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My escape from my shitty marriage was work. I had started with an organisation well into my marriage, and it had been my lifeline. At work I was valued for my ideas and opinions. So I threw myself into every part of the job, trying to be the best I could be. I lived and breathed my job. My colleagues became the people I spent the most time with. One in particular, a casual staff member I will call Stuart, I was all the time pleased to see.

Stuart was intelligent. The knowledge he had about a whole range of subjects blew my mind. He was young – he had the energy to stay out all night and come into work the next morning, and still get the job done. He was friendly, bordering on flirtatious in a very passive way, and he was attractive. Dark hair, eyes that looked green or grey depending on the light, a gorgeous smile and the most perfect ass I’d ever seen. He wore plenty of tightly fitted pants that made it easy for me to appreciate the view. All these things meant I loved working with him. I went out of my way to wear tighter skirts and tops that showed more when I knew he would be there. I found reasons to talk to him, and asked him to teach me things before I asked anyone else. I liked the how close he would stand to me while he would show me something on the computer. He made work much more enjoyable in every way.

Stuart and I had an easy friendship that was mostly work related, and the occasional check in re our personal lives. You know the kind, a “how’s your family”, “how’s your girlfriend”, exchange of random memes sort of thing. Somewhere over a few years, it changed. Stuart was the least judgemental person I’d ever met and he was easy to talk to. He confided he wasn’t happy anymore in his relationship, and I tried to check in on him through the end of it as he struggled. I must have shared parts of my frustration with my husband. And eventually we were checking in with each other via text pretty regularly, he sharing his new experiences in the dating world, me encouraging him when he seemed unsure. Often he would send something that felt like it had a double meaning, and I would spend far too long trying to build a reply that said I was open to it whilst not being too out there. These flirty texts continued for days, the tension building up between us until one of us finally pushed it over into sexting. And we texted the things we wanted to do to each other for about thirty six hours until during our work day his detailed messages of bending me over a desk and fucking me in front of our coworkers pushed it another step.

I just want to touch you, I sent, watching him from my desk.

God yes I need that, he sent.

Then meet me downstairs, I sent. Then I closed the app and put my phone in my pocket.

I had never felt this forward, this confident that propositioning a colleague – a friend, but also a colleague – was gonna work out. But I lingered in the office, waiting a few moments to appear discreet.

He was waiting for me in the basement. I will never forget the look on his face – uncertainty, determination and lust simultaneously playing across his features. I strode straight to him, my hands coming up to hold his face, his neck, as our lips finally came together for the first time.
It felt desperate, our lust finally being released after all the create up of our messages. His hands were all over my curves, roughly cupping my soft large breasts, running down my body to take fistfuls of my ass. Our tongues clashed over and over again, before I moved my lips to his neck and my fingers down to feel his cock through his pants. He ground his full hard length against my hand, and I fucking wanted it. We were at work, and someone could have walked around the corner at any time. But I didn’t care at all about that – I just needed this man’s cock. So I slipped my hand inside his pants, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

His moan when my fingers brushed against his dick told me he was just as willing as I was. His hand pulled at my skirt, slipping underneath and running his fingers along the edge of my lace panties. He fumbled as they moved toward my clit, taking a second to discover it, meaning his warm fingers brushed against my wet lips before he reached his goal and made me forget who I was for a moment. My own fingers were desperately trying to touch as much as I could, the soft skin around his hardness as his breath hitched the slightest bit and his hips pushed forward even more. I knew I was not stopping yet. I needed more. And so I stepped back half a step, dropping to my knees and working at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping before revealing his fucking perfect cock to my eyes for the first time. Knowing exactly what I wanted and needed to do next. Blow jobs were usually a chore, but god I wanted his dick in my mouth. I didn’t hesitate.

I think Stuart muttered “oh god”, but I was too invested in worshipping his cock. It was like it was made for my mouth, and he tasted so fucking good. I wanted so badly right from that moment to blow his mind. I wanted to give him a blow job he’d never forget. So I took him as far as I ever had, as deep as I could, making his dick messy with my saliva, and loving every minute of it. Stuart’s hands tangled in my hair, pushing my head further onto him, making me gag which made him moan louder.

I realised we must have been down there for quite awhile, and we would be missed. I gave his cock one last kiss before standing up. We pulled ourselves together and I kissed him one last time. It was my promise that this wasn’t over.

NSFW: yes

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