The Voyeur and the Interloper

There was but a small opportunity. Though she moved with purpose, it offered just the slightest of chances to be noticed. She thought that he would not dare look, be inspired to look, or possibly just not care to look. Her shift in the chair was swift, defter than she gave herself credit for being.

They had been working together in close quarters all day. It was now the transitional time between late afternoon and early evening. Almost everyone in the office had left for the day; enjoying their families, or perhaps finding a happy hour to relieve their minds of the burden of work life. Their project, long behind schedule, prevented such an opportunity. They bleakly faced the frustration of budgetary constraints and the unrealistic expectations from customers who want everything and wanted it for free.

She let her mind ruminate over her frustration. She was unsatisfied with what her life had become: work-centric, lonely, and malnourished for her desire to be free in spirit. She was forced to spend time with her partner on the project; he was slightly older, and slightly more experienced in these situations, but equally frustrated with how progress was coming so slowly. They frequently argued over minutiae, often the result of being like-minded. She admitted to herself that he was slightly attractive. Every now and then, she would catch a glance from him. Almost as if he was noticing what she tried to hide in the office, the desire to be noticed and fulfilled in the attention of another.

No way he would notice.

Yet he did.

He sat uncomfortably quiet. The cacophonous symphony of emotions roiled against the stoicism of his outward armor of false quiet. He feared his distance, wanting to be infinitely closer. He feared his quiet, needing to be bombastic in his opinion. Yet here he sat, an eye cast to the side to watch for the catalyst needed to spark his action.

He found it. In a split second of a moment. An exponentially small fraction of a lifetime, however infinitely important. He saw it. As she had hoped.

It flashed before his eyes, yet seared into the conscious sight, registered immediately. A weakness. His weakness was in his will. A structural weakness of a thread. A hole. A whole inch. Of unknown cause, yet of perfect placement.

For a moment she was sure she was unnoticed again. Such seemed to be her lot in life. Unnoticed. Of course, she should not be observed. She was just part of the office background.

Nothing was further from the truth. She stretched the perfect length, a figure that reached between the realms of now and the dreams any future would covet. The firm flatness of pleasing reality. Gorgeous curves of full supple fantasy. Shadows that tantalized the ideals of femininity. A light that stipulates the vividness of vitality that simmers just below the surface. She was mesmerizingly beautiful, an impenetrable fortress of gorgeous armor from his perspective.

He found the chink in that armor, a rip. It flashed red in blurred lace among the highlights of smooth warm-hued toned flesh of thighs. Her black dress was form-fitting, holding her beautiful arcs in its embrace so that when she repositioned in her seat, the material gathered in such a way to present him with a glorious view of the attack.

He did not look up to make eye contact. His next actions required gumption that would be lost to the powerful pull of her eyes. He watched his large left-hand move from his chair's armrest to her thigh. The warmth of her skin accelerated the burn of his confidence. He could not stop if he wanted to. He did not verify that his hand placement was okay with her. Though her leg slightly moved toward him, she did not pull away.

She had been caught off-guard. She was mid-thought in the battle against the darkness of her doubt. A battle she always won, but it took so much of her concentration. His touch brought a shock. His gentle hand electrified her skin, and goosebumps instantly raised as if to ask for more in rebellion against proper office decorum. She held her breath, and stared at his hand.

He listened intently for her to protest against his forward movement. He heard nothing except for the catch of her breath when he first made contact. His fingers found the firm resistance of her thighs exciting. He studied every inch of her soft flesh, yet this was not his goal. He knew not at that moment where this was leading, but he knew what he wanted to explore, and what he wanted. He wanted what he glimpsed with her movement. He wanted what was just beneath the red lace. He followed the line of her right thigh upward toward his goal. Listening, his own breath held so that he may hear her response.

Still, no protest escaped her lips.

