Sex in the Office

This story is true. It takes time to develop, and involves sexual problems along the way. Minor changes to facts to prevent identification.

I wasn't looking for an affair. As far as I was concerned, marriage was for life. Only, my marriage was dying. We had a young son, so that was a complication, but a good one to have, as far as I was concerned. He had been the cause of a change in her. She didn't want children but had relented in a fit of sentimental madness, then regretted it. We had been happy, almost two peas in a pod until junior arrived. Then our loving marriage was history. He bonded with me, and she resented it, but did nothing to turn the tide. Then she switched off. That was the tell-tale sign. Later, she told me under pressure that she had switched her affections to her male assistant in the office. He was younger, and he wasn't me - and he didn't want children.

It wasn't that I was an ogre, only that I took my responsibilities seriously. She had always looked up to me, relied on me. All that changed when she made the big mistake of 'giving' me a baby she never wanted to have. She knew I longed for a family. She didn't. Once she realised her mistake, she looked for a way out and found a lover and left. But that's a private story I won't be telling.

Before she left, I was in that in-between world, no longer consummating a marriage, nor getting any relief. She was, of course. The double bed had been swapped for two single beds from the guests' bed room. She was losing weight and looking all the better for it, but no longer ever shed a shirt in front of me, let alone the rest of her clothes. Bedtime was a torture of unrequited lust for me, and she knew it. It was a perfect punishment in her eyes for my cursed fertility.

~*~*~

I had started a job on the same day as Shelley, a slim, dark-haired lady in her mid-twenties, a similar age to me. We worked in separate divisions. I got qualified and moved up the ranks. Shelley did not. Eventually I moved across to manage an audit team of six where she worked. I had no reason to fancy her at first. Her features were somewhat plain, made worse by her choice of severe glasses, the type worn by dragon librarians to intimidate children. Her body was slim, but not overtly desirable despite her prominent bust. The overall effect wasn't helped by her poor choices in clothing.

She wore tight skirts to below the knees with high waists. It demonstrated her flat stomach. Her equally tight blouses looked fit to burst their buttons over well-shaped boobs. Yet the whole effect just seemed inappropriate office wear. It was maybe her generally sullen face that overall made her unattractive.

She resented me at first for becoming her boss. She claimed that, like most men, I was judging her for being female. She had been passed over for the job I got. My superior qualifications earned me the position, if not my skills, but certainly not my gender. But she never acknowledged that I was more deserving of promotion than her. I've never been a chauvinist and I found it difficult to defend my position in an age when gender issues had started to become a cause celebre.

The desks in the office were arranged in blocks of two. We shared the middle block, facing each other. On occasions when the other four in the team were out, we talked. The source of her antipathy towards men soon became clear: her husband was a chauvinistic pig. I could corroborate that from the few occasions when I met him, along with his blatant selfishness and over-sized ego. I could see nothing in him to compare me with. She was very unhappy in her marriage. Like my wife, she had withdrawn her 'favours' although perhaps with more cause than my wife. She wanted out of her marriage, whereas I wanted to rescue mine.

Our partners left each of us at about the same time, mine voluntarily, hers under protest. I think she held the lease on their flat. It gave us something in the beginning to talk about discreetly in the office when we were alone. I revealed little about my marriage, but a kind of bond of mutual understanding slowly developed; and from that finally grew mutual respect.

Out of hours socialising was rare. But when she told me that she and her hubby played badminton, I suggested a foursome. We booked a court at a local sports centre. My wife and I arrived on court at the appointed time, and waited for them to arrive. We had paid a babysitter for a rare evening out. When Shelley made her entrance to the sports hall, her appearance stunned me. She wore a clinging tee shirt and impossibly tight, short, shorts. Those shorts might have been sprayed on for all the lack of impression they made on the underlying flesh of her slim hips and pert bottom. Her hitherto unrevealed curves were now perfectly displayed. Her body suddenly started to make sense. Those hotpants, for that was what in reality they were, also revealed that she had a remarkably toned but desirable figure.

