Office Mating Day 01 - Her

I dress in my favorite suit. Skirt just past knees, ecru blouse, favorite overpriced shoes, matching bag I bought in Italy last year. I learned in grad school to buy higher quality off-the-rack clothes, then take them to be tailored to fit my body. I knew you were a man, and I wanted to be sure I would have the upper hand, at least for the first 20 minutes of our first day working together, so I spent a little more time than usual making sure the outfit, makeup, and hair were particularly alluring before I left my condo.

I walk into our office at 8:00. You are already here--no surprise that. I can't see you on the other side of the cubical wall, but I hear you typing. It will take some time to get used to the clatter of your mechanical keyboard.

I don't want to interrupt you, so I put my box of stuff on my desk without making introductions. Just as I sit, you pop around the cubical and extend your hand. As I stand, I see you from the feet up: $400 shoes paired with a higher-end department store navy blue suit. Effectively common midwestern business attire, but someone taught you how to dress yourself. You are probably a little over six feet tall, and trim.

I take your hand. Your handshake is abrupt but firm, if not slightly awkward. You say typical greetings: "good to finally meet you" and "excited to work on this project with you." I respond with the standard "I have heard all about you" and "I am thrilled to get this new project off the ground!"

I look directly at your face for the first time. Oh-my-god-you-are-gorgeous, like you fit some masculine ideal or fantasy stored away in my brain. I have to think hard to look around your face more so I don't look like I am staring at you.

You keep our handshake a moment after I loosen my grip. I notice you haven't really looked in my eyes. At the same time, I still can't stop looking at you. We continue to exchange pleasantries. I feel my chest, neck, and face flush. And a familiar ache.

My panties dampen. You abruptly disappear back to your side of the cubical wall. I sit in my chair relieved that you didn't seem to notice how turned on I am.

I log in. I try to work but I have an intense urge to touch myself. A tingle. An itch. I am normally so deliberate about my sex life, but right now, 10 minutes into my workday, I just want to fuck you. I try crossing my legs thinking the pressure may help calm me down. That only succeeds in making my wet pussy lips slide against each other deliciously. Another wave of wetness dampens my panties. I wish I had your desk hidden from the door so I could just slip my hand down my skirt and...

Stop! I have a conference call in 15 minutes! I need to get my shit together!

I log in. I study the emails and Slack conversations that will be covered in the conference call. I feel my nipples relax. My focus comes back, but the familiar ache lingers. While I work, I can hear the rattle of your keyboard ebb and flow. The sound makes me think of you. Thinking of you triggers a small wave of arousal that ripples up from my pussy through my cheeks.

My conference call is my final sign-off from my prior job with BigCo. The familiarity of the topics and people kept my mind entertained. I make a few other calls to ensure my exit from my old department goes smoothly.

When I finish my last call your rattling keyboard reminds me again of your presence. I stand and lean around the cubical to talk to you. I see the concentration on your face and decide not to interrupt. Within moments of seeing your face my panties dampen again. I need a release.

I back away silently and listen to you type a few moments. I then head out of the office to use the restroom. Before getting to the restroom, I find myself entering the telecom closet. I shut the door, lean against it, yank up the hem of my skirt, and thrust my hand into my panties. My fingers are immediately coated. In less than two minutes I groan softly as I cum.

A minute later my breathing has regulated. I tug my skirt back down over my hips and ass and smooth the wrinkles. My panties are soaked. I peek out the door then silently reenter the hall as nonchalantly as I can. A trip to the restroom later, I head back into the office. It sounds like you are typing a report or something: the clatter of your noisy keyboard sounds like the rock tumbler I had as a kid. I resume my work, allowing the rattle to become white noise.

I don't know how much time passes before I notice something odd: you have stopped typing. The second I think of you my nipples harden and I lubricate again. I think through the risks of a quick rub right there at my desk. As I contemplate this, you rush out the door. I am able to refocus again.

When I hear you open the door to our office, I swivel to face you in my chair. You regard me as if for the first time. You look like a starved animal regarding its meal. I know I want to be devoured by you. I know I would do anything you asked me to that moment. I want to do anything you ask.

Since we haven't talked about our new project yet, I try to direct our conversation there. Uncharacteristically, I stutter and struggle to say the words. When I lick my lips, I think of you sliding your cock into my mouth. In my state, I can feel your hands on the back of my head. I feel you caress my cheek. I see you bending me over and roughly yanking my panties off. I feel myself wanting these things.

As we talk, I swear you are getting an erection, though it may just be the pleats in your suit pants. Do you feel the tension between us?

We end our conversation, and you head back to your side of the cubical. I review some of the papers our boss will expect us to know for our meeting tomorrow. At about eleven o'clock, you march out of the room again. I watch you walk past me and I am nearly overwhelmed with desire. You mention you're heading to lunch.

The door closes behind you. I sneak over to your side of the cubical and sit in your chair. I can smell your scent. I look through a box of your things on the floor and find a picture of you with your arm around the waist of a mousy, thin, plain girl. I feel a sinful rush of excitement: I am objectively far hotter than she is.

I go back to my side of the desk to see you shared a spreadsheet with me before leaving the room. I open it up to see your financial projections. I don't know much more about finance than what I learned in grad school, but your work looks perfect.

I work alone for an hour. Without you sitting 8 feet away, my mind is clear and my attention span is endless. At noon I leave to meet coworkers from my prior department in the deli on the second floor of the building.

I return to the office a little after one. As I walk in, your head pops around the side of the cubical. I can feel my décolletage flush again and I say "Hi!" I hope that you will take my greeting to start a conversation. But your head disappears again, leaving me with thoughts of you fucking me while I am bent over the filing cabinet with my arms pinned in the small of my back. Then with your hands full of the flesh of my hips. Then with you with a fistful of my hair. I get so wet thinking all of this that I am worried I will soak through my skirt.