On the contrary. She felt her eyelids heavy in the weight of her want as his hand slowly slid higher and higher. She felt the flush of blood race to her cheeks. She felt the warmth of excitement flood the flesh he touched. Energy awakened deep within her being, triggered by the firm grip and soft touch of his hand. Primal energy that burned slow, a spark that jumped with his first touch and that smoldered slowly into a glowing hot ember. She dared not move. She did not wish to startle him back to the reality of work expectations. She felt the wetness before he did. She was aware that she was leaking into the gusset of her lace thong.

She slowly became aware of the mistake she had made in the morning. She had been so busy with the customer's requests on the project that she had failed to keep up with her laundry. In a hurry to get out of the door, all she could locate was an old ripped lace thong at the very back of her dresser drawer. It contrasted greatly with the black dress she was wearing. But who would notice?

His hand was inches from finding her thong. She worried about how she would appear to him due to the shabby condition of her undergarments. However, his touch felt so good. Though concerned, she could not help but become wetter and wetter as the anxiety gave way to the restless energy of anticipation.

They still had not made eye contact. It seemed forever for his hand to travel up the path of her thigh to his goal. He felt the soft material of her dress slightly resist the meat along the outside of his palm. The dress moved with him though, and he pushed on until he felt the sharper threads of lace against his hand at the wrist. He breathed out a labored wow as his hand came to rest on the warmth and dampness of her want seeping through the material.

It had become too much for her to hold back. Somehow his low-toned wow had pushed her over the precipice of reservation. She could not hold her breath one moment longer, she exhaled in a broken gasp.

He immediately twisted in his office chair to face her, gripping her thighs firmly to hold his place next to her ache. His lustful eyes were wide when he found her half-open gaze. Her full lips said nothing but gave away a slight quiver as she breathed in deep. Her curls fell in front of her beautifully strong cheeks, half obscuring her visage. A sensual vision of perfection in his perception.

Their conference room was silent save for their labored breathing. The din of the office was falling quieter than it had been for the majority of the day. Yet that did not mean it was empty. The cubicles always harbor some poor overworked co-workers. The chance of a straggler should have deterred him from continuing.

He no longer cared. He could now smell her lust, feel her lust against his fingers through the lace and cotton gusset. The risk of failure was far from his primal mind. The risk of being observed by others did not register even the slightest concern. He wanted her. He was going to have her.

He used his grip on her thigh to push her chair clear of the conference table, simultaneously pulling his chair to face her. The force dragged her legs apart awkwardly and he could see the red thong in his peripheral vision. He did not break eye contact. He studied her face intently, bringing in the stimulation of her beauty. He felt the burn of excitement in his sternum. It radiated out in throbs. Throbs which grew in length as he grew in his own want and expectations. He pushed long into his pocket with his want, firm ache pulsing against the material of his boxers and khaki pants.

She was again shocked by his actions. For a moment the thought of protesting raced through her mind. However, this is what she had wanted. She wanted him to take her. She needed all of their tension, arguments, and pent-up aggression worked out. She wanted to be fucked. Hard. She wanted to be needed. So she said nothing. Instead, she erupted into a bit of a belligerent giggle.

His right hand reached for the left side of her face, he rested his palm on her cheek and leaned forward. She tried to back away, but his strength quickly halted her retreat. He held her head still with a partial grip of her curls. She continued to push against his hand with a smile. She resisted, but her smile conveyed her true state. She wanted him to work. He obliged, firmly consuming her lips with his own. She pulled back one last time, then with a gasp she returned his attack. She pressed her lips upon his. His tongue pushed into her mouth searching for her previous resistance and finding nothing but the reciprocating exploration of her own tongue.

The conference room echoed with the sounds of their ardent kiss. They were unaware. They could not hear the noises their lips made. They could not hear their soft muffled moans nor the heavy breath forced through their nostrils. She was focused on his welcomed assault.

He was focused on what he wanted, to be inside of her. Now.

