Desire

This short story is my contribution to the On The Job Challenge 2023.

Literotica is a bad place, populated by bad people. A few of them are my good friends. It's also played a central role in driving some major life events for me. Take my fiancé. Well actually, no, you can't have him. He's all mine. Hands off, OK! What was I saying? Oh yes, Literotica was a big factor in us hooking up. Yes really!

We are colleagues, have been for a few years. He was one of the people who gave me my induction when I joined the organization. People like him. People enjoy working for him. He'd always seemed to be a nice guy to me, but never more than that. Until Literotica that is.

It was last Fall that Literotica started to meddle in my life. I've written before about my situation at the time (hey! interminably is unfair, well maybe a little). My sex life had been a wasteland for way too long. I'd even got used to it. I'd found ways to get by. Then Lit, fucking Lit. So I'm PMing, I do that a lot. Some guy asks me when I last got laid. I'm kinda open, guileless you might say. So I talk about my best friend, Amy, visiting recently. I talk about another person I had an on and off thing with for a few weeks. I talk about a couple of hook-ups that were just that.

"No, Em. I mean laid. Like with a guy, you know."

That had my head spinning. All of the above had been girls. There had been few enough of them, to be sure. But when was I last with a guy? It was when I visited Amy many months ago. After a brief spell in San Francisco, she's back in the town where we both attended college. Still also living there is my Dad's buddy, the guy who had provided my accommodation and been rather more than a friend to me during college. We'd fucked for old times' sake, it had been good. That was the last time. I knew all this of course, but there was something about another person pointing it out to me that got under my skin.

What about dating? Even longer. I'd had some reasons to avoid dating new guys back then, but there had always been enough of my fuck-buddy's friends to more than make up for that. That resource had dried up when I left college and moved here, nearly two years ago. Call me an old-fashioned, cisnormative girl but I suddenly knew I wanted cock. Now how to get some?

I was at work, I'm not a very good girl and sometimes I spend time on Lit at work. It was kinda late. My floor was never busy, not with hybrid working, but there were still people around, a few of my team, a handful of others. And him. For the purposes of this story, let's call him Alex. It's not his name, but I'm already confessional enough without dragging others into it.

Alex was leaning on the table of one of my guys, looking at his screen, pointing at something. It seemed to be a particularly riveting Excel sheet. He has a nice ass. Alex was older than me. He'd had a birthday last month, his thirty-third, if I recalled right, so eight years. I'd been accustomed to a much bigger age gap than that. It didn't worry me.

Age wasn't the only difference. As Alex straightened up, I was reminded he was well over six foot, more than a foot taller. He was a runner like me, we'd been partnered up in a work charity event. But he was heavier set than many runners. Athletic, but not overly skinny. He had a face that was almost, but not quite, handsome; possessing slightly larger features than would normally attract that sobriquet. Turning and catching my eye, he broke into a broad smile, one that he seemed to use more in a work context than any of the other senior managers. But was it slightly broader than usual? Was it specially for me?

I guess my mind was running on rails. Guys get called out for letting their dicks rule their brains. Sometimes my clit takes control. I motioned for him to come over to my desk.

"Hi, Alex. I had some details of this claim that I need some advice on. It's not my area of expertise and I believe you used to work for a similar organization. Did I hear right?"

"Tell me about it, Emily, and we'll see."

I explain what is going on and what I need help with. It's entirely true that I could do with some guidance. It seems that he does indeed have relevant experience. I may have known that already of course; LinkedIn can be so informative. Suddenly I worry that I'd left his profile page open and hurriedly flick my eyes to the screen, but all is good.

"Listen, Alex. It's getting late, but I really want to wrap this case up. How about I pick your brains over a drink? That way I can say thank you as well. Or do you have to be home. Is there someone...?"

I leave it hanging. Am I being too direct? I do that a lot. But he still smiles.

"Sure, you can buy me a drink. Is the place off of 287 OK?"