Shelley was an average badminton player, but Charlie was a winner-at-all-costs type of guy; obnoxious is the word I would use. He bullied her during the play, and contested every point that we won. I could see why Shelley was unhappy. He totally destroyed any pleasure we other three might have gleaned from that match. So I let him beat us, all the quicker to escape that toxic atmosphere. When we shook hands over the net he leered at me. Shelley gave me an intense, knowing look, which I thought meant 'I told you so'. I thought nothing of it at the time.

The next day in the office, we were alone. The others were working away from the building for the afternoon and would not return. Call it serendipity, or did Shelley organise it behind my back?

We worked diligently on our respective paperwork until late afternoon. Our office overlooked an inaccessible quadrangle, with offices on all four sides. As the daylight dimmed, our work rate slowed, and our conversation increased. It was nondescript comments at first. As dusk turned to darkness outside, we didn't bother to switch on the lights, we just stopped working altogether and just talked.

I discovered that she was a fan of obscure American Sixties rock Bands. She waxed lyrically about Quicksilver Messenger Service and Big Brother and the Holding Company. I was beginning to see her in a new light. Her personality was starting to emerge, to stack up alongside her intriguingly contradictory body.

Then she turned the topic to our badminton match. We both agreed that it had been a good idea to let Charlie win. Then Shelley switched the focus.

"I watched you when we came onto the court. Your eyes were like saucers."

"Well, it was quite a revelation. What did you expect? Wearing shorts like those. I can't believe you would risk that in public."

"What did your wife say afterwards?"

"Very little. She hinted that perhaps you were flirting with me. I said that it was very unlikely."

Then Shelley leaned forward over her desk towards me. Her eyes were aflame with some notion. In the gathering gloom she began to look decidedly attractive.

"So, what did you think about them?"

"About what?" I wasn't thinking about anything other than the present sight of her full breasts behind her tight blouse, propped on the desk as she leant forwards towards me. I saw the top two buttons of her blouse pop open under stress, to reveal an impressively compressed cleavage. She appeared not to notice.

"Don't play games."

I pondered her meaning. Our small talk up to that point had always been entirely innocent. But now I suspected that she might be teasing me. Normally I would have ignored leading questions like that, but I decided on this occasion to follow her lure.

"Oh, you mean about your shorts. I can't believe they make them that...short. What does Charlie think about them?"

"Oh, he's too far gone, out of the picture. He doesn't care anymore. I didn't wear them for his benefit. So, come on, what did you think about them?"

"I thought that you must have had them painted onto your divine hips. I did my best not to ogle them, but it was a tough gig."

"Would you like to see them on me again?"

"To be honest, I barely remember them. Hmm, 'barely' is quite an apt word in referring to what they were covering. I hardly remember now what they looked like. I think I would have to check them out again to give an honest answer to your question."

All the occupied offices around the inner courtyard had their lights on. Ours remained off. I neither knew nor cared whether other people looked across or down into our windows and wondered why we had not turned on our lights. I was enthralled at the direction our conversation was taking.

We were in near darkness, and probably no longer visible to occupants of the other offices. That made our conversation feel even more piquant and intimate. My back was to the windows and in shadow. Shelley's face dimly reflected such of the light as strayed in from the offices opposite. Any pretence at us working had long since been abandoned.

"How do you get tight shorts to cover your skin so effectively without the hems digging into your flesh?"

"The material is stretchy. So it...gives. I wore them to tease. I suspected that it might offend your wife, which added a bit of spice to the occasion. Then I thought about you again, this morning. I remembered the expression on your face yesterday evening. It was very rewarding. So I thought I would do something special today. I'm wearing those shorts now, under my skirt."

She paused to let that comment sink in, then resumed.

"So, would you like to see them again?"

What was I supposed to make of that suggestion? What was Shelley really asking me? How could she have anticipated this conversation and these circumstances enough to wear those shorts to the office?

I was intrigued by her suggestion, but I had to be sure of her intentions. We were sitting in an office. Anyone might walk in. Having the lights switched off might then be difficult to explain. Being caught in a compromising situation would be far worse.

