My Co-Worker's Hot Sounds

Between us there was only a quarter-inch wall of foamcore, but Max and I weren't really close in any other way.

He had slender fingers and a sharp jaw, these were things I had noticed about him so far. I also knew he was in a relationship because I'd heard him on the phone talking with someone about branzino, skin contact wine, and mothers. Our desks looked out at the whole of Central Park from a height that made the park seem like a bathtub filled with bright green foam. The windows of the office were floor-to-ceiling, so that if you pressed your forehead up against the cold hard pane, you could simulate the feeling of falling, you could imagine the exhilaration of doing something crazy like that. On a slow afternoon, I'd heard the little thunk of his head hitting the window and resting there, thinking, the shift of his weight in his tailored grey suit pants. An hour later, I did the same thing, releasing my tight ponytail down to my shoulders, and then flouncing it around, up and down, as if the sticky New York spring air was rushing past me, wondering if he was listening too.

Max and I had worked in this office together for a few months. It was a good job, and as with most good jobs, it was also a boring job. Everyone in our quiet methodical office would stretch out their tasks for as long as possible, and then peak at the clock, sad to see that only 20 minutes had passed. So I cherished days with a vivid sight or sound like the last coke in the desert. Just one strong sensory experience was enough to jolt me back to life. And, likely unbeknownst to Max, he made the most exquisite sounds I had ever heard. Soft curses, pensive hmms, little covered yawns, full body stretching groans, unselfconscious grunts. They were varied, they were strange, and they got me incredibly wound up. I'd recorded full workdays' worth of Max's sounds on my phone, listening to them on the subway back home with my noise-cancelling headphones so no one else would ever know.

At the time, I was in a relationship with a person who mostly seemed interested in having conversations with himself. There was no topic that wouldn't ultimately come back to something that he'd hated, or loved, and when he'd finished telling me, there was no return volley, and so I'd started to feel like a ghost. To revive my spirits and to remind me that I was, in fact, still very much flesh and blood, I'd started to enjoy longer showers. It's a well known fact to all people with relationship troubles that the shower is a gift, and I began to maximize our mobile showerhead for all of its potential pleasurable uses. I'd fill up the bathroom with hot steam, let the city and my boyfriend disappear and just come as many times as I possibly could before the length of the shower became too implausible. And, when I was in the shower feeling the high pressure streams of water teasing my clit, I'd start to think about Max. Max's full lips, Max's mouth full of branzino, Max's long fingers typing on the same exact type of keyboard I use everyday with my fingers, Max's jaw unclenching.

***

One morning, I was in the office kitchen, in the hours just after dawn before the office filled with bright sunshine and was still dusky. The swivel chairs sat still like good children at church, the air was full of extra oxygen without people to breathe it all up. I usually got to the office early, because I enjoyed feeling my body wake up and thinking abstractly about whatever I wanted before the clock struck 9am and all the nuts and bolts of the day needed to be hammered into place.

My first stop was the bathroom, where I sat in the stall with my headphones on. I flipped through the various bits of entertainment and inadvertently came upon Max's audio I'd covertly recorded. The umms, stretching noises, yawning. The fact that there was no way he'd been aware of being recorded. The fact that his little throat was making these gnawing sounds where I could see his jaw stretching in response, neck straining and flexing, maybe his hands massaging the tender parts of his cheeks. Why was his jaw so sore? My fingers were dipping inside of my pussy, asking this same question. What would his long fingers be doing to me, how many of them would fit inside...? I was rubbing my clit, biting my freshly-showered arm to keep from moaning too much, I was dizzy and forgetting where I was, it was just me and the sounds of Max stretching that beautiful jaw...

I emerged from the bathroom, put back together. The office was empty and dark, as my morning coffee percolated to completion. In the kitchen, we have French milled soap on a rolling stick thing, and so to use it, you have to squeeze your hand around it and roll it around until you have enough foam. Squeezing the last drop of foam out of the soap never failed to keep me desperately horny, and this time was no exception, especially because of where my hands had just been. I stood there, stroking the soap and pretending it was Max, simulating his quiet stretching noises as I did it, feeling my aching clit going crazy.

I finished washing my hands, and I was pouring the rest of the carton of half-and-half into my coffee cup, feeling the cool breeze of the open refrigerator on my stomach, when I heard a male voice.

"Can I have the cream when you're done?"

It was him. I was actually stunned, not because his presence was implausible, but just because of where my mind had just been. Thirty seconds earlier, my legs were figuratively wrapped around his face.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I just finished the cream."

Our eyes met and the corners of his mouth turned up a little.

"No worries," he said.

"I can get you more," I said, still half-asleep and not really used to talking with people yet.

"I'm sorry for bothering you," he said. "I know the mornings are your time."

I watched him walk back to his desk as I stood there, with the empty half-and-half carton in my hand and a little shiver going through me. He'd noticed my early morning habit. I wondered what else he'd noticed. I closed the fridge door and stood in my pencil skirt, heels, and new silk blouse, nipples hard. I was entirely losing control and getting very wet in a workplace environment. This was a completely inappropriate, fireable offense.

My head went a little fuzzy, and the carton slipped out of my hands, bouncing on the hard floor. There was an extra sip of cream in there after all, now a tiny puddle at my feet. I reached for the roll of paper towels to clean it up, getting down on my hands and knees, feeling the cold tiles through my stockings dabbing the cream, really wishing Max would come back to the kitchen to see what I'd done.

It wasn't that I didn't value my job. I did. I'd been receiving accolades at work, consistently for three straight quarters, but for some reason it wasn't enough. I wasn't stimulated. My body, the one that I work so hard to keep healthy with good food and frequent exercise, just wasn't getting what it needed. I wanted more, and I wanted to get away with it. I deserved it. I deserved Max's mouth and his fingers, and I was going to have them.

