Marie

"Good Boy" she says, standing there by the open door with a smirk on her face. "Don't you dare stop."

Marie is my co-worker, a bit younger than me, very smart, and very sure of herself. We work very closely together and have become close. She has become the object of my attention in a ways I find myself powerless to resist.

At this moment, I am in a small stockroom at the office, my jeans and briefs down around my thighs, my hand wrapped around my cock, shoulders hunched, focused on my task.

That's when she opened the door and stepped inside.

I'm very surprised at being interrupted. Startled at her entrance to say the least. I was very careful to lock the door.

I stand there, open mouthed, still gripping myself, stuttering, trying to comprehend what she just said. I see keys in her hand as she looks at me.

I'm embarrassed. A bit humiliated. But my hand has not left my cock.

She looks down at my hand. My cock. I slowly begin to stroke again at her prompt, a bit slow in absorbing her words. She reaches into a pocket pulling out a bit of orange fabric, I'm not sure what it is, her fingers run over it as she stands near the door. I'm was close when she barged in.

Then, the fabric dangles free, hooked on her fingers. A pair of panties. Orange panties. Her panties.

We have been working together for years. Somehow over time, we have come to confide in each other, family, home life, challenges, life, whatever. I think we have come to have an honesty between us that has somehow been lost in other parts of our lives. I've shared too much with her I know, but honestly it feels perfect to be sharing. With her anyway.

She is supremely capable person and a natural leader. One of the most giving people I've every known. She's also incredibly attractive, at some point I realized I've been obsessing over her. The way she moves. The clothes she wears. She is very aware of my attention and seems to enjoy and even encourage it.

As I said we have become close, there is a trust, an ability to be ourselves. This was subtle at first, a compliment here or there, a sharing of some home problem, maybe a touch, a comment. Somewhere it had become more personal, and with that, sexual. She is very aware that she has the ability to arouse me, and seems to enjoy taking the opportunity to do so.

She seems to always know when I'm looking, or, maybe it's that I am always looking. Regardless, she will sometimes bend over to check something at her desk allowing my appreciation of her incredible ass, or she might lean forward while talking to me, granting a view of her cleavage or the lacy bra she is wearing, enjoying my struggle to maintain eye contact. She enjoys her ability to derail whatever thought I'm trying to convey.

One day a few months ago, she surprised me in a back room, reaching around and sliding something into my front pocket before walking off with a comment. "I'll need those back later."

I reached in and pulled out a small piece of fabric, quickly realizing it was a pair of her panties. I held them to my face, black, lacy, no doubt the pair she had been wearing all morning. I soon found myself in the bathroom with them wrapped around my cock, making myself cum almost immediately, into them, coating them, soaking them. I became nervous then, about the mess I had made of them. Wondering if I had overstepped. How could I return them in this condition?

I lifted them to my mouth, licking up my cum, cleaning every bit I could in an attempt to keep them from being a sopping mess. I've been cleaning up my own cum for years, but this isn't something I have ever shared with anyone. For some reason I'd shared this with her. I soon returned her panties, having done my best with them.

When I handed them over, she was in her cubicle in her chair. There was no one close. She opened them up, running her fingers over the fabric, feeling the wetness, rubbing her fingers together, testing, watching me. Then she lifted them to her face and inhaled. Busted. It was apparent what I'd been up to. I had trouble returning her look.

The rest of the afternoon, I kept thinking about those panties. I felt sure that she was again wearing them, against that pussy I had imagined burying my face in so many times.

That day, as she has from time to time, she messaged me just after I left the office for home. Her words instructed me to "pull over and make another mess, now!" She knows me so well, she often reminds me to "clean up every drop," knowing I would never deny her request, she also knows I relish her instructions.

When we have moments alone, she will allow me to touch her. She rarely refuses me. I have to restrain myself from laying my hands on her every time I am in her presence. Sometimes she'll do the same. Her touches never fail to make me moan, it's so erotic. She isn't aware, but those days are often the ones I feel the need to stop on my way home to relieve some of that built up excitement.

