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Shared Studio Space
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Over the years, I've always been easily distracted when writing... or really when doing anything. There's always a friend to call or email to send or even housework to be done. That's why I finally broke down this year and rented some studio space. It's really a shared space, shared between myself and two others. It works for us because one keeps normal business hours, one is an overnight guy, and I am most creative in the evenings. I've met them both, but rarely do we pass each other coming and going.
I tend to get to the space about 6 p.m., dressed in comfortable clothes (and sometimes pajamas!). I try to write until about 11 most days. Sometimes the words aren't there and I'm out by 9. And on the best days, the words are still flowing when the artist shows up. I try to avoid him, though. Good artist, but weird. He covers the entire space with canvas cloths and then just goes crazy with the paint. And the conversations? Don't ask. I have no idea what he's talking about...ever. Anymore I try to be out of there long before he shows up.
Talking with the day guy is much easier than talking to the artist. This guy is a businessman who was laid off in the spring and uses the space to build up his new business. (I'm not sure what he does exactly; bookkeeping or marketing or consulting...something too professional and conservative for my taste.) I always feel funny seeing him. He is always dressed so sharply. There I am in sweats and a tee while he is always in a suit, or at least wearing a tie. Quite a juxtaposition: the creative, comfortably dressed author with the serious, business-attired professional.
Lately, I had been noticing my supply of snacks diminishing, even though my things are locked up. I've changed my locks, but food is still missing. Since the day guy (I always thought his name was Jake, but I just found out it is actually Doug. I have no idea how I got that so wrong!). Anyway, since the day guy brings food with him everyday, I was pretty convinced it was freaky art guy. (He likes to be called Birch, but I still call him Chad.)
Since I always make sure my locks were secure when I left, and they were still secure when I returned, I had no idea what was going on. I found some small cameras on the internet and set them up in the studio before I went out of town for a few days. I returned to find my locks still locked, but every bit of my food was gone. I couldn't wait to check out the footage and catch 'Birch' stealing from me.
I set up my laptop and began playing through the video in fast-forward. First day, and there is Chad/Birch picking the lock and digging through my things scavenging for my hidden food. Day two, and there is Doug locking up my cabinet for me. Chad broke in again that night, even though he'd already eaten all my food. Again, Doug locked it up in the morning. That night, once again, Chad is digging through my things. (I'm not there. I'm not replenishing the food. Buy your own!) And yep, there's Doug on his way to lock it up again.
No, wait. Rewind. What is Doug doing? He's going through my things now. He's pulling out my folders and flipping through them. All the printouts of my stories, the drafts all marked up and ready for revision. No, not the red file. Shit. He found my erotica. He's taking it back to his desk, but the camera doesn't cover the desk. Fast forward...there, he's putting it back, right back where it was, and locking up my things again. The same thing happened on day four, and that's the day I returned.
I was pissed at Chad for breaking in and stealing my food, but I wondered about Doug reading my erotica. What did such a conservative guy think about those stories? I vowed right then to only keep enough food around to tempt Chad. But only so that Doug would find my open cabinet. I also moved one of the cameras. One was still pointed at the cabinet but the other was pointed at the desk.
That next night I rushed to the studio to see what I had captured. There was Chad unlocking. There was Doug, going to the cabinet, pulling out the red folder again. I switched to the other camera to watch him read, to see his reaction. He was smiling, focused, and...
Undoing his pants!
Right there in the studio, on the video captured by my hidden camera, reading my stories, he was masturbating. And watching him masturbating had me turned on. Had he done that yesterday, when he was off-camera? Would he do it again?
I kept leaving the food (but nothing valuable!) in my cabinets. And I kept adding more of my steamy erotica and less mainstream fiction to the cabinet. And every night I got to the studio earlier and earlier, anxious to watch the video. To watch this serious, conservative quiet man stroke his hard cock while reading my stories. Watching him set out one of Chad's paint-splattered canvas tarps on the floor to cum all over. To watch him sit there, cock in hand, smiling as he'd finish the story. Some nights I was so anxious to watch the video that I'd get there while he was still working.
He wouldn't look me in the eye anymore when I'd get there early, and I didn't bring anything up. I didn't want him to stop reading, and really didn't want him to stop masturbating while I secretly watched on video. I felt a bit bad about watching him that way, but he WAS invading my privacy by snooping through my cabinet. At least initially...
I got there nearly an hour one night. I was so turned on, I couldn't wait to get there and see how he had reacted to my latest story. His car was in the lot, so I thought I would wait in my car. I waited and waited, and was growing anxious. I went for a walk around the block and came back to find he was still there. I thought I would just pop in, act like I didn't realize the time, and just chat casually while he finished up for the day.
I walked in the building and headed to our studio. The door was closed so I knocked, lightly in case he was on the phone or with a client. He didn't answer so I walked down the hall. A few minutes later, I went back and knocked again. Still no answer. I thought maybe he was down the hall visiting another studio, so I opened the door.
My video had come to life.
