The Turning Ch. 02

Three hours later, I sit fidgeting at my desk, watching the clock. I have shown a marked lack of concentration today. Endorphins swim through my head and turn the pages and numbers upside down. I can't work. Hell, I could hardly eat lunch! My brain is still reeling from the morning's events. How did that happen? Did I actually beg him to let me cum? Did I actually go down on him in his office after we had said a total of maybe 20 words to each other? Shaking my head, trying to push away the visions, I moan under my breath.

The images keep coming to me, unbidden. Much as I try to concentrate, I can still see his cock inches from my face and advancing. The veins are full and defined, and I feel my mouth water as I imagine the taste of his creamy white semen. Thinking back, I recognize my first surrender as when his clear blue eyes challenged me to look away on the elevator. I couldn't, or I wouldn't. I pressed further into uncharted waters, my pride moving me along strange currents.

Shivering, I recalled the feeling, exposed and abandoned, when he stood in front of me, and told me to go. I relived the desperate clutch I felt as I craved to stay, to please him, at any price. Shakily I stepped out onto the thinnest ice, with only the hope that I would not be rejected. My will was broken in that moment, and the look on his face showed that he knew it as clearly as I did. He watched me give to him a measure of control that I have always reserved as my own, and I could see that he relished the moment. The click of understanding in my brain was audible to us both.

I rub my thighs together to try to relieve the pressure. Although I have been to the bathroom to clean up three times in the last three hours, I can feel my pussy leaking moisture again. And I'm not wearing any panties. Shaking my head in disbelief - what a day to go without panties! But that was part of it all, I remind myself. If I hadn't gone "commando", I wouldn't have been touching myself on the way to work.

Rolling my eyes, I listen to myself ramble on in my own head. I push back from the desk and try to straighten my blouse. The material tends to catch on the spot where my own cum is pasted on my breast. I know it's not really noticeable, but it makes me shiver anyway. And the shivering makes my nipples hard. I watch helplessly as they point out from my breasts in tiny peaks. I can't help but rub them against the edge of my desk, agitating my already wired state. I know this isn't helping my condition, but the logic-override switch has been thrown today. Squirming in my chair and pressing against my desk, I feel my pussy blossom again as juices escape my slit and make their way to my thighs. I need to go clean up again before I ruin this skirt.

I make my way to the bathroom, again, and I see my co-worker, Rick knitting his brow over his work. Walking past, I get that "being-watched" feeling. I'm sure it's my nerves. Gawd, could I BE more self-centered? I shake my head and remind myself that just because I am acting like an unglued slut today, that doesn't mean that this is everyone else's issue of the day.

I continue to the bathroom, enter a stall, and use the tissues to wipe away the spreading moisture. My thighs and lips are drenched. I tentatively use one finger to draw up and along the inner folds of my slit and bring it to my mouth. I am pleased with my taste today - the abundant flow of moisture has made the taste light and slightly sweet. I am oddly pleased to know that he has tasted me on a "good" day. Shaking my head, god I am a sick girl. I bite ineffectually in the air, trying gain purchase on reality, and hear the "click click" of my teeth hollow in my ears.

I eventually complete my cleanup and exit the bathroom. Walking past Rick again, I stop to see what has him looking so frustrated. Heh. Not that I'm likely to be any help in this state, but sometimes it helps to bounce your ideas off someone else.

"Hey Rick"

"Hey Michelle"

Is he looking at my tits? Naaaah. I lean against his desk, and feel the hard corner bite into my thigh. I shake off the feeling of deja-vu and lean over to peer at his papers.

"What are you working on?"

He starts to explain the problem to me, and where he is in solving it, but my mind starts to wander. I look at his hands as he sketches a quick process map. He has large thick hands with rough skin. I recall that he spends a lot of time working on his car, and I wonder how his hands would feel on my skin. I shake my head, willing myself to focus on his drawing and ask a suitably coherent question.

He looks up from the paper into my eyes as I pose my question, but his eyes flicker to my breasts a time or two... and I flush. He knows. He knows I'm not wearing a bra. The sheer knowledge of this causes my nipples harden again and push against the thin material. Desperate to do something to distract him from my tits, I lean over to reach for his pen so I can further illustrate my question by making marks on his map. I feel my breasts sway and wiggle as I lean. I expect him to offer the pen in his hand, but he holds it firmly as I try to take it. I look in his eyes as he holds onto my thumb for one long electric moment before releasing the pen into my hand. Breathing slightly elevated, I remind myself of the reason I am here. Process map. Focus, Michelle.

