My Boss Caught Me in the Office Bathroom

My name is Darío, and even today my pulse quickens when I remember that August afternoon at the office. It wasn't just any fantasy or some clean little adventure. It was filthy, awkward, forbidden, and precisely for that reason, impossible to forget.

I worked at a law firm where everything smelled of paper, air conditioning, and people who were far too proper. I could barely stand most of them, but Mara was different. She was tall, blonde, mature, with a confidence that filled any room before she even opened her mouth, and for months I had imagined what it would be like to watch her lose control.

She was married, had an orderly life, and moved in a way that made even something as simple as crossing her legs seem obscene. She had never clearly encouraged me, but she wasn't cold with me either. Sometimes she leaned over my desk more than necessary, or held my gaze for one extra second, and I would spend the rest of the day with my cock hard inside my trousers.

That summer, the office gradually emptied out. Only a few of us remained, finishing files before the shutdown. That morning we'd worked almost in silence, and it wasn't until close to noon that I realized we were practically alone on the entire floor.

—Darío, are you coming down to lunch with me? —she asked from the doorway of my office, with a tired smile.

—If it's with you, I'd be delighted —I replied, trying to sound calm.

She let out a brief laugh. —Thank God, because I need to get out of here before I start biting someone.

We crossed to the restaurant opposite and, for the first time in a long while, talked about something besides work. She told me that her husband and children had already gone to the coast for a few days and that she'd stayed home alone, finishing up some pending matters.

—You have no idea how good it feels to get home, close the door, and not have to talk to anyone —she said, stirring the ice in her glass—. Put on some music, take a peaceful bath, lie on the sofa... The whole house to myself.

—Sounds better than any hotel —I said.

—Believe me, it isn't always. Chosen solitude is delicious. The other kind... not so much.

I noticed a change in her voice. She was no longer the confident, teasing woman she always was. There was something softer underneath, something worn down. I asked if she was all right, and she shrugged.

—From the outside, everything looks perfect. But routine rots things. And when you also suspect your husband is fooling around, well, that makes it worse.

—Has he cheated on you?

She held my gaze. —Let's just say he stopped making an effort to hide it.

I didn't know what to say. I muttered something clumsy about the rough patches in a relationship, about time, about trying to fix things. She smiled with a mixture of irony and exhaustion.

—Sometimes you feel like hitting back, you know? Just to remind yourself that you can still hurt someone.

We went back up to the office after lunch and each returned to our desk. But I couldn't concentrate anymore. Her confession was in my head, her tone, that sentence spoken almost as if it had slipped out. For the first time I felt her as someone close, imperfect, carnal. She was no longer merely the immaculate colleague who secretly turned me on, but a wounded, furious woman full of pent-up desire.

Less than an hour later, she came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. That simple contact made my whole body prickle.

—I'm leaving now. I can't take any more —she said—. I'll come back for a while tomorrow and finish whatever's left.

—Are you all right?

—Yes. I need a long bath and a run, or I'll explode.

She leaned down, wrapped her arms around me, and gave me two slow kisses, far too close to my mouth to be innocent. I felt the perfume on her neck, the firm brush of her tits against my chest, and for a moment I had to clench my teeth to keep from grabbing her by the waist.

—Thanks for listening to me —she whispered—. You're a sweetheart.

I watched her walk toward the corridor and disappear into the women's bathroom before leaving. A minute later I heard the main door and the sharp thud as it closed. Then I was left alone with the hum of the air conditioning, the tension in my legs, and a sick idea that flashed through my mind like a spark.

I went to the women's bathroom with my heart pounding. I'm not going to pretend I felt proud. I was driven by pure kink, by the need to get into something forbidden, to smell an intimacy that didn't belong to me. I shut the door, crouched in front of the cabinet beneath the sink, and found an open toiletry bag containing toiletries, makeup, a clean change of clothes, tissues.

That wasn't what I was looking for.

I looked at the wastebasket. Inside was a tightly crumpled roll of toilet paper and another, smaller wrapper. I picked it up with clumsy fingers, as if I were stealing a relic. When I unwrapped it, a tampon stained dark red appeared. It still held some warmth.

My mouth went dry.

I held it in my palm and felt a brutal pull in my crotch. It was obscene, yes. It was disgusting to anyone looking at it from the outside. But at that moment I wasn't thinking with my head. I could only see direct evidence of her body, her cunt, of something that had been inside her only minutes before.

I brought it to my nose and breathed deeply. The smell was metallic, intimate, thick. With my other hand I lowered my zipper and pulled out my cock, already hard, throbbing against my abdomen. I began masturbating slowly, staring at that red stain like a sick man.

—Fuck... —I murmured.

I brushed my tongue over one of the damp strands. It wasn't the taste that drove me crazy, but the very fact of doing it. The idea of crossing a line that was disgusting and arousing at the same time shook me to the core. I gripped the shaft of my cock tightly, faster and faster, panting alone in that bathroom like an idiot consumed by kink.

Then the door opened.

I froze, my cock out, the tampon in my hand, unable to react. I looked up and there was Mara, motionless in the doorway, her purse in one hand and her keys in the other.

