The Cubicle Ch. 04

It's hard to describe how erotic it felt to step into the elevator the next morning at work, for the ride up to my floor. The night before, after all, I had paraded around the office wearing nothing but jewelry and black pumps, and even had masturbated at the receptionist's desk, leaving a very wet, dark stain on her chair.

This was all so unlike the feminine, quiet, prim Lisa I'd been all of my life. My coworkers and friends would not believe it if you'd told them I'd become almost addicted to being naked, to the sexual high it brought me. And my name used in conjunction with the word "masturbation"? Not a chance!

As the elevator climbed, I thought about my day so far: It was Wednesday, so time for my usual run/workout; this morning I'd folded down the waistband of my Spandex workout pants a little further than normal, revealing more of my stomach below my belly button than I was used to showing, which seemed to distract the men in the apartment complex gym a little more than usual. That pleased me. When I reached my front door at the end of the sprint back to my apartment from the gym, I impulsively slipped my halter sports bra over my head before unlocking the door. That kind of scared me, but in a way that I liked.

So when the elevator doors at the office opened for my floor, without meaning to, I let out a little, quiet purr, which I think startled a couple of my coworkers who were stepping off with me. Kelby, the receptionist, was already there -- she was very contentious about arriving just before everyone else to make sure everything was in order. I always said hello to her, and today was no different, especially since I wanted to know if she suspected anything, considering it was in her chair that I'd behaved so uncharacteristically.

"Morning, Kelby!" I said perhaps a bit too brightly as I approached the console of her desk. She looked up and smiled sweetly, "Hi, Lisa! How are you today?"

I smiled in return, remembering my view from where she sat, looking down the length of my naked body at my legs spread out on her desk as I leaned back in her chair, bringing myself to a wet and noisy climax.

"Fine, doing great, Kelby," I said. I noticed some courier deliveries in yellow envelopes on the shelf behind her. Nodding toward the shelf, and knowing she'd have to get up to check, I said, lying, "Anything for me? I was expecting something ... "

She hopped up in her cheerful, enthusiastic way and turned to go through the envelopes, giving me some long seconds to look at her chair. I could see a vague outline of the wetness my lust had left only 11 hours or so before -- and I could see clearly one of my very own public hairs! It surely didn't belong to Kelby -- she was a dark brunette, so dark her hair shined, and certainly hadn't been doing in that chair what I had been at any rate. This one was auburn, matching my own locks. The light was hitting it just right for me to see the color clearly. Neither the stain nor the hair was painfully obvious, but if one were looking for it ...

I blushed as Kelby turned back to me. "Nope, don't see it -- I'll be sure and let you know if it comes in!" She looked at me quizzically.

There was nothing I could do, so I thanked her and walked mechanically to my cubicle. Sitting down, I went through the motions of beginning my day, my brain trying to process what I'd just seen. I hoped she was unobservant enough to miss it, but I assumed that both the stain and the hair might not escape her attention. She was very much on the ball, not missing anything that went on in the office. But even if she found what I'd seen, it's not like it would raise serious questions. If it were me, I reasoned, I'd just puzzle over it for a split second, and not making any connections at all, I'd just go on with my day.

Even with my startling little discovery neatly packaged in my mind as a non-worry, I was still very distracted the rest of the day -- now not so much for worry, but because of excitement, of wondering when I could do it again. As scenes from the night before played in my mind, I began to imagine new ones.

During a late-morning meeting in one of the conference rooms, I imagined myself lying naked in the middle of the large mahogany table, surrounded by men and women in their suits, legs spread wide toward one of the executives reading from a very dull report on company policy regarding nepotism. On the elevator to go out to lunch with a few coworkers, I imagined unbuttoning my blouse. On my way to the ladies' room, I passed the men's room, and had to fight a real urge to walk in to ... I wasn't sure what, but it a genuine urge.

By the end of the day, I felt both elated and concerned. My elation was from the sexual high that seemed to grow instead of subside. But I was concerned, because it took great effort to get my work done, and twice my boss, Antoine, asked if I was okay. I just told him I wasn't feeling particularly well.

