The Fantasy of My First Time in the Office

I’d been a trainee at the consulting firm for three weeks when I started noticing Rodrigo.

He wasn’t the managing director or the youngest on the team, but he had that kind of presence that fills a room before the person even walks in. He must have been in his early thirties, with the calm voice of someone used to being listened to and a way of looking at you that made you feel like you were the only person in the building. He dressed well without seeming to try. He spoke little in big meetings and a lot in the hallways.

I sat at the last desk in the row, closest to the copier and the least interesting spot on the floor. My tasks were filing, checking spreadsheets, and carrying documents from one floor to another. Nothing that required too much thinking. But every time Rodrigo passed by the corridor and gave me one of those tiny nods — an almost imperceptible greeting, as if he knew I wasn’t expecting anything more — the whole day took on a different color.

I imagined things. It was impossible not to.

I imagined that one day he’d stop by my desk and ask me something that had nothing to do with work. I imagined the conversation going on longer than usual, that we’d find some point in common, that at some point his eyes would drop for a second to my tits and then come back to my face with that split second of delay that says everything without saying anything. I imagined his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers, outlined beneath the gray cloth, while I pretended to check folders. I imagined a lot of things while I sorted files no one would look at for weeks, and sometimes those images were enough to have me coming home with my panties soaked through.

That was all: imagination. Or at least that was what I kept telling myself every time I got home with that strange tension settled between my legs, every time I got into bed and ended up with two fingers buried in my cunt and his name between my teeth.

***

That Tuesday I arrived at the office only half there. I’d slept badly, thinking about things with no immediate solution, and I’d spent hours on the same mechanical work as always. When my desk phone rang around six in the evening, I didn’t expect it to be his voice.

—Can you come by my office before you leave? —he said—. When you’re done with whatever you’re doing.

It wasn’t exactly a question. It wasn’t an order either. It was something in between that left me staring at the receiver a second after he hung up.

—Of course —I’d answered, too late for him to hear it.

I took ten minutes I didn’t need. I finished arranging what was on my desk, put my bag in the drawer, washed my hands in the floor bathroom. In the mirror I lingered longer than necessary. It wasn’t that I expected anything to happen. It was just that I wanted to show up whole.

When I stepped into his office, he was standing by the window, his tie already loosened and the first button of his shirt undone. The late-day light lit him from the side.

—Sit down —he said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk, and then he sat down himself.

At first it was an ordinary conversation. He asked me how I was finding the internship, whether the team had treated me well, whether the workload seemed reasonable for someone in my position. I answered carefully, using precise words, trying to sound like someone who had things under control, even though inside my heart was beating a little faster than normal.

Then the conversation shifted, without my being able to pinpoint the exact moment when it did.

He started talking to me about when he’d first started out. About mistakes he’d made at my age and only understood years later. About things no one teaches you at university and that you only learn in a certain way. And then, just as naturally as he had asked about my work schedule, he asked me whether I had a partner.

—No —I said.

—Have you ever had one?

—Nothing serious.

—Anyone who knows how to fuck you? —he asked, without changing his tone, as if he were asking about the weather.

My mouth went dry.

—No —I said softly.

He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off me. There was something in his expression that wasn’t exactly kindness. It was older than that.

—Do the first times scare you? —he asked.

It took me a moment to answer, weighing exactly what he meant.

—Depends which ones —I said at last.

A brief smile crossed his face. He stood up from the chair. He walked around the desk at an unhurried pace, with no rush at all, like someone with no intention of running. The click of the lock was sharp and clear in the silence of the office.

Click.

I turned toward the door and then looked back at him. He was less than a meter from me. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in the air had: something had compressed between us, the way pressure drops before a storm.

—There are things it’s better to learn with someone who knows how to do them —he said—. No pressure. No one judging you afterward.

He rested one hand on the edge of the desk beside my chair.

—What kind of things? —I asked, though part of me already knew.

—How to spread your legs for someone who knows what he’s doing —he said—. How to ask to be fucked. How to take a cock down your throat without getting nervous. Things you can’t explain well with words.