Apparently it is OK for me and we agree to meet there. Now this is meant to be a workplace story and I'm sure that you have some idea where things are heading. We do indeed fuck that evening, twice as it happens. But it's back at my place. To get to the real "on the job" story, we need to wind the clock forward a couple of months.

—

So it seems that it was more than a random hook-up. I had a "no sex with colleagues" rule that I had happily ripped up. Now the "no dating colleagues" rule had gone the same way. We'd told our respective managers. We'd told HR. Luckily our roles don't overlap that much or one of us might have had to leave.

We'd spent a lot of time together. Most evenings, when he wasn't traveling, every weekend. There was the long weekend in NYC at a very nice hotel. There was the all-expenses paid trip to stay at a company apartment in Bermuda for four days. He'd been awarded that for being a good boy at work. We even got to have the corporate jet to ourselves, there and back. That might be another story.

It seemed like things were getting serious. While in Bermuda, the subject of living together came up. I knew what I had to do. I had even been planning to tell him on this trip. Now I had no real option. Heart in mouth, I started at the beginning, charting my checkered and extensive sexual history. I told him the lot. Things I wouldn't even consider writing about here. I knew the risk, but also that we were already finished as a couple if I started out by keeping secrets. Particularly my secrets.

Even here, Lit had had a part to play. I'd agonized with on-line friends about telling him. Talked about timing. Discussed approaches. Agreed the pressing need. Got people to bolster my resolve.

It took a while for me to get through it all. There was a lot to tell. I might have cried a little at some points. He listened calmly. Much too calmly for my mental well-being. The last secret was the biggest. I was all but certain it would be a dealbreaker. I finally stopped, part of me not fully believing all that I had confided. I waited for the inevitable. And waited...

After at least three lifetimes, he spoke. His voice was soft and collected. I wish I could recall the precise words. He is unable to remember them either. However, his general point was that all of my experiences, good and bad, vanilla and extreme, had made me who I was today. And this bit I do remember clearly.

"And I love who you are today, Emily."

I think in that moment I knew he was the one.

—

Bermuda had featured a lot more than me owning up to stuff. A storm had been forecast, but it mostly missed us, just two hours of torrential rain. For the rest of the time, it was unseasonably warm. Warm enough to brave the sea. Sunny enough for Alex to take photos of me wearing my summer dress in the grounds of the apartments and then wearing rather less than that; we have a shared hobby. The seafood restaurants were great. The anole lizards engaging. The chirping of frogs at night charming. I can still hear that noise and remember standing on our balcony at dusk, his arms around me from behind, holding me tight. And his hard cock buried satisfyingly deep in my ass.

This is an Emily Miller story, not Hallmark TV. You didn't think it was all going to be romance, did you?

Anyway, it was a great break, but the most wonderful thing was those words, "I love who you are today." I told him the same of course, we made plans. We are both relatively sane and sensible people (readers may be surprised to learn this about me of course) and we agreed a month to reflect and think things through, to make sure that cohabitation was right for us. We also agreed to dial it back a bit, maybe to give each other some space. Perhaps just spend time together at the weekend. It sounds so grown-up, doesn't it?

One of my more minor confessions was about Lit and he said he was fine with me frequenting it, with me writing (he likes my stories, which is nice) and even fooling around sometimes, so long as it didn't spill over into real life.

I've been back at work since Tuesday, but initially working from home. Today is Wednesday and I'm in the office. I haven't seen him since late Monday night. Well I've seen him, we almost crashed into each other in the parking lot this morning. But I haven't seen him.

I miss him. I know the whole idea is to be a little dispassionate, to avoid codependency being a driving factor, but I miss him. After two years of effective abstinence, punctuated by very infrequent ecstasy, I had got used to having him around. Our connection was more than sexual, but the sex was pretty fucking good.

Yesterday, at home, my mind had wandered. I had ended up on my sofa (a favorite place) twice during the day. The first time, still mostly dressed, but with my hand inside my panties as I recalled a particularly memorable Bermudan fuck. The second, nude and with my iPad for company. It's easy to find videos of petite blondes being ass-fucked. Easy also for me to identify with them.