The next day was a similar tension between constant, surprisingly bold, but erotic ideas popping into my head, along with the desire to dwell on them, and the very serious responsibility I had to get my work done. Antoine asked me again whether I was okay, and suggested I take the next day off, Friday, to get some rest. He attributed my difficulty with concentration on the extra workload of reading the reviews.

So Friday, I skipped my workout, reluctantly put on a padded bra and old, very pedestrian panties under my flannel nightgown, sequestering myself at home for the weekend to catch up with work. It took some determination, but I managed to subdue the strange new desires. My weekly talk with Mom on Sunday evening helped bring me back to the old Lisa.By Monday, I was virtually back to my old self. For my workout, I wore loose fitting running pants and a sweat shirt, and I barely noticed the disappointed faces of the men in the gym. I just had to get ahold of myself.

Back at work that week, when I took a break, there was temptation to return to the erotic thoughts, but with so much work to be done -- not to mention the fact that I was beginning to feel embarrassed and ashamed of myself -- I put myself into my job during the day, and into my friends at night and on weekends.

Weeks began to click by, and I met David one weekend in April when I participated in a "Walk for the Cure." His mother had died of cancer, so he had a lot of interest in raising money for research. I felt embarrassed by the fact that I'd signed up mainly to meet guys!

We dated several times, and he was a perfect gentleman. I really liked him, and hoped mightily that this might be the one for me. But then one day it dawned on me that for the last several days, it was always I who initiated contact with him. We had developed a pretty fun and flirtatious texting routine, and talked at least once a day. Then in the middle of June, the texting trailed off. I had a couple of awkward phone conversations with him, and he had some lame excuses as to why he couldn't get together. Then he wouldn't answer his phone.

It was a depressing end on the one hand, but on the other, I was glad to find out he was a creep before I'd gotten too deep with him, especially before I'd had sex with him. That would have been too much to handle.

With July 4 coming up, I decided it was time to take some time off. So I planned to leave for vacation for two weeks beginning the last week of June. Normally, I would go on vacation with friends and family, but I felt like being alone this time. After my experience with David, I needed time to think.

As is always the case before you leave for vacation, you've got to work twice as hard for a week to get everything done so you can go. That was certainly the case with me. My last day at work was a Friday, and Antoine stopped at my cubicle at 5:30 on his way out and wished me a happy time, teasingly ordering me not to stay too late.

At a little before 8, I wrapped things up -- reports were done, filing done, emails answered, everything in order for my return two weeks from now. I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, smiling at the fact I had two while weeks to myself!

I'd decided not to have an agenda, or any kind of itinerary more than the general direction I was heading (south) and general destinations (some mountain views, and some beach views). I didn't want obligations. I wanted freedom!

Freedom. That word stuck in my mind as i closed my eyes and I thought about the coming two weeks. Freedom -- it had a nice ring to it!

Just then, I felt the room go abruptly quiet as the lights went into "after hours" mode, when half turned off to save energy. Just as it had in times past, it startled me, bringing me out of my reverie.

Reverie. I remember that word, I thought. I remember my reveries, too! I blushed and sat forward with my elbows on the desk, face in hands as I recalled how I taken off my clothes ...

Reverie. Freedom. Reverie. Freedom.

The words played off of one another in my head.

A thought slammed hard into my brain.

No! No, Lisa! I was fuming at myself. No!

But I was losing the argument with myself, and I knew it. And deep down, I welcomed my defeat.

I stood, and, leaving my cubicle, began walking. I took a circuitous route through the office, listening, looking. Halfway through my tour, at the men's room door, I paused. I stood there looking at it, aware that I felt out of breath, but in a beautiful way. It was excitement, joy, really. I stepped toward the door hesitantly, feeling dirty for doing so, but liking the feeling. I put out both hands, palm outward, and pushed slowly, feeling weak; it opened enough for me to squeeze through self consciously, front first, my chest pressing against the backs of my hands. Rounding the corner, I saw five urinals and stalls opposite, the white marble floor gleaming and smelling fresh from its scrubbing two hours ago from the cleaning crew.

I sighed as I thought of the men in their dark suits standing at the urinals, their penises out. I walked over and stood in front of one, looking down to imagine the view. It worried me that I felt good thinking about that, but for now, I'd place that worry aside. I was on vacation, and I was free!