Ever so slowly, I repositioned my body so that my ass was facing him. I reached behind me and pulled up my pencil skirt just a little bit so that if he were to walk by he could see most of my thighs, but not quite everything. Enough to know what I wanted. I opened my legs shoulder-length apart, arching my back slightly, presenting my pussy to the entire dark office. A few long moments passed, with me on all fours, in the kitchen of my office, waiting, rubbing that spot of cream off the floor. I closed my eyes. Somehow I sensed that he would respond soon.

"I guess there was cream in there."

In a near blackout state of arousal, I could feel my inner thighs getting wet through my stockings. We both giggled a little bit. Max's eyes were fixed right where I wanted them to be. I responded by widening my stance a little bit more, wiggling so that the skirt was coming up even further. He knelt down behind me and slowly raised my skirt all the way up, leaving it around my belly button. His hands took the top of my stockings and pulled them down to my knees.

My panties were dripping wet. He traced me with two of his long fingers, starting at me, watching me drip on his hand. The panties came off in one smooth motion, and his fingers were diving into me, as the office kitchen lights hit my bare ass. Soon I felt his face, his three day stubble brushing at my clit, his soft hair made me think of a car wash.

I turned around, my bare ass completely exposed, and pulled the back of his head in. My fists had handfuls of his hair, and I guided his tongue so that he would give me the exact rhythm and pressure I needed. I was going to have the perfect orgasm, right here in the middle of my office, and my co-worker Max was going to lick me until that happened. I was totally fucked if anyone else came in, but I just didn't care, the pleasure was so intense. I came in rolling waves, my arms going numb, my head hitting the kitchen cabinet...

***

The rest of the day progressed uneventfully, so much so that I began to think the morning had been a dream. We'd returned to being more or less complete strangers, even though just hours earlier he'd made me come harder than any boyfriend ever had. I heard the familiar sounds of Max typing, grunting and stretching, each one producing a little sharp ping that started in my brain and rolled down my spine to my ass. I'd trained my body to respond to the rustle of his clothing, the crack of his knuckle cartilage, the tap of the sole of his Italian leather shoes as he pushed his swivel chair back and forth. I think he was just as frustrated with office life as me. The cushy corporate drudgery of our highly-prized jobs had driven us to those terrible acts. We'd gotten exactly what we both wanted and had worked so hard for and had been told by friends and family to value. But here we were, living the dream, and feeling entirely empty. It's enough to make you cheat on your loving, wonderful partner, to give into the thrill of your bare ass on the cold hard tile and the thrilling danger of being stumbled upon by respected peers and colleagues. Because didn't they all feel the same way, and we were the only ones brave enough to do something about it? I decided right then and there that I would not feel any guilt whatsoever about engaging in very hot sex with my co-worker Max. These things weren't even that important in the grand scheme of things, it was just human nature, the drive for life, the drive to procreate, the drive to feel something heavenly during your time on Earth.

As our co-workers began to leave for the evening, I developed an urge to suck Max's cock. After the time in the kitchen, we'd quickly put our clothes back on and run to the bathroom freshen up. I'd come back and sprayed some air freshener in the kitchen, diffusing it with a towel waved back and forth a few times, inhaling to make sure it was all okay, and then waving a little more. No one had said anything for the rest of the day.

I made a deal with myself: if everyone had left the office and Max decided to stay, it would tell me what I needed to know. If he didn't stay, I would go through living my wonderful happy life with my wonderful loving partner, and push the events of the day out of my mind. 6:30pm...sun was setting...I heard a yawn. Max was still there.

7:30pm. Everyone had left. I felt a stillness on the other side of the foamcore, a lack of fidgeting. I reached over to the box of tissues on my desk, and took out one, two, three, four, tucking them inside my pencil skirt. I took off my heels, and got up from my chair as quietly as possible, tip-toeing on the tile floor...one step, two, three, crossing the foamcore. Wordlessly and expressionlessly, I climbed underneath Max's desk. I could only see his leather shoes and his tailored grey suit pants. The wheels of the swivel chair eased forward towards me.

In the dark space, I heard the metallic sounds of a belt unbuckling, a button popping out of its hole, a zipper softly buzzing down its track. I saw his hands pull the spandex of his boxer briefs band out, up, and over. I smelled him, and I greeted him with the point of my tongue, working his ridges gradually, tracing the circumference of his tip before wetting my lips and fastening them on his head. I held the head of his cock there in my mouth, licking the underside of the tip until I got the grunts and moans I'd be anticipating all day. I dropped my head all the way down to his balls, feeling his full length completely in my mouth, while one hand fondled his balls. I could tell he was squirming now, trying not to make much noise. He gasped as I bobbed my head up and down his shaft, twirling my tongue on his head, squeezing his balls gently. I started to make sounds of my own, sucking and moaning around his cock. I took the shaft in my right hand, and planted my warm wet mouth on his balls while I used my recently manicured nails to stroke up and down. With my left hand still wrapped around his balls, I pumped him with my right hand, positioning my mouth underneath and touching my tongue to his head so he knew I was ready for his come. Moments before he was about to come, I pushed him deep into my mouth to feel the hot come spurt down my throat. He lost balance and his feet came up from the floor, wrapping them around me, body shaking as I swallowed, making my gulps loud enough for him to hear, rubbing his balls and milking his cock for every last drop.

I reached in my skirt for the tissues, and brought my arm out from under the desk. Max took them, wiping himself. He zipped back up his pants, and left without saying a word. When I knew he was gone, I came up from under the desk, taking extra deep breaths, enjoying the feeling of the dark night air. As I sat in my office chair, gazing out at the big city lights that surround a dark green bathtub, I felt more alive than I had in months.