My Three Coworkