You squirm in your office chair to the backdrop of fingers dancing across keyboards and the murmur of office chatter. The hum of the air conditioning is constant, maintaining a temperature far below that of the sweltering, humid summer day outside.
Yet you are hot. Increasingly so.
And wet. Torturously.
Heat stains your cheeks, the awareness of it only fuelling the flush in wickedly perpetual motion. Taking a slow breath, you attempt to regain some composure to steady the pounding of your heart and cool the tingling heat prickling beneath your skin.
‘Get a grip,’ you tell yourself, trying to focus on the screen before you. Brockwell and Sons accounts. They need completing.
Yet the lure of the cell phone remains. Silent, but each unread message glows like temptation itself, the thought of its contents dangerously tantalising. The sensible thing would be to turn it off or shove it into the desk drawer, but the seeds had been planted long before now.
Unable to resist, you scan the office before picking up the phone once more, opening the messages that had arrived since your last response. The heat no longer claims just your cheeks as his flurry of messages ratchets up the intensity. Articulate and explicit, they leave you biting your bottom lip, increasingly flustered. What his words do to your body feels borderline insane.
Conscious of your surroundings, you quickly type back, your message short but pointed.
‘Your words are killing me.’
Metaphorically correct. Your mind losing the battle between work and explicit lust. His words have a way of painting the most vivid imagery, so captivating and spellbinding. You can almost feel him. His touch, his lips, his voice wrapping around you and penetrating your thoughts gorgeously.
Setting the phone back on the desk, you return to your screen in a vain attempt to concentrate, but any focus on billed quarterly numbers is impossible. Your attention snags instead on the dance of the three dots signalling he’s typing.
Fuck.
He is relentless. Insatiable.
‘Good,’ appears on screen.
You smirk despite yourself, unsurprised by his response. He enjoys your torment far too much. Knowing your body aches and throbs for him while you remain trapped here, unable to do a damn thing about it.
Another message follows, returning to the scene the two of you have painted together, though he’s very much in control of it now. Graphic and explicit, any pretense of grace is long gone. His words make you ache even more fiercely. You cross your legs, squeezing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to quell the throbbing need between them.
Not that you are wholly innocent.
The morning’s back-and-forth had instantly put a smile on your face and a spring in your step, as it always did. The conversation was effortless despite the time zones, your morning against his night. Playful and infectious, always laced with suggestion, the mutual flirting made you feel intoxicatingly alive.
And God, could he make you smile.
He possessed an uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.
His playful suggestion that he wished he were undressing you after you mentioned getting ready for work had been enough to spark the fire. Deliberately, you’d described your office outfit in detail. The pencil skirt hugging your hips, tucked neatly beneath a tailored and snug dark blouse, paired with killer heels. A gift for his wonderfully wicked imagination.
Because the teasing went both ways. And you knew exactly how to stir him up.
The commute into work brightened tenfold as the back-and-forth between you blurred the line between innocent and deliciously intoxicating. The desire was mutual, each increasingly suggestive message adding fuel to the fire already burning beneath your skin.
You knew this was dangerous.
Yet with him, resistance felt impossible.
You found yourself holding your phone a little closer, shielding the screen from prying eyes as the messages grew steadily steamier the nearer you got to the office and the further you got from being able to do anything about them.
And now it was torture.
Thankfully, the dark blouse concealed the rise and fall of your breathing and the swell of your breasts pressing into the lace, conscious that any lighter your bra would be visible. Although less could be said for the pebble of your nipples. Tight and gorgeously taut, if anyone were to ask, the air conditioning was to get all the blame!
Your eyes flick towards your phone as another message appears.
‘Panties ruined?’
A sharp breath catches in your throat as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to suppress the sound threatening to escape. He knew exactly what he was doing. Too fucking well. Christ! Your delicate lace clung against your soaking wet, slick lower lips. The continued squeeze of your thighs a desperate attempt to quell the ache and throb.
‘You know they are.’ You type quickly.
Those three mesmerising dots appear almost instantly, followed by his response.
‘It’s not only your panties I want to ruin,’ accompanied by a purple devil emoji.
