The Blowjob I Gave Him in the Office Bathroom

This is the second story I’ve dared to confess, and perhaps the one I’m most embarrassed to remember and, at the same time, the one that excites me the most. It’s the story of the afternoon when, a few weeks after Bruno had made me his submissive, I knelt for him in the office bathroom where we both worked.

To understand what happened, you need to know how we got there. Bruno and I met in one of those endless company trainings, the kind held in a dim room where nobody pays attention. He did pay attention to me. From the very first day I had the sense that he knew exactly what I wanted before I even dared to admit it to myself.

It wasn’t abrupt. It was the way he looked at me over his screen, the way he came over to read a document over my shoulder and left his hand resting on the back of my chair a second too long. I’m thirty-one, and I thought I knew myself. Bruno, with his nearly forty years and that calm way of a man who is never in a hurry, showed me I didn’t.

The first time I gave in completely was at his apartment, one night when the rest of the team had left early. He fucked me with his hand around my neck, looking me in the eyes as he drove his cock all the way in, and made me repeat out loud that I was his, that my cunt was his, that he was going to fill it with cum whenever he damn well pleased. That night I learned what it meant for someone else to decide for me, and I discovered I liked it more than I would ever have admitted out loud. From then on, there was a silent agreement between us: when he asked, I was ready.

What I’m going to tell happened on an ordinary Tuesday, in the middle of the afternoon, during that dead hour when the office thins out a little because people go down for coffee or step out to run errands.

***

We were alone in the area with the small meeting rooms, reviewing a presentation that had to be delivered the next day. I was trying to focus on the slides, but I kept watching him move the cursor with that effortless confidence of his and my mind kept drifting somewhere else.

At one point he turned the monitor toward me, as if he wanted to show me a detail in the file. It wasn’t a detail in the file. It was a video he had left open in a tab, a woman kneeling in front of a man, mouth open and tongue out while he shoved his cock down her throat and she swallowed without pulling away.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked in a low voice, without taking his eyes off my face.

I stood there, transfixed, staring at the screen longer than I should have. The camera caught the string of saliva hanging from the girl’s chin, the way he gripped her hair, the satisfied look on his face as he came on her tongue. I felt heat rising in my cheeks and between my legs too: my panties were getting wet on their own, pressed tight against the chair. When I finally looked up, he had already realized everything.

“You’re such a tease,” he said, coming closer until his mouth was a centimeter from my ear. “You were staring like you wanted to be the one sucking that guy’s cock. Like you wanted him to come in your mouth right then and there.”

I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t want to deny it.

I told him, barely above a whisper, that I was his submissive and that I was there whenever he wanted me. As I said it, my hand had already found the bulge straining under the fabric of his pants. It was hard, very hard, and it throbbed under my fingers when I squeezed it through the cloth. Feeling it like that, in the middle of the office, with the meeting-room door barely ajar, made my heart race and had me clenching my thighs under the desk.

“Then let’s go,” he murmured, and stood up.

I followed him down the hallway to the bathrooms at the back, the ones almost nobody uses because they’re so far from the desks. I walked one step behind him, with my legs shaking a little and my wet cunt staining the seam of my pants, praying I wouldn’t run into anyone and at the same time wishing the risk wouldn’t end.

***

We went into the men’s room, which was empty. Bruno pushed open the door of one of the stalls and made me go in first. I stepped inside, locked the latch, and the metallic click echoed in my chest like it was the most final sound in the world.

He leaned against the wall, calm, looking down at me with that half-smile he already knew by heart. He didn’t need to say anything. I knelt on the cold tiles, feeling the hard ceramic against my knees, and lifted my face to look at him.

“Slowly,” he ordered. “I want to see you do it slowly. I want to see your mouth fill up with my cock.”

I undid his belt with fingers trembling from nerves. I tugged down his pants and underwear in one motion, and his cock sprang free, hard, heavy, the tip already shining with the bead that had leaked out. I took it in my hand and started stroking it up and down, unhurried, squeezing him in my fist the way he liked, feeling the thick vein pulse under my thumb. I leaned in and ran my tongue along the full length, from base to tip, very slowly, tasting him as I looked him in the eye.

I looked at him one last time before I really started. His jaw was tight and his breathing was already a little ragged. Knowing I was the one who provoked that in him gave me a strange rush of power, right at the moment I was giving myself to him completely.

First I took just the tip, playing with it, sucking the head like candy while I listened to him hold his breath. I wet the tip with saliva and pressed it between my lips, letting it sink in a couple of inches and pulling it back out with a wet sound. I took him in again, this time deeper, pressing my tongue against the frenulum, and he let out a low groan that raised goosebumps over my skin. I was focused on that when he decided enough was enough with the slow part. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and pushed, driving himself in all at once to the throat, and I had to plant my palms on his thighs and breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t gag on his whole cock inside me.

“That’s it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop. Swallow it all, that’s what I have you for.”

He set the rhythm by tugging my hair, not letting go, fucking my mouth at his pace. I could feel his cock slamming against the back of my throat again and again, saliva leaking from the corner of my mouth to my chin, dripping in thick drops onto my tits over my blouse. Within a few minutes my eyes were watering and my breathing was broken, my mascara running, little gags that he took advantage of because he said it made me feel tighter in the best way. But I didn’t want him to stop for anything in the world. Every time he eased off for a second to take air, he waited, patient, wiped away one of my tears with his thumb, and pushed back in when I nodded with my mouth still open.