One day, as we were walking out of the building with no one around, she let me pull her close against me from behind. Her ass was pressed against me and had my cock throbbing. I slid my arms around her, one hand down under her top to her tummy, then lower, into those black jeans that had been driving me crazy all day. I found her smooth. I found her soaking wet. I buried my face in her hair, moaning into her neck as I dipped my fingers into that wonderful wetness. I felt her responding, felt her stiffening clit, felt her juices coating my fingers, I felt her breathing grow short, but she pulled free and stepped out the door leaving for home. I watched her go as I pushed my fingers into my mouth. My very first taste of her. It's a moment I've re-lived often.

Back to today. I've been distracted all morning. She came in wearing an outfit that she knew would drive me crazy. Her jeans frame her ass perfectly, something she knows I fully appreciate. Today they are paired with a simple white top. Very tasteful, but if one was paying attention (as she knows I usually am), the extra bit of motion it allows is captivating.

I literally haven't gotten anything done all morning, focusing instead, like a schoolboy, on the subtle sway of her breasts every time she moves. That bit of bounce every time she walks by. The swivel of her hips as she goes about her business. I've been very unproductive.

That's how I found myself here in the stockroom, my cock in my hand. She sent me in here, telling me in no uncertain terms that I'd been useless all morning, telling me to "go take care of yourself," in order to get some focus back on the work at hand. She seems to enjoy this power she has over me, she knows I am a willing subject, and love it when she is a bit demanding.

This is why I'm standing here in the stockroom holding myself, with her here in front of me holding a pair of her panties.

I reach, but she stops me with a shake of her head, stepping closer. "Stroke it for me" she says, eyes on my hand. This elicits another audible moan from me. This is new territory for us. She manipulates the small bit of fabric, the gusset laying face up on her palm, her eyes on my hand slowly stroking.

She holds them to her own face, inhaling, her eyes on mine.

Then she holds them in front of her, near my cock which is positively throbbing now.

"You have to the count of 10 to make your mess, or I leave." That's when she began counting down "10..."

My groan again comes forth, I grip harder, looking down at her panties, imagining how she must smell.

I begin to stroke hard, and fast. The mushroom head of my cock is purple and engorged, I thrust my hips forward so it is now bouncing against that lacy fabric in her hand.

"5..... 4..... "

I redouble my efforts. Legs shaking. The sound of my hand, the slap of my balls, audible in the tiny room.

"2... 1...." She looks up into my eyes with a question, just as I feel my orgasm begin, running up my body, all sense of self lost in the moment.

"Yess, cum for me my Poppet, cum into my pretty panties." she coaxes.

She lifts them up against my cock, wrapping them around the head, as ropes of my cum spill into them. The contact of her fingers, even through the fabric, has my hips thrusting for her touch.

I am beside myself. My ears are ringing. She grips, squeezing the last drops out using her panties as I am about to collapse, a bemused look is on her face.

I'm standing here, feeling spent, feeling overwhelmed, feeling embarrassed.

She lifts the panties, makes a show of running her fingers through the creamy mess I've made, soaking it even deeper into the fabric, then she steps very close with her eyes on mine and firmly grips my balls with them, then she rubs them upward, gripping my cock and begins firmly rubbing the over-sensitive head, eliciting a little yelp from me. My cum is now coating every bit of my exposed cock and balls.

She again lifts them to examine closer. Finding some left, she raises them to my mouth, coating my lips and my face as I attempt to clean them with my tongue. Her eyes show her amusement at my cum-hunger, my willingness, my submission.

Finally she is satisfied and takes her panties into the palm of her hand then turns and steps out the door.

Now, here I am, having spent a minute composing myself, walking back through the main part of the office, feeling very self-conscious. I imagine everyone is watching. I imagine I am leaving the scent of my cum in my wake.

No one pays me any attention. Except for Marie of course, as I approach she raises her hand with a bit of a smirk, touching the tip of her finger to the edge of her lip as I walk past, bringing my attention to a bit that I've missed.

I'm already obsessed with the thought that she is now wearing those panties. I'm not sure I'm going to get anything at all done today.