Nancy Mitchell's Other Life Ch. 04

Something was always missing from the pictures, some elusive quality that always made her hit delete rather than sending one. And now she was sitting here in her cubicle yet again staring at her phone and trying to figure out what the pictures she took in her bathroom mirror were lacking. What she was lacking. What could end this strange detente she had with her own fantasies where she yearned for more humiliation and shame but couldn't make herself send Chris one simple picture and make them reality?

The topless hallway picture on Nancy's phone was proof it could be done. It was constantly tugging at her mind, a faint aftertaste on the back of her tongue of how good she had felt when it was taken. An erotic landmine she could dance on until she got off without it actually detonating. Since she couldn't make herself delete it or even crop her face out she had set a limit for herself: she would only look at it twice a day while at work, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, and only for two minutes each time. She could have just pictured it in her head even, but holding her phone in her hand and seeing it helped bring her back to that night, of how incredibly aroused and sexual and desired she had felt. The two minutes passed and she made herself click off her phone and turn back to her desk.

Three more emails had arrived already, but none were important. She stared at the screen and tried to focus but couldn't stop squirming in her chair. She wanted to go to the bathroom and get herself off, but had already done that during her lunch break. She had agonized but finally decided since she was on lunch she wasn't technically at work and let herself stare at the picture while she spread her legs on the toilet and rubbed her clit. That was all the jerking off for the day she had promised herself, then two minutes of looking at the picture in the afternoon then nothing until she sneaked a peak on the bus ride home or flopped down on her couch and opened it again.

On the other hand, they also technically got a 15 minute break in the afternoon. The only people who really took it were the smokers, who went outside and got their nicotine fix in the parking lot across the street. But no one would notice if she wasn't at her desk for a few minutes.

So Nancy got up and walked to the bathroom, and locked the door behind her. The same bathroom where Chris had started tearing down the wall between her fantasies and reality. Just a small piece of mortar pried out between the bricks that let her fantasies start bleeding into her reality. She quickly unlocked her phone one-handed as she dropped her pants and pulled her panties to one side. She didn't bother with foreplay, just began rubbing her clit, viciously twisting and kneading the little bump so hard it hurt a little. Nancy wanted to savor this, but the longer she took the more she worried about being discovered. The thought of her co-workers figuring out what she was doing in there and why, or even guessing about it made her hot and wet, but also brought up the familiar fear of really being found out.

Ever since that fateful day when Agent Waters hooked her up to the polygraph machine, Nancy had wondered if her supervisors or co-workers knew about her fantasies. They always said that the details of the security clearance investigation weren't shared with anyone's supervisor, just the final results, but there was still a sliver of speculation that some people peeked at the full report. Or the polygraph technician might have talked to someone who told someone who told someone else. He could have shared everything about her fantasies, or just a few tantalizing details with someone who recognized her somehow. Anything from "someone told the investigator they wrote internet porn one time" to "Nancy Mitchell wants to be pushed and blackmailed into being nude in front of others, to be made to beg and plead for more and more shameful degradation to be heaped on her until she's fired and her life is destroyed, and by the way she posts her stories under the username 'Miss Mosquito Bites' and you can easily find all her sick perverted desires online."

Nancy's fingers started to move faster as the tingling in her pussy increased. Did her co-workers know? Were they gossiping about her every time she wasn't there to hear? Sharing the juiciest, filthiest parts of her stories with each other? Or were they completely ignorant? The uncertainty put her in a constant cycle of sex-fueled fear and shame. She mentally replayed every word and phrase anyone said to her for deeper, hidden meanings, innuendos, and subtle clues that they knew what got her off. Every pause as she walked in the room raised the possibility they had been talking about her and her sick little stories. Had her supervisor already found out and started composing a carefully worded email to HR asking what to do? The worst part was knowing that the only way she could ever be really sure of the answer to all these questions was if they publicly revealed that everyone did know every sordid detail. Otherwise there would always be at least a little doubt, and the constant fear and lust. She could never prove to herself that they definitely didn't know, and she couldn't stop getting worked up thinking about the consequences if they did.

