I Couldn’t Stop Looking at My Coworker

It happened again today. I ran into her in the hallway and, for one second, I even forgot how to breathe. I try to collect my thoughts and I can hardly believe it: just a few months ago Noa was nothing more than a stranger, or worse, just a coworker. And overnight she’s become the center of my obsession, the star of every wank I give myself before bed.

I think it all started a month ago, that afternoon we ran into each other in the office bathroom. I was wearing worn-out jeans, some random T-shirt, and trainers that were practically begging to be thrown in the trash. Nothing special. And yet, while I was washing my hands, my mind imagined her in a completely different way from the one in front of me: naked against the tiles, nipples hard and legs spread open for me.

She turned toward the mirror, adjusted those long, fluffy curls she always wears loose, looked me up and down, and said:

—Girl, you look gorgeous today.

It wasn’t a big deal. In fact, after saying it she straightened her blouse and walked off like nothing had happened, leaving me completely thrown off. I didn’t know what to say. I stood there still, following every movement she made as she walked away. Straight back, shoulders pulled back, defined hips and, let’s not kid ourselves, an ass that took your breath away. Everything about her was impossible to ignore, wrapped in a vanilla perfume that intoxicated me and stuck to my nose for the rest of the day, soaking my panties every time I took a deep breath.

From that day on, I started running into her everywhere. Or maybe I was the one giving too much weight to her presence. By the coffee machine, her back against the wall and a paper cup in her hands. On the way to the cafeteria, walking with that utterly confident stride of hers. Leaning over a coworker’s desk whenever she had to solve a problem on their computer, in a pose that invited me to roam over her with my eyes and always ended in the same place: between her legs, imagining what it would be like to lick her cunt until I made her scream.

I wanted to talk to her, but shame stopped me. All the shame that, apparently, she had in abundance. Noa was like that: cheerful, talkative, with zero filter. If she had to tell someone, “Have you really not turned your computer off in a month? Jesus, how embarrassing,” she’d just blurt it out without thinking twice. And it was exactly that direct way of being that made me turn my head every time I heard her voice on the other side of the office. That was her magnetism, her secret weapon.

I spent hours making up excuses to run into her. I’d go down for coffee when I didn’t even feel like it, drag out lunch if I saw her sitting in the cafeteria, pretend my computer was running slow just for the remote possibility they’d send her over to my desk. I never managed it, of course. And all the while, every gesture of hers stayed burned into my mind: the way she bit her pen when she was reading something on the screen, the strap of her bra peeking out when she bent over, the rough laugh she let out when something actually amused her.

At night, at home, I went over those details one by one like someone keeping a shameful secret. I slipped my hand between my legs and rubbed my clit thinking about her, about her tongue, about her tits bouncing on my face while she fucked me with her fingers. I came with her name stuck in my throat and a minute later I was already starting over again. I told myself it was silly, that it would pass, that she was just an attractive coworker and nothing more. But every morning, as soon as I crossed the office door, my eyes looked for her before my mind had even had time to decide.

***

A few days ago she messaged me on the internal chat. There was an issue with my computer and I had to check it. She asked if I was busy and, when I said no, she came over to my desk and sat beside me to look at it with me. Having her so close gave me goosebumps, and I could feel my nipples hardening under my T-shirt.

—This is already fixed, Irene. Now restart the computer and see if it runs just as smoothly. Do you think you can do that? —she said in a friendly, almost playful tone.

I think it was the first time she’d talked to me for that long.

—Y-yes... of course I can —I replied, unable to stop myself from stammering.

My hand was trembling on the mouse as I looked at her. Without realizing it, my gaze dropped to her red-painted lips, always so perfect. It was instinctive, uncontrollable. I thought about how that lipstick would smear if I shoved three fingers into her mouth, or if I sat her cunt on my face until I drowned her in my cum.

—I think this is more in need of you than me —she said then, taking a chocolate bar out of her pocket and breaking it in half to give me a piece—. You’re doing really well. It’s a shame you’re always so busy. You’re the only one on the team I still don’t know well, but I hope we run into each other more soon.

Her words surprised me, though not as much as the gesture. It was, precisely, my favorite chocolate bar, my lifelong weakness. Maybe that’s why the only thing I could think to say was:

—Thanks! Did you know it’s my favorite?

Seriously? Was that the best thing I could come up with to say to her? Am I stupid?

Stupid or not, inexperienced or just clumsy, she answered me with half a smile while getting up from the chair and leaning a little toward me. So much so that her blouse opened and I saw her entire cleavage, two tits squeezed inside a black lace bra.

—It’s my favorite too —she whispered in my ear, her hot breath pressed against my neck—. I think one of these can brighten your morning.

And then she took her half to her mouth, slowly, never taking her eyes off me. She stuck out her tongue to lick a bit of chocolate from her lower lip and a gasp escaped me, which I hid as best I could. Then, as if nothing had happened, she left. She left me with half a chocolate bar in my hand, soaked panties, and a dumb look reflected in the dark screens on my desk.

***

The following days, almost without noticing, we started chatting all the time. It became a habit. I’d tell her how annoying it was to have a report sent back to me over and over with corrections, and she’d tell me how she could feel the other coworkers eating her up with their eyes every time she crossed the floor. “How embarrassing,” she’d type, laughing. And I silently wondered whether she’d realized I was part of that pack of drooling idiots too. If she knew, she never mentioned it.

