Hot Lunch
25-Jul-24 20:55
She always sits on his desk at lunchtime. He’d never say but he keeps the space clutter free, just in case she decides to visit during morning break - not happened yet, he lives in hope. The open plan office is big, a walkway up the middle and desks branching off at intervals, eight in total. He occupies a corner, which is perfect as he hates being watched while he works. Sitting closest to the entrance has it’s advantages, he turns just in time to watch her walking in. She turns and half smiles but carries on through.
It’s a busy morning and very warm, the skylights look out onto a clear blue sky and fans are being used on nearly every desk. She went out on calls and came back looking flushed and hot, it’s a look he knows well. Now sharing space as they usually do, he’s reading and just happy to have her close, it’s soppy and he knows it. Then, without warning, cutting through such sentimental reverie her foot is on his inner thigh. A casual invasion of private space, which normally he can’t abide. Barefoot her toes graze his skin as she slowly stretches her leg, moving it inside his shorts. The view is theirs alone obscured as it is by his monitor and workstation. Legs slightly parted he catches a glimpse of her underwear her skirt isn’t so short to be indecent, it rode up when she moved forward.
She leans back and rests on her arms, arching her back slightly he can she’s aroused by the situation, nipples pert and showing through her blouse. It looks like a stretch to anyone else, his cock swells as she presses the toes down. In the act her legs are parted wider, her sex showing outside her panties.
The office is almost empty, the nearest occupied desk is two over and there’s still 20 minutes of lunch left. This could be foolish and it’s certainly risky but fuck it he thinks, as he rolls the chair forward, her skin is still on his, but he’s going deeper than that. His hand is on the desk, between her spread thighs, he looks over her shoulder once, and then moves his hand into the shelter of her dress, fingers meet the softness within, she gasps quietly as he inserts fingertip, she’s wetter than he thought, as he glides it up and down she squeezes her legs around his wrist, trapping him.
With some urgency and the need to look like he’s not doing what’s he doing - things have gone further than either had planned - he starts with the pretence of work. She’s biting her lip as he slides a second finger in and works them in a beckoning motion, thankfully the noise is muffled by her thighs, she’s so fucking wet.
The hour is nearly over, they need to untangle and there’s a look of comprehension passes between them, a look that says ‘go slowly.
It’s a busy morning and very warm, the skylights look out onto a clear blue sky and fans are being used on nearly every desk. She went out on calls and came back looking flushed and hot, it’s a look he knows well. Now sharing space as they usually do, he’s reading and just happy to have her close, it’s soppy and he knows it. Then, without warning, cutting through such sentimental reverie her foot is on his inner thigh. A casual invasion of private space, which normally he can’t abide. Barefoot her toes graze his skin as she slowly stretches her leg, moving it inside his shorts. The view is theirs alone obscured as it is by his monitor and workstation. Legs slightly parted he catches a glimpse of her underwear her skirt isn’t so short to be indecent, it rode up when she moved forward.
She leans back and rests on her arms, arching her back slightly he can she’s aroused by the situation, nipples pert and showing through her blouse. It looks like a stretch to anyone else, his cock swells as she presses the toes down. In the act her legs are parted wider, her sex showing outside her panties.
The office is almost empty, the nearest occupied desk is two over and there’s still 20 minutes of lunch left. This could be foolish and it’s certainly risky but fuck it he thinks, as he rolls the chair forward, her skin is still on his, but he’s going deeper than that. His hand is on the desk, between her spread thighs, he looks over her shoulder once, and then moves his hand into the shelter of her dress, fingers meet the softness within, she gasps quietly as he inserts fingertip, she’s wetter than he thought, as he glides it up and down she squeezes her legs around his wrist, trapping him.
With some urgency and the need to look like he’s not doing what’s he doing - things have gone further than either had planned - he starts with the pretence of work. She’s biting her lip as he slides a second finger in and works them in a beckoning motion, thankfully the noise is muffled by her thighs, she’s so fucking wet.
The hour is nearly over, they need to untangle and there’s a look of comprehension passes between them, a look that says ‘go slowly.
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