For about half an hour I can't work as I think of all the things I want you to do to me. I am now lost in the mental image of laying on my desk and looking into your eyes while you work your cock into my asshole.

You have barely said 50 words to me all day. This will not do. I carelessly knock my inbox off my desk, a trick I came up with in my early 20s. Sheets of paper flutter all over the floor. As I kneel down to gather them, I kick a few pages under our desks.

I turn away from you, put my cheek on the carpet, and make a show of wriggling my ass back and forth while I take much longer than necessary to retrieve the papers under my desk. I think of you sliding out of your chair, pulling up my skirt, and fucking me right there. I would need no foreplay because I am soaked, and I would probably cum on your first stroke.

I hear you get up from your chair. I turn around hoping to see you pulling your cock out. Instead, you are crouched under your desk picking up a sheet of paper. I kneel again and start shuffling my papers together. You are suddenly standing above me handing me a single page. I look into your eyes but all I see is a mental image of me sucking your cock to the base. You wave the paper at me. I thank you. When I look down to take the paper, I can see you are erect and that all of your anatomy is seemingly "in proportion" to your tall stature. I slowly take the paper with one hand. Without thinking, I lift my other hand from the floor to reach for your zipper. Before I make contact, you mutter "welcome" and nearly run out the door.

There is no way I can work while I am this keyed up. But I promised to meet with my new development team. I stand, plop into my seat, and force myself to prepare for our meeting for a few minutes. Focus partially regained, I go down the hall to their part of the cube farm and we make introductions. I am certain everyone within 10 feet of me can smell my sex. I can tell I appeared rushed and distracted during the meeting.

I return to the office. I take the initiative and stand at the end of the desk to strike up a conversation with you. We talk about basics. It is no surprise you are well pedigreed: you did your undergrad at USC, and your MBA in finance at Stanford. I realize I could gaze into your face all day. Five minutes into our conversation I realize I am playing with my hair, leaning toward you, and laughing more than I should at the things you say. I also realize that my tits and neck are flushed again. I sit back at my desk before it is too obvious I am throwing myself at you.

I exchange emails with an employee I have never met. He writes like someone who never progressed beyond high school English. Before I can stop myself, I lean around the cubical to ask you about him. You call him "a beacon of mediocrity." I laugh, again louder than I should. I simply cannot stop flirting with you like an office hussy trollop.

You leave again in the early afternoon. I work for an hour with little interruption and my full focus. But then I see an email from our bosses that is sent to both of us. Just seeing your name robs my attention, and I am again aroused.

I slip back to your side of the cubical and sit in your chair. I pull out the picture of you and your plain girlfriend and set it on your desk. I focus on your face, pull my skirt up, and shimmy out of my panties. I lean back and put my feet on the edge of your desk.

I keep looking at you in your photo as I plunge a finger into my willing cunt. I think of you fucking me in exactly this position in your chair and add another finger. I use my other hand to massage my clit. I focus more on your face in the photo and really plunge my fingers deep. I let out a yelp, so to stop myself from being so loud I shove my own panties in my mouth. The risk of you walking in on me makes my moment absolutely coruscating. I bring myself nearly to orgasm looking at your face then back off a little.

I change my focus to your girlfriend. The feeling that she is watching me fuck her beloved boyfriend overwhelms my mind. I think of her being forced to watch as you fuck me senseless. That does it and I scream an incredible orgasm into my panties. I return to my desk and put my panties into my purse.

Not even three minutes later you walk in. I am disappointed you didn't catch me as I climaxed, but relieved I didn't get caught doing anything that could get me reported. Strangely you leave the office again only a few minutes after you got back. I sit, still abuzz from my incredible orgasm.

You return to your desk 10 minutes later. When you get back I have an urge to crawl to you, suck your cock and let you cum all over my face.

I work half-heartedly. Knowing I am so wildly distracted, I make an excuse and leave at 4:30. I stop to buy a fancy bath bomb on the way home.

As I get home I run the bath and strip naked. My pussy has been wet all day and is still engorged. I brush my fingers across my clit and I know it will only take a few minutes to cum.

I go to my purse and pull out the bath bomb, my panties, and the picture of you that I stole from your desk. I get into the tub and spend the next 40 minutes masturbating. I look at you in the picture and imagine you pinning me down, eating me repeatedly, and fucking me every position. When I am done, the water is barely warm and I have had at least a half dozen orgasms. I have never been this overwhelmed by my own lust. Ever.

I get out, dry off, and order dinner on doordash. While laying in my bed waiting for the delivery, I imagine you fucking me doggystyle right there. This morphs into an image of you fucking my ass. I lean over the edge and pull out a smaller dildo, lube it up, get on all fours, and slide the dildo into my asshole. Oh god I feel so full. I spend the next 10 minutes building up a full head of steam, rubbing my clit firmly in circles with my other hand. Just as tip into orgasmic bliss, the doorbell rings. I wipe the lube off my hands, rush to the door in my bathrobe, and tip the delivery guy a ten-spot in exchange for my food. I eat dinner in my bed in a post-orgasmic haze.

I haven't been the pursuer since my first boyfriend. After him, I always had the majority of control in my intimate relationships. I love to be in that position of control. My rational self still craves this. But with you, I yearn to give up control. I want to be your sexual plaything--your personal whore, even.

All you need to do is ask. Blowjob in the boss's office? Fuck in the all-genders bathroom? Anal in an empty cube in the bullpen? Just ask.

That scares me. And excites me. If you find out that I want to be your whore, especially after only one day, you will have control. If I keep myself under control, I will yearn for your cock every day.

I need to sleep on this and make some decisions.