Then we started sending each other songs. I don’t think there’s a better way to get to know someone than through music, and I was surprised to discover how much our tastes matched, even if she didn’t look like the type to spend weekends dancing herself to the floor, like I do. Because yes, in the office she wore her shyness like a flag, but that shyness evaporated on Saturday nights, on the dance floor of any club, drink in hand.

After the music came swapping social media accounts, and the conversations moved there. By the time summer arrived, we were talking at any hour of the day. Every now and then she’d tell me how pretty I looked in a photo, or how jealous she was of the places I went. But I was incapable of confessing that what had me mesmerized was her bronzed body, the one she showed off spectacularly in the latest photo she’d posted, posing in a blue bikini beside a friend on the beach.

That image awakened a desire in me that I could no longer stop. The blue triangle of fabric barely covered her cunt, and her tits spilled out at the sides. I kept zooming in on the photo again and again, focusing on the shadow of her nipples showing through the wet fabric, on the gap between her thighs, on that curve of her ass visible in profile. After hitting “like,” alone in the dim light of my apartment, I couldn’t hold back the urge. I slid one hand under the waistband of my pants, pulled my underwear aside, and started touching myself slowly, the phone screen still glowing on my chest.

I imagined her whispering in my ear, resting one of her soft hands on my neck as she guided me to her mouth. I wanted my hand to be hers. For it to be her touching me, her fingers parting my lips and drawing circles over my clit, faster and faster, more and more impatient. I imagined licking her tits, sucking them until her nipples were red and swollen, biting them while she dug her nails into my back and whispered, “harder, slut, don’t stop.”

I imagined her kneeling between my legs, pulling my panties aside with her teeth, sinking her tongue into my wet lips. I imagined her sucking my clit with that red-painted mouth, drinking me up eagerly, with that good-girl smile of hers while she did filthy things to me. I slid in two fingers and moved them fast, mimicking the tongue I wanted to feel. My cunt was making wet, obscene noises that echoed in the silence of the living room. With my other hand I pinched a nipple through my T-shirt and let out a long, shaky moan.

When I was about to come, I looked for somewhere to prop up the phone so I could keep looking at her while my fingers sank into me. By then I’d already taken off my pants and my panties too, which were so wet they were sticking to my thighs. I spread my legs wide on top of the sofa, shoved a third finger all the way in, and used my thumb to rub my clit in quick circles. My back arched against the couch, my gasps became impossible to contain, and my eyes closed on their own. “Noa, fuck, Noa...” I moaned without realizing it, biting the cushion so I wouldn’t scream. I didn’t want it to end, but I could barely control the tremors of my own body anymore. The orgasm shot up from my feet like a current, the walls of my cunt clenched around my fingers, and I came in long spasms, soaking my hand and the sofa. And without even realizing it, with my slippery thumb, I hit the video call button.

***

By the time I understood what I’d done, Noa had already picked up. She had seen me panting, biting my lips, driving my fingers deep inside me and arching myself all the way out, unable to stop in time. She’d seen my whole cunt, shiny and open, and my hand smeared with my own juices sliding up my stomach. I wasn’t aware of any of it until, as I tried to catch my breath, I heard her clapping slowly on the other end, leaning back a little so the camera would frame her better. She was in bed, wearing a loose T-shirt that left one shoulder bare and, from what could be made out beneath the sheet, with one hand buried between her legs.

—Fuck, babe. What a show, huh? —she said, her voice thick with a calm that made me burn, rough and husky, as if she’d just come too—. I’d never seen anyone come so damn beautifully. Your cunt’s gorgeous, all swollen. Though I think you got confused calling me. But don’t worry, this stays between us.

She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them slowly, staring straight at me, so I would understand very clearly what she’d been doing while watching me. Then she pulled them out with a wet little sound and smiled.

—You know I have to pay you back now, right? —she added—. Monday, I want you in the third-floor bathroom at five. The one nobody ever uses. And come without panties, because I want to find your cunt wet as soon as I slip my hand under your skirt.

And before hanging up, she blew a kiss to the camera.

—Now I’m even more eager for Monday to come around at the office.

Then, accompanied by that half-playful smile I already knew by heart, she ended the call. I swallowed, still short of breath and my face burning. There was no going back now. And instead of the shame I should have felt, what I felt was something else: my hand, on its own, sliding back between my legs, still slick, still hungry.

I touched myself again thinking about her words, convinced they hid a promise. I imagined the whole scene: arriving at the bathroom in the short skirt and no panties as she’d asked, her waiting for me leaning against the sink, grabbing my hair to shove her tongue into my mouth before she even said hello. I imagined her pushing my skirt up against the cubicle wall, kneeling to eat my cunt with that red mouth of hers until she made me come on her face, and then standing up so I could do the same to her, with her panties hanging from one ankle and the taste of her cum sliding down my throat. A surprise she would give me on Monday, as soon as I crossed the office door, and one I planned to receive with a hunger I could barely stand. The same hunger with which I was now biting my lips, moaning her name under my breath, and slipping my fingers inside me again, imagining her at last, sitting on my face.