Paying attention to my movement, he turns his head toward the paper, moving his face closer to my chest in the process. I can almost feel his breath on me. Oh god! Now I have to continue on with my question in earnest in order to be convincing that I am not purposefully flaunting myself.

I jot and draw arrows, and actually surprise myself by illustrating a point that has some merit. Gaining confidence, I look at his face, and he is staring directly at my tits, inches from his face. It seems two other points have his attention. The leaning and jotting has caused my shirt to shift, and the outline of my nipples is clear. Trembling, I watch them grow even harder under his gaze.

Without missing a beat, he reaches for my hand and takes back his pen, sliding along my fingers unnecessarily as he does so. Moving his face almost imperceptibly, his lips pointed toward my right nipple, he responds to my question. He elaborates on the point I made, thanks me for bringing it up, and verbalizes how the design could be altered to accommodate. I feel his hot breath on my nipple as he speaks, and the tingling grows stronger in my pussy. When he finishes speaking, I nervously straighten, and he raises his eyes to my face, grinning.

Shaky sigh. "Well, that sounds like that will work, then."

"Yes, I think it will. Lucky thing you stopped by when you did" grin broadens.

Haltingly, "Oh, yes, I was ... I know it can be hard to work through the logic on your own sometimes. I thought maybe I could lend a hand" God, why does everything I say come out sounding suggestive?

He stifles a chuckle. "Please feel free to lend a hand anytime."

I flush a deep red, open my mouth to say something, and close it again, completely flustered. He seems to be enjoying this. I am not known to be a quiet girl. He is eating it up that I am standing there at a loss for words.

"Um, OK, that sounds good" I reply automatically, realizing barely, and too late, that this sounded like a promise. "I mean... um... I gotta go now".

He watches me step back and out of his office, making my way down the hallway in a slight daze. I steal a glance back down the hall, and see him making his way to one of the conference rooms. He reached down and adjusts himself with a huge smile on his face.

Oh my god. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? I must not be very bright ... how could I have made the mistake of stopping by Rick's office in this state? He probably thinks I was hitting on him. I mean, he is great looking and all that, very tall, big strong hands, a large frame. And, yes, I have wondered if he is proportionally built, ahem, in all departments. (Is it hot in here?) But he never seemed like my type, really. Sure, he's a damn good engineer, but he's sort of gruff and coarse, and belongs to a motorcycle club. He probably has tattoos and drinks too much beer. I've always been a white-wine-in-a-crystal-glass kind of a girl, unless, of course, there is champagne available. Is it possible to have gotten even hornier since this morning? My mind whirling, thinking again of my chat with Rick... this is how rumors get started.

There is of course another more pressing issue that I have to consider. It is after 3:30, and I am fence-sitting on whether to go meet Ray or not. Did I even ask his last name? Who is this guy? Jesus ... there is definitely something wrong with me. This morning's encounter was one of the most intense I have ever experienced. But I know in my heart that going to meet him tonight would be a different sort of step. Did I say my heart? I think it goes deeper than that, to the primal places that know fear and safety.

How can I not go? The idea of more time spent with this man is intoxicating. I rub my aching jaw, relishing the soreness that reminds me of the encounter. I reach into my blouse to feel the flaking remnants of my cum, and sigh with that memory as well. I briefly re-live the shock of finding my shirt on my stomach, shudder, and push that thought away. I don't ever want to feel that way again, and I know that going to him this afternoon opens up the possibility unless I do as he asks. Then I hear his voice, low and growling in my ear. "Good girl"

Maybe I can do it. Maybe I can follow his lead. Maybe I can play right. God, I crave his voice.

It's just that sort of day, so I decide I will go, thinking to myself that I can always back out later if this is too much for me. I look at my watch, and realize I have less than half an hour to shut down and get upstairs. Chuckling, I've spent way too much time drifting through these memories. I have three email responses to get out before I go, and that always takes more time than you think it will. Suddenly a frenzy of productivity, I bang out the emails and tidy up my desk by 16:55. Ten minutes to go up eight floors - I should be fine.

