This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

"Ah... Yes... Yes... Oh... Yeah... Oh my god..." she breathed.

Thick ropes of cum were splatted upon her flushed neck and breasts. Hot and viscous, they slid down her breasts, stickily puddling in hollows and gleaming pearly in the dappled sunlight.

"Oh, baby, yes," she moaned. "All over, that's right, please. Give me all you've got. Mmmm..."

He slumped back on the bench, his cock softening as his body relaxed. She continued gently pumping the last vestiges of cum from him with her hand, milking him as dry as she could. On her knees before him in the park, he took in the sight of her. Her suit shirt and jacket were wide open, her black and white bra around her waist, and her semen-covered breasts were on display. He thought he had never seen anything as hot as his little Jemima Cumslut.

Smears of her saliva glistened around her mouth and on his now-flopping shaft. But even hotter than seeing traces of her on his cock, was seeing his cum coating her skin. Shadows of the leaves on the trees above danced over her round breasts, and she grinned up at him.

"My knickers are really wet, and I've got your spunk all over me. Whatever shall I do?"

She held his flaccid cock firmly in one hand, and using a finger from her other hand, she traced the tip around her hard, dark nipple. Scooping off some of the white goo, she lifted it to her lips, and stared him in the eye as she put it in her mouth.

"Mmm..." She pushed her finger all the way in, sucking greedily and slurping, just as she had done to his cock as he pumped it into her earlier. When it was surely clean of him, she slowly pulled her finger back out, and traced around her pink lips with the tip.

"I can taste you all over me," she said. "You've made me very wet." She pushed her breasts out to show him the wet, white stains that dripped down her, beginning to dry in the breeze.

"Are you wearing knickers, my little cumslut?"

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

"The little pink thong with the feather motif."

"Take it off."

She stood up, let go of his still-wet cock, and turned her back to him. If anybody had walked past right then, they would have stared in fascination as Jemima wriggled her tight pencil skirt up over her hips. She bent over before him, her large, curvy ass on display to him and the world, with her breasts swinging down gently, caked in cum.

She spread her legs, and then inched down the dark pink thong. He could see and smell her wetness emanating from between her legs. She went so slowly that he could see a tiny silver string of her juices stretched between the thong and her swollen pussy lips. The gleaming little bridge suddenly snapped, and down went the thong, to her knees.

He saw her move one hand to her front, and she scooped a little of his cum from her breasts. Then she pushed her hand between her legs and let him see as she ran her fingers between her pussy lips.

"Oooo..." she moaned. "I want your cum inside me now."

"Later, you little cumslut. Tonight. If you're good."

She wriggled her naked ass, letting her cheeks wobble slightly, and slapping her fingertips in little waves over her juicy lips. He could hear the little wet slapping sounds, and she knew his cock would be twitching again. But she knew better than to push him too far right now.

Bending over as far as she could go, she finally pulled the little pink thong, wet stain and all, down to her ankles. Carefully, in her black, patent heels, she climbed out, and turned around to face him again with her skirt still up over her hips. She was half-naked in the park and covered in cum. She got wetter.

She bit her lip, and knelt down before him again. She waited for permission.

"Wrap it around my cock and do up my trousers."

Lovingly, she slid the sopping scrap of fabric onto his semi-hard shaft, and wrapped the straps over it until it wasn't tight, but wouldn't move. Then she tucked him into his tight, black shorts, and zipped up his trousers.

"Fix yourself. Leave the cum."

She pulled down her tight skirt again, pulled up her bra, and buttoned up her shirt as he watched her. Every now and again, she would look down at him, as he leaned back on the bench, and flash little cheeky smiles at him. He lazily smiled back, watching the drying cream disappear under her buttons. She shrugged her tailored black jacket on, and did it up. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, and looked every inch the professional business woman she had been when she first entered the park.

"Put on your perfume, Jemima Cumslut."

She smoothed her fingers across her neck, and managed to get some more semen before it was too dry. Then she smeared it behind her ears, and onto her wrists. She rubbed them together, and stood back.

"Goodbye, Bob. I shall have your dinner ready at eight, as you told me."

He watched her leave as she strode off through the park, every inch a business woman, with a sexy swing to her hips showing confidence and power. She would only discard that air of authority for the right man, and get on her knees for him. He thought to himself how lucky he was. No woman had ever made him produce so much cum as she could, and it was exhausting, but spectacularly wonderful. He raced back to the office for a wank as he thought about what he could do to her that night.

When she arrived back at the office, she sauntered in past the reception desks, peering over her black-framed glasses at the basket of flowers on the desk.

"Who ordered those?"

Two of the receptionists busied themselves, leaving the youngest, newest one to explain to the Office Dragon.

"Ma'am, they're... um... The company. Thingy. The florists." The receptionist was bright red and beginning to panic.

"Darling, don't you remember?" Richard swooped down the stairs into the lobby. "We're trialling that new florist to do our flowers since Queenie retired. They get free advertising, we get free flowers."

"Who ordered stargazers? Vile-smelling things."

"Nobody, darling, they just sent them. They should have sent tiger lillies or thorny roses with you around." Richard smiled placidly at Jemima. She turned to the receptionist.

