Mar 132014
 

(continued from part 1: an office fantasy and part 2: opportunity and exposure)

line-break-flourish-sm

I spread my legs and lifted my skirt.

It’s rare for him to get such an unencumbered view of my bare skin. But sitting on top of the desk — with him seated nervously below me —  exposing myself felt wicked and lewd. In return for my teasing exhibitionism, J treated me to a beautifully conflicted expression comprised of longing, restraint, and unease.

He pleaded without words — not for permission or for pussy — but for an explanation about the situation and my intent.

He was more than half undressed — shirtless, fly open, cock exposed — and I sat within his reach with my legs spread and pussy dripping. But just a few feet outside the door, the cleaning woman was making her way down the hall, towards us, with keys in hand.

Visibly confused, he stared between my thighs for what felt like forever. I watched his expression shift as he made sense of the situation. After a few moments more, he blinked hard and finally met my eyes.

line-break-flourish-sm

“She’s not coming in here, is she?” he whispered.

“No, baby,” I smiled, “I don’t think so.” I crossed my legs and smoothed down my skirt anyway, just in case I was wrong.

J looked deflated, but more relaxed.

In whispers, I explained to J that the cleaning woman would see the signal, and she probably wouldn’t even reach for her keys. If she did — if we heard them jingle — I’d call out “no thanks.” She’d call back, “sí, bueno… buenas noches…” and continue on her way. The situation felt far more dangerous than it was. All the same, I didn’t want to let on that I was in my office with a ‘guest.’

The shuffling noises were a few doors down — we listened in silence, with an unspoken agreement to be still until she passed.

Though we’d have to be quiet, I still wanted J close to me. I motioned to him and noiselessly patted my thighs in invitation. He moved closer and rested his head in my lap. I stroked his cheek, admired his smooth skin, and watched the muscles in his back soften as relaxed into me. He wrapped his arms around my hips and held me tight, nuzzling his face into my thighs and inhaling my scent through the thin fabric of my skirt.

With him so close — his head on my thighs, his breath hot on my skin — being constrained to stillness was a delicious torture, one I would not have endured otherwise. I’m impatient, wound-tight, and restless — a perpetual thought-motion-machine who is rarely at rest. I never relax long enough to enjoy the anticipation. I can’t turn my brain off in such a way that gives him room to touch me gently or tease me slowly. It just doesn’t happen.

If we had been at home, I would have shoved his head between my thighs or pushed him away until I wanted him. But stuck there, static and silent, being teased by little more than proximity, heat, and an urgent ache between my thighs — it was a beautiful frustration and I had already soaked through the back of my skirt.

line-break-flourish-sm

Her cart stopped just outside my door and we listened for any sound that might suggest impending entrance. The adrenaline rush that accompanied the ‘danger’ did nothing to diminish my frustration. She paused, emptied the wastebasket, and moved on.

Only after she jingled her keys at the next door did we dare to move, and even then, we were maddeningly restrained. With his head in my lap, J held tighter, teasing me with his lips and tongue through the fabric of my skirt. I took shallow breaths at the top of my lungs for fear anything more would be too loud. The lightheadedness, the silence, the constraint — it was almost too much. I was wound tight and desperate for his mouth.

Mercifully, the sounds grew more and more distant. As soon as I heard the cleaning woman exit through the heavy double doors in the reception area, I pushed J’s head off my lap, leaned back on my hands, and spread my legs. I was on fire.

My desperation didn’t seem to register to J (…or perhaps it did?). Instead of moving to pleasure me immediately, he sat up straight. He seemed to enjoy the invitation, meeting my fire with cold, clear eyes just north of the smug smile I’ve grown to love (and almost always hate).

I whimpered and opened my legs wider. I didn’t want to command him. I didn’t want to tell him what to do. I just wanted him to do it.

He bent and kissed my thigh just past the hem of my skirt. He licked ever-so-lightly up the insides of my thighs, inching my skirt higher with soft brushes of his cheek. It was all too gentle — I wanted more contact, more pressure, more purpose.

Deliciously, agonizingly close to where I wanted him, he pulled away and sat up.

In that moment, I hated him. I opened my eyes and glared at him with scorn, or desperation, or pleading — I wasn’t sure, but I hoped it communicated clearly enough.