It may not seem obvious at first, but in a tall office building with only one working elevator, the prevalent direction for travel at this time of day is down. Pushing the up arrow button was not a popular move. I get a dirty look from a couple of girls in our office ... and when the doors open, there is a crush of people inside. 16:58. Does this building have stairs?

Casting my eyes around, brow knitting, I locate the stair entrance and make my way up. My heels make a hollow click as I ascend. Though I'm in decent shape, eight floors is still enough to flush me a bit, and I am grateful to stop climbing. My hand pulls on the handle ... Shit! The door is locked. Exit only. 17:02.

I knock on the door, banging more and more loudly. After a fleeting eternity a man's face appears in the square window, wearing a puzzled look with his button down shirt and tie. I motion for him to open the door and he takes his time deciding on that. What, does he think I'm a corporate spy or something?

He opens the door, "Can I help you?"

"Hi - yes- thanks. I'm just meeting a friend here after work."

This man is about six feet tall, and is nearly blocking the whole door. I turn to my side and slide past him, raking my swollen nipples across his arm in my haste. I hurry down the hall and knock urgently at Ray's door, checking my watch. 17:06. Close enough, right?

Ray opens the door and looks at me impassively. The man from the stairwell walks up behind me.

"Hey there, Ray, she kind of slipped past me. Is she here to see you?"

"Hi Blake. She is. She's late though."

Butterflies in the pit of my stomach, I can feel the blood draining from my face. This can't be happening.

"Heh. That explains why she ran past me then. No manners at all." Smirking.

"Tsk tsk ... no manners, eh? It doesn't surprise me. She is willful." Thin smile.

Oh my god - talking about me like I'm not even here. I feel small. I shrink.

Blake nods. "You going to take care of her then? Can't have her wandering around by herself up here."

Hands on his hips. "Yes, I will take her from here. Sorry about her behavior."

Knowing smile, "It's alright Ray. Just make sure she doesn't do it again."

What on earth had I done?

"Heh. No worries. I'll talk to her."

Blake walked away down the hall, and I stood outside the office door, slightly confused.

"Show me your tits". Low and calm.

Looking around, nervous, but more nervous not to, I raise my shirt to show him my breasts. He reaches out his hand to touch the spot where my cum is stuck to me. Seemingly satisfied, he steps back and brings me into the room.

He points to a spot on his office floor that has an X marked with masking tape, and guides me to stand there. I am adjusting my shirt but he stops me ... and tells me to put my hands at my sides. I am peripherally aware of his office door still open. His office is at the end of the hallway, not in a high traffic area, but I still feel the risk. He circles around me, as he did when I first came to his office (though I don't remember this X on the floor- is it new?). He slowly takes stock of me, brushing his hands over my breasts, but avoiding my hard nipples. I feel them ache and strain for him.

"How did it feel to have your cum splattered on your tits all day, Michelle?" He openly appraises my exposed breasts and tight nipples, staring at me, unhurried.

Stammering, aware of the air conditioned coolness and the open door, "It felt ... god, it felt so sexy ... so naughty. I felt like .... ", searching for the words.

"Slutty, Michelle? Like a slut with your own cum pasted to your tits?"

Shaky, trembling, "Yes - like that, yes"

"Say it for me"

Desire white hot in my head, I whisper, "It made me feel like a slut"

"Mmmmmm, good girl"

My juices run hot and wet.

"You look like a good little slut too with your tits out and your arms at your sides. Did anyone else smell the sex on you today?" He casually pulls the door shut. Relief floods my brain for a second or two until I process his last question.

Oh god. Rick. Could he smell me? I know he got an eyeful of hard nipples, but did he smell me too?

Ray thoughtfully watches me, a smile playing on his lips. He stands close behind me, not touching me, his voice hot in my ear. "Tell me, Michelle, tell me who else smelled my little slut today".

"I... I don't know."

Sternly. "Michelle!"

"I mean, I don't know if he did." Sighing, I recounted my 'meeting' with Rick earlier. He chuckled, his breath tickling.

"So tell me Michelle. Do you often run around with no panties on?"

Jesus, he knew just how to pry at me. "No. I don't... I just sort of agreed to do it this morning while chatting with a girlfriend of mine online." I sound like a complete ninny.

"Oooh, a girlfriend? Go on" smiling.

"Oh god ... not like that ... I mean ... she's beautiful ...but we aren't ... I mean we haven't even ...", sighing "She is an online friend, and we are not... um... intimate."

Chuckling, "You sound nervous. I like that." I hear the grin in his voice. "Tell me. Why are you here now? Why did you return to me this afternoon?"

I can only be honest. My brain has no capacity for subterfuge at this point. "I'm here because ... I couldn't stay away. I was so horny." I blush furiously to admit this. "I mean ... I was curious ... I don't know ..."

Laughing, "I think the first was more accurate, Michelle" I shiver. "Tell me now, what time did you get here?"

Quaking. "I ... um ..."

"Don't lie to me Michelle ... I promise, you don't want to do that."

"Oh god ... it was ... 5:06 actually", trembling.

"Good girl, Michelle. Always be honest with me. So, I take it that even though you have arrived late, you are hoping that we can continue to get to know one another, and not go back to being strangers on the elevator?"

Whispering, "Yes"

"Yes what ... be specific, please."

"Oh dear ... I do want that ... I want to get to know you more" blushing red.

Nods, "But you do understand that you were late, and so now I may not agree to it."

Dumbfounded, with naked tits, feeling exposed and vulnerable ... he may not agree? In all my imagination I never expected this. Reading my face, he smiles and chuckles.

"Well, you have been honest ... which is a requirement above all ... so I think I will give you the opportunity to make up for the minute that you were late."

My mind races ... make up for? I never expected this ...

He motions me over to his desk ... to the same spot I sat in for him earlier. He leans me back against the hard edge, and I feel it hit the same tender spot on my thighs. The recollection of my earlier exposure causes a rushing noise in my ears.

"Sit up here on my desk again ... and show me how wet you are right now. If you are not wet, then perhaps this isn't working for you."

Trembling, I know I am soaked, that my thighs are sticky with my juices, and that he will plainly see how much this is 'working' for me. I sit on the desk, remembering to raise my skirt up behind me this time (yes, I can learn), and slowly lift the front of my skirt. My sticky wet thighs come into view first, followed by my glistening mound. He smiles appreciatively at the sight of me, and tucks the hem of my skirt into the waist band.

"Touch yourself for me, Michelle, like you did this morning. But remember to stop when I tell you to. This is how you will make up for your late minute, and prove to me that you are ready for more."

Such luck! He's already seen me do this, so the exposure seems less this time. I happily touch myself for him. Enjoying the tremors of pleasure as my soggy fingers work. I spread my lips with my pointer and fourth fingers and let my middle finger slide over my hard clit. As I toy with myself, he begins to talk to me.

"Good girl, Michelle. Rub that pretty clit for me, and I will tell you a few of my expectations for you. First of all, manners. When you come to visit me here, you will call all of my colleagues on this floor by Sir or Ma'am. It is a sign of respect, of course. No, baby, don't slow down yet ... keep rubbing that clit for me. Good girl. So, when you see Blake again, you will call him Sir, as an indication of respect. You are showing respect for me by doing this, by respecting my friends and colleagues, anyone who you meet through me, anyone in my world. Nod once if you understand this, Michelle."

I nod, and continue to play at my pussy for him. I feel a bit surreal as he explains further to me. The mucus from my pussy is slick under my fingers.

"Good. Now when you first talk to Blake, you will not look into his eyes. That would be a bit presumptuous for a girl in your position. You will look at his crotch. The same goes for any of my other colleagues which you happen to meet. Heh, you may even notice some things which make your little pussy damp. Once he calls you by your name, you can look into his eyes. But if he doesn't call you by name, if he calls you 'slut' or some other name, you need to keep looking at his crotch, like a good little slut. Nod once, again, if you understand me."

I nod again, and feel the fire in my pussy as he over-uses the word slut. Such a dirty word, but the way he says it, it sounds so dear. Slut as a term of affection? My pussy tingles under my fingers as I listen to his low strong voice and agree.

"When you come into my office, I want you to go to that spot on the floor, the one I marked for you. Face toward the painting there on the wall, and wait for me to inspect you and address you. You will do this regardless of who is in the office with me, and you will not speak. Nod again for me, slut. Show me you understand."