"Why did you ask me that?" My mouth and throat had dried, and my voice croaked.

"Use your imagination."

"Believe me, it's running riot. You've made a very provocative statement, incriminating yourself. You must know that all such admissions must be investigated -- and punishment meted out in cases of guilt."

My tone was ambiguous, teasing. My face must have been inscrutable in the shadows. Nor I could tell in the gloom just what was going through her mind. She simply smiled at first, but it morphed into what looked like arousal when I next spoke.

"You realise that I must investigate your claim?"

She made no protest, but her eyes diffused, as if she had been distracted by her thoughts.

All reason and caution deserted me at that point. It was dark, what did I have to lose? If anyone came into the office whilst I was investigating her claim, I would be concealed from their sight. Shelley might have had some explaining to do about sitting in the dark, but giving me away would have compromised her situation even further.

My risk assessment completed, I slid down from my chair under the table and onto my knees in the dark void under the desk. There were no modesty panels under the desks. Their drawers were independent units on wheels. I pushed mine well out of my way. There I was, down on my knees in my suit trousers, in undignified fashion , about to crawl across the short distance between me and Shelley's knees. I could smell the dust under there, and all my non-visual senses were amplified in the near darkness. So I had no means of seeing more than a vague outline of what lay ahead of me. I crawled a short distance towards her knees and raised an exploratory hand. It encountered what I assumed to be said knees under her desk. They had been apart, but came together as soon as they felt my touch, like the closing of a venus fly-trap. There was no sound of protest from above. I gently slid my fingers between them. It was either retreat now and look foolish, or proceed, friend.

They parted.

I could feel bare flesh where normally she would wear tights. Maybe she had planned this, or something equally compromising? In the darkness, the sensations on my fingertips felt magnified. It was hot under her skirt. Her slim thighs felt expansive to my sightless imagination. They were warm and taut, with a gentle pulse; the flesh yielding to my touch. I rested my forward weight on my left hand and swept the tips of my right hand for what seemed a very long way along her right inside thigh. The outside of my hand met resistance from the flesh of her other thigh. Her tight skirt was impeding progress. Her upper thighs felt like warm velvet, cossetting my hand on both sides.

The very thought of what my hands were sensing sent erotic tremors racing through my chest and abdomen.

I took a deep breath, and pushed my head forward , taking my weight on my knees. My nostrils picked up mixed odours of dust, wood, perfume and mild pungency. I could not hold that hunched position for long so I teased back the hem of her skirt to make room for my head in front of me, and rested my face between her knees. The odours were headier there and more pungent in the warmth of her thighs.

To my intense pleasure, I felt her thighs shift up and outwards and the resistance of her skirt lessened. I guessed that she had lifted her bottom off her chair seat to take her weight off her skirt. I placed my thumbs either side of her hem to ease it firmly back some way towards her hips. Her thighs were gently caressing my ears. In the darkness I imagined myself drifting in space with soft thigh flesh on either side of me and a large pulsing vulva opening and closing to every third beat of my heart. In that confined space under her desk in the dark, my heart was indeed pounding with heightened excitement at my boldness, and at her surprising acquiescence.

My hands parted her thighs, which were no longer impeded by the constraint of her skirt. With my palms angled outwards, they continued their exploratory journey up her inner thighs, until they encountered a barrier. I had arrived at journey's end and met resistance, in more ways than one. She was not wearing shorts, but what I guessed to be panties; and they were warm and moist. Just as I probed the gap at the top of her thighs, her knees clamped together, compressing my head. My hands were trapped by my head and pressed hard up against her pussy mound. That was as far as I was permitted to go, or perhaps further than she had intended to allow.

So that was her game: the ultimate tease, so near yet so far. I eased my head backwards and out from between her upper thighs, and brought my hands up and onto the top of the front of her legs. I felt with some surprise that I had more leeway than I expected. She must have unzipped the back of her skirt and loosened the waistband She would be busted now for sure if someone entered the room and she had to stand up.

