetus which led me to even think about anything as risky as THE
PLAN.
A few very innocent lunches, laced with a lot of heavy
sexual tension, followed. As inconvenient as the location of his
office WAS, it turned out that we were both married. This came
as not a really big surprise, as I was fully cognizant of my own
marital status and since he was not a kid, the probabilities were
that he was married too. Although I had anticipated the fact, it
presented problems. I never claimed to be a romantic, but the
idea of a seedy motel room didn't much appeal to me.
His office therefore became the most likely location. As
I mentioned before, its only assets were the large desk and the
locked door. The walls were paper thin. Since I generally cum
loudly and frequently, after contemplation, I decided I had
better begin my homework.
While Herman beamed away, I began my research on the Mac.
Discretion was the key word. Herman was very protective of his
little apples. The actual programming was done at home thanks to
a Mac on loan from a friend. (When it comes to programming, I am
very patient.) Finally, after weeks of debugging, I was able to
write and load a nifty little program that would render the Mac
server useless for the hour or so I hoped I needed.
After what had seemed eons, the day of execution arrived.
This was not exactly the type of program you could Beta test so I
just crossed my fingers and hoped I could prove my father proud.
Although we were definitely running on the same track, I
didn't want Alex to suffer cardiac arrest. In preparation for
what was to come, I strolled into his office humming the tune of
My Favorite Things from the Sound of Music. When I began to sing
my lyrics to the song, a broad grin crossed his face. (If this is
beginning to sound like a scene from an Indian movie, you're
right, but stay tuned.)
Guys in tight bike pants, their crotches a-bulgin'
Wet, hot, slick, hard skin, and secrets divulgin'
A story 'bout Suzy-Q, oh what a scene,
These are a few of my favorite things
Guys in blue denim, their lashes a blazin'
One with his pants off, his size is amazin'!
A horse with a hard on suspended by strings *
These are a few of my favorite things
When the clap hits, when his pud drops, and I need it bad
I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so
sad
* This line inserted in honor of Catherine the Great, and the
new Russian democracy!
After my vocal recount of MY favorite things there wasn't
much resistance (none, maybe?) when I knelt down in front of him
and unzipped his jeans. Having waited for what seemed centuries,
I immediately began to savor the contents. As my tongue rolled
around the head of his penis, in a voice tempered with both
extesy and panic, he murmured,
"Jesus, Clarissa, we can't do this here."
Before the not to worry reassurance crossed my lips both
of us heard a shaken Herman pounding his fists on a nearby
keyboard. Putting two and two together Alex began laughing so
uncontrollably that I found it my civic duty to silence him.
Retaking appendage in mouth I began to suck it for all it was
worth.
Not being slow on the uptake, Alex slid his hands into my
blouse and discovered I was not wearing a bra. In fact, since it
was a special occasion I had dispensed with all underwear.
Taking this as his cue, with a quick switch of positions we found
ourselves on his large Steelcase desk. He began by running his
tongue along the curve of my small but well formed breast, and
down my belly. Bearing right at my navel, he shortly found his
tongue wading through my short and curlies. I sucked him deeper
into my mouth as his tongue hit my clit. He had one hand
twiddling my clit between tongue laps, while his tongue was
exploring my wet cunt, darting in and out, tracing my lips all
the way back where he lightly nibbled that very sensitive area
between cunt and anus, and then he gave my hole itself a gentle brush.
The chill that shot up my spine caused me to gasp, sucking his
pumping cock deeper into my eager mouth. His tongue finally
returned to my clit. God the walls were shaking!
I could have continued with this game for a long, long time,
but as if out of no where a condom appeared. My heart, already
pounding double time, started doing little flips. My clitty, so
recently being ministered to by tongue, started pounding in
anticipation of what it knew was coming. I took the packet from
him and ripped it open. Now, with both of us sitting on the edge of
that steelcase, I gently grasped his member [I just HAD to] in one
hand and unrolled the sheath with my other. I realized that the
wrapper was still in my hand. As I reached across the desk to the
trash, I felt a hand on my back, and then another reaching around
my waist to my hot pussy. I knew what was coming, and I reached back
to help guide his flesh missile into my anxious (but not
hardened) target. Help wasn't needed however, and before my hand
found its target, his missile found mine, and with a grunt of
satisfaction he started his journey home.
With a long slow push I felt myself filling up. Then his
hand came around me and started to caress my clit. Then finger
twiddle, slow stroke out, fingers, fast push in. My clamping him
tight on each outstroke was driving us both to a frenzy. With
each beat of the penetration, the cycle of pleasure began all
over again. As if upon mutual agreement, a soft languid cry
flowed from our lips and could have been heard if anyone had been
listening. Serendipitiously, a loud wail from Herman was
produced on the opposite side of the wall.
I wish I could describe the sound of 12 Macs crashing
simultaneously, but it really isn't very interesting.
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