I had been working at the office for a couple of years at that point. I was basically the only girl who made it past the two year mark, according to my boss, Mark. In hindsight, it was kind of weird thing to say out loud.
“Becca, you’re a trooper,” he would always say. What a great way to give someone a compliment without actually meaning it.
It was an ok job, but it was just that. A job. I was a good employee, but I had no motivation to find anything else. Between that and the fact that people kept quitting, I had great job security. People would get hired, and then after a few months of being tragically underpaid, they’d get bored or complacent, and then leave for greener pastures. Personally, I just didn’t care enough.
I made enough money to pay my bills and buy what I wanted. Any job more demanding would make me want to kill myself. Any job paying less would make me want to kill myself.
Now, I wouldn’t consider myself lazy. My view of work was to make enough money to be able to live my life outside of the hours of nine to five Monday through Friday. That job allowed me to do that.
I didn’t have to take my work home with me.
I didn’t have to stress about it on the weekend.
I clocked in and clocked out. And I collected my paycheck every two weeks. It was ideal.
Sure, that four year college degree I got wasn’t exactly coming in handy. I held a bachelors in English, which basically meant I got to pay almost $100,000 for a useless piece of paper that hangs on my wall. Frame sold separately. The best part is instead of a mortgage, I have student loans to pay off, which by the time the last payment comes out, will probably have spanned the greater part of thirty years.
That job was the same old same old. That is, until Danielle came along.
Danielle was probably a good ten years older than me.
She didn’t look “older” in that sense of the word, though.
She was thin, had decent definition in her arms and legs.
(she definitely worked out) And she dressed like someone younger.
She was a cute brunette who you could tell took care of herself.
She was married to Doug, whom she couldn’t shut up about.
She had a daughter.
But from what I was gathering from our conversations, the kid was the product of a previous relationship, and spent a lot of time with her father.
Danielle was super friendly. She was a little flighty, but that made her fun to talk to. I think some of that was for show, as she seemed super intelligent when she was doing her job. She was extremely professional on the phones with clients, and in meetings at the office.
When there weren’t any clients around, however, she was pretty out there. Her skirts were always just a little to short. And she always would unbutton one too many buttons on her blouses. My boss enjoyed it.
That may have been part of why he hired her. Danielle was always leaning over his desk, just enough for him to see down her blouse. And she would bend over in just the right position for her to sneak a peak of her rear end.
It was obvious that she was flirting with him, almost baiting him into doing something or saying something that could be used against him later. I’ll never forget, during her first week with us, she came out of Mark’s office, laughing and whispered to us “he so wants to fuck me.”
He probably did want to fuck her. His wife probably wouldn’t have been too happy about it, though. Honestly, knowing Mark, he probably did fuck her at one point or another.
We were taken aback by how comfortable Danielle was talking about sex; her sex life in particular. On her fourth day at the office—I remember this like it was yesterday—she trotted into the office, set her bag down and said “Got laid so good last night. I came like six times. So good.” Then she shook her head and logged into her computer and started her workday.
The following Monday, she was sitting at lunch in the break room with me and our coworker, Tom. “Doug ate me out so good last night. He knows what he’s doing down there,” she said, followed by a giant bite of her sandwich. Tom was uncomfortable, and almost looked like he wanted to cry.
I thought it was great.
I love when people can be open about sex.
I wish more people were, and I’m not going to lie.
I liked hearing about her sex life. It was actually kind of a turn on to think about her getting railed by her man. I’m a total voyeur, so hearing about other people fucking is basically like porn for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to admit that in front of my male coworkers; especially my boss.
After the comment about getting eaten out, Tom got up and left the break room. It was just Danielle and me at that point.
“TMI, ya think?” she asked. “Oh well, haha.”
I just shrugged and continued eating my chicken wrap.
Danielle got up and made her way to the trash can to throw away her paper plate and napkin, and pitched her trash in. She stopped, paused for a second, and then turned around.
“Hey, what do you think?” she asked. With that she pulled her skirt up, revealing that she was not wearing anything underneath. What I saw was a perfectly smooth, most likely recently waxed, pussy. There was a tiny heart tattoo just above it to the right. You could tell she liked to show it off. The unveiling lasted about a second or two, and then the skirt was back down to where it belonged.
I just about choked on the last bite of my wrap.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed out loud, completely not expecting that. Not sure how to respond, I simply said “wow, looks good.”
“Do you like it?” She asked, seemingly seeking approval.
“I mean, yeah you look great, I just wasn’t expecting to see that at work.”
“Oh come on, you have one too, Becca. I just wanted to know what you thought,” she replied.
If I’m being honest, she did look really good. Not only was I not expecting to see that at work, I wasn’t expecting her vagina to be a virtual work of art. She looked good.
That night when I got home to my apartment after work, I couldn’t stop thinking about Danielle’s pussy. Was Doug pounding away at it as we speak?
Was he sucking on her clit, getting her primed. And lubed with her own juices before penetrating?
Was she spread eagle in front of a mirror, admiring herself and getting off on looking at her own body?
I sometimes do that.
I would totally fuck myself.
I love masturbating in front of a mirror, and watching myself cum.
As I thought more about Danielle’s pussy, I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I stripped out of my work clothes, took off the bra (finally, oh my god) and pulled off my bottoms. There’s just something freeing about being completely naked.
I just laid there for moment, thinking more about Danielle and her glorious anatomy. I started to finger my own clit, just a little. Just teasing it. My pussy was getting wetter, and my fingers were getting lubed more and more by the second.
