I close the door on my office so nobody can hear me. I dial your number and you answer. It is only 8:00 a.m.
You have just read one of my e-mails and you became extremely wet, and you soaked your panties through with your arousal. Then you fingered yourself and made yourself even more wet.
I ask you to throw on some clothes, anything, and to come to my office, because I have something for you. A surprise, I say. But I have only one request of you - bring your wet panties with you.
I wait. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Then I look out the window and see you in the parking lot. Nobody else is here yet, and I go downstairs and let you in the building. I lead you in a hurried fashion upstairs. There is not much time before other staff arrive for work.
I shepherd you into my office and lock the door behind us. I ask to see your wet panties. You retrieve them from a plastic grocery bag and hand them to me.
I bring them up to my face and inhale your scent. Should I call it a scent? Or an aroma? Or is it a bouquet?
It is intoxicating whatever I call it, and then I run my tongue along the dampness and taste you for the first time. Second-hand taste, but satisfying, just like standing next to a smoker when you desperately need a puff on a cigarette, but don't have one yourself.
I ask you to turn around. You ask why. I tell you that I am getting your surprise ready.
You turn around. I unzip my pants and pull my cock out through the fly, and I stroke myself to orgasm and cum into your panties.
You couldn't help yourself and you turned around mid-way through my self-pleasure and watched me as I filled your panties with my cum.
I hand them to you. Your wet panties now filled with my cum.
"Damn you are naughty," you say to me. "But I like it," you add.
"What do I do with my panties now?" you ask.
I hear people come into the office outside my locked door.
"Anything you want to do with them," I answer. "Anything you like."
You ask me to turn around. I do. I hear you move about and I can't resist turning around to see you drop your running shorts and you have no panties on underneath, and I watch as you rub your wet, cum-filled panties along your shaved slit. You rub circles around your clit. I watch as you bring yourself to an orgasm, finally using your bare hand, and using the cum-filled panties as a way to muffle your vocalizations as you cum. You lick my cum from your panties as you do this, tasting our wetness mixed together.
You finish, and wipe your wet pussy with the panties, and then pull your shorts back up.
We open the door, I walk you out, and then I watch from the window as you get in the car and drive home.
I go back into my office, and sit down, inhaling the scent of two people cumming, neither touching each other, but both intimately linked to the deed, both intimately mixed together and joined in a moment by a pair of cotton panties.
I look down at my desk and realize you have left your panties on my desk for me.
I wonder if you are answering my own question by saying to yourself in your car, "Anything you want to do with them."
"Anything you like."
I wonder if I have the strength to resist telling you - or even telling myself - what I would like.
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