Nothing happened for an eternity. It was like a Mexican standoff. I was kneeling in the dark with my head between her knees but she had demonstrated her unwillingness for me to proceed any further. Or was it feigned reluctance to admit that she wanted me to continue? My palms were resting on the front of her hips at the crease with her thighs. I could feel her body trembling with effort. It took me moments to realise that she was holding her bottom off her chair. She was inviting me to make the decisive next move. My fingers hooked onto the waistband of her knickers and tugged, just as her body untensed and her bottom dropped down again onto her seat. She sensed what I intended and slapped her hands down towards her thighs, but smacked the edge of her desk instead.

Her gestures were contradictory: encouraging then repelling, suggesting disapproval yet yielding. But I had my prize. She could not prevent me from tugging firmly on the sides of her panties and pulling them down her thighs and below her knees. Her lower body had tensed under my hands as she felt me seizing my trophy. Now, she no longer offered any resistance. I had won the game and succeeded in tugging her panties off completely from her feet.

My knees were getting sore on the wooden floor, my back was aching from my awkward position, but my heart was racing from this highly charged situation. As I gently slid my palms up her thighs to relish their silkiness, her hips slid forward until her groin made contact with my face. We were now in an erotic but physically absurd position. Her body was now in a limbo posture with her back on her chair seat, her knees spread and her crotch wide open. Her weight must have been be resting on her back on the chair seat. I sat on my haunches with my back almost horizontal and my face pressed against her moist crotch. Heat was radiating from her loins like a furnace. Neither of us could hold this pose for long, but she made a few playful hip thrusts against my mouth with my tongue protruding, for the sake of more tease.

Whilst my position was tortuous, my brain had free rein to imagine an impossibly erotic tableau. Giant parted thighs floated in space, framing a juicy vagina, which was enticing me to drink its heady nectar. The vision lasted for seconds, until my body warned me to withdraw.

I backed my way triumphantly out from under the desks, banging my head on its way up, but clutching my consolation prize. I stood up, dangling the trophy in the gloom. I could just make out Shelley, still slid mostly under the table with only her head visible above its edge. She laboriously inched her body back up to pull her bottom back onto her chair. Her face was faintly lit by the stray light coming in the window, enough for me to see her parted lips and an expression of astonishment, mixed with intense desire.

"Well, that was fun," was all I could say, without further inflaming the situation. It was a delicate balance between triumph and apology. "Do you want them back?" I dangled her panties in my hand. They were slight and lacy, and must have presented an erotic silhouette against the stray light from the window

She stayed silent. I made my way round the desks in the gloom, sniffing her panties and making an appreciative noise. Her eyes followed me all the way. I stood beside her. She turned her head to face forwards, as if in defiance, or perhaps in protest at me abandoning a moment of intense seduction. I leant my head down beside hers. I could smell her arousal more strongly as her faintly perfumed body odour wafted up in the rising heat from below her desk.

I whispered softly in her ear. "Shall I put them back where I found them?"

She leant back against her chair back compliantly. The atmosphere felt even more intense in the gloom. I thought I might as well be hanged now for a sheep as a lamb. The top of her blouse was open below me. I could just make out in the stray light the tops of her breasts and bra, with her cleavage showing as a dark slit. My right hand, clutching her panties, slid down into her cleavage to deposit her damp panties. Still she did not move. My hand let go of my initial prize in the quest for a bigger one. It slipped inside her bra and cupped her left breast from above. She moved now, taking a deep breath which lifted her bust, like a tempting offering.

But this was not the time and place to pursue that apparent invitation. I should leave now and avoid any further risk. But what did I care? I felt impelled to unbutton the rest of her blouse, to explore those inviting breasts further. Her hands came up half-heartedly to stop mine from undoing further buttons, then slipped away down into the lap of her ruched skirt. I pulled her blouse out from her waist band. She breathed in deeply, which made her breast expand again. I undid the lower buttons and pulled the blouse apart. We were both damned now for sure if anyone entered the office.