[M/F] Parts 1 and 2 of a story inspired by something from my past. (x-post from r/dirtypenpals) | 2016

You and I worked together for a few years. You were brilliant but comported yourself like some teenage TAG-kid-turned-class-slut. I didn't like you much at first.

You were the dirtiest woman I'd ever known or heard of. A dizzying sexual wizardess of words and deeds. You dressed inappropriately, even for our creative field. You flirted without false subtlety. You made it clear you had no sexual boundaries. Your libidinous sincerity scared people. Me too.

And men were, predictably, drawn to you (women too). You uncovered and attacked their place of desirous vulnerability, and, through your self-spectacle of lust, made it safe for them to engage. Never hurt you wore those tiny dresses so well.

And then one day you set sights on me. Quiet, earnest me. Professional me. Clueless me. Spoken-for me.

You started with instant messages. You asked me how my project was going, if you could help with anything. I unsuspectingly and naively replied that I was fine, just trying to work through a heavy load.

I'd never even considered the word choice. You did. You said poor baby, you'd he happy to drop by my office and give me a hand with my load. You added two conclusive winks.

This shocked me. After all, I was the product of a different time and place. GenXers from the midwest like me weren't used to this brand of forward. This degree of honest. Not like you and your fellow coastal twentysomethings, brazen in your wants, unshamed in your sense of self.

It was the first most exciting moment of my life. There in my office, door closed, with blood rushing midland, I sat upright and wide-eyed staring at the flashing IM window. I swallowed. You started typing again. Did I give you a heart attack you asked. No was all I could say. Cat got your tongue, you asked. I closed my eyes and typed my reply.

You couldn't handle my load. Wink.

You were already typing back by the time I opened my eyes. I dunno, you said, I've handled some huge loads in my career. I'm certain my skills and experience would come in handy. Feel free to offload anything on me.

One second later you were marked away. Cruel I thought. So cruel. and one minute after that you tapped on my office door. Come in I tried to yell naturally, clearing my throat. You said hey, about that proposal we were discussing as you closed the door. You turned from the closed door toward me, your silky purple blouse unbuttoned to the lace centerpoint of your white bra. You looked at me with a smoldering grin and hazy eyes. You were squarely in your element.

You stepped closer to the opposing edge of my desk and leaned forward. I let my eyes dart where they were supposed to go, and felt instantly drunk with wonder and need. You tasted blood. Your arms pushed your breasts more fully into view. God I said. God.

I heard myself say I...I have a girlfriend. And you said I know. We're not doing anything wrong, are we. No I said. Exactly you said, as you unfastened another button from your blouse. And leaned in closer, almost touching your chest to my nose. You wanted me to see you, as much of you as possible. The roundness of your breasts, your emerging goose bumps giving rise to gracefully sparse and tiny blond hairlets, your stiffening nipples forming resolute impressions against the white contours of your bra. Your scent intoxicated me.

My senses took you in. Your sugar rose scent, your delicious breath, your spectacular breasts and hardening nipples, the frantic texture of our energy, your seductive sighs. You gave me time to indulge each one. Your were always certain and unapologetic, but I was the apprehensive type; you knew seduction would require my total sensory commitment.

You almost had it. The fucking phone rang. I nearly jumped through the ceiling (you paid no attention, of course). I answered the phone, idiotically genuflecting to my boss's growls. You knew the moment got away from you. You backed away and buttoned your blouse. I was frazzled but, oddly, relieved for the interruption. I was a career guy, and ours was an office of interlopers. You walked around the desk to my side to write on the whiteboard above my head, lightly brushing your nipple across my cheek as you wrote. You handed me the marker and casually walked out.

To be continued you wrote.

Not another word from you that day. My relief faded to disappointment that evening when I watched you stroll toward my office on your way out, a few colleagues in tow. You knocked professionally and stuck your head in. A few of us are going for happy hour you said. Come have a drink you said. I've got dinner plans I said, maybe next time. Definitely next time you said with a wink. Ok I said plainly as possible, see you Monday then. If not before you said. Haha I pretended, failing to mask my confusion.

That night I sat absent minded across from her. I could only think about you. About the magic of that afternoon. Then of the consequences to my career - my life - if not for the boss's call. And so I forced myself to snap into the present. And I did. I focused on the banal overtures of a stale but stable relationship. I said she looked lovely - and she did, if also a little worn down. I talked about my projects at work, and listened with feigned fascination as she rambled on about hers. I ordered another scotch to make the whole thing more interesting.

And then my jacket started clamoring the sounds of incoming text messages. One after the other. I scrambled to silence the thing, but not until 4 new texts had announced themselves to me, her and all our neighbors. I knew instantly it was you. Jesus she said, what's going on? Slightly drunk, I slurred that it was work and I'll be right back.

I went into the men's room. Three more messages had arrived by the time I got there. I opened the first. Pictures of you, all of them.

They were stills from a video you'd shot that night. The first was just your face, chin jutted up and brow furrowed in the moment of bliss. #1 you captioned. I scrolled to the second still - you lying face up on your bed, eyes and mouth agape, left hand clenching your left nipple, right hand a blur of fingers madly stroking your clit. #2. For the third you were on your knees with your face down looking back at me. Your expression looked of torture and ecstasy. #3.

This was the second most exciting moment of my life. I moved into a stall. My cock was swollen now, warming the interior of my right leg. I put my hand on it.

Your fourth was shot from the opposite vantage point, behind your head. You were lying on your back again, with your laptop beside you on the left - frozen on my corporate head shot. You left hand was grasping the sheet, your right held your aqua vibrator against your mound as your hips arched your back upward. You wrote #4!!!

I cleared my throat as some guy entered, took a piss, washed and left. My head was spinning from lust and booze, so I went ahead and unzipped my pants and freed my cock. Its head was pulsing and purple and wide and staring up at me. I held it in my left hand as I scrolled to #5 with my right.

You were turned over now, staring straight into me. Your computer was to your right, and I imagined you there on your bed, on your knees, tits pressed up against your headboard, your vibe down below pressed firmly on your clit, your eyes fixed on the camera inches away. Your mouth formed a strained oblong OH and your eyes were wide with shock. Creases of tension lingered from your forehead down to your eyelids. #5. Like a rocket.

I was on the verge now. I scrolled to #6 and began stroking. This one was shot from above, your body turned around now, you on your back with your ass and pussy closest to me. Your right hand held the vibrator in place and your left hand was pulling beads from your ass. The sixth bead. Your eyes were closed tightly, your teeth clenched, and your neck rippled and angular in the throes of orgasm. #6, you wrote. Let it go baby you wrote. Let it all out. It's time.

I came with ferocity, my explosion hitting the wall above me and to my right. I panted and gasped. And my cum kept squirting wildly, shot by shot. I was a mess. The stall was a mess.

As I regained an element of composure I scrolled to #7. It was you, kneeling on your bed, a demure expression, a shrewdly innocent grin, lightly nibbling on the top of your vibe. Thank you for an amazing night you wrote. Oh, you said, and remember we've got that show in Vegas in two weeks. Should be...fun. Wink.

[To be continued if people like/want more. Gets even hotter...]