His chair gave way beneath him, shooting out from behind him as he fell forward. In their excitement, the risks and dangers of the office had become moot. He fell to his knees. They laughed for a second. He tried to resume their kiss, however, she was still smiling making his press a bit awkward. His left hand never relinquished his grip on her thigh. He gripped firmer, his thumb pushing in a spot that instantly sent her writhing in response. He pushed the lace against the most sensitive of areas. The pad of his thumb pushed the gusset between her lips slightly. He felt her substance of need seep through.

She moaned loudly. The conference room door was open. For a moment he hesitated. But he heard nothing from the office. He pulled away to find her slightly leaning forward eyes closed. She sat slightly rocking, panting, her eyes softly closed in the enjoyment his thumb created. He leaned heavily on her leg, gripping even tighter, causing her to squeal in painful delight. She shook as he stood up.

The release of his grip was a surprise that gave her an opportunity to catch her breath. She panted in relief. She panted in ache. She craved more. He stood before her, smirking at the state he had left her in. He admired his handy work for just a moment. The protrusion from his left pant leg jumped in excitement to the rhythm of his pulse.

He held his hands out to her. She reached forward and accepted his offer. His hands were much larger than hers. His closed grip devoured her hands with his fingers extending to her wrists. She had to trust in him, for he had complete control. He pulled her to her shaky feet. When she stabilized herself, he released her hands and reached just under her arms. He gripped her ribcage and lifted her onto the conference table. The curve of the table edge naturally kept her legs apart, he stepped to the edge between them. The table was a perfect height. He grabbed her shins just below the knees and pushed her feet up onto the edge of the table, forcing her to lean back. The angle of her legs forced her dress to cascade down around her waist bearing her thighs and that red, tattered thong.

There was a dark wet spot in the indentation of the gusset. He could not help but reach for it and slide his thumb over the slick spot. He pushed firmly on the material feeling her just beneath the cotton. He pushed up toward the lace. The hole he saw left her clit exposed. He found it with his thumb. She released a strong moan as he firmly pushed against her. He felt the firmness of her pleasure against his thumb, he liked the way it popped with rigidity as he circled it with unrelenting pressure. Each pop gives way to more moans and gasping exclamations of pleasure. He felt his own ache throb against his thigh. He leaked with anticipation, soaking through the thin cotton twill.

He could not wait any longer. He slid the length of his thumb into the lace hole, lifting the lace into the fleshy web between his thumb and index finger. He jerked violently. The material of her thong caught her firm clit causing her to cry out in pleasured pain. The pain was just for an instant, his violence caused the lace to give way in a very loud rip. The hole expanded all the way to the waistband. He now could use both hands to pull her lace completely apart. He did not though. He left it.

He left it because she had sat up and reached for the zipper of his khakis. She grabbed the top of his waistband with her left hand and pulled his zipper down with her right hand. She reached into the opening and fumbled through the fly of his boxers. Her palm found his uncontrolled pulsing in the darkness of his pants. She pulled to release him, his length catching and dragging through the material clumsily. He was larger than average and it was a bit of a struggle to free him. She would not fail.

The drag of his head against the cotton material made him shudder uncontrollably, each convulsion bringing guttural grunts he could not stop. Overstimulation of pleasure made him wince. She succeeded, his length finding the cold air of the conference room. He streaked clear evidence of his pleasure from his tip that strung the distance from his cock to his pants. She wrapped the stringing fluid around her index finger. She teased him with her eyes as she closed her full lips around her index finger, cleaning the evidence of his ardor with ravenous enthusiasm.

Her tease, the excitement of his freedom, and the urging of instincts dark in the mysteries of human needs set him in a state of impatience. His hands found her shoulders. He forcibly pushed her back, her head hit the conference table with a thunk, but neither of them noticed. He stepped between her legs, her feet still propped on the end of the table. He released her shoulders, but before she could move he grabbed her hips and pulled her hard to the edge of the table. Her feet kicked forward, her right black stiletto cast off in the violence while her left was hanging by her toe. Her legs came to rest in the crook of his elbows. His grip tightened as his cock followed the warmth between her legs. He pulsed as the smooth flesh of her ass found the tops of his thighs. His head glided across the slick of their anticipation until he ensnared his progress in the mesh of her lace at the waistband of her thong. He pulled back and recentered, feeling where her warmth increased.