A sharp breath catches in your throat. For a moment, you forget to breathe properly. Staring at the screen, your composure slipping further with every second.
Your fingers hover over the phone before you type again.
‘Please… have mercy.’
Part of you wants him to stop. The line between fantasy and reality beginning to blur in a way that makes it harder to keep your composure intact. But another part of you doesn’t want it to end. Caught in that intoxicating in-between, suspended on the edge of anticipation.
Three dancing dots appear again.
‘Cum for me.’
Fuck! He knew exactly what he was doing. Knowing exactly how those three words would hit you, how they would unravel whatever threadbare composure you’re still trying to hold onto.
Heat rushes through you, sharp and overwhelming, as if your thoughts are dissolving at the edges. For a moment, everything narrows to the glow of the screen and the weight of what he’s just said. The ache floods your veins like a poison. You long so desperately, knowing the merest touch would send you falling into the inky abyss.
‘I so want, baby. But I can’t,’ you respond.
Your eyes flick up from the phone, scanning the office. Everyone still absorbed in their work, oblivious to the fact you are sitting on the edge of your restraint.
Minutes pass.
One. Then two. Then three.
And then the dots appear again.
This time however, it’s not another message. Instead a link to an audio file.
Your breath catches. You hesitate only for a second before reaching for your earbuds, sliding them in as your finger hovers over the link. Any sense of restraint should stop you here.
Yet, it doesn’t.
You press play.
A breath catches as you lean back into your office chair, sinking into it as the noise of the office fades around you.
His voice fills your ears. Low. Rough. Familiar in a way that makes your thoughts scatter almost immediately. Breathless, his growls and groans interlace with his liquid gold accent that rocks you to the very core.
There’s something unravelling about hearing him like this. The intimacy of it, the closeness implied in every breath and pause. His erotic words wrap around you, making your body ache with delicious need.
You close your eyes for a moment and it feels like he’s right there with you. His hands on your body so vivid, his lips crushing so real. Your pussy pulses, sensations heightened as you fight to retain any form of control.
The office feels too open now. Too exposed. You swallow hard and glance at your screen, but you don’t see it. Not really. The numbers there blurring as the storm ravishes deep within.
The audio continues.
The sound of his strokes evident beneath his growls, make you bite hard on your bottom lip to stifle you want to moan. Knowing he is equally as close and indulging in your pleasures finally breaks your resistance.
Your mind racing.
Then you push your chair back. The sound is sharper than it should be yet thankfully no one looks up. Walking away from your desk with controlled urgency, phone still in your hand. The click of your heels echo against the office floor, yearning to be quicker still yet hoping that no one interjects. Holding any sort of conversation in your current state simply wasn’t an option.
The corridor seeming longer than it was, the door to the restroom the only thing you can focus on now.
You slip inside and bolt it behind you The sound of the office dulls instantly. And in the quiet, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding all morning, like something inside you has been allowed, at last, to loosen its grip.
Yet his hold on you had only tightened.
Back pressed against the door, you type quickly.
‘Fuck! I’m in the restroom.’
Tracing your free hand over your body as those three dancing dots appear almost instantaneously. Your touch enticing a soft purr following the delicious build up of pent up anticipation. When his reply finally appears, your breath catches. The words are brief, deliberate, and unmistakably chosen. He knows exactly how they affect you.
‘Good girl.’
A wry smile tugs at your lips. In that moment, you are anything but. The thought of turning the tables lingers, tempting you with the promise of making him wait, of leaving him wondering as you had been. Yet your need was primal. Having worked you the need for that sweet release burns wildly through you.
You bypass your messages and open the camera instead, switching to video mode before setting the phone carefully on the countertop. After checking the framing, you press record. Payback was going to push him over your edge as you unzip your pencil skirt. Wanting him to see and hear what delicious frenzy his tormenting had stirred. Your breathing ragged, purrs and moans spill from your lips as you slide your skirt off your hips, before teasing your fingers against your soaked lace. The feeling so beautiful as you finally get to indulge as you had longed for.
The small red recording light glows steadily, preserving the moment. Explicit. Erotic. Recording the peel of your panties down your writhing thighs before your fingers find your dripping lust, as you give him the ultimate message.