I felt my panties go damp all at once, without warning.

***

He kissed me slowly at first.

One hand on my cheek, the other braced on the back of the chair, touching me no more than that. His lips were direct, without hesitation, and he smelled of something I couldn’t quite identify but that felt familiar in a way that had no logical explanation. When he pulled back, he stayed a few centimeters away and looked at me with narrowed eyes.

—Open your mouth —he said softly.

I did it without thinking. And then the kiss was different: deeper, with precise intent, his tongue searching for mine with a slowness that made me close my eyes and grip the chair’s armrests. His hand slid down my neck, followed the neckline of my blouse, and squeezed one of my tits over the fabric, weighing it, pinching the nipple between his forefinger and thumb until a moan escaped me into his mouth. When we parted, both of us were breathing differently.

—You have no idea how much effort it takes me —he murmured near my ear— not to split you open right now.

—Then don’t —I said.

There was a pause. He studied me as though I had just changed the rules of something.

—Are you sure?

—I’ve never been surer of anything.

Something in his expression relaxed and hardened at the same time. He pulled my blouse up over my head with precise movements and lowered my skirt zipper until it fell to the floor. I was left in bra and panties, my nipples showing through the lace and a dark, obvious patch staining the fabric between my legs. He looked at it without hiding it.

—You’re soaked —he said—. We haven’t even started and you’re already soaked.

I tried to unbuckle his belt, but my fingers barely obeyed me. He watched for a moment with a half-smile and took the leather belt from my hands before I could finish.

—You think you can keep up —he said—. Sometimes that has consequences.

He motioned for me to lift my wrists. He tied them to the back of the chair with a knot that wasn’t too tight but that made escape impossible without help. I felt the first real vertigo.

It wasn’t fear exactly. It was something more complex: a mix of nerves and anticipation and the awareness that from now on the situation no longer depended on me. That I could simply be there.

—If you want to stop —he said—, you say it.

I nodded.

—With words —he insisted.

—I’m saying it with words —I repeated.

He nodded. And then it really began.

***

He knelt between my legs. He unclasped my bra with one hand and left it hanging from the tied straps, baring my tits. He stared at them for a second as if evaluating something, and then took one nipple into his mouth while his other hand squeezed the other breast hard. He sucked slowly, with his tongue flat, then bit down just enough to draw a moan that bounced off the walls of the office.

—Lower —he whispered—. Or they’ll hear you all the way downstairs.

—I don’t care —I said, and it was true.

He moved down my sternum, across my stomach, to the waistband of my panties. He slipped his fingers into the elastic and pulled them down slowly, dragging them off over my ankles, and tossed them beside the belt hanging from my wrists. He spread my legs with his palms, setting my knees on the chair’s armrests, and stared at my cunt open in front of his face.

—Look at how you are —he said—. All wet for me.

And then he lowered his mouth.

The first lick was long, from bottom to top, the full length of my sex with his tongue flat. I nearly arched against the restraints. He did it again, and again, slower each time, until his tongue stopped at my clit and started circling there, making precise, unhurried rounds. I pushed my hips forward, looking for more pressure, and the belt cut into my wrists.

—Rodrigo, please —I said, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

He slid two fingers inside without stopping sucking my clit. He curved them upward, searching for a spot I had never found on my own, and when he touched it for the first time I heard myself let out a short, sharp cry. He laughed against my cunt and touched it again, once, twice, until I started trembling against his face.

—Not yet —he said, and pulled his fingers out.

—Rodrigo…

—When I say so.

He stood up. He loosened his tie, took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and pulled down his trousers and boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, hard, thick, pointing upward, with a bright drop at the tip. My mouth watered before I could stop it.

—Open your mouth —he said, taking his cock in one hand and standing in front of me.

I opened my mouth. He slid it in slowly, one hand on the back of my neck, not pushing too deep the first time, giving me time to get used to the thickness. I started sucking him as best I could, moving my head as far as my tied wrists allowed, coating his shaft in saliva.