I spent the evening on a new story. I was happy with my work, but I have this terrible habit of turning myself on when writing. Realizing that I was typing one handed with the other between my legs, I gave up and decided I hadn't used my Hitachi in a while. The Magic Wand always led to sleep. But in that sleep, what dreams may cum?

I don't often recall dreams, but last night had been very vivid. I was back at college on a gang bang evening. There were eight guys, probably the average number. But all of them were Alex. Eight Alexes taking turns to use and abuse me. I woke with damp panties and reached for my Hitachi again. There was no alternative.

After my Hitachi break, I was now running late and driving a little more urgently than was perhaps advisable. Hence my near fender bender with the subject of my dream. I waved and mouthed "sorry". Again that smile, by now I knew it was wider for me.

I let him pass and we both found spaces. Mine was further away and as I walked back to the office, I saw he was waiting for me.

"Hi beautiful. I'm missing you, but maybe a car crash isn't the best way to spend time together."

He's missing me too, well I guess that's good.

"I'm sorry. In such a rush this morning."

I'm also aware that my morning stimulation left me little time to dress. I'm feeling a little disheveled. He stoops and kisses my lips. A chaste kiss, lovely, but leaving me wanting more. We walk into the building, avoiding holding hands, as we have agreed, and head to our separate floors.

—

I'm at my desk and my distracted mindset continues. I try to focus on work, but it's not easy. The demands of my job ebb and flow, it's all about reacting to external events. Today, of course, is a slow day. I have a quarterly performance chat with one of my team. Mei Zhen is rather a star, she'll probably be doing my job in two years, and so it's not a difficult meeting. We talk about how we can challenge her more.

She's an Asian American girl, very bright, very driven and super cute with it. In other circumstances, I'd be flirting, but I like my job and try to be professional. Maybe fucking a colleague is tolerated, fucking a direct report would not be. Oh, and speaking of colleagues, I have a boyfriend now, I really have to remember that.

After our meeting, time drags. Luckily, my desk is next to an external wall. The seats to either side are seldom filled. To occupy myself as much as anything, I open a private browser on my phone and check Lit. I glance through the forums and post a couple of replies. Then I open my PMs.

There is the normal mixed bag. Guys (and it is always guys, or rather wannabe doms) who want me to submit to them right now. Two different ones from my "Daddy", who knew he was on Lit, I wonder if Mom does? The odd dick photo. Same old same old. I pick through the garbage and focus on friends. A bit of chatting about this and that and then one particular friend.

He's one of those I asked for advice about my planned Bermudan confessions. He knows most of my secrets, just not the biggest one. I've told him about what happened on our vacation and our future plans. I've mentioned my sexual frustration during this cooling off period. Maybe I just talk too much to people on the Internet. It is I guess possible.

He's also one of those bad, bad people I mentioned at the start. I tell him about kissing Alex outside the building. I tell him about wanting more. He pours fuel on my fire. He speculates as to what I'd really like to be doing with Alex now. He wonders out loud about the state of my panties. This is not helping -- and he's right about my panties.

It's still the morning and it's only Wednesday. We said we would meet up at my condo on Friday evening. That seems an eternity away. How am I going to get through to lunch? I decide that I need to do something and head to the restroom.

Clever girl that I am, I'm wearing hold-ups under my smart skirt. It makes things easier. I'm no stranger to masturbating in a stall, I've even written a story about it, but it's been a while. Not since, well, Alex. It's OK, I find something to watch on my phone (AirPods are so convenient). It's one of my go to vids when I want to cum quickly.

Center frame is a well-known starlet, she's nude and tied standing. Her chest is being repeatedly whipped. I like the girl, she reminds me of Amy: brunette, perfect breasts, lovely face. Like Amy would ever let me do that to her; she always held the whip-hand in our relationship, both literally and metaphorically. If I close my eyes, I can feel the impact on my flesh, the delayed sting, the lasting burning. I squeeze my nipples in turn through my work shirt, my other hand rubbing my clit energetically. I open my eyes and see the girls's beautiful face screw up in pain, maybe even in confusion, as each blow lands. I know that feeling so well. She's struggling in her bonds. Her breasts are turning scarlet. Her mouth is open and she is panting.