He found his mark. The head of his cock rested at the entrance of where he wished to occupy for months now, his enthusiasm pearling from the pinnacle of his reach in anticipation, mixing with her own flowing excitement. He looked down upon her, her breasts spilling over the top and falling forward and through the front of her dress, at some point finding freedom in their haphazard transition to the hard conference table. Her nipples beckoned for his next response, firm in their draw of direction.

He forged ahead with a growl, all the strength of his control evaporated. He was numb to anything but the pleasure in her he sought. He pushed quickly through her resistance, ignoring it as it melted in the pleasing warm wetness of her embrace. He struck her with a force that pushed her further across the top of the table, he pushed completely until they both felt the sweat of their pressed flesh.

She did not moan, she cried out. Her voice was broken by the quivers stirred deep within by the ferocity of his stroke. She was cognizant of her cries. She did not hold it back. He did not wait for her breath to return before he withdrew and struck again. He simply pulled back, his length coated in their pleasure, glinting in the bad conference room lighting.

I sat and watched from my cubicle in disbelief. They never pay attention to me, usually to my consternation. Today, however, I was engrossed with their story. Some of the narration I created in my head to explain what I saw before me.

Their story no longer plays in my head. I watch his gorgeous ass, masculine muscles defined with the strength of his stroke. I listened to her cries. The odor of their lust left me hungry in my abstinence. I watched him fuck her. I watched jealously as her beautiful breast waved to me in a frequency of urgency.

I know she came hard. I could hear it in the vibrato of her cries. I could hear it in the noises their union made, a very wet mess that I could see shimmering in the shadows of the table beneath them.

I watched them from the crack in my cubicle walls. My left hand found my thighs just beneath my skirt. I sat on the very end of my chair, my thighs squeezed together. The fingers of my right hand followed the inside line of my legs. I teased myself.

Her cries were joined with his animalistic growls. The conference room was a cacophony of flesh, the creak of the table, and the choir of their pleasure. I joined them in that choir, softly so as not to be heard. I could not help myself, I could feel her pleasure. My clit throbbed as I watched her cum again and again. Her orgasms began to run into a single staccato of gasped quakes.

I pushed my plain cotton panties aside, my fingers finding the grasp of my pleasure as I imagined myself filled with his force. My moans deepened, and I matched their waves of cries. I felt their tension deep within my writhing hips. I felt my wetness soak my chair. I shook as I got closer and closer to the state she was in, ecstasy.

His rhythm began to falter. He still stroked hard and fast. But I could see his breathing becoming increasingly labored. His growls turned to full-voiced groans. He cried out, pushed deep and hard. The table complained of the force of his strike, the cracking of wood indicating the violence of his orgasmic body. He doubled over her. She violently shook. I could see the spasms of his pleasures. They shook together, he never withdrew.

My own pleasure gripped me. I could not prevent my voice. Their silence of paradise was interrupted by me, the interloper. I shook in half pleasure, half terror. They jumped up at my cries.

For a moment I thought of hiding, however, it was clear I was caught. I stood up and slowly looked over the cubicle wall. They were standing looking back at me with the same terrified wide-eyed stare. Their clothes were disheveled, his khakis at his ankles, his shirt open and wet with sweat and their essence, her dress failed to cover anything, her thong tattered and soaked. If they could have seen my state they would have found me in a similar state of mess.

I smiled sheepishly, quickly gathered my purse and laptop, and hurried out of the office. I ran to my car, and slammed the door shut to the echo of the parking garage. I looked in my rearview mirror to find my flushed cheeks. I cracked a smile when I thought about what had just happened.

I could not wait to see his face when he made it home. I would have to wash her cum off of his khakis and shirt. I would need to make sure that he was presentable and desirable the next opportunity he had to fuck her in the office.

We never spoke of our shared moment.