The buttons of my blouse were halfway undone before I realized I was taking it off. It was white, a feminine cotton Oxford-style, long-sleeve, tucked neatly into my navy business slacks. I watched my fingers release the rest of the buttons, tugged the shirttail from my waistband and felt my shoulders become bare. I hung the blouse on the plumbing of the urinal.

I turned toward the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a glow about my face, my brown eyes bright, dimples on my cheeks. My simple white cotton underwire bra contrasted with my skin and the dark material of my slacks. My abs were tight and flat, and when I turned to leave, I was satisfied with how fit I looked, even from the rear.

Exiting the men's room, leaving my blouse behind, I made my way toward the executive offices along the wall. The air felt good on my skin. Passing by Vickie Henderson's desk, an older, grumpy executive assistant to two Vice Presidents, I approached Mr. Farlan's locked door, one of the men for whom Vickie worked. He was handsome -- a grey head of hair, a carved face and muscular frame not usual for a man in his fifties. Watching myself in the reflection on the glass of his door, I unclasped my bra, slid it off and hung it on his doorknob.

Now wearing only my slacks and pumps, my breasts looked obscene against the background of Vickie's cubicle in the reflection on Mr. Farlan's door.

"God, Lisa!" I mused. "God!"

I turned in the direction of the far wall, the one with windows facing the office building across the street. My breasts felt wonderful as they bounced with each step. Beyond the cubicles, in the corner, in the shelter of a large potted plant, was a small sitting area next to the floor-to-ceiling plate glass. There was a gold French Provincial sofa facing the window, with two matching chairs with backs to the window, on an oriental rug, and a coffee table. Employees used this for impromptu meetings and for a change of scenery for reading or pouring over notes. The large plant shielded the sitting area from the window, but only partially.

Cubicles blocked my view of the windows across the street as I approached, but when I turned the corner, I didn't hesitate. I walked confidently toward the sofa, stepped around it, and sat down, putting one arm on the back of the couch. Looking out of the window, I could see into dimly lit offices across the narrow street, jackets slung onto chair backs, paperwork still on desktops. But to my surprise, one office light was bright -- I felt suddenly and horribly vulnerable in the pool of light falling on the sitting area, dim as it was, worried that the office was occupied.

Remaining still, I examined the scene more closely, and saw a man sitting at his desk, angled away from the window. His floor was level with mine. If he turned his head, and was paying attention, he might see me through the fronds of the extremities of the plant's branches.

I sat frozen for a minute, unsure of myself. He was close enough that I could see his wire frame glasses, and his fingers moving across his keyboard. If he looked, I and my breasts would be in plain view!

Meanwhile, my nipples ached to be touched. I glanced down and they were as erect as I've ever seen them, ever sensitive to gentle currents of air caressing and tantalizing them. I slipped off my pumps and leaned slowly into the end of the sofa, feet up, and touched both nipples simultaneously with the middle finger of each hand.

I gasped out loud. It was absolute heaven, watching this man who was so close yet so oblivious to my bare breasts, desire coursing through my veins. I arched my back, squeezed and closed my eyes. "God, Lisa!" I tried to keep it to a whisper. I fondled my breasts for a full minute, savoring the rush of emotions pour over me.

Resisting the urge to do more to myself, but full of boldness, I got up and stepped to the window, covering my chest with my arms, ready to dive behind the plant if necessary. I was testing myself. How far would I go?

The man continued his travails all through this, completely unaware of what was going on just over his right shoulder. The street below was empty, as were all of the other office windows. I lowered my arms, revealing my breasts, and touched my nipples to the glass, which was cool from the night air outside. More absolute heaven! I struggled to keep my eyes open to keep vigil on the man, wanting terribly to close them and revel in this ecstasy.

With my breasts against the glass, I deliberately unbuttoned and unzipped my slacks. Gravity needed a little help to loose them from my hips before pulling them down to my ankles. I stepped out of them, returned to the sofa to retrieve my pumps, and took another look at the man. He was still working.

"Work away," I thought to myself. "We'll see if you're back when I return."

