Sunday morning, under the covers in my bed, fog outside matching the haze in my head. Phone buzzes. Caroline’s message: bored under a blanket on her couch. I snap a selfie, book barely hiding my cock. Her reply: men’s brains in the wrong place. Then the rules drop. No underwear at work. Destabilize each other once or twice a week, unseen. Loser does a dare. Game on.
Monday, office empty early. Ditch my boxers. Pants loose enough. Caroline arrives in strict black suit, turquoise turtleneck. Eyes lock, pulse quickens. Nothing happens. Boss kills the vibe.
The Fever Ignites
Tuesday, coffee room packed. She’s inches away, back to me. Her hand snakes behind, palm flat on my crotch. Heart hammers. She freezes there. Colleagues chat. Then slow rubs over my bulge. Fingers trace my shaft through fabric. Nails scrape my balls. Thumb and finger pinch my cockhead, stroking softly. I stutter, they laugh. Sweat beads. She squeezes my sack, shakes it. I’m rock hard, trapped. Finally, hands off. She grinds her tits into my back leaving. ‘One-zero,’ she winks.
Wednesday, her beige dress buttoned tight over curves. Group work, desks side by side. My hand dives under table, unbuttons from knee up. Four buttons gone. Spread her robe. Bare pussy stares back, lips glistening. She glares, silent. Witnesses everywhere. Phone on vibrate. Place it on her slit. Call my work line. Buzz hits. She jolts, knees knock. ‘Hit my knee,’ she lies. Eyes beg. Another call. Lips bitten, nipples poke fabric. Thighs clamp at seventh buzz. She shudders, tits smash keyboard. Cums hard, juices soak phone. Finger her slick folds, graze clit. Last tremor. Lick my finger. ‘One all.’ She stays open three hours, pussy air-exposed. Her hand keeps me throbbing.
Blaze of Forbidden Ecstasy
Thursday, late night, office emptying. She’s on New York call, English accent dripping sex. Tired, jacket off, turtleneck hugs tits. Lifts it up, exposes underboob curve. Pinches nipples, points harden fabric. I’m on phone, raging hardon. Zipper down, cock springs free. Kneels, slides it between heavy breasts. Warm flesh engulfs. Breath heaves, tiny thrusts milk pre-cum. Frozen torture. Minutes drag. Need to cum. She pulls away, kisses tip, fixes shirt. Leaves me blue-balled. ‘Night, set alarm.’ KO.
Friday, 6pm. I concede via chat. She whispers, breath hot on ear: ‘Weekend win. Text coming.’ Skin still burns from week. Heart races replaying touches. Unique high. Crave more.