She didn't scream. She didn't run. She closed the door with terrifying calm and slid the lock.

—So it was you —she said.

I couldn't answer. I could barely breathe.

Her eyes dropped to my hand, then to my cock, then back to my face. She approached slowly, her short heels marking every step on the floor. I remained petrified, expecting a slap, an insult, anything.

—You forgot to hide the lock last time —she murmured—. Weeks ago I came in and knew someone had been rummaging around in here. I didn't know who.

I felt an emptiness in my stomach. —Mara, I...

—Shut up.

The way she said it pierced me. It wasn't a shout. It was a clean, dry order. I fell silent at once.

—Look at you —she continued, stopping in front of me—. Your cock in your hand, sniffing my trash like a pervert. Is that what you do when a woman turns you on? Steal what she throws away?

My face burned with shame. —I'm sorry.

—I didn't ask for an apology. I asked you a question.

I swallowed. —Yes.

The corners of her lips lifted into the faintest smile. —Obedient all of a sudden.

She watched me for a few seconds. I still had a taut, ridiculous erection that was impossible to hide. She reached out, took the wrist holding the tampon, and raised it to my face.

—Smell it again.

I did.

—Deeper.

I obeyed, trembling. I felt my cock twitch. She saw it and gave a low, cruel little laugh.

—It turns you on. Of course it does. You're a pig.

Those words, instead of weakening me, made me even harder. She noticed. She released my wrist and seized my chin.

—Look at me when I talk to you. If I'm going to decide what to do with you, I want to know how far your perversion goes.

I looked at her. I no longer saw only anger on her face. There was something else, a darker glint, a sharp curiosity. The air in the bathroom had grown thick.

—Do you come thinking about me? —she asked.

—Yes.

—Do you imagine my cunt?

—Yes.

—Do you imagine my husband fucking me?

The question hit me. I hesitated for a second, and she tightened her grip on my jaw.

—Answer.

—Yes.

—And do you imagine taking his place?

—Yes.

She smiled for the first time in earnest. —I like that better.

She leaned against the sink and folded her arms. —Then you're going to keep masturbating. Here. In front of me. And you won't come until I allow it.

I began moving my hand again, slowly, under her gaze. My breathing bounced off the bathroom walls. She was still dressed for the office: straight skirt, pale blouse, heels. Even so, she had more power over me than any naked fantasy I'd ever imagined.

—Slower —she ordered—. I want to watch you suffer a little.

I slowed my rhythm. The tension hurt.

—Now stick out your tongue.

I stuck it out. She brought the tampon to my mouth and barely touched the tip of my tongue with it.

—Lick it.

I did, without taking my eyes from hers. A dry moan escaped my throat.

—You're disgusting —she whispered—. And so easy to control.

My hand tightened. She slapped my fingers.

—Not so fast. I want you to hold it.

I obeyed as if I'd spent my whole life waiting for someone to speak to me that way. The humiliation burned in my face while at the same time swelling my cock until it hurt. Mara noticed everything.

—Do you like being treated this way?

—Yes.

—Say it properly.

—Yes, I like it.

—No. Say it as you should.

I lowered my eyes for a second. —Yes, ma'am.

Her expression changed slightly, as if that word had unlocked something inside her. She straightened, moved closer, and caressed the bulge of my cock with two fingers, over my own hand.

—That's better.

She pushed me gently aside and pointed to the floor. —On your knees.

I knelt in front of her without arguing. From below, she looked enormous and dominant, her long legs outlined by the skirt and the hard expression of someone who had already decided. With one hand she undid the top of my shirt.

—If someone calls, you don't make a sound. If I tell you to stop, you stop. And if you touch anything of mine without permission again, I'll ruin your life in this office. Understood?

—Understood, ma'am.

—Good.

She hiked her skirt up to mid-thigh. Beneath it she wore stockings and smooth, dark panties stretched tight against her body. The sight left me breathless.

—Kiss my legs.

I left kisses from her knee to the edge of the stocking. She held me by the hair to set the pace. It wasn't a brutal pull, but it was firm, enough to make sure I understood who was in charge.

—Now the fabric. Over it.

I pressed my mouth to the damp bulge of her panties and heard her exhale for the first time with a real tremor. That's when I knew it wasn't just punishment. I was turning her on too.

—Again —she said, more quietly.

I licked slowly over the fabric, tasting the mixture of her arousal and the scent of soap. She was wet. Very wet. Her skirt trembled slightly as she spread her legs farther.

—Shit —she murmured—. Keep going.

My tongue sank into the soaked fabric, and she began using my head however she wanted, pushing me, pulling me away, forcing me to persist exactly where she liked it most. My cock burned between my legs and I wasn't even thinking about touching myself anymore. I only wanted to hear her pant.

—Stand up —she ordered abruptly.

I did. She turned me against the door, opened my shirt with two tugs, and pulled my trousers down to my thighs. Then she smacked my ass sharply. The sound bounced off the tiles.

—You earned that for being a pig.