Nancy shifted her hips and slid one then a second finger inside of herself. She could still rub her clit with her palm and hold her phone in her other hand, staring at herself being exposed in public. Right now any of her co-workers might be secretly wondering if she'd gone to the bathroom to jerk off to her depraved fantasies. They might even be thinking of their own fantasies where she was the star, imagining her showing up to work in skimpy clothes that showed her flat chest and short skirts with crotchless panties that left her office chair soaked with her pussy juices. The fantasies inevitably and quickly got more humiliating, more extreme. Now her big tittied girlfriend ordered to fill up three condoms a day and bring them home from work and she had to find three dicks to take care five days a week. Sucking them off in the supply closet or an empty cubicle and hoping no one would discover her. Getting a reputation as the office slut with the men to save herself while the women plotted to shame and degrade her even more for being such a whore. As her cunt heated up she couldn't stop imagining things escalating until she imagined herself walking down the hall to the conference room while leashed and collared, being dragged there by her laughing, jeering co-workers. Of getting to the conference room and being told to straddle a sybian and read her stories out loud while her co-workers flicked rubber bands at her little tits and she edged her greedy cunt and begged to come for their amusement and her degradation.

Nancy's mind could never settle on one fantasy for long. She would start jerking off and her brain would go through scenarios like a slide deck that had been randomly re-ordered. As she got closer to coming she also imagined more subtle but equally enticing situations, like her phone pairing with her work account after a software update. She'd be giving a presentation, and her screen share would suddenly go to her image gallery on her phone, and the picture would appear. Filling her screen, her co-workers' screens, all of them either looking away to hide their sudden laughter or staring dead ahead and trying to pretend nothing was wrong as she flashed the entire office. She wouldn't notice, and would blithely continue discussing whatever boring topic she had been assigned to present on as she unwittingly revealed photos and stories she had written to her colleagues as she blindly destroyed her reputation and ruined her life. Or she could reach over right now and unlock the door, pull her shirt up to blindfold herself and and reveal her tits, never knowing when someone might accidentally walk in and see her lewd display...

She put her phone on the sink and closed her eyes. Her hand drifted towards the door handle. A simple nudge down and it would unlock. Then she could pull her shirt up and yank her bra down. If she did this, anyone could walk in. A co-worker, her supervisor, a visitor. Would they recognize her right away or would they have to investigate, ask other people and try to figure out who the slut in the bathroom was? Would they report it officially or would there just be office gossip about her or some anonymous flat-chested slut jilling off in the bathroom? Would she have to sit there and listen to her co-workers speculate about why so was so fucked up? Would they avert their eyes or openly watch her pack up her things because she got fired... Fuck! This wasn't okay! The slim brunette with her legs spread and her sopping wet panties got breath-takingly close to orgasm and almost started to come, and then looked at her reflection in the mirror.

There it was. Nancy's eyes widened and her hand suddenly froze. Exactly what she needed for the picture. Her mind scrambled as synapses connected and she quickly pulled her pants back up and buttoned them. She wiped her juices off her hand, opened the door, and started walking to her desk. Partway there she realized she had left her phone on the sink, and the sensation of being on a roller coaster just before it dropped filled her stomach. Her phone was sitting open on a restroom sink with a picture of her topless open on it.

She almost threw up, but instead of turning around the deep twisted part of her psyche made her finish the trip to her cubicle and grab her purse. Was there someone in the bathroom right now, looking at her phone and smiling. Forwarding the picture to their own phone. They might wait days or even weeks to contact her, then the humiliation would begin. She knew how it worked, they'd make small demands of her at first, keep moving the line a little bit more each time. She'd sink deeper and deeper into humiliation and degradation. Eventually there wouldn't be any price she wouldn't pay to keep her filthy desires a secret until she was in so deep she could never get out.

