***Trigger Warnings***
Criminal Arson
Extreme Office Fantasizing
White Collar Crime
Graphic Orgasm
Celia Summers languished at her desk, looking through another tall pile of claims. Her business: fire insurance. In the sweltering, mid-august heat, fires bloomed across the quiet suburbs of Richmond, Virginia. Whether it was a child gone rogue with the matches, or a child with fireworks, or a child with a propane gas tank- there was always a little rascal starting those fires. But after the third claim on Littleton Ave, she knew something was different about these fires. The deeds were all in one name, Jack "Cracker Jack" Hall. He was a tall and handsome man, or so it said on her insurance claims filings.
She often fantasized even as a young girl about being taken away by a rough and muscular bandit. It was an idea born no doubt of the old square television she had watched as a child, the blue light flickering wild images as she sat alone in the dark. She spent so much time alone, she had developed a furtive imagination that transported her from her small and confined existence then just as it brought her from her cubicle now and into the arms of a handsome and fierce man.
She dreamed of this stranger- this handsome Jack Hall. She knew that he was older and experienced, with crow's feet in the corners of the eyes and hardened features from a life of crime and arson. Her hand slipped down to settle between her legs as she let her thoughts run wild- thoughts of being swept from smoldering wreckage by the very man that set fire to her heart. She wanted his eyes to burn her with the intensity of his lust, and the heat of friction as two bodies in motion stay in motion. Her legs shook slightly as she shot glances around the office- stained with a blue tint from the piercing fluorescent lights. She felt that she were under the bright lights of an interrogation- not knowing that she would soon find herself in just that precarious position, deep in conspiracy with white-collar millionaire criminal Jack "Cracker Jack" Hall.
She was under the spell of a man she had never met. He would be the kind of man that would make her feel really good. He would appreciate the subtle curves of her body.
Unable to stand it any longer, she ran to the washroom to finish herself off from the terrible excitement of her contemplations. Slamming the stall door behind her, she plunged her hand into her 'good-girl' panties. She had enough of playing by the rules, and half of her wanted to get caught in here just to cut short the monotony of her aimless career. She groped her soft flesh and thought how it was sorely wasted closeted as it was in that cubicle. She wanted to be noticed, to be desired by men that were not afraid to make her feel like a woman. Men that broke all the rules. She caressed the lips of her soft flower, lost in feverish concentration on the building pressure that begged for release. But she knew she wouldn't get there herself, and that she would need the careless desire of a bad boy to push her to that edge and throw her off of it.
But before she had entirely let go of the moment, Celia unlatched the stall door and let it fall open slightly. She heard footsteps as her coworkers meandered around the office, and the thought that anyone might walk in and find her in this compromising position was proof enough that maybe she wasn't such a good girl after all.
She drew up her legs a little further and pushed her sopping panties back up, then reached for her skirt and pulled it up and over her hips. It didn't make any difference. Her skirt was wet, her panties stained, and now that she was here in the tiled bathroom, the friction between her legs had convinced her she was ready for more.
