Bored at the Office, I Did Something I Shouldn't Have

There are afternoons at the office that never seem to end. This was one of them. I had cleared all my pending work before noon, the phones had been silent for hours, and the rest of the team had gone off to training in the other building. It was just me left, the hum of the air conditioner, and a sticky heat seeping through the blinds no matter what.

To kill time, I opened the browser and went onto one of those story sites I read when no one’s looking. It’s a secret I keep well: no one at the office would ever imagine that the organized girl who answers emails in record time spends her time reading steamy stories between spreadsheets.

The first one I came across that afternoon was about a woman who went in for a massage and ended up sleeping with the masseur. I read it all the way through, slowly, savoring every line. The way he oiled her back, how his hands went lower than they should have, how she pretended not to notice until it was already too late to pretend anything. By the time I got to the end, my cheeks were hot and one fixed thought was circling through my head.

What would it feel like if a complete stranger made me his until my legs were trembling?

I know that feeling by heart. Those afternoons when desire appears out of nowhere and there’s no way to wait until you get home. Your body wants what it wants and it doesn’t care about schedules or places.

I grabbed my phone, put on my headphones, and started looking for videos. I’m not sure exactly what I was searching for, but I recognized it the second I found it: a woman rubbing herself against the edge of a table, slowly at first, then with no pretense at all. Her eyes were closed and her expression was one of total concentration, as if nothing else in the world existed except that wooden edge and her own pleasure.

I watched it once. Then again. And by the second round I was already wet, shifting in my chair, squeezing my thighs together without even realizing it. The air conditioner was blowing against the back of my neck, but I was burning everywhere. I could feel my blouse stuck to my skin and an insistent tingling between my legs demanding attention.

I reached into my bag looking for my vibrator and then I remembered: the night before I had been playing with it and left it on my nightstand. I let out a sigh of pure frustration. But I was too aroused to leave it at that.

I looked around. No one. Not a soul on the whole floor.

***

I got up with my pulse racing and walked to the bathroom. I locked the door, lifted my dress — that long linen dress that saved me that afternoon — and pulled down my underwear. Black lace panties, my favorites, the ones that make me feel good even when no one can see them. I tucked them into the pocket of my dress, thinking that if someone showed up, I’d just have to let the fabric fall and no one would notice a thing.

At the back of the office there’s a private room we almost never use, the one for important meetings that never happen. It was the perfect place. Before going in, I took some hand sanitizer and a few napkins and cleaned the corner of the desk well, the one that would be my toy for the next ten minutes.

I peeked once more down the hallway. Empty. The reception area, empty. Even the street outside the window looked deserted: not a pedestrian, not a car, nothing to distract me from what I was about to do.

I locked the office door.

***

I sat on the edge of the desk and sucked two fingers to get them good and wet. I didn’t need much more than that. By the time I brought my hand down, I was already soaked, slippery, ready. I played with my clit for a while, in slow circles, just to feel it harden under my fingertips. Every stroke sent a shiver up my back.

I stood up. I moved to the corner of the desk, spread my lips with both hands, and pressed myself against the edge. The first contact was electric: my heat against the cold glass covering the wood. My breath caught.

I started moving. Back and forth, slowly, letting the edge press exactly where I needed it. The friction was precise, perfect, better than I had imagined while watching the video. I looked down and saw the mark I was leaving on the glass, the shiny trail of how wet I was, and that image turned me on even more.

If someone walked in right now and saw me like this…

The thought should have stopped me. It did the exact opposite. I imagined a shadow in the doorway, eyes watching me, and desire shot through me all at once.

With one hand I held my dress up at the waist. With the other I pulled down the neckline and took out one breast. I pinched my nipple hard, harder than I usually do, until pain mixed with pleasure and the two became impossible to tell apart.

I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. The office was still silent, but I wasn’t thinking about that anymore. I was somewhere else, in that fantasy where a stranger shoved me against the desk and took me without asking permission, where I didn’t have to decide anything, just let myself go.

I imagined it in full detail: big hands on my hips, a body pressing me against the wood, a low voice in my ear telling me not to make a sound, that someone might come in. I imagined myself unable to stay still, biting my hand to keep from screaming while he went on mercilessly. The idea of being caught, of someone opening the door at that exact moment, had me on the brink of something huge.

The cold glass and my heat, the edge pressing, the nipple burning between my fingers. Every sensation piled on the last. I slowed down on purpose, drawing out the moment, denying myself the ending a little longer so that when it came it would be devastating.

***

The movement grew faster. Rougher. I felt everything building in my lower belly, that tension that tightens and tightens until there’s no turning back. I braced both hands on the desk and threw myself against the edge again and again, chasing the release.

—Don’t stop —I whispered to myself, as if there were someone there to hear me.

And then it hit.

I came harder than I expected. It wasn’t gentle or quiet. It was a jolt that shook me all over, my knees gave out, and I felt myself come apart. And, to my surprise, I couldn’t hold it in: I came so hard I soaked the whole desk. I barely managed to pull away and crouch down so it wouldn’t splash any more than it already had.

I stayed there, crouched on the office floor, trembling, heart hammering, with a silly grin on my face. I can’t believe I just did that. But I had. And it had been incredible.

***

The pleasure didn’t last long. Reality came rushing back when I looked at the mess: the desk glass shining, a puddle starting to run toward the edge, drops on the floor. I hurriedly fixed my dress, left the office, and went to the bathroom for more napkins.

I cleaned the desk first, scrubbing quickly, ears tuned to any sound. Then I went to get a rag for the floor. And just then, as I was coming back with the rag in my hand and my cheeks still red, I heard the front door open.

It was Rodrigo, my boss.

My blood ran cold. I had thought he was in training with the others, not walking into the office at the worst possible time. He looked at me, looked at the rag, looked at the wet floor.

—What happened here? —he asked, frowning.

I felt my face burn. For one endless second I thought it showed on me, that somehow he knew, that I had it written all over my forehead.

—Nothing, I spilled a glass of water —I said, and I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded—. I’m almost done cleaning.

Rodrigo nodded, muttered something about being careful with the papers, and went into his office without suspecting a thing. I finished drying the floor with my hands still trembling, biting back a smile.

***

I went back to my desk —mine, not the crime scene’s— and sat down as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. I could feel it between my legs, that hot pulse that wouldn’t go out, that echo of the orgasm that had shaken me minutes earlier.

I crossed my legs slowly and took a deep breath. On the other side of the wall, Rodrigo was typing at his computer, completely oblivious to what had been going on in his meeting room a few minutes before he arrived.

And I stayed there, with my underwear still tucked into the pocket of my dress and my heart racing, thinking that maybe —just maybe— dead afternoons at the office weren’t so boring after all.

That night, at home, I got my vibrator back from the nightstand. But it wasn’t the same anymore. Nothing compares to the adrenaline of doing it where you shouldn’t, with danger breathing down your neck and the silence of a place that isn’t yours. I stayed awake for a good while, replaying every second, promising myself I wouldn’t do something that crazy again.

Although, if I’m honest, I was already thinking about the next quiet afternoon.