Doug was leaning back in the desk chair, pants down around his ankles. One of my stories was in his left hand, and with his right hand he was holding something pink. Oh my god! He was using a masturbator, a pocket pussy. Wow, that was new. He hadn't used that on video before. He still didn't see me, so I stood in the corner and watched him, enjoying the live show.
He was about to cum and was moaning my character's name. That was such a turn-on, something I couldn't hear from my soundless recordings. He tossed my pages on the desk and leaned back farther, eyes closed and stroked so fast. He kept moaning my character's name, "Molly....Molly....MOLLY!" He came then, cum dripping out the hole at the end of the toy. I watched quietly as he waited a bit to slip the toy off, letting his cum drip onto the canvas. Mmmm.
I didn't want to embarrass him so I slipped quietly out the door. I headed back out to my car, to the nearly empty lot, and thought about what I'd just seen. I started rubbing over my yoga pants, my clit throbbing. I slipped my hand into my pants and fingered my pussy, hard and fast. I imagined Doug fucking my pussy and not the pocket pussy. It didn't take long after the show he had unknowingly given me.
I regained my composure and headed back inside. I knocked more loudly this time and walked on in. Doug looked startled to see me, and a bit excited, too. My cabinet was locked properly and the canvas was back with Chad's things. Casual conversation in passing, and he was out the door, faster than normal.
That night I left a special surprise for Doug. On top of the red folder I left my digital voice recorder, the only file on it being me reading the Molly story in my most seductive voice. The next night I watched as Doug masturbated twice: once while reading, and again while listening. The second was so much more intense.
He wasn't around over the weekend, but that Monday afternoon I arrived an hour early again. And I didn't even knock before walking into our shared space.
I caught him just getting into my cabinet. He fumbled and mumbled and tried to explain. I walked up and put one finger on his mouth. "I know. Shhh."
I kissed him then, pushing him back against my cabinet.
"Paige, wait..."
"No. Tonight I'm Molly. Fuck me. Fuck Molly like you've done all week."
He barely hesitated, grabbing me tightly, his hands on my ass. We spun around, him lifting me up against the cabinet, kissing me with great passion.
"Forget that pocket pussy tonight and fuck me." He carried me across the small room, my legs around his waist. He lay me down on the desk, on top of all his papers. He pulled off my yoga pants and panties and immediately shoved his tongue deep in my pussy. I rubbed my clit furiously while he tongue-fucked me, until he moved his tongue to my lips and thrust two fingers in my pussy, his thumb pressing against my ass. I yanked off my top and played with my hard nipples.
"FUCK ME!"
I sat up to help him out of his slacks exposing that cock I'd watched all week. "Condom?"
I told him that I didn't have one, but that no condom shouldn't stop him. "Fuck my ass...I don't care. Just fuck me!"
He stuck his cock into my pussy, thrusting with such force and passion.
"Fuck, Paige...I've wanted this for months."
"Talk later. Fuck me now!"
I must say that this conservative businessman certainly knew how to take orders. And even more so, he knew how to fuck. He pounded me hard. He swirled his hips. He'd thrust deep and hold the position, holding onto my hips and grinding them against him.
He pulled out, and I thought he was going to cum on the canvas he'd already spread out before I arrived, maybe even let me swallow his cum.
"Stand up. Bend over." He bent me over the desk and slowly pressed his cock against my ass.
"Mmmmm, press it in. Take my ass, fuck my ass."
His cock, wet from my cum, was entering me. He pulled my hips back against him and slowly thrust his hard cock in me. All the way in, waiting for my ass to relax before he started fucking me again. He slowly fucked me until he filled me with his hot cum.
Things were a bit awkward after, with him gathering his things to leave, me setting my things up. We didn't really say anything except good night.
The next night, I left him a disk of the video, from both cameras.
I get there early every night now. Some nights we fuck. Some nights it's just oral. But every night there is some sort of play. Him in his suit, me in my sweats, both of us naked.
If Chad only knew what was mixed in with those paint splatters on his canvas!
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Submitted by:
Paige
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Rating:
26 ratings
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 Four Strangers in the Night |  Bottle Shock, Part Two | | Bottle Shock, Part One | | Alone, Yet Together | | Girls' Night | | The Unexpected Guest |  Turn Off the Lights... | | Vegas, Baby! | | Dinner and a Show, Part Four | | Dinner and a Show, Part Three | | Dinner and a Show, Part Two | | Dinner and a Show, Part One | | Dinner Reservations | | Mrs and the Mistress, Part Five | | Bath Time | | Juicy Jeweler, Part Three | | Juicy Jeweler, Part Two | | Juicy Jeweler | | Mrs and the Mistress, Part Four | | Mrs and the Mistress, Part Three | | Mrs and the Mistress, Part Two | | Mrs and the Mistress | | Brazilian Waxes | | 'Great Story' | | Rendezvous | | The Movies | | The Lap Dance | | Early Morning Chat | | A Day of Boating | | The Library | | The Amazing Accountant | | The Coat Room | | The Mind Eraser | | Personal Memoir: The Fitting Room | | Living Room Picnic | | Saturday Morning Alone | | Friday Afternoon | | The Interview | | Writers' Conference |
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