An Office Crush

It started with comments, laughter. Flirting. You didn't want to acknowledge it, but when you think back, both of you knew. She was the senior on a job with you as you worked with your company clients. The two of you would always have a chat app open on your laptops, firing comments back and forth all day long. First it was Teams, then WhatsApp. Then, you made the mistake of kissing her on a work night out.

You've been prepping to tell your boyfriend about something. It's been lodged in the forefront of your mind, agonising you all afternoon as the seconds ticked closer to when you would have to look him in the eye and tell him. There's no way to sugarcoat it.

She wants you, and she's willing to pay for it.

He just sits there, not saying anything. You'd understand him refusing to let you. You prepare your defence in your head. Point by point.

He looks at you and asks: "How much?"

It catches you offguard. "What?"

He smiles. "I mean, we've talked about this before. If you want to experiment with girls, I don't mind, so long as you tell me first. I'm not going to stop you from hooking up with another girl, if that's what you want, you're completely comfortable with her, and," he adds, smirking, "you tell me about it afterwards."

You stare at him for a moment. "So you'd be ok with it?"

"Yes."

"You wouldn't hold it against me?"

He leans forward and brushes your hand with his. "I just wouldn't want you to regret it."

"Neither would I. It's just, well, I haven't..."

"Slept with a girl since before we got together, I know."

You smile at him because he can't help but know what you're thinking about.

It's now the weekend, and you're in her apartment. She's on double your salary, and you can tell just by looking around her flat. You stand in the bathroom, applying lip gloss in the mirror. Fumbling, you knock a blue leather bag from its resting place on the side. A set of underwear falls out, matching baby blue bra and panties in your size. She bought them for you to wear for her.

"Everything ok in there?" she calls from the other room.

"Yes, I'm good," you reply. Shaking, you squat to pick up the spilled clothes. You strip naked. The bra straps snap against your skin as you pull them up over your shoulders. The panties are tight against your thighs. You spend a minute rolling the stockings up your legs so they sit smoothly against the skin. You feel like a whore, a slut, a girl that's been bought in every sense of the word. You don't know how to feel about the fact that she's paying you. You thought you were friends. But what is the exchange of money between friends? Right now, it's just making you shiver with anticipation. Guiltily, you pout in the mirror and send a snap to your boyfriend. He's out with his friends -- you can rest easy.

Tonight is about you and her.

You look at yourself in the mirror, all dolled up and ready to play. You haven't fucked a girl for three years, but you've thought about it. But now, guilt is eating you up inside, the floors of your resolve collapsing in on themselves with thoughts of the woman waiting for you on the bed in the next room. As you look at yourself, you can't help but feel dirty, delightfully disgusted with what you're about to do. At least he will be ok with it, you hope.

You leave the bathroom and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, expectantly. Ever since you discovered your bisexuality, you've known what you want in a woman, and she's not really your type. You like brunettes. A big chest, wide hips, and thick thighs -- like you. Even though she's a redhead, she's also everything else. She looks up at you, blue eyes set in an oval face.

"Do you like that we match?" she asks, pulling one of her bra straps up to fit more comfortably. Your eyes linger on her round, full breasts. "Our boobs are the same size," she says, playfully.

You stand before her as she appraises you. "That's hot," you say. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you clasp them in front of you.

"Are you nervous?" she asks, catching this.

You nod.

She extends her hand to you, angled downwards. You take it and let her pull you closer. Her skin is soft to the touch.

She stands and stretches, her full height coming ever so slightly taller than your own. Gently, she caresses your cheek. "Don't think of the cameras. They're just for me. For after. I know this is probably a one-time thing."

You still don't know how to feel about the fact that she will be filming. It was, after all, why she had offered you money. It was the video you were selling to her. The rest, you hate to admit, you might have done for free.

"Actually," you decide, looking up at her, "I like the cameras on me. That way, I know my boyfriend is watching everything you do to me. Every angle, every frame of every position."

The corner of her mouth rises in a smile.

"And," you continue, "I can watch it... afterwards."

"Knowing I will be doing the same," she finishes.

Your lips part at the thought.

She leads you to the window. The blinds are open, and there are apartments opposite across a wide street. You can't see anyone watching, but a shiver runs through you just thinking about it. She slips her arm around your lower back. Standing at your side, she cups your butt and gives it a squeeze, letting it bounce. You can feel her soft body against you and it makes your knees weak.

She looks out of the window and you feel exposed. The thought stuns you to silence. You feel the inner guilt manifest into the most public sensation of shame. But you don't turn from the window. You just stand there with her, matching.

"Are you experienced?" she asks, suddenly, looking at you. Her height makes it seem like you're still looking up at her even though you stand side by side.

"Well," you say, looking down, "it's been a while since I've, you know..."

"That's ok." She's grinning at you. "I'll give you a refresher."