Now wearing only my pumps and white cotton bikini panties, I left the seating area. I walked the entire length of the wall of windows. Approaching Kelby's desk, I had an idea. I pressed the elevator button and waited. I could hear the machinery kick into action, and soon, one of the doors opened.

Having left my security card at my cubicle, I couldn't get in the elevator and expect to return. So, standing in the door to keep it from closing, I took off my panties and hung them on the railing. Stepping back into the reception area, the doors closed and I heard the elevator move to its default floor, the top floor, where the top executive offices were.

Now I was naked except for my pumps and jewelry, my clothes scattered around the office, with my panties on another floor.

My heels clicked on the floor as I left the reception area. I felt more alive, more sexual, more dirty, more desirable than I ever had in my life! The thrill of the risk I was taking was fueling my passions, my emotions, my decisions. Nothing was going to stop me.

I walked through the aisles, thrilling at the feeling of the air moving across my nipples and breasts. As I felt the coolness of the air on the moistness between my legs, I thought of my private parts in a new way, the terminology refreshing in its frankness: tits, pussy, ass. I had never thought of myself that way. Those were always bad words, demeaning and perverse. But now they described me.

As I walked I fondled my tits and ass. I avoided touching my pussy. I was saving it. I stopped to sit in various coworker's cubicles, enjoying the strange feeling of being naked in my workplace. At each cubicle, I imagined its owner discovering me, and tried to guess their reactions. Most would be horrified, I supposed, which only made what I was doing all the more erotic to me. That mixed feeling of sexual high and shameful embarrassment would be intoxicating.

Outside the conference room door I stopped. I could smell myself; by now I was sweaty, and my pussy was dripping with desire. I pushed open the heavy glass door of the conference room. Poking my head through the opening, the long table extended left and right across in front of me, the chairman's chair to my right, more empty chairs surrounding it in the subdued light. The blinds on the windows were up, giving a clear view of the hotel windows across the street. Most of the rooms' blinds were closed, and the few that were not were either dark or showed no signs of activity.

My attention turned back to the conference room. In my mind I could see the executives and their assistants in their dark suits turning to look at me.

"Lisa is here to demonstrate for us our proposed new office policy on appropriate business attire," said Antoine's voice in my head.

I stepped into the room, letting the door close behind me. Across the table, I could see my reflection in the window. The curve of my hips was clearly visible, and the dark patch of neatly trimmed, but full hair between my legs. I turned to the side to see my profile, arching my back and thrusting my breasts out, arms over my head. Watching my reflection, I walked slowly around the table, letting my right hand glide across the back of every chair.

At the chairman's chair, I pulled it out and sat down. The cool black leather felt glorious on my body as I settled into it and leaned back. Now it was time to touch my pussy.

"God, Lisa -- yes!" I said out loud as my fingers brushed against the soaked hair between my legs. I spread my legs as far as I could and teased myself for minutes, feinting and dodging with my fingers, tugging slightly at strands of pubic hair. I could feel an occasional drop make its way down my crotch, over my ass cheeks, and onto the chair.

In my mind I heard Antoine tell me to climb onto the table, to be the centerpiece as the imaginary meeting continued over a catered meal. Obediently, I lifted myself out of the chair, crawling onto the table on all fours, and made my way, slowly, catlike, my breasts swinging under me, to the middle.

I rose to my knees, sitting back with my feet under me, spreading as wide as I could, and found my clitoris with my fingers. I imagine all eyes on me as the executives chewed their sandwiches and sipped on tea and coffee.

It didn't take long for me to explode. I was glad I was in a closed room, because I was not quiet. Between my gasps I heard the liquid sound of my slimy pussy echoing metallically off the the frosted glass walls of the room. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I gasped in rhythm to the pulsation of my pussy. My aroma filled the room.

I laid on my back now, legs spread, knees up, still imagining the meeting going on around me. I climaxed again quickly.

Still aroused and needing more, I realized that I was beginning to push my luck like this in front of open windows. I crawled off the table and sat in a chair with my back to the window; because of the height of the chair back, I was now hidden. In the middle of the table was a small puddle, and smudges all over. I would need to clean that up before I left -- but that would happen after I had my third powerful orgasm, sitting in the chair. I dozed off.