Friday morning. Open-space buzzes. Printer hums in the corner. Coffee scent mixes with my perfume, sharp and teasing. Clicks of mice, phones ringing low. I slide into my desk, heart racing from last night’s solo cum thinking of Steph. Panties left in his bathroom two days ago. Wondering if he sniffed them. Jerked with them. Fuck, it soaks me already.
SMS to Steph: ‘Hey cutie, how’s it going?’ Wait. Ten-thirty, his reply: ‘Morning Mel, weekend starting sweet, just woke up ;-)’
The Building Tension
Banter flows. Then I drop the hook. ‘Last night, webcam with Mika around 10. Very hot end to the evening…’
He bites. ‘What do you mean hot?’
‘You ever done naughty cams on MSN, little Steph?’
No, he hasn’t. I spin the tale. Pure fantasy, but real enough to hook him. ‘Not always, but he misses me. I strip for the cam without warning. Top first. Pinch my tits, tug nipples hard till they swell.’
His texts speed up. ‘What next???’
‘Stand up, drop bottoms. Tits out, thong on. Full body view. Zoom on tits, then thong.’
‘Wow, Mika must’ve lost it.’
‘Would you like that show?’
Throat dry already, he admits. I push. ‘Rubbed over thong. Pulled it aside, spread lips, show clit. Fingered close-up. Off with thong, legs wide, pussy spread for him.’
‘Please continue…’
‘On knees, ass to cam. Spread cheeks, show holes.’
‘Mel, you’re turning me on bad.’
The Explosive Release
I ignore, keep going. Hairbrush handle in pussy, fucking myself. Begging Mika to fuck me. Toothbrush up my ass—fantasy, but hot. We cum together.
He asks about Mika. I tease: ‘Would you jerk to that?’
‘Already am, reading this.’
My cunt floods. Hand slips over pants at desk. Imagining his cock in fist. Bureau door creaks nearby—freeze.
‘Prove it.’
New email: titecoquine@xxx. First pic: boxer bulge, huge tent.
Sage. Then second: ‘Won’t shock you?’ Close-up cock, veiny, head shiny. My panties threaded through, draped on his shaft.
Printer whirs. I grab the sheet hot. Dash to bathroom. Door locks—click echoes. Pants down, soaked thighs. Stare at pic. Fingers on clit, rub furious. Thirty seconds. Cum crashes, pussy spasms, biting lip to stifle moan.
Panting. Wipe up. Adjust clothes. Mirror check—cheeks flushed, but pro mask on. Back to desk, coffee sip hides tremble.
SMS: ‘Great proof, thanks.’
‘Used your panties to prove it’s me.’
‘Convincing.’
Exchanges fade. But my mind races. That cock. Want it hard again. Next plan brewing. Adrenaline surges—work facade cracks, lust underneath.