She grabbed her purse and spun around to go back to the bathroom. Her breathing quickened and she was practically running on her way back to the bathroom. Gene, an older man and the office thought he was funny guy, had to jump out of her way and jokingly said, "I told you the cafeteria's tuna log was dangerous!"

She ignored him and got back to the bathroom, letting out a sob of relief and almost slamming the door behind her and quickly locking it. Her phone was still there, the picture of her flat chest filling the screen. Had anyone seen it? Probably not. She had been quick, just a couple of minutes, and had clear line of sight to the restroom door most of the way. The chance anyone had come in and seen the picture of her without her seeing them leaving was minuscule. But there was a chance. She thought it was where she had left it, but couldn't be sure.

With trembling hands Nancy unbuttoned her shirt and took it off. It hit the floor and her bra joined it a second later. She took a tube of lipstick out of her purse she kept for emergencies, faced the mirror squarely, and wrote MOSQUITO BITES across the glass. The positioning and style of the letters was burned into her memory and she duplicated them exactly, one letter after another framing her sad lack of boobs. Then she picked up her phone, took a deep breath, and licked her lips. Her pussy was still throbbing between her legs, desperate to come. She ground her thighs together, took a deep breath, and snapped a picture.

There was a click and a second later the image filled the screen. It was perfect. A picture of a titless failure of a woman who needed someone to control her, deny her orgasms, expose her for the greedy little shame pig she was but still keep her exposure within guardrails. She opened the messenger program, attached it, and hit send. No stupid words to ruin the moment, or give herself a chance to talk herself out of it again. It was done and the crashing relief that washed over like rain felt almost as good as an orgasm. A sense of psychic relief from a tension that had consumed her for days and nights.

Nancy Mitchell wet some paper towels with warm water, added some soap from the hand dispenser, and scrubbed the lipstick off the mirror. Her little bitty titties barely moved or even jiggled as she erased the words. If this had been one of her stories she would have stripped down and unlocked the door, giving the whole office the chance to accidentally open it and see her frantically wiping off the mirror. She would have given herself a rule that she had to clean the mirror and come before she could get dressed, and what if her boss walked in while she was totally naked rubbing her cunt in the office restroom? Of course he would start whoring her out for political favors from his colleagues, making her suck off and fuck old men with wiry gray pubic hair that would get caught in her teeth while she knelt with her face between their legs and their dicks in her mouth.

They would come on her tits and she would have to wear it, the sticky, nasty come drying on her chest through the day. Flaking off when she moved, rubbing against her skin and making her itch. Constantly reminding her of what she had done. Inevitably in her fantasies the women in the office would find out and punish her. They would invite her out for drinks one night, just the gals, and push her into the middle of a booth at some bar or restaurant. She would be trapped while they went around the table and told her how pathetic she was and how what she was doing was shameful and made them all look bad. Her legs would be pulled apart and her panties ripped off her body while they heaped scorn and derision on her. Eventually she would end up at one of their apartments, naked, crawling on the floor and kissing their feet and apologizing until she ended up on their laps with clothespins on her nipples while they spanked her and she cried and begged for mercy.

But for now she was thinking clearly, and the door stayed locked. She put her clothes back on, washed her hands, and straightened herself up. She walked out of the bathroom, to her cubicle, and sent her boss a quick email saying she wasn't feeling well and would like to take sick time and go home early. Her supervisor approved within minutes, and Nancy Mitchell left the office, went home, and waited for Chris to reply. What would the other woman would say? Would she praise her obedience, or punish her for taking so long? Nancy pondered the question as she stripped down, walked into her bedroom, and jumped on the bed. She pulled her vibrator out, flipped her phone open to the picture she had taken just an hour earlier, and adjusted her hips. Was she a good little shame slut who deserved a reward, or a pathetic disobedient shame slut who needed to be punished? God, she hoped she was both.