One of my hands moved on its own. I unbuttoned my pants without stopping sucking him, slipped my fingers under my panties, and found my cunt soaked, swollen, with my clit hard as a stone. I started rubbing myself in circles, squeezing myself, while he fucked my mouth. When he saw it, he smiled.

“That’s it, little slut. Touch that cunt while you suck my cock. I want you to come kneeling with my dick inside you.”

At one point he leaned toward me and, without taking his eyes off me, pulled down the neckline of my blouse with his free hand. With two fingers he tugged my bra downward and popped one breast out right there in the stall. He pinched my nipple until it hardened and tore a muffled moan from me around his cock.

“I want to leave my mark on you,” he whispered. “So you remember this for the rest of the week. Every time you look in the mirror, I want you to remember you’re mine.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to say anything. I felt his mouth close over the skin of my neck, right where the collar of my shirt didn’t cover, sucking hard, barely biting, leaving that red mark I knew would be violet by the next day. I knew I’d have to come up with some excuse in front of the mirror. Far from bothering me, the idea only turned me on more and made my fingers speed up against my clit.

***

Outside, at some point, we heard the main bathroom door open. Footsteps. A faucet turning on and off. Bruno didn’t stop; on the contrary, he held my head more firmly and forced me to keep going in silence, driving himself to the back of my throat while a few feet away, on the other side of that thin door, someone washed their hands without suspecting a thing.

My heart was in my throat and his cock was too. Every thrust made a wet sound I prayed the faucet would cover. The fear of being caught mixed with the pleasure in a way I had never felt before. I closed my eyes and focused on him, on the salty taste of pre-cum on my tongue, on the heat of his cock filling my mouth, on my own fingers rubbing my wet cunt, on obeying. A shiver escaped me. I was coming, kneeling there, mouth occupied, biting my lip against his cock so I wouldn’t scream. I felt the orgasm rising from my thighs to my belly in silent waves while he kept fucking my throat as if nothing were happening. The footsteps faded away, the door closed again, and we were alone once more.

“Good girl,” he said softly. “My good little slut. You came with my cock in your mouth, didn’t you?”

I nodded with glassy eyes, still trembling. Those two words, good girl, melted me from the inside more than anything else.

Little by little I noticed his movements becoming faster and less controlled. I knew the signs: his shorter breathing, his fingers tightening in my hair, the muscles in his legs tensing under my hands, his cock swelling even more inside my mouth. It was almost over and we both knew it. I started sucking harder, hollowing my cheeks, moving my tongue against the frenulum every time he pulled out, helping him with my fist at the base.

“Take it out,” I asked softly, without stopping jerking him off. “Come on me. Mark me.”

Just as he reached the edge, he pulled back for a second, tilted my face upward, and took hold of his cock with his hand. The first rush hit my cheek, warm, thick. The second landed on my lips and my tongue, which instinctively came out to receive it. The third streamed down my chin and onto my neck, mixing with the mark he’d left earlier, sliding over my chest to the breast I still had out. I felt the heat of his cum all over my face, on my cheeks, on my marked neck, on my nipple. I stayed motionless, on my knees, a mess, mascara smeared, mouth open and tongue covered in him. He ran the tip of his cock over my lips, wiping the last drop into my mouth, and made me swallow. I swallowed it all, looking at him. Never in my life had I felt so desired as I did in that instant.

***

Then came that strange silence as always, that moment when the world returns to its place and you remember where you are. Bruno helped me up, handed me a wad of paper, and waited, leaning against the wall, while I straightened myself in front of the stall’s small mirror.

I wiped as best I could the cum from my face and neck, tucked my breast back into my bra, adjusted my blouse to hide the mark on my neck, and ran my fingers beneath my eyes to disguise the smeared mascara. My panties, soaked with my own orgasm, clung to my still-sensitive cunt every time I took a step. He watched me with a tenderness that didn’t quite fit what had just happened, and yet was exactly what I needed.

“I’ll go out first,” he told me. “Count to a hundred and come out after me. And behave yourself, because we still have the presentation half-finished.”

I laughed despite myself, my voice rough and my throat burning from being fucked. I heard him leave, heard him greet someone in the hallway with total normality, as if nothing had happened, and I stayed one more minute leaning against the stall door, trying to get my heart back in place.

When I finally came out, I crossed paths in the hallway with two coworkers talking about a report. I greeted them with my best smile and kept walking, with the mark on my neck hidden under the fabric, the taste of his cum still on my palate, and a secret burning inside me. That afternoon we finished the presentation like two impeccable professionals. No one suspected a thing.

Before leaving, while he was gathering his things, Bruno came over to my desk for a moment under the pretense of dropping off a folder.

“This weekend,” he said very quietly, not looking at me, “I want you to come to my house. I have a surprise for you.”

I nodded without saying anything, just like always. And as I watched him walk away toward the elevator, with my panties still sticky and my neck burning beneath the fabric, I knew I was already counting the hours. But that, that’s another story I may dare to tell one day.