"Phone them up and tell them we don't want anything that smells stronger than a rose. Sweet peas at a push, and never gardenias." She stalked off to the lifts.

"Such a bitch, darling," grinned Richard, loping alongside her on his spindly legs.

"When are you finally going to retire, Dick? Spend a little time with George?" Jemima glowered at the down arrow, which took its time to bring the lift lower.

"Oh, you know me better than that, my little spitfire. I can't go retiring and leave the poor receptionists to fend off dragons having hissyfits over nothing, can I?"

The lift pinged, and they both strode in.

"Didn't you just get downstairs?" Jemima glared at Richard, and moved back to stand against the corner of the small lift.

"Yes, but I can't remember what on earth I came down for," he replied cheerfully. "I think it's me age, y'know. We senioe associates are called seniors for a reason. But I'm not giving up until the pool boy promises to run away with me. George almost has him convinced."

Jemima sighed. She stood there, feeling the crusting cum on her skin. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling the ooze of her juices flow again. Suddenly, a ghost of breath crossed her neck, and a whisper skirted the edges of her ear.

"I can smell his cum on you, you know."

She gasped, and drew backwards. Her face flushed red.

"Oh, come now, spitfire. We both know what you get up to in the park on Tuesday lunchtimes. You aren't the only one to get their socks off."

"Rocks off, Dick."

"No need to be rude!"

"No, I mean, the phrase. It's get your rocks off."

"Not if you've got a foot fetish, darling."

Jemima stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"I'm not even going to ask."

The lift doors slid open, revealing a small group of businessmen. Richard stepped back and allowed Jemima to walk out first. The group parted as she walked through, her battle-axe demeanor cascading waves of fear through them.

"She's a truly spunky spitfire, that one," announced Richard loudly, leaving the lift himself.

Jemima grinned to herself inwardly, loving the tight feel of Bob's cum on her now dry chest. She could feel a very slight squelch in her cleavage where the air could not reach it, and she loved it. She strode along the hall, leaving business folk cowering in her wake. Nobody wanted to mess with her when she was on a mission. Or at all, in fact. But strangely, there were times when she seemed to soften to some of the men. It didn't matter who it was, but she could become dangerously quiet, and whoever happened to be in the firing line would seem a little dazed for a while. Nobody could ever quite explain it after the fact, but there it was.

And this was such a day. Jemima spotted the mail boy. She sauntered up to him halfway up the corridor, and leaned over his cart.

Rifling through the letters, she moved slightly so that Jimmy was pinned against the wall as he sorted through the deliveries.

"Do you have anything for me, Jimmy?" she cooed, lifting a hand up to her collar, and wafting it gently. "Gosh, it's warm in here, isn't it?"

Jimmy was certainly warm. His left side was pushed against the wall by Jemima leaning on his right side. He blushed a hot, deep red, and coughed nervously.

"Yes, Ma'am, it's on your deck. The duck... The... thing."

Jemima's breath quickened a little, and she breathed in and out through her mouth. She still had the glorious taste of cum in her mouth, and she wondered if Jimmy could smell it. The gentle musky cologne was surely rising in the air as the sweat crept from her pores, and mixed in the now invisible dried compress over her neck.

"Now, Jimmy, I don't make you nervous, do I?" she asked him sweetly.

He shook his head violently. The woman terrified him, so much that he wouldn't dare admit it. His ears burned and the sweat broke out over his face. He could feel his little cock twitching. God, this woman invaded his dreams at least once a week, always after she had got close to him like this. There was something almost animal about her. She was close enough that he could smell her. She didn't smell like the other office women he delivered mail to, but... There was something. He didn't know what it was.

Jemima rubbed her wrist against her neck, and held it under his nose as she pressed her hip into his.

"Do you like my new fragrance, Jimmy?"

Jimmy had a full erection now, and he was glad that he hadn't tucked his uniform shirt in. His lips trembled and his face blazed with a mixture of embarassment, shyness, and lust.

"I... I think it's very nice, Ma'am," he stammered.

"Mmm..." Jemima's hand stroked over his shaking fingers as they clutched the letters for R.E. Klein and J.G. Clark, M.D. "Well, thank you, Jimmy. Your deliveries are much appreciated. If you ever have a package for me, I would like it very much if you would deliver it personally to my hands."

Jimmy would later replay that brief, but intense, conversation in his head, and wank himself half-blind over it. There was something about the way that she smelled that reminded him of something, but he wasn't sure what. A year later, he would smell his own cum on his first girlfrend's skin, and know it for what it was, but that was when he went to university and learned all about life. Currently, all he was doing was learning about mail delivery and office fantasies.

Jemime carried on down the hallway, feeling her juices smearing over her large thighs as she swung her round hips to and fro. She had a big ass, and she wasn't afraid to use it.

"Ah, John. Just the man." She leaned against the managing director's doorway with one hand above her head, and the other on her hip. She knew he watched her curvaceous figure when he thought she wasn't watching, and she often bent over needlessly to pick up the odd dropped pen or stray piece of fluff on the floor. She knew he was unhappily married, and it got her off sometimes, knowing that he would get up, red-faced, and retreat to the toilets to wank himself dry.

