Fortunate Strokes
In the dim glow of a rainy morning, Jake gripped the steering wheel tighter, the antique pendant from that weird flea market stall pressing against his skin like a secret promise. He’d laughed off the vendor’s tale of ancient luck, but after the wild night with his neighbor’s wife, doubt crept in. Today, at the bustling call center for Apex Financial—handling loans for folks who’d burned bridges with every other lender—he braced for the grind. His boss, Victor, was a smug prick with a corner office and a grudge that felt personal. But Jake’s mind wandered to Lena, Victor’s stunning assistant, her curves a distraction he couldn’t shake. And then there was Sophia, the fiery receptionist whose stolen glances hinted at unfinished business.
The parking lot was slick with puddles, mirroring the unease in his gut. Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, the pendant warming faintly as he stepped inside the glass-fronted building. The air hummed with ringing phones and murmured frustrations, coffee’s bitter scent mingling with cheap cologne.
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Chapter 1: Tangled Wires and Hidden Desires
Jake punched in his code at the time clock, the beep echoing like a starting gun. His cubicle awaited, a fortress of stacked papers and flickering screens. But before he could settle, Sophia appeared at the edge of his partition, her dark curls framing a face flushed with something more than morning rush.
“Morning, Jake,” she murmured, voice low, eyes darting to ensure no one overheard. At twenty-eight, she was a compact bundle of energy, her olive skin glowing under the fluorescent lights, hips swaying in a pencil skirt that hugged her like a lover’s grasp.
He leaned back, heart picking up. “Sophia. Sleep okay after… last time?” Their encounter in the break room two days ago had been impulsive, her nails digging into his back as she rode him against the vending machine. No regrets, but the thrill lingered like her jasmine perfume.
She bit her lip, a sly grin breaking through. “Like a baby. But I keep replaying it. You, me, that hum of the fridge drowning out my moans.” Her fingers brushed his arm, sending sparks. “Need a hand with those backlog calls later? Or… something else?”
Jake’s throat tightened. Victor’s voice boomed from down the hall, barking orders. “Careful. The vulture’s circling today.” But the pendant tingled, a subtle vibration urging him forward.
Sophia leaned in, breath hot on his ear. “Storage closet at ten. I’ll ‘help’ with supplies.” She winked, sauntering away, her ass a hypnotic sway that made his jeans tighten.
The morning dragged, Jake fielding irate callers about denied loans, their curses a soundtrack to his building anticipation. Victor slunk by at nine-thirty, his paunch straining his shirt, face twisted in perpetual sneer. “Freeman! Those Johnson files—sort them. Now. And don’t fuck it up like last quarter.”
Jake nodded, biting back a retort. Victor thrived on this shit, lording over underlings like a petty king. Why him, always? The files were a nightmare, scattered across a back room like confetti from hell. Two hours in, sweat beading on his brow, the door creaked open.
Lena stood there, her blonde waves cascading over shoulders bared by a silk blouse that plunged daringly low. At thirty-five, she was Victor’s right hand—and forbidden fruit—with full lips painted red and legs that went on forever in heels. “Heard you drew the short straw,” she said, voice smooth as bourbon. “Mind if I pitch in? Victor’s in a meeting.”
Jake straightened, inhaling her vanilla scent. “Appreciate it. This mess is Victor’s idea of motivation.” They worked side by side, her laughter light when he cracked jokes about the boss’s receding hairline. Brushes of hands, lingering looks—tension crackled like static.
“You’re not like the others,” Lena said softly, stacking folders. “Most guys here are drones. You… see things.”
His pulse raced. “Like what?”
Her eyes met his, bold. “Like me. Not just the assistant.” But a buzzer sounded—time for Sophia.
“Duty calls,” Jake muttered, excusing himself. The closet waited, dim and cluttered with boxes of printer ink and binders, the air thick with dust and possibility. Sophia was already there, door clicking shut behind him.
“Finally,” she breathed, pressing against him. Her hands roamed, unbuttoning his shirt with urgent fingers. “I’ve been wet thinking about this.”
Jake groaned, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, tongues battling as he hiked her skirt. Her thighs were silky, panties damp silk he shoved aside. “Fuck, Sophia, you’re soaked.”
She gasped, grinding against his palm. “Your fault. Now shut up and fuck me.” He spun her, bending her over a stack of boxes, zipper down in seconds. His thick shaft sprang free, throbbing, and he thrust in deep, her tight heat clenching like a vice.
“Yes! Harder, you bastard!” Sophia cried, voice muffled against her arm. The slap of skin on skin filled the space, her ass jiggling with each pounding drive. Jake gripped her hips, sweat slicking their bodies, the metallic tang of arousal heavy in the air.
She came first, shuddering, walls pulsing around him. “Oh god, Jake—fill me!” He exploded, hot jets painting her insides, both panting as reality crept back.