So I cum, and it's nice, though not as fulfilling as it maybe could be. But, after that, I'm probably good until lunch. I was already disheveled, God knows what I look like now. I try to straighten up as best I can.

Back at my desk and I find some things to do until half twelve. I'm getting up to go to the staff restaurant when I see Alex waking towards my desk.

"We never said we couldn't have lunch, did we?"

I laugh and we go down to the first floor together to see what the least unappetizing option is today. It ends up being a crayfish and arugula salad for me and a black bean burrito for him. Finding a table we sit opposite each other. We figure it's OK to touch hands briefly. His fingers make me tingle, they always do.

I look around, there is no one sitting that close to us. The restaurant is normally as empty as the office nowadays. We also have a potted palm close to the table. Maybe...

I slip off a shoe, my sensible work heels, and maintaining eye contact, stroke the inside of Alex's lower leg. I stop and we both take a look around us. We seem to be OK. He grins, perhaps a little nervously, and mouths "bad girl".

But I've just started. Checking the surroundings again, I shuffle my chair back and shift my position. One more look round and I extend my foot between his legs. Resting my heel on his chair, I tilt my foot forward and make contact. There is a pleasing hardness against my toes. From the feel of him, he's bent double inside his boxers. He glances from side to side, reaches into his pants and adjusts himself with a look of relief on his face.

Exploring with my toes, I can feel him. He's not a small boy and there is quite a lot of shaft for my foot to trace. He leans back, a tension in his face and his lips tight. He feels a little harder to me.

And then some voices. A group of colleagues bearing trays is walking our way. As smoothly as I can, I disengage and reach down to slip my shoe back on. The group takes a table ten feet away and it's imprudent to play any more. Alex sighs, whether in relief or frustration is unclear. I stroke his cheek tenderly and we get back to chatting and our food. I do idly wonder if he is still erect.

We finish lunch, return our trays and wander back. Although we normally take the stairs, we seem to have wordlessly agreed to wait for the elevator today. We are in each other's arms, tongues entwining, as soon as the doors close. Reaching down, he is still hard, very hard. Twenty seconds of bliss and it's his floor. Holding the door open for a a few seconds he asks if maybe I'd like to meet up tonight. Screw what we agreed, of course I would. I blow him a kiss and he steps back to let the doors close.

—

At my desk again, I'm a happier girl. A girl who is going to get fucked at least twice tonight. Maybe I can focus on work now. But my mind wanders to the feel of him on my toes. To being enveloped in his arms. To what I want to happen next. Oh dear, today is not going well. To distract myself, I look at Lit again. I admit it, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes.

My bad, bad friend drops me a line. I end up telling him about lunch. He is so sympathetic, saying how he realizes that I must really, really want to suck Alex's cock and then have him shove it deep inside me. Bastard! Thing is he's right. Tonight seems a long time to wait.

Then the angel on my right shoulder tells the leather clad dominatrix on my left to shut the fuck up. We are both managers, he's a senior manager. We both are respected and have careers to consider. Work have been super understanding, supportive even. I can surely wait a few hours. The dominatrix is looking sulky, so she should.

I open my email and for fifteen minutes am busy reading and replying. One of my team comes over to ask me a question. Another fifteen minutes. Come on, Em. You can do this.

I find myself waking my phone and refreshing its contents almost absent-mindedly. My friend has replied. It's a short message.

"You really need to be fucked, right now."

My reply is equally laconic.

"I know."

I wait a minute and refresh.

"He has an office, right?"

An office...? The dominatrix has tied the angel up and is fucking her with a red strap-on. She pauses to remind me that Alex had said over lunch that his floor was close to empty. Empty...?

People talk about a red mist descending when they are angry. I had something like that, now, but it was probably a mist comprised of blood droplets. Ones generated by raw sexual desire battering my higher mental functions into submission with a piece of rebar. I could tell the angel was trying to say something, but it's hard to talk with a ball-gag in your mouth.