—That’s it —he said in a rough voice—. Just like that. Tongue out.

I stuck it out. I licked under him, from base to tip, and took him back in, deeper this time, until I felt the head brush my throat and a brief gag shook me. He held my face and kept me there another second, looking me in the eyes.

—Good girl —he said, and pulled out.

I was left panting, with strings of saliva running down my chin to my tits.

—Stand up —he ordered.

He lifted me from the chair with my wrists still tied to the backrest and in one movement untied me, only to bind my hands in front, with the belt crossed over my wrists. He turned me against the desk and gently pushed me by the back until I was bent over the wood, my tits against the cold surface and my ass in the air.

He spread my feet apart with the tip of his shoe.

—This is how I wanted you —he said, running one hand down my back to my ass, squeezing one cheek—. Quiet and open.

I felt the tip of his cock rubbing between my lips, sliding because I was so wet, still not entering. I pushed my hips back, searching for it, and he drew away, laughing under his breath.

—Ask for it.

—Put it in me —I said, and I didn’t care about anything anymore—. Put it in me all the way. Fuck me, please.

He went in with one thrust.

I felt every inch all at once. A first brief, dull pain that almost immediately turned into something else, into something that wanted more than I had expected. He filled me completely. My legs searched for somewhere to brace themselves and found nothing: just him, the edge of the desk against my hips, and the leather belt around my wrists resting on the papers.

—Good? —he asked, still inside me, motionless.

—Keep going —I answered—. Keep going, don’t stop.

He started moving. Slowly at first, measuring, pulling out to the tip and driving back in to the hilt, reading every reaction. Then deeper and harder, with his hands gripping my hips, until the crash of our bodies and the sound of skin against skin was the only thing that existed in that office, with the blinds half down and the late-afternoon light filtering through in slanted strips across the floor.

—Look how well it goes in you —he said behind me, his voice broken—. Look how your cunt is sucking my cock.

I begged for more. I didn’t know I was capable of begging that clearly, but I did. Harder. Deeper. Faster. He yanked my hair until my torso lifted off the desk and fucked me like that, my back arched, one hand in my hair and the other wrapped around in front of me, two fingers playing with my clit in time with each thrust.

—I’m going to come —I said, and it was almost a warning.

—Come —he said—. Come on my cock. Now.

The orgasm hit me all at once, from bottom to top, and I felt myself clench around him completely, squeezing him in spasms I couldn’t control. I screamed against the desk, my face pressed into the papers, and he kept thrusting through the whole orgasm, never slowing down, until I started shaking in his hands.

—Finish inside —I murmured when I felt him close to the edge.

—Are you sure?

—Yes. Yes. Come inside me.

He gave three or four more thrusts, each one deeper, more brutal, and then he sank in all the way and stayed there. What came after was heat: thick, from the inside out, spreading through my whole body. I felt each spurt against the walls, one after another, while he let out a low groan against my neck. He buried his face in my throat as he finished, his hands clamped on my hips as if I might disappear if he let go.

He pulled out slowly. I felt a trail of semen running down my thigh before I could close my legs.

Then there was silence. The kind of silence that takes up space.

***

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling of my room. The desk lamp still on. The laptop screen flashing in sleep mode, the report half-open.

I lay there for a few seconds staring up, my breathing still uneven and a soft kind of buzzing all through my body.

The sheets were twisted. My fingers were wet and sticky. I brought my hand to my face and smelled my fingertips: they smelled like me, like a wet cunt, like what had happened only in my head.

I sat up slowly in bed and looked at the time on my phone. It was eleven at night. In less than nine hours I had to go back to the consulting firm, sit at the last desk in the row, file folders no one would look at for weeks. At some point during the day, Rodrigo was going to pass by the corridor and give that tiny nod, that almost imperceptible greeting.

And I was going to answer like always.

As if nothing had happened.

As if I still hadn’t sucked his cock in my head a thousand times. As if I didn’t know exactly how it would feel to split open on his desk, with my panties bunched up on the floor and the belt cutting into my wrists.