But the door rattled. “Sophia? You in there?” Carla’s voice, the veteran loan processor, sharp with surprise.
They froze. Sophia straightened, skirt falling, cum trickling down her thigh. “Shit,” she whispered.
Chapter 2: Flames and Forbidden Glances
Carla, fortyish with raven hair cropped short and curves that strained her cardigan, pushed the door ajar. Her green eyes widened at the scene—Sophia flushed, Jake zipping up. “What the hell? I need toner, not… this.”
Sophia recovered fast, grabbing a box. “Here. Sorry, got distracted.” Carla’s gaze lingered on Jake’s bulge, a flicker of curiosity before she snatched it and fled, door slamming.
“That was close,” Jake said, heart hammering. Sophia laughed nervously, straightening her blouse. “Worth it. But if she snitches…”
“We’ll deal. Later?” He squeezed her hand, slipping out first. Back at the files, Victor loomed again. “Slacking, Freeman? That’s a write-up.”
Jake seethed inwardly, the pendant’s warmth a small comfort. Lunch came, and in the break room, he checked his phone—missed calls from an unknown number. Before he could dial back, it rang again.
“Jake Freeman?” A woman’s voice, urgent.
“Yeah?”
“This is dispatch. Your loft in the Elmwood complex—there’s a fire. Get here now.”
The world tilted. Jake bolted, ignoring Victor’s shouts. The drive blurred, sirens wailing in his ears as he arrived at chaos: trucks hosing down the brick facade, smoke curling like black serpents. His third-floor unit was gutted, flames licking remnants through shattered windows. Neighbors milled, faces ashen; the couple below, Mia and Trent, clutched each other, their place waterlogged.
“What happened?” Jake demanded of a firefighter, burly guy named Ruiz.
“Neighbor above you—guy named Kyle—nodded off with a lit blunt. Spread fast. Yours is toast, but we contained it.”
Jake clutched the pendant, whispering, “If this is your luck, it’s twisted.” No stuff left, just ashes. The leasing agent, a harried woman named Elise, approached. “Filed with your renters’ insurance. They’ll contact you. We’ve got temp housing sorted—a motel nearby.”
His phone buzzed: insurance. “Mr. Freeman? Riley Tate here. Check’s ready. Come by before close.”
Riley’s office was in a strip mall, all beige walls and buzzing fluorescents. She rose to greet him—mid-thirties, voluptuous with fiery red hair in a messy bun, freckles dusting her ample cleavage straining a emerald blouse. Her handshake zapped, the pendant humming.
“Static?” she laughed, but her blue eyes sparkled. “Lucky break on the policy, Jake. Sit.”
He did, inhaling her citrus perfume. She tapped keys, turning the screen. “$300,000 coverage. Not the basic you thought?”
Jake blinked. He’d signed for half that. “How?”
“Must’ve upgraded subconsciously,” she teased, leaning forward, breasts nearly spilling. The pendant tingled stronger. “You’re fortunate indeed.” Her foot brushed his under the desk, accidental? Intentional?
Heat built. “Show me the fine print?” he asked, voice husky.
Riley’s smile turned wicked. “In detail.” She locked the door, blinds drawn. “Ever fucked in an office?”
“Not yet.” He stood, pulling her close. Her lips were soft, tasting of mint, as hands fumbled buttons. Her bra was lace, heavy tits tumbling free—nipples hard peaks he sucked greedily, her moans filling the room.
“God, yes—bite them!” Riley arched, skirt hiked, his fingers finding her slick folds. She was drenched, clit swollen under his thumb. “Fuck me on the desk.”
He obliged, clearing papers with a sweep, laying her back. Her legs wrapped his waist as he plunged in, her cunt velvet fire gripping him. “Deeper, you stud—wreck me!”
The desk creaked under their rhythm, her nails raking his back, scent of sex overpowering the paper stacks. She came with a scream, body convulsing, milking his release—ropes of cum flooding her as he growled her name.
Panting, she handed the check. “Come back anytime for ‘adjustments’.” 🔥
Back to Chapter 1 | Jump to Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Motel Shadows and Midnight Cravings
The motel was a dive off the highway, neon sign flickering “Vacancy” like a bad omen. Jake checked in, room smelling of stale smoke and bleach, bed sagging under his weight. The payout was a windfall—new start, maybe—but loss gnawed. He showered, water scalding, pendant dangling cold now.
A knock startled him. Lena, in jeans and a tank that hugged her athletic frame—toned from yoga, not the beach bunny he’d imagined. “Heard about the fire. Victor’s an ass, but I care.”
Jake let her in, towel low on hips. “How’d you find me?”
“Elise. Brought takeout.” Chinese containers steamed on the nightstand, but food was secondary. They ate cross-legged on the bed, her laughter easing the ache. Wine from a flask she pulled—tart on the tongue, loosening tongues.
“Victor’s jealous,” Lena confessed, eyes smoky. “Of guys like you. Real.”