She sits on the bed and asks you to bend over her lap. You comply, letting her admire your ass. She runs her hands over you, feeling your curves. When she slips into the crack lined by your panties, her hand comes away wet. "Someone's excited," she teases.

You turn to nod at her. The subordination in this gesture makes you involuntarily bite your lip. She spanks you, and the shock of it sends tingles of pleasure through your body. In your previous hookups with women, it was always more ambiguous as to who would take the dominant role. You've played around with both before, but being in a relationship slowly moulded you into a submissive girl. When she spanks you for the second time, you moan softly.

"Tell me, do you like being called a good girl?"

"Yes."

She spanks you a third time. "Good girl."

You whimper. "Thank you, Miss."

She slips her hand down your crack and starts to rub. The sensation is overwhelming. As you kneel, bent over this woman's lap, you know she could make you cum just from teasing. It wouldn't even take long. And she knows that too.

"Are you a g-spot girlie, or a clit girlie?" she asks, quietly. Her voice is calm and clear, as if she is inquiring about the price of clothes.

"I'm a clit girlie," you moan.

"But you still like being fingered like this?"

"Yes!"

"Will your boyfriend like it if I finger you?"

You realise this comment isn't for her, it's for you. She wants to remind you exactly what you're doing. That tonight, you're not his, you're hers. You imagine your boyfriend watching the video back. You think of his pleasure, and, submissive as you are, that only increases the desire in you.

It takes barely a minute to reach your first orgasm.

But she's not finished with you. No, not yet.

She makes you sit on the edge of the bed after another spanking session. You are hers now. Both of you know it. And you will do whatever she tells you. There exists no thought of rebellion in your mind. The guilt knotting your stomach compels you to obey her. It is how you will atone for your cheating, for giving in to that latent desire.

She bends down and cups your face in one hand, kissing you. There is no love in that kiss, only lust. Passionate lust that overwhelms every thought and feeling, driving them out of you like the tide. Guilt and shame dissolve in the waves, and in their place comes an obsession so strong that you forget everything else. This absence of love shocks you, melts your will into the pursuit of satisfaction only. You let yourself be kissed. You let her plant her soft lips on yours as her hands rove over your chest.

You admire her as she turns around and arches her back, her soft feminine curves falling into your lap with the sound of skin hitting skin. "Fuck," you exhale, mesmerised by the way her hair brushes her toned back muscles. It's cut straight in a line across, just below her shoulders. The cut probably cost a fortune.

She grinds her butt into your lap, circling your thighs, and you reach forward to grasp her chest. You feel her breasts give way under your touch as you hug her closer to you, kissing her neck. Her hair is in your face, but you don't care. She smells clean and fresh from a bath. At this, you realise how much effort she put in to look good for you.

She lifts herself slowly, then turns and places a hand on your chest. With a firm push, you fall backwards onto the bed, your dark hair splaying out across the white sheets. The minutes pass in a blur. Her weight is on top of you, breasts pushed up against breasts, thighs slotting between thighs.

She's so soft.

Your hands cup her butt and pull her closer, making her leg wet as she rubs up against you. Her tongue is in your mouth. Sucking, panting, moaning.

You look down and her head is between your legs, blue eyes looking back up at you as she kisses your clit. Her tongue swirls in circles, dancing against you. Your thighs clamp shut and trap her head between them.

She brings you to the point of ecstasy. Once, twice, three times. You lose count.

Her taste fills your mouth. Two of your fingers are inside her.

She hovers above you, dripping onto your cheek. Her ass slaps down onto your face. When she sits on you, your whole view is taken up by her curves. You lick, suck, bite gently at her clit. She writhes on your face. You feel a burning between your legs.

The burning is quenched as she links her thighs with yours. You lean back and let her dictate the rhythm. Her clit rubs against you. She pushes your leg back, stretching your hamstring. Then, she leans forward. Her tits are in your face, bouncing, just like she bounces against you. You suck at her nipple, unable to tell your moans apart. Beneath it all, you can still hear the indescribable sound made by your clits hitting against each other. Her ass is bouncing against your leg.

She moves so that her face is above you. Her tits are soft, but sweating with the effort of her hips. They smush against yours. Heat and desire flood your nostrils as you breathe her in. Her tongue goes back into your mouth. Once again, lips press against lips. The kiss is filled with an absence that sends both of you over the edge. All you can do is become a throbbing mess together, an indistinguishable mass of seething lust.

Five minutes have gone by, and she's still lying on top of you, her head nestled beneath your chin, heart beating against your chest. Your underwear is strewn about the bed. It's dark outside when you look up. Was it dark when you finished? You don't know. You lie there thinking your choices. This is a point from which you can't go back, yet you can't decide whether the throb in your stomach is regret, or the insatiable aftermath of pleasure. As you lean to release the tension in your back, you wonder how your job will be affected by the fact you've now slept with one of your co-workers. Yes, that's definitely something you can't turn back from.