This story was part of another experiment of mine. I wanted to write first-person stories written directly to the reader, as though the reader was a participant. Originally, I wrote this for a friend. I expanded it to the version you’ll find here. This section continues the story within the story, which was something else I was experimenting with at the time. I’ll continue posting pieces over the next few days.
The day is a blur. The hallway gradually fills with the voices of coworkers. By mid-morning I’m wrapped up in work, but I keep thinking about your voice in that video. Occasionally, I distract myself by picturing me bending you over, lifting up your little skirt while grabbing your hips, and pounding you at my desk. I picture you sitting on my lap in my chair with that hoodie all the way open and your body exposed to me, gyrating on my crotch. I picture you kneeling on the floor of the bathroom adjacent to my office, my whole cock in your mouth, and your eyes staring up at me from under that hood, waiting for me to burst for you.
The hours go by. The day winds down. I check my personal email around 4:00 to see another message from you. Eagerly I open it, but it just reads, “4:15, right?” Normally, that is when I leave, but strangely I feel compelled to linger. I wonder what you’re up to. You wouldn’t really show up here, would you? I trust you realized I was kidding with that message, right?
I watch some coworkers file out. I notice 4:15 has passed. Now 4:16 passes. I’m slightly disappointed, but a bit relieved. At 4:17, my phone makes me jump. Shit. Could it be? I answer it. The front desk security guard tells me I have a visitor. You have got to be kidding me. I urge her to send the visitor my way. A very long, tense minute later, you slip your way into my office. You’re wearing the same hoodie and little pleated skirt from the picture. Fuck. What if people saw you come to my office looking like that? With a mousy, almost frightened voice, you ask, “May I come in, sir?” I nod and motion to close the door behind you. You take too long, so I get up and close it for you. In my haste, I don’t even look to see who else is around. This is so completely crazy.
For a few brief seconds, I ponder whether or not anyone other than the security guard has seen you along the way. The chatter in the office and whispers in the hallway play out in my head. Although a bit shocked and scattered initially, I pull myself together enough return to character and thank you for being prompt. You were late, actually, but I overlook this. I grab my keys and walk around you. Your hands are clasped behind your back, your left knee is bent, and your toe is just brushing against the floor. You watch me pass you. Even with the hood up, I see you bite your lower lip. Again I open the door and lock it this time, closing it softly after taking another moment to peek up and down the hallway. The coast is clear enough. My pulse is insanely high.
Now what? I’m slightly mad at the audacity of this gesture, but also intensely aroused. I know you’re not just here to fuck with me. You’re expecting our play to continue in this venue. Do I go through with this or send you packing? We could probably get away with something. But what if someone came to use the copy machine next door? What if someone stopped to use that bathroom on his or her way out? Question swirl again, but an uncomfortable silence needs to be addressed. Fuck it.
I’m behind you. You face my desk with your back to me, head slightly down. The hood is still up. You try to peek by looking behind you. I feel you quiver as I place a hand on your shoulder. I pull the hood down. Yes, definitely, fuck it. I can do this. I heave and I go for it. “Now, about that assignment,” I say. You ask me how it felt to get an assignment from you. I circle you to stand in front of you, between you and my desk. You’re sort of looking down until I raise your chin with my finger. “How did it look like it felt?” I ask. You ask if I finished it. The look on your face tells me you know I didn’t. I sadly reply to confirm what you know. “Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” you ask.
I first respond with a smirk, but then I let you know you could have gotten me (and could still get me) in a lot of trouble. You ask if I’m mad. Here is another critical juncture. I’m really not mad anymore. Desire is winning. However, the thought of getting canned for this is still there. Despite this, the same sensation that overwhelmed me in the morning returns. I let it. Sure, I could chew you out and tell you not to pull shit like this again, or I could indulge what I actually want. Yes, I want to punish you and remind you who is in charge. I want to tell you I’m only mad about you thinking you could usurp my command. But I want the fantasy and reality to merge. I say I should get out a ruler and teach you a lesson before we finish my assignment. “If you must, sir.” You look over my shoulder at the desk. “Right here?”
Goddammit, I’m going to do this. Suddenly it feels right and I go with it. I kill the lights hoping no one will know we’re in here. I think ahead to having you leave before me so the security guard doesn’t see us together. As I think this, I remember that she knows you came to see me. I tell myself to get over the madness of this and do it.
Part 5 in a few days…