I had to taste. Nothing tastes better than my own pussy juices. Yum. One more taste.
Time to get serious. I opened my nightstand drawer and pulled out my purple friend and clicked it on. Gently, I touched it to my clit and let the plastic vibrator do all the work. I imagined Danielle, thought about what she would look like playing with her pussy. Tasting her pussy juices.
I thought about what it would be like to bury my face between her thighs. And show her how a woman eats another woman.
I imagined slipping two fingers inside her while I made her clit dance. I bet she tasted so good.
It didn’t take long before I started cumming. And then again. Fuck, one more time. My whole body spasmed with the last one as I clicked off my toy and threw it to the side. I shook for another few seconds, and then I was spent.
God damn, that was good.
The next day at work, I kept looking over at Danielle. I was wondering if she was wearing underwear. Wondering if she came last night too. Wondering who made her cum. Was it Doug? Was it her own hand? Did she have toys.
I couldn’t get my mind off of Danielle. I couldn’t focus. God damn it, I did have a legit crush on a damn married woman from work? What fresh hell was this?
“Hey bitch, want to grab lunch?” Danielle approached my desk and beckoned me to join her. No, no I do not want to join you, I thought. So I replied “heck yeah, slut, let’s eat.”
That day it was just us in the break room. We talked about random shit: The weather, what dumb shit Mark was having us do that day, what our plans for the upcoming weekend were. It was very tame, and there was no sign of anyone’s vagina making an appearance.
We started talking about memes, and how we’d go on reddit and waste hours upon hours just looking at memes. She was showing me some she liked and I was showing her some I liked.
We did this for the rest of our break, and it was fun. Mindless, but I do like a good meme. The lunch break ended, and we went back to our desks. I was able to focus a little more and finally started getting some work done.
After an hour or so, my phone dinged, and it was Danielle. She airdropped me another meme. I looked over and saw her look back at me and started laughing.
I laughed too.
I airdropped her another meme, and immediately she burst out in a laugh that I was sure the entire office heard.
Great, so much for getting work done.
We continued airdropping memes for a bit, and then, so it seemed, we both decided to get some more work done.
About a half an hour passed, then my phone dinged again. Another airdrop. Desperate for a distraction, I couldn’t wait to see the latest meme.
But she didn’t send a meme.
The photo was of Danielle. Well, not Danielle so much as just her from the waist down. Her hand was holding up the bottom of her skirt, revealing she had no underwear on.
At this point I was wondering if she even owned any. Her bald pussy front and center, and that cute little heart tattoo just above and to the right.
I quickly set the phone face down on my desk and looked over toward her area of the office. She was looking at my and smirking. To show that she was a fucking tease, she put one finger to her mouth and made an “o” with her lips, as if to signify “oopsie.”
Oopsie all right.
My phone buzzed. Danielle texted me.
“You like it?” her text read.
I didn’t know how to respond. Fuck yes I liked it. But this was highly inappropriate.
Danielle followed up that text with another: “?”
I didn’t respond.
I looked at the photo again. The mental image I had from the other day when she lifted her skirt in the lunchroom was right there on my phone.
My mind raced as I wondered how to respond. I opened Danielle’s text thread and replied simply with the double eye emoji.
Danielle got up out of her seat and gave me a menacing look as she made her way to the restroom.
There would be no more work today. My mind was only thinking of my coworker’s vagina.
The vibration of an incoming text woke me from my daydream.
Danielle sent another photo. It was a mirror selfie from the bathroom. Her shirt was off, both tits were out, and the hand not holding the phone was pinching a nipple. Her tongue was out and touching her top lip.
The three bubbles appeared on the text thread, which clearly meant she was typing. The text arrived.
“These need to get sucked on,” it said.
Oh my god. Yes, I want to suck on those. I want to eat your pussy. I want you to suck on my tits as well. But god damnit we’re at work and I can’t do anything about this now.
Blood was rushing through my body, mostly toward the quickly moistening location between my legs.
More “Pre-text” bubbles. Oh my god, she was sending more.
But this was not a photo. It was a video.
She was sitting on the sink, skirt hiked way up. Danielle’s fingers spread apart her pussy lips, revealing anatomy that was just as soaked as my own. As she spread her pussy wide open, she moved her index finger slowly onto her wet clit and started playing with it.
She massaged in a circular motion, gently, deliberately and in a way that made her natural lubrication surge in volume. She was drenched, and so was I.
After 15 seconds, the video ended. I heard the bathroom door open and footsteps approach; Danielle emerged, and she looked me right in the eye as she was licking her fingers. She winked and went to sit back down at her desk.
Just like that? At work? Now she was back to replying to emails and typing memos? Jesus. I couldn’t concentrate on anything at that point.
I picked my phone back up and looked at the photos again. Sexy. Scandalous. Naughty. Dirty.
Another text appeared. “You still looking?”
Yes. Yes I was.
“Haha maybe,” was my reaction.
“I like you looking,” she responded.
I liked looking. But I didn’t say that.
I responded with a smiley face emoji.
I thought about her breasts;
I thought about her dripping wet pussy. And I thought about Doug.
I wondered if he knew she was texting coworkers.
I wondered if he approved. I wondered if they were swingers who were constantly trying to lure new participants into their sex life.
I had so many questions.
It wouldn’t be too long before I would get answers.
Photo source: Pinterest.
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