tagToys & MasturbationA Dull Conference

A Dull Conference

byNinjafish©

I was busy, up to my eyes in budgets and forecasts for the next round of reviews the company always seemed to be conducting. No sooner do we finish one budget round when the preparation for the next one starts and ground hog day starts all over again.

I had just finished reviewing the departments estimated travel costs for the next three months when an e-mail pinged into my inbox.

It was almost four months since you left the company and our flirting by e-mail had come to an abrupt halt, neither of us liked using text or facebook due to your husband and my wife's ability to take our conversations the wrong way.

Yes we flirted but it was nothing more than that, we are both happily married with children and neither of us was looking to risk that or cause an issue for the other. In a way that boundary enabled us to be more risqué without thinking the other would take offence.

You had always been the shy one in the e-mails, for months I had thrown innuendos and suggestive comments, all of which I thought were cleverly hidden, at you and revelled in thinking you either didn't spot my smut or weren't prepared to lower yourself to my level.

Occasionally you would throw me a bone and flirt a bit, just dangling a carrot for me to encourage me to keep going, never quite sure if you would respond or choose to ignore my latest remarks. I was never sure if I got ignored because I crossed a line with you or you didn't notice it or you just weren't interested that way. Little did I know how your mind worked or what sordid little fantasies you had going on in your pretty head.

The e-mail I got from you this morning was innocuous enough, "I'm bored, entertain me", so we went through the routine of small talk and banter and a few references to the antics of Mr Grey from the books you had recently been reading.

I saw these as a chance to push you a little further and see what you liked see what you would tell me, more for me to have something to imagine on a quiet evening on my own. I have never seen your body, obviously imagined you naked hundreds of times, but other than a glimpse of leg or shoulder you are an un-viewed canvas with mysteries longing to be discovered.

I guess you are about 5'1" maybe 5'2" nice figure, generous boobs 34GG – that I know from one of our previous conversations, but that suits me fine I've always been a boob man and they look fantastic. Perfectly shaped with a stunning cleavage. I could spend hours admiring you just for that aspect alone.

Sadly at the moment all of the admiration stems from my imagination rather than from physical experience.

The challenge of "entertain me" was enough to kick my mind into flirt mode and the banter began.

You were supposed to be concentrating on a works conference but your mind was already off down a different path.

Dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a casual top your outward appearance was simple and comfortable, your outfit was finished with a pair of boots calf high and a little jewellery including a gold necklace with a t-bar resting a couple of inches above your cleavage, unseen by any onlookers obscured by the square neckline of your top. Matching pale pink bra and knickers with a semi sheer finish hidden by your outfit.

As I said, I was in my office, nothing particularly plush or grand but on a Friday afternoon like today it is easy to close the door and become shut off from the outside world, should the need ever arise.

Your email arrived and we started the back and forth, it didn't take long to steer the conversation to sex, after being refused sex by your husband a couple of nights previously much to your displeasure you tell me that you finally had your way and had been satisfied.

I immediately think of a previous email you sent having been turned down and how you alluded to pleasuring yourself the following day while fantasising about the 50 shades of Grey books. You didn't go into details much to my frustration but this is more open than you have ever been with me and pushes the grey line beyond our normal limit.

Despite you having had sex last night you still seem to pre-occupied with it, maybe Mr Grey has stimulated an urge that needs more regular attention, maybe you are just in a more playful mood today. Either way I don't want to lose out on the fun and continue with the probing.

I sense your frustration when you tell me you are in a room full of women with not a single bloke to look at, I remark it seems like a waste of a good hotel and suggest maybe I should look into attending some of these conferences – especially if all the women are frustrated housewives, away from home and have an itch that needed scratching.

You tell me you have your legs tightly crossed. I imagine you sitting in a row of people, room slightly darkened with your tight jeans on, legs crossed over high, desperately trying to generate some pressure on your pussy, squirming in the seat by minute amounts hoping to cause some friction between your jeans and your pink knickers, trying to get some stimulation.

I imagine your mind wondering off, thinking about being used for someone else's sexual gratification, of having no control being completely under the influence of another's willpower. I imagine just the thought of that making you damp and warm between your legs, causing a strong desire to touch yourself to satisfy the increasing throb that just cannot be dispelled, and your mind now oblivious to the speakers eloquent use of language and passion on sales techniques and up selling the latest line of products.

I smile and shuffle in my own seat when your next email tells me you are feeling very horny and are about to break for lunch, a one hour lunch break you tell me, indicating you will have to take matters into your own hands knowing full well that I won't be able to think of anything other than you touching yourself. My mind racing, imagination now taking full control over reality. God what I would give to be in that hotel right now.

Unable to do anything but wait for your next response I find myself drifting a hand under my desk onto my lap, unsurprisingly I feel a rock hard cock nestling inside my trousers and the only future I can think of revolves around at being let loose and rubbed.

I make short work of my zip and quickly pull my cock out and run my hand over the straining flesh. I push my chair forward so the lower half of my body is concealed by my desk as I slowly work up a rhythm under the desk, my imagination focussing on you in the hotel bathroom jeans and knickers around your ankles as you sit with your knees spread wide apart and your finger playing up and down your wet pussy, smearing your juice over your flesh and onto your throbbing clit. You insert a finger into your hole, warm and welcoming. You desperately trying to stifle a gasp so as not to give away your urgent bathroom antics, slowly withdrawing your finger and pushing it back in this time curling it a little to graze the spot that drives you crazy. Again in and out, your breathing a little heavier now, your hand maintaining a rhythm that you use regularly and to such good effect. Your other hand joins in one finger moving in a sideways rubbing motion over your clit as you feel the familiar warmth build that signals your orgasm. An increase in temp from both hands and you drive yourself beyond the point of no return your leg twitching as the orgasm hits you and spreads quickly from your core outwards in waves, still your fingers dance and another smaller jolt ripples through you as a second orgasm quickly chases the first and you relent from your playing.

Satisfied and contented for the moment. The images in my head push me over the edge and I cum under my desk, my rapid pumping of the cock in my hand sending spurt after spurt of thick creamy streams shooting against the wood and dripping onto my office carpet, collapsing back in my chair cock twitching I wonder what was going through your mind and if I would ever get to find out.

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