Jake’s hand found her knee, sliding up. “And you? What do you want?”
She straddled him, towel dropping, his cock hardening against her heat. “This.” Kisses turned feral, her tongue tracing his neck, tasting salt. She ground down, jeans barrier frustrating.
“Off,” he demanded, stripping her. Her body was lithe, breasts pert with dusky nipples, pussy shaved smooth and glistening. He flipped her, face buried between thighs—musky sweetness exploding as he lapped her clit, fingers curling inside.
“Fuck, Jake—don’t stop!” Lena bucked, hands fisting sheets, orgasm crashing with a wail that shook the thin walls. He rose, slamming home, her legs locking ankles behind him. “Pound me—make me forget him!”
Sweat-slick thrusts, bedframe banging rhythm like a drum. Her walls fluttered, second climax pulling him under, cum erupting deep as she sobbed in ecstasy.
They lay tangled, her head on his chest. “Stay?” she whispered.
“Till dawn.” But as she slept, Jake’s phone lit—Sophia: “Miss you already. Tomorrow?” The pendant warmed. Luck’s wheel spun on.
New scene unfolded in his mind, but reality intruded: a text from Carla. “Saw you two. Want in?” Intrigue stirred.
Chapter 4: Backroom Bargains and Burning Secrets
Next morning, Jake returned to work—Victor’s glare lethal. “Personal day over? Files wait.”
“Handled.” The backroom was cleared, mysteriously. Lena’s doing? Sophia caught him in the hall, lips brushing his. “Last night with her?” Jealousy edged her tone.
“Business,” he lied. But Carla intercepted, pulling him into the copy room—whir of machines masking her whisper. “Your secret’s safe. For a price.”
Her body pressed close, softer than Sophia’s, hips wide, breasts heaving in her blouse. At forty-one, widowed, she exuded raw need. “Show me what they get.”
Jake hesitated, pendant buzzing approval. Door locked, she dropped to knees, freeing his dick—veins pulsing. “Big boy,” she purred, mouth engulfing, tongue swirling the head, salty pre-cum her reward.
He threaded fingers in her hair, fucking her face gently at first, then deeper, gags turning to moans. “Suck it dry, Carla.”
She did, throat milking him till he burst, swallowing greedily. Rising, she bent over the copier, pants down—ass full, pussy lips puffy and wet. “Your turn.”
He entered slow, savoring the plush grip, then hammered, her cries echoing off tiles. Paper jammed mid-thrust, but they laughed, her climax soaking his balls. He pulled out, painting her back with the last spurts, hot and sticky.
“We’re even,” she gasped, wiping clean. “But call me.”
Afternoon brought Victor’s rage—another mess, but Jake’s confidence soared. Pendant’s magic? Or his own fire?
New conflict: Sophia confronted him post-shift. “Carla too? Share?” Threesome tease hung, but work called.
Chapter 5: Tangled Hearts and Triple Heat
Evening found Jake in a new apartment—insurance cash swift. But cravings pulled him back. Text chain exploded: Sophia, Carla, even Lena orbiting.
They converged at his place—pizza boxes forgotten as clothes flew. Sophia’s lithe form against Carla’s curves, Lena directing like a queen.
“On your knees, girls,” Jake commanded, dick rigid. Sophia sucked first, sloppy and eager, Carla licking balls, Lena kissing him deep—taste of wine and lust.
Positions shifted: Sophia riding reverse, ass bouncing; Carla’s tits smothering his face as he fingered her; Lena grinding on his thigh, slick trails.
“Fuck us all,” Sophia begged. He took Carla doggy, her moans guttural, then Lena missionary, legs wide, eyes locked in raw connection. Sophia straddled his face, juices flooding his mouth.
Orgasms chained—Carla first, squirting messily; Sophia grinding to shatter; Lena clenching as he filled her, overflow dripping. Cum and sweat scented the air, bodies a heap of bliss.
“Lucky bastard,” Lena murmured, all three curled around him. 💋
But Victor loomed in thoughts—a reckoning? Pendant glowed, promising more.
Chapter 6: Reckoning and Eternal Luck
Weeks blurred: promotions whispered, Victor demoted after “audit errors.” Jake thrived, women orbiting—Sophia exclusive now? No, the pendant ensured variety.
One night, alone, he traced its etchings. “Thanks, whatever you are.” A tingle—door knock. Riley, in lingerie, checkbook joke forgotten.
“Missed this,” she said, pushing him down. Her mouth devoured, then rode him cowgirl, tits flopping wildly, scent of arousal thick.
“Ride harder!” He slapped her ass, red blooms, her climax a torrent. He flipped, railing till she begged mercy, filling her anew.
Dawn broke, life remade. Luck wasn’t just fortune—it was fire, unquenchable. Jake smiled, ready for tomorrow’s blaze.
In the quiet, a final whisper: more adventures awaited, raw and unrelenting. 🔥
