I sat alone in the lounge, waiting for the clock to strike nine. Really. I just sat there, getting wetter and hotter the whole time. I damn near came on the spot when the clock chimes began.

I had promised I wouldn't touch myself until they started, and I didn't. But as soon as that little hammer dinged the bell for the first time, the hand was indeed faster than the eye. My fingers shot down my pants, and I began caressing myself frantically, moaning and gyrating on the sofa, urged on by the insistent bell. By the fifth chime, I was pinching my nipples with one hand, and sliding my slippery finger over my erect nubbin at the same time. Chime six had me squeezing my breasts, hard. Number seven caused me to thrust my hips in the air in desperation. As the eighth bell tolled, so did I. A climax worthy of the name, my body shaking helplessly with the release, as I fell back on the sofa, drenched in sweat, and finally relaxed.

Until a few months ago, I managed to hold down a part-time job as a retail assistant for a horologist. That's a watchmaker. Yes it is. Go look it up. Anyway, I was helping in the shop for this nice old guy, name of Dennis. He had been making and fixing watches his whole life, and his wife had run the shop until the previous year, when she had succumbed to some disease or other, and Dennis needed someone to cover him for breaks and so on. We had got to the point where he would leave me in charge on late nights, and go home to his empty flat, and I would lock up, and leave notes for him if any work came in over the evening.

I had a busy life at the time. I was seeing an architecture student named Jeremy on a semi-regular basis, and he would drop by sometimes to pick me up from the shop, and we would meet some friends, or whatever else was happening. It was a fairly casual thing, but neither of us had the time or inclination to see anyone else, so it was very comfortable.

One night Jeremy turned up a little early, and helped me put all the valuables in the safe, and lock up the shop. He noticed for the first time, that there was a comfortable looking but narrow bunk set up in the tea room.

"Nadia, what's this bed here for?" He asked me, a suspicious smile on his face.

"Oh, that's from when Dennis' wife was still working here. She needed to take a nap some days."

"You know, if you turn the lights off out there, we could cuddle down here for a while. The guys aren't meeting us until Eleven, so we don't need to rush off."

"What exactly do you have in mind Jeremy, you dirty pervert?"

I knew though. He had a high sex drive, Jeremy did. Well, so did I, but I let him think he needed to persuade me. Men like that. Bastards. Anyway, eventually, we were cosied down on the bunk, under the thin blanket, in the dark, starkers. Shy I'm not.

Jeremy was a slow, unhurried lover, always treating me like some fragile ornament that might smash if he was too rough. I'm not complaining. I enjoyed the attention, and our lovemaking was the best I've ever had. We lay for quite some time, he caressing my body with his gentle hands, me stroking his buttocks and his testicles quietly in the dark. Neither of us were speaking, just stroking and kissing.

As things progressed, Jeremy started to focus more on the area between my legs, with an occasional break for nipple caresses, and I was manhandling him a little more vigorously, his erection firm and sizable in my hands, the tip providing just enough resistance to stop my encircling finger and thumb from falling off. The speed and pressure from both of us gradually increased, and I suddenly realized that I was near orgasm. Any orgasm is great, no doubt, but I most like to come with my man inside me, filling me with his strength and thrusting deeply. So I removed his hand from between my legs, turned him over on his back, and sat astride him, appreciating his gentle ways, whilst feeling his firm muscles. Leaning down to kiss him gently on the mouth, I maneuvered myself directly above the shaft I had been stroking with my hand. As I bent my knees slowly back, I was softly impaled by him, his manhood sliding effortlessly though my thighs gripped him as the muscles pulsed.

I sat there motionless for a few moments, savouring the feeling of him pressing against my cervix, and the subtle pressure against my clitoris, tickling it ever closer. I knew Jeremy was near orgasm as well, and knew that once I started to move, this wouldn't last for long.

Slowly I began to straighten my knees and lift off him, his cock withdrawing almost completely before I thrust down on it again, hard and fast. The movement quickly became a rhythm that could not be ignored, and he responded to my repeated impalements with his customary gentle thrusts, angled just right to do the most benefit to us both. The rhythm increased without conscious effort, and we became a human pump, slippery but tight, hammering out a tempo with an offbeat of grunts from both of us, slowly nearing the inevitable.

I had never been able to draw this part out too long, and Jeremy could tell when I was ready. His control was always astounding, and I never needed to tell him when. As our joined machinery signaled complete readiness, I could feel my muscles tensing for the final moment, and just as my mind was switching control to my loins, there was a sudden cacophony of noise in the shop. In the same instant of time, Jeremy released his seed deep inside me, my climax tensed every muscle in my body, and all of the carefully adjusted clocks in the shop chimed the hour. Somehow, the sudden noise amplified the feelings, and as I slammed down on Jeremy again, I just kept on coming, my orgasms seeming to match the chimes of the nearest clock, my muscles tensing again and again, pummeling Jeremy with my thighs as I lost all sense of control.

As the clocks completed their chimes for Ten PM, I collapsed on my lover, drenched with sweat, and exhausted with exertion, my muscles sore, and my mind at rest. We lay still in a hot huddle for a long time, until he spoke, quietly, almost reverently.

"Fuck me Nadia. What was that about?"

"I honestly don't know. When all those clocks went off at the same time, so did I. I couldn't help it. Not that I wanted to anyway."

"Shit, you came over and over. You've never done that before."

"No... but I wouldn't mind doing it again."

"Not now Nard. You've just about worn the top off it."

"No, not right now, but maybe a little closer to Eleven?"

"Oh God, I don't know about that. You'll have to convince me."

And I did. And the performance at Eleven, whilst not so violent, was certainly well above the norm.

And after that it became a regular thing. Jeremy would turn up when I was working late, and we would shut the shop, and retire to the bunk. Somehow we always knew when it was time, even in the dark, though we seldom had two goes at it on the same evening again. I would have, but I don't think Jeremy could handle it.

We had more sex on that bunk than everywhere else put together, and it was by far the best.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. A few months later, I got a phone call at home from Dennis' daughter, to tell me that he had had a serious stroke, and there was no way he could work any more in the shop. She asked me if I could help her close it down, and I organized a sale. We stayed open late every night for two weeks, ostensibly so that I could shift the stock, but really it was so Jeremy and I could make the most of the now short-term opportunity.

And you know what happened? As the sale continued, and the supply of clocks dwindled, along with the decrease in hourly orchestration, so did our performances. Jeremy said that he couldn't go back to the way things were before we found our secret place, and we split up.

I've seen a few guys since then, but none of them can compare with the sessions I had with Jeremy, who I now think of as the man with the big clock.

And so here I sit, alone on the sofa, in the dark, still hot and wet, and waiting for Eleven. Well, I have to.