"Jemima." John didn't look up.

"John."

He sighed, and looked up. She watched his eyes travel up her form, and again, she squeezed her chubby thighs together, feeling her swollen pussy lips smooshing against each other. She flashed him a bright smile.

"What do you want? You scare me when you smile. I much prefer the grumpy dragon. Where's she gone?"

"Ah, John, don't go all Dickie on me, I'll start thinking he's been training you up." She swayed over to his large desk, and leaned forward, framing her large breasts and pushing them forwards with her arms. John stared at them, and she allowed him a moment.

"Now, did you get those papers I left for you?"

"Yes... Um... Somewhere, here..." John shook his head and started rifling through large piles of paper. Jemima strode around the desk and then leaned right in front of him, her breast just slightly brushing his knuckles as he gripped some papers tightly.

"You really need to keep this desk tidier, you know. It's not been the same since Queenie retired, has it? You need a good sorting out, John."

"Yes... I do..." he said to her breasts, as she perched her large bottom on his desk, her big thighs a centimetre away from his own.

"Oh, John, sometimes you just need to take matters in hand. Or perhaps you should ask somebody to do that for you. I'm often available, you know." She leafed through the papers she'd retrieved, and then placed them in front of him, bringing the tip of one tit directly into his eyeline.

John was not looking at the papers. Jemima bit her lip. God, she needed to sort herself out, and fast! She pushed her hand into her blouse, pulling up each cup to re-arrange her cleavage. As she did so, she dipped her thumb in the still-wet cum she had left in there.

"Sorry, but I guess sometimes we all need to adjust ourselves, don't we?" She was staring at the tent John had pitched in his trousers. She lowered her hand to his, and smeared a little cum onto the back of his hand. John thought it was sweat, by the warm feel, but he resisted the urge to lick it.

"Oh, I'm sorry! How rude of me! We don't want other peoples' wetness on us, do we?" She lifted his hand to her mouth, and slowly, she licked off the cum with the flat of her tongue, slowly. When she reached the base of his forefinger, she lifted her tongue off him, except for the tip, which she wiggled up and off him.

Jemima was now beginning to pant, and she had teased herself long enough.

"Alright, make sure I get these papers back by the three o'clock meeting, please. See you later." And with that, she swung herself up and off the desk, and sashayed across the floor. John watched her go, the spit-wet hand now holding onto his softening bulge. The damn dragon had just made him blow his load in his trousers!

Jemima walked as quickly as she could to the toilets up the corridor. Bursting in the door, she quickly looked to see if anybody else was in there. Thankfully, nobody was. She ran into a stall and wriggled her tight skirt up over her curvy hips again.

The smell of generic pine cleaner flavoured the air, mixed with years of ancient cigarette smoke from before the smoking ban. It was like being in the school toilets again with her best friend, and it made her feel naughtier. But this time, it was cum she was covered in, not her friend's pussy juices. She shoved her hand between her breasts again, and although there wasn't much cum left to lubricate with, she was wet with sweat and desire.

She pushed her hands between her legs. God, she was so swollen, her lips felt like cushions, and the ache in her burning pussy was almost painful. Mashing her thumb against her throbbing clit, she pushed two fingers straight into her hole, as deep as she could go. Standing there in that stall, like a wanton whore, with her skirt around her waist, no knickers, and her hand ramming into her fat pussy, she finger-fucked herself as hard as she could. She was so wet she could have got three fingers inside herself quickly, but so swollen with desire that she only took the time to use two.

She slid her other hand between her lips too, knowing that his cum was smeared there earlier, and that she was coated in his essence. She licked her fingers clean as her other hand continued its frantic mission. Men had smelled him on her, that she was marked and claimed by him. She could tease them all she liked, but standing there with her legs apart and her hand fucking herself as hard as she could manage, she belonged to one man, and one man only. And she was covered in his cum.

Squelching and squishing sounds, and breath being periodically sucked in and held, were all that could be heard in the girls' toilets. A tap dripped nonchalantly, but nobody cared, and the cigarette ghosts were overpowered by Jemima's sense of cum and boiling hot, wet pussy.

She burst onto the crest of her white-hot orgasm as her thick hips involuntarily thrust one, two, three, four times. If there was a cock inside her, she would have been utterly impaled as her body drove itself forward for agony of need and desperation. As she ran down the molten slopes of pure lust, her slow, deep thrusting became shallower and quicker, and she slumped backwards onto the wobbly stall divide.

Her legs wide apart, juices slickly gleaming over her turgid, bare lips, she slowly withdrew her fingers and sucked on them. Oh, she loved that fruity tang of her own nectar, but she loved it more when it was mixed with a full load of Bob's spunk. And if she was a good girl tonight, she would get as much, and more than she knew what to do with.

The fat little cumslut wiped her slippery pussy and legs with toilet paper, washed her hands, and strode back into the offices to give the lazy secretaries a good tongue lashing. And tonight, she would be on the receiving end of a good lashing of a different kind...

This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.