I'd been scoping out the security cameras in my office for the past few days. I work in a large open space so there aren't a lot of places to hide. But the cameras are easy enough to spot: little discrete semi-circular mounds on the ceiling. You could easily miss these shiny, dark brown tinted globes if you weren't looking for them, but they seemed relegated to the hallways and there were plenty of empty offices and nooks and crannies out of their gaze.
If the worst case scenario were to happen and we do get caught and they do fire me (highly unlikely) I don't really care. Really. It's no big secret that I'm not particularly enjoying my current position at this particular company and I'm pretty confident in my ability to find work. I ran through the various examples of inappropriate behavior in the workplace we had drilled into us during orientation. I weighed all the pros and cons and decided that if I am to be fired, I want to be fired for the best possible reason.
I think the business folks call it
risk assessment.
The thing is, I love
office sex. It's a nice combination of the suit fetish and that streak of exhibitionism that peeks out every now and again. I like having sex in places where you are not supposed to have sex. Plus, I feel like I'm defiling the institution somehow and that's always good.
In my former company, my ex-boyfriend bent me over the conference room table and fucked me in the ass. The cool smooth marble was the perfect height (and clean up was easy). I sucked Liam's cock in an unoccupied office, both of us inching back slowly to the wall as he was inadvertently wheeled backwards in the
Aeron chair. Once, he sat on my face on the floor of his nondescript beige executive suite in-between conference calls.
But my current workplace, this place, would be the crown jewel. Never have I worked in a place with more security, that was more conservative, where it would be more inappropriate. I've never worked at a place that had it's own bomb sniffing dog on site.
J. and I were going to a show and the theater just happened to be right across the street from my place of work. I did a little last minute should-we or shouldn't we as we made our way through the crowd. He had given me ample opportunity to back out. In fact, I think he might have been more concerned about it than I was. But at that moment, my only worry was getting him into the building after hours and on a weekend. I had this little fantasy in my head in which I would beg the security guard to let him through without a pass. With no luck, I would shyly admit that we really just wanted to fuck in my office. The guard would give us a sly knowing grin and let us through with a wink and a nod and watch the whole thing on the security camera. In reality, when the kindly old security man informed us that he did indeed require a visitor pass. We thanked him and politely obeyed.
Pass was procured, this time from much more authoritative and impressive looking guards and the elevator entered. Phase one was completed. I gave him a quick tour of the floor, pointing out the cameras along the way. I showed him my desk and the great view obliterated by the reflection of blasting florescent lights. I took his hand and led him to one of the empty offices. It was small with more-or-less the same desk and cabinet configuration as all the other offices. I closed the door behind us as a precaution, revealing a single empty coat hanger on the back of the door. The room was dark, the glass wall facing the corridor was tinted so the view into the building across the street was clear. There was nothing going on over there.
I sat up on the window sill and pulled him toward me and we kissed, my back against the glass. Earlier that evening, I noticed that the bottom button of my shirt dress had fallen off and all night long as I walked or the wind blew just right, my skirt would part a little more than a modest gal like me is normally comfortable with. But now it was definitely working to my advantage. He pulled my lacy underwear aside and played my
clit. His fingers traced my labia and slipped easily inside my cunt. I ran my tongue along his neck and murmured, "Another one."
Soon, I had my right leg propped up on the desk and the left leg propped up on the armchair and J. on his knees with his fist in my cunt, churning it around with a sloshing, slurpy sound. Every once in a while, I would open one eye half way, just to make sure there was no one standing outside watching us through the glass. I felt the sharp, precise bite of his teeth on the inside of my thigh and I came growling into the top of his head, clamping my thighs against his ears and my pussy on his hand. He slid out of me and stood up holding out a glistening hand. I took it, all slick and gooey and brought it to my mouth. He brushed my face with my juices and I sucked his fingers clean. His hand fell to my chest, "Your heart's beating so fast!" I chuckled breathlessly, undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans and gestured to the chair.
He settled in to the standard office arm chair, and I knelt in front of him (I love it when you take turns being on your knees). I could feel the fluid running down the insides of my thigh and spread my legs, pushing out my ass. Time tends to stand still when I'm sucking cock. At some point I start mewing and moaning and pressing my thighs together. I rock my body back and forth with the motion of my head. I reach up and rest my hands on his chest or wrap them around his thighs urging him to fuck my face. I suck cock with my whole body (I think I have a kind of holistic approach to giving head, but that's really a whole other entry). After his pubic hair was sufficently soaked with my saliva he took my head in his hands and said drunkenly, "Should we go?"
As we gathered ourselves together, I took one last sweep of the room. I rubbed some spots of mystery liquid into the carpet, but other than that there was no evidence we were ever there. I continued the tour with the kitchen as we guzzled water from paper cups and he made a cup of office coffee from the weird single serve automatic coffee machine. I retreated to the bathroom to wipe off the saliva, semen, and/or pussy juice from the various spots on my dress. My face was red, my mascara smeared... nice! I pulled up my soaking, but now cold, underwear with a cringe. I would have preferred to not wear them at all, but I was reluctant to walk down the street, missing bottom button and all. We took the elevator down, exchanging knowing glances and crooked smiles and left the building, the security guards none the wiser.
I assumed.
Four days later, my boss would come to my desk and offer to buy me a coffee. He wants to have a little chat in one of the meeting rooms. He never buys me coffee. We never have "chats" in the meeting rooms. "Sure." I say, a little too innocently. My stomach dropped as we walked into the empty room, right next to the infamous office from four nights earlier.
"Ugh! I just had to get out of my office," he sighs with exhaustion (the way only people who don't really do any work for a living sigh with exhaustion) and I relax into my seat listening to him ramble on about a dinner party and bathroom renovations thinking to myself, "These are good blow-job chairs."
