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“and then John said if the sales opps team couldn’t solve the problem for themselves he’d assign Kevin to take over the whole team. It was a shit show.” Her full, painted red lips stop moving and her head cocks to one side. She’s waiting for a response from you, but you’ve drifted away again staring at that perfect peek of cleavage at the top of her blouse. You meet her eyes quickly and she blushes scarlett. She knows where you’ve been looking.
But does she know that you’ve been wondering what they must feel like? How those small buds that poke through her blouse on days when she doesn’t wear a bra must harden between his finger and thumb were he to grasp them. The fullness of them, the softness…
You clear your throat.
“No shit,” you manage.
Manicured fingers linger too long as she slaps your arm playfully and she’s laughing, “You’re not even listening to me! Anyway, my lunch is over. Back to the Dungeon.”
She rises, smoothing her skirt down over her ass, and you watch every movement of her hands. Then she’s gone – headed down to the lower floor tech offices where she manages the small army of nerds necessary to keep the business running. Your office is a few floors higher on the uppermost floor. It’s private enough, with a closing door and windows facing high out over the domed parking structure. A corded telephone and the accoutrements of a desktop computer rest on the desk.
You sit behind the desk, dropping into the office chair with a sigh. Thoughts still swirl through your mind: a bit of cleavage, a strip of pale white thigh, the curve of her lips in a laugh, the delicate skin where her neck meets her shoulder, the smell of her perfume – undetectable unless she’s oh so close. Shaking your head, you force yourself to begin up your computer and try to focus on work rather than the tightening of your slacks…
—
“but Janice told Henry that if he doesn’t shape up he can sleep on the couch forever for all she cares..”
Your wife is droning over dinner about her friends – a group of nice, if slightly irritating, neighborhood wives and mothers. You don’t have any children or your own, but your wife enjoys the business and, truth be told, the gossip. Your wife is warm and kind and keeps your home well. She even used to be sweet, but those years have passed now.
Dinner is chicken – barely seasoned, brown rice, and vegetables. Just what the doctor ordered. You think about feeding your plate to the dog while your wife refills both your drink cups in the kitchen, but you choke down three quarters of it. When she returns with your cup you kiss her on the cheek and thank her for dinner before heading up to your study.
You wake up a few hours later with your email inbox open on one screen and a muted pornsite on autoplay on the other. Your hand is still wrapped around your softened cock. You clean up and head to bed.
[Finished in Comments!]
NSFW: yes
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On Tuesday you decide to take the stairs down from your office to the lunch room. You’re getting real tired of your Fit Watch telling you to get more steps in and the back stairwell is rarely travelled so you won’t have to make small talk.
You hear her laugh before you see her, rounding the corner to the cafeteria floor from below with a coworker. She spots you and grins, motioning for her coworker to go on ahead. Bounding up the short flight of steps between you, she gives you a brief hug and you can feel the heat of her body beneath her dress, the way her soft curves press into you. Then she has withdrawn and is motioning for you to lead the way into the lunch room.
It’s true that you haven’t been able to get her off your mind lately, but it’s just a simple office crush. You rationalize to yourself later from the safety of your office. You’ve always been flirtatious together. It’s just a silly little game.
“Then why,” asks The Devil on your shoulder, “was it so difficult not to press her up against the stairwell wall and slide your hand up the underside of that little dress to find out if she was wearing panties today? And how did you know just by the gleam in her eye as she looked back at you that she wasn’t?”
The truth is you can’t seem to stop thinking about it. That moment your bodies were pressed together lingers on your skin. The instant where you thought that baser instincts might cause you to act on those thoughts replays in your mind over and over.
You press the button for Tech Support’s dedicated line, “May I speak to Lexi please?”
—
You are so nervous about what you’re about to do that you briefly consider downloading a virus onto your own computer as an out. A legitimate issue. This is not what it looks like.
You rub your hands on the legs of your slacks. You stand. You sit. You stand again. You go over and open the door. You sit again. Then your breath stops as she raps her knuckles lightly on the wood.
“I heard you were having a little problem up here that only the Queen of Tech Support herself could solve!” She calls, grinning. Her voice is dripping with flirtation. You swallow and nod.
“Please, close the door.”
She steps inside and pulls the door closed without hesitation, moving confidently behind your desk.
“So, did you go to the wrong porn site and get a virus or what?” She laughs, reaching across you to use your mouse. “Huh… Lemme sit and use your keyboard.”
“Go ahead.” You say, smiling, and gesture to your lap. She rolls her eyes then promptly sits on you. You worry she will feel the way you instantly start to stiffen as her thick ass presses against you, but she seems invested in problem solving your mystery. She leans toward the monitor, quickly typing out commands and poking around with the mouse. As she works she starts to absently tap her foot and the wiggle of her body in your lap makes you undeniably harder. You try to squirm backward in your chair.
“Be a good chair!” She barks playfully, and slides herself back squarely onto your lap. It’s impossible that she doesn’t feel it – Your cock is as hard as it’s ever been just from the weight of her ass resting against you from three (two?) pieces of cloth away. She must feel it, but she doesn’t react except to continue jiggling her foot as she works.