The second smack was harder. I hissed, and she gave me another, enjoying my tension.

—Does it turn you on when I punish you?

—Yes, ma'am.

—Of course it does.

She reached around in front, grabbed my cock, and squeezed it authoritatively, without tenderness. My knees nearly buckled. She began jerking me off at a firm pace, watching the back of my neck, my broken breathing, my obedient body against the door.

—Look at you. All this over a used tampon. You have so little dignity.

—Yes...

—I didn't tell you to speak.

I fell silent immediately. She sped up a little, then released me all at once. I almost came right there.

—Not yet.

She pulled her panties down to her thighs and took my hand. She forced me to touch her. Her fingers covered mine as she guided me over her open cunt, swollen and hot.

—That's what you wanted, isn't it? To feel it for real.

I slid in one finger, then two, following the pressure of her hand. She was soaking wet. She bit her lip and rested her forehead between my shoulder blades.

—Deeper.

I obeyed. Her hips began moving against my hand, some of her composure slipping away. The cold woman who owned everything was beginning to break beneath her own command.

—Now suck your fingers.

I pulled my hand out and put my fingers in my mouth. Her taste was intense, salty, hot. She watched me with half-closed eyes and murmured:

—Fuck... What a bastard.

She turned and kissed me. It was a rough, wet kiss, with tongue, without any tenderness. She bit my lip, pressed me against the sink, and grabbed my cock again.

—I want you to fuck me, but you're going to do it my way.

I nodded, panting.

—Don't even think about coming before I do.

I pulled my trousers all the way down and she leaned over the sink, pushing her panties aside. The sight of her firm ass, her taut thighs, and her open cunt waiting for me clouded my mind. I moved behind her and rubbed the tip of my cock between her lips.

—Get inside already —she said through clenched teeth.

I entered her slowly at first, feeling her swallow me inch by inch. She was so tight and wet that I had to close my eyes for a second to keep from losing control. When I was fully inside her, we both moaned at the same time.

—Fuck, yes —she breathed—. Like that.

I began thrusting carefully, gauging the rhythm, still conscious of where we were. But Mara reached one hand back, grabbed my ass, and pushed me deeper.

—Don't hold back. Fuck me.

That was enough. I gripped her hip with one hand and her hair with the other, and began to really give it to her. The wet sound of every thrust filled the bathroom. Her body struck the sink, my pelvis pounded her ass, and she moaned in a broken voice, increasingly less concerned about the noise.

—Harder —she said—. I want to feel all of you.

I obeyed. I fucked her hard, driving into her again and again, feeling her tighten around my cock whenever I brushed the right spot. She spread her legs farther and one hand moved down to her clitoris.

—Don't stop —she panted—. Don't stop, you bastard.

My free hand went to her neck, not to choke her, but to hold her, to mark my dominance exactly where she had taught me to. The pressure made her moan louder.

—That's it —she said with a breathless smile reflected in the mirror—. You've learned.

I went faster. I felt the heat of her cunt around me, sweat running down my back, the delicious pain of holding back my release while she came undone in front of me. She watched me in the mirror with bright eyes, still giving orders even as I fucked her like an animal.

—Tell me who's in charge —she demanded.

—You are, ma'am.

—Again.

—You're in charge.

She came almost immediately after hearing it. I felt it in the way her body clenched and began to tremble. She came with her hand between her legs and my cock pounding deep, with short, broken moans, trying not to scream as the orgasm swept through her legs.

—Keep going, keep going, keep going... —she repeated.

I kept going. There was no way I could stop for long. She rose slightly, grabbed me by the nape, and breathed the order into my ear.

—Now you can. Come inside me.

Hearing that made me lose the fight. I wrapped an arm around her waist and came buried deep inside her, spilling in long pulses while I bit her shoulder to muffle my moan. She took every spasm, thrusting her ass backward, milking me until I was empty.

We remained still for a few seconds, breathing as if we'd run a marathon. The mirror was fogged. My cock was still inside her, slowly softening.

She was the first to pull away. She calmly pulled up her panties, straightened her skirt, and looked at herself in the mirror as if she'd just touched up her lipstick before a meeting. I was still trembling, my shirt open and my mind in ruins.

—Listen carefully, Darío —she said, washing her hands—. This wasn't an accident. You crossed a door, and I decided what to do with you. Don't confuse that with trust.

I nodded silently.

She dried her hands, came closer, and adjusted my shirt collar with an almost insulting delicacy. —If I want to do this again, I'll let you know. If not, it ends here. And the next time you feel like snooping through my trash, you ask permission.

I couldn't help a nervous half-smile. She erased it by touching my cheek.

—Don't get smart. You're still a pervert. Only now you're my pervert whenever I feel like it.

She slid back the lock and, before leaving, turned slightly toward me.

—Come without a tie tomorrow. I want something to pull without wasting time.

And she left.

I remained alone in the bathroom, my legs weak, my body still shaking, and one certainty lodged in my chest. That afternoon I hadn't fulfilled a fantasy. I'd entered something much darker: a game of domination, punishment, and desire that, deep down, I no longer wanted to escape.