Joan had accumulated so many hours of paid time off for her job as a saleswoman in the pharmaceutical company that her young manager asked her to stay home for a day.
“You know the company policy, Joan,” said Shawn Markson, a handsome African American. “Use it or lose it. And I don’t want you to lose it. Take one day out of life.”
“It would be so nice.” She tapped her finger on her bottom lip.
“Make it a holiday,” he said.
Then realization zapped Joan. She shook her head and waved her hand to stop Shawn.
“I’d never get an actual day off—even when I get a ‘day off.’ Work doesn’t stop here. You know that. And, if I stay home, I’ll end up vacuuming, mowing the yard, washing the kitchen floor, or something like that. Oh! That reminds me. I need to stop by the supermarket on the way home today.”
She scribbled illegibly on a pink Post-It note. She stuck the note on the bottom of her computer monitor, along a row of various colored notes.
“Joan.” Shawn crossed his arms over his chest. “After the supermarket run, don’t come back here until Monday. It’s important. I mean it.”
“Shawn,” she countered, saying his name, like he had said hers. “I can’t.”
“Joan, a day off will help you, and that’s what I’ve been focused on: a work-life balance.”
He had been emphasizing the idea that employees would benefit themselves, him, and the company by not over-working. It was a win-win for everyone.
Shawn rested against the cubicle’s half-wall.
“Do you want me to fire you today and rehire you Monday?”
They both laughed.
Shawn straightened up.
“I can’t say what I want and don’t want you to do on your day off, because the floors of corporate offices nowadays are covered in eggshells. All I will say is, please relax.”
The handsome manager gave a simple smile. He raised his eyebrows as a means of urging Joan to agree to the day off. And she did.
“All right. I will stay home. I’ll relax. Sleep in, go to the gym.”
“Don’t wash floors. No getting on your hands and knees.”
Joan cocked an eyebrow. But she smiled. “You know there are no eggshells between you and me.”
“Okay. Well, you’ve got two teens who can wash the floor, if it actually needs a washing.”
“All right then. I’ll take off tomorrow and be back on Monday.”
Shawn thanked her. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”
That night, Joan helped Rich, her husband, cook supper. As they ate, she told him about her day off.
“He threatened to fire me if I didn’t,” she said.
“Little Shawn?”
“Yes, but …” She grinned. “He said he would hire me again Monday.”
Rich laughed. “He’s smart for his age. You drive yourself hard—too hard. Take a day for yourself.”
Joan exhaled. “My mind keeps thinking about all the work that’s piling up without me there. A day off is only procrastination. The work doesn’t stop.”
Their dog barked at them through the patio door.
“It just waits, like a dog at the door.” She let him in.
Rich took her plate and his to the sink. “I’m cleaning the kitchen. The boys’ll deal with the dog. Go, rest on the couch. The TV is yours tonight.”
Soon she was asleep on the couch. A few hours later, Rich led her to their bedroom. She settled under the covers, barely opening her eyes.
Joan awoke to a silent house. No kids shouting. Her husband gone for the day. No television babbling to no one. The sink empty of dirty dishes. The counter cleaned almost to a shimmer. She only heard the refrigerator’s even-keel hum. She closed her eyes, pausing in the kitchen for a brief moment of peace.
When she opened her eyes, she saw, through the laundry room door, a mop. It was the first temptation of the day. She stepped aside to resist the urge to clean.
Immediately though, she saw the stovetop wasn’t as clean as she preferred. Someone had let a pot boil over. She grabbed the first cast iron grate to move it aside. She stopped herself.
“You can’t do this. Take a day off,” she said aloud, echoing Shawn’s and Rich’s words.
She abstained from the second temptation.
On the back porch, she felt the warm sun on her face. The garden flowers and the tomato plants in five-gallon buckets were growing nicely. In a few more weeks, she would be frying tomatoes and slicing them for tomato sandwiches.
Then she noticed weeds. They were peeking through the black mulch. She knew it would take two minutes to pull all the weeds she could see. But she decided her boys would handle the weeds later. Another temptation diverted.
However, Shawn came to mind. She giggled at Shawn’s comment about being on her hands and knees. He was from the generation of eggshells. Joan, not so much.
Oddly though, she let her mind linger his words: On her hands and knees. A mirage formed. She was on the floor and looking up to see Shawn, standing proudly, high above her. He had a lump in the crotch of his dress slacks.
She shook the image from her mind.
She took a short drive to Mark And Son Coffee Shop in town. She liked the name because the name would bring Shawn Markson to mind. This time, though, the reminder was a bit dirtier than a quick smile. She pictured Shawn unzipping his gray slacks while she watched. Her pulse sped slightly and a warmth grew in her chest. She didn’t immediately shoo away the thought.
Watching the dark roast coffee trickle the Styrofoam cup, she heard Marvin Gaye playing on the in-store sound system. The groove made her shift subtly side to side as she mouthed the words. When a young man walked by her with a smile, she stopped. She quickly paid and returned home.
Joan sipped her coffee on the back porch, so she could be in the sun and see the flowers and plants. She kept the weeds out of sight.
Soon she decided watering the plants would not be considered work, despite Shawn’s warning.
Her reasoning was, “It’s not work if I enjoy doing it.”
She grabbed the head of the black garden hose and tugged the hose for more length. She twisted on the spigot. The hose stiffened with the water pressure.
She hummed as she misted the plants. She stroked the hose, while showering the flowers. Soon, her cool, wet hands had lubed the hose.
Shawn came to mind again.
“Like doing that?” Shawn asked. “I never thought of you as a woman who massages a dick. You seem to grab and hold tight.”
“I like to please more. Do you want anything?”
“We’re coworkers, Joan. It’s not right in today’s world.”
“If I urge you, then I want it.” Joan gripped harder.
Joan came back to real life. Suddenly, she released the water mister and let the hose drop and flop on the pavement. She stared at her palm.
She twisted off the spigot.
She batted the back of her hand on her forehead while laughing at her imaginary conversation.
“You’re goofy with horniness,” she scolded. “Act your age—think your age. Think of his age!”
She picked up the hose again to wind it away. It was limp but out came the last spurts of cold water.
Shawn returned to mind.
“Don’t let me go limp for long,” he said.
“What do you want me to do? You never answered,” Joan asked.
“Your legs open.”
“You want to see me?” she asked, jutting a hip sideways as if offering it.
“No.”
She stood upright. “You just said…”
“Not so much see as to taste.”
Joan came back to her real life once again. This time though, her chest fluttered and her little daydream had warmed her.
Inside, the house was empty. Still only the hum of the refrigerator. That steady sound brought to mind a new speedy vibrating toy of hers. Lily 2 had made her smile and more over the last months.
She entered her empty bedroom.
“You let me go limp out there. Now I want you to fix that.” Shawn spoke in a firm tone that Joan hadn’t heard before. He typically was gentle.
She knelt silently before the black man. The pace at which he revealed himself made her hungry. Her mouth watered, and a steady buzz inside and against her body intensified.
Then she gasped. His cock flipped out, hanging low and long.
“My god!” she said. She dragged her tongue back into her mouth with a slurp.
The cock was twice as thick as the hose and hung with a shimmering blackness. It was lined with veins and a large crown. He was her king.
Before she could move, he lifted the weighty thing and plopped it onto her face. His large balls dangled over her chin and its length stretched up the bridge of her nose. She went cross-eyed to stare at it.
She leaned back until the mushrooming head met her pink lips. Her tongue swooped the underside of the dick. And she licked again.
In her excitement, she upped the setting of tiny pink vibrator. As she went on, she noticed the scent of Bordeaux and Chocolate.
Joan then opened her mouth wide to swallow Shawn’s dark cock. Trying to get it in her mouth, she looked like a python taking in its prey.
She bobbed on the dick. She even gagged few times and left a glistening shine on the majestic girth. Soon, the strands of saliva dangled from the cock and dripped down her chin.
She moved back. Her hand gripped the length, stroking it, while she moved lower. One at a time, his low-hanging balls fit nicely in her mouth. She sucked and tugged on them. The tip of her tongue swung them this way and that, so they would bump against her chin, like playing tetherball.
Joan stopped, stiffened, for a brief moment. Good things were near. She added pressure to her clit with the vibrator.
Her body shifted as a wave of pleasure radiated through her. Next came the tsunami that pushed her from the fantasy with Shawn. Every part of her became ultra-sensitive, even to where she had to let go of the vibrator. She only felt it buzz at the base of her butt.
A door opened.
“Joan, are you home?” Rich called.
She knew Rich wouldn’t be Shawn, but he had a dick to use.
“In here.”
He fucked her hard, but afterward Shawn made her lie on the bed for much of the day.
On Monday, Shawn asked about her day.
“I got on hands and knees to clean, but it didn’t take long. And,” she smiled, “it was not work at all, trust me.”