He didn’t make eye contact, but instead, stared hungrily at my pussy. Breaking focus only long enough to pick up my whiskey, he resumed staring between my legs as he drained the glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His thirst was unnerving… and maddening, and desperately hot.

He set down the empty cup and finally met my eyes. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he slipped his hands under my hips, pulled me to the edge of the desk, and buried his face between my thighs. I gasped as if I had been holding my breath (was I?) and I covered my mouth with my hand.

There was no more teasing — he lapped and sucked with purpose. I wrapped my legs around his head, pulling him in when I wanted more pressure, more contact. It didn’t take long. I was so close already.

With my ankles crossed behind his head, I moved back on the desk and pulled him with me. I released his head, and with my feet down, I thrust my hips up and fucked his face.

He matched my pressure and speed and when my thighs began to twitch, I couldn’t hold myself up on my arms anymore. I leaned back, first on my elbows, then flat on my back — finally letting go.

Sprawled across my heavy oak desk, I lifted my head and looked down my body — chest heaving, dress bunched at the waist, bare legs splayed, sensible heels on. I watched him there between my thighs — shoulders broad and well-defined, mouth pressed tight against my flesh, blue-green indescribable eyes open, focused, and locked on mine. His body in clear focus just beyond my own, growing blurrier by the moment, our borders were indistinct.

I let my head fall back off the desk, almost upside down. Blood rushed, my abdomen tightened, my legs twitched, my pussy clenched — the wave of tension built and built and crashed down on me. Everything shuddered in quick successions of tension and release, tension and release, tension and release. I didn’t scream or call out — there was no sound save for his lapping and my shallow breathing.

I shook free of the blur just in time to reach down and hold his head against me.

“Be still…” I whispered, “don’t move.”

He did as he was told. I wanted him to feel the last of the spasms against his face. I wanted him to know he had done well.


thumbnail image based on “Office Design” (2009) by Carole & Aldo (desaturated, framed). Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC 2.0).

More Pleasure and Pain…

 

  15 Responses to “sex at work 3: office desk, oral sex, and orgasm”

  1. Oh my God. Scorching.

    I’m writing a post on wanting and aching and waiting. Clearly I’m going to have to link to this series.

  2. Ok I had to go back and read the first 2 chapters. AS if I wasn’t already wet enough from my own story this just made it worse..

    • Thanks, Twisted Angel. :)

      It’s interesting to me that you say writing your own stories (or accounts, etc.) turn you on. Lots of people say that it happens to them, but I haven’t had that experience. I wonder if there’s a difference between writing fiction and non-fiction? While certainly, my accounts (non-fiction) are stylized in places, and details are altered for narrative purposes, I find myself more concerned with writing a faithful account (more of the emotions than actions), and perhaps that’s why I’m not often turned on by my own writing.

      Any thoughts on this?

      Thanks for the comment!

  3. Your gift lies in making suspended moments of anticipation seem like an eternity of ecstasy. The reader can’t help but feel like having a front row seat. Not like a voyeur but a voyager of the taut emotions between You and j. Bravo! Again!

    • gift lies in making suspended moments of anticipation seem like an eternity of ecstasy

      Thank you for the sweet compliment, James. :) I’d tell you to stop, but I fucking love compliments!

      I can confirm suspended, anticipation, and eternity, but not ecstasy — for someone high strung and wound tight, it’s more like torture… but a wonderful torture (if there is such a thing!). ;)

  4. Another classically lovely missive that I thoroughly enjoyed. :)

  5. Such an incredibly erotic and stimulating event!!!

  6. Very hot, thanks for sharing!! The tension he was feeling between doing as you asked and protecting himself must have been very high, my experience is that makes for a very arousing experience. To surrender control under those circumstances can really drive one into submissive head space….

    • The tension he was feeling between doing as you asked and protecting himself […] makes for a very arousing experience

      Ha! I assume you mean it was an arousing experience for him, and while I can’t speak to that, I can say that watching his tension over obeying/protecting was certainly arousing for me. ;)

  7. Lewd and indecent indeed! LOL But so beautifully written!!

    Now… when can I borrow your office? hahahaha

 Leave a Reply