Addison Crouse, MBA: Flash Sex Fiction Erotica
Joe Brewster
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Joe Brewster/transgressivefiction
Smashwords Edition
I hope you enjoy my little story. Thank you for your support.
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Addison Crouse sat eating her lunch at her desk while going over reports for her upcoming presentation. Or, rather, she picked at her salad absent-mindedly as she focused, as she always did, on what was important: The bottom line.
A sudden disturbance interrupted her concentration. A man from the nursery brought a plant, a small tree, into her office and placed it just inside the door.
The tall, dark, figure spoke, "They told me to bring this in here."
Addison looked up to see a rugged, well-built, blue-collar body and felt a soft tug inside her. She wasn’t used to seeing the kind of sculpted physique a man earns through hard manual labor. It moved her in ways a gym-crafted body never could.
His righteous muscles rippled beneath his tight khaki uniform, threatening to shred the fabric and burst their seams as he mopped his handsome brow with a plain white cotton hanky.
"Put that in the corner," Addison commanded succinctly--- the first of a set of much more intimate commands she hoped he’d follow.
"They told me to bring it in here. I brought in here. You want it moved around that's your problem," he said. He looked at her like moving that plant another inch was the craziest thing he’d ever heard of.
Addison was taken aback. Not sure if it was this Neanderthal's attitude or the manly scent that seeped from his dampened armpits that gave her pause. The air was pungent with his manly scent.
He took her silence as his cue to have a seat and take a load off.
"You have to excuse me,” he told her. “I don't get off the farm much. I'm just filling in on deliveries today because Gus called in sick. I hate the city."
She fixed him with a stare that was supposed to make him jump up and apologize for his rude behavior. It didn't register. She was so accustomed to getting the reaction she wanted from menials, that is, making them jump, that his smoldering inaction left her disoriented.
"So what I'm saying is,” the workman continued, “if you’re looking for some action it ain't happening. I don't go for you antiseptic liberated types. It'd be like fucking a robot. I always thought Gus's stories were bull until I did this a few times and nearly got raped. You business broads are unbelievable. And, Lady, you take the cake.
“If ever I saw a broad set to explode it's you. You're in your own little world aren't you? All organized. Everything orderly and controlled. Then someone outside your world comes in and you're ready to get nasty on him. Just like that. And I’m supposed to be thrilled about it. Sheesh.
"If you saw what I do everyday out on the farm and worked in it--- nature as God meant it to be--- you'd see how morbid all this business is. Business culture. There's an oxymoron. You're sick. All of you. Especially you broads. You're built to nurture, not float the bond issue. You'd sure like to nurture this wouldn't you, you little Trump wannabe?" He rubbed his crotch suggestively.
For a moment Addison thought the muscular hunk was putting her on, mixing street grammar with polysyllables and business concepts, then she realized he was genuine, he was for real. The funny thing is he was right about her.
"It's too bad Gus wasn't here,” he said. “He'd do you in a minute--- literally." He laughed. "The Original 60 Second Man,” he shook his head sadly. “What a waste.”
He got quiet, became less animated, and looked right at her, ”You're a beautiful young woman. You belong under the trees somewhere, out in the open air. Not here.” Spreading his arms out, “Not stuck in this place.” He paused. “Sitting here, cooped up, day after day in a glass box would make anybody a tight-assed bitch,” he told her.
"Have you ever made love under the sky, in broad daylight, with no one around for miles? That's real. Bending over a desk and banging away doesn't get it for me. Gus loves it. He thinks he's putting it to you broads in more ways than one. Like he's the Master. But I've tried it. I know better.
"It's just a sick fantasy you have, you uptight lady MBA's. The last one I did was already thinking of how she'd tell her friends all about me before we were halfway through. She was a character collector. I was a story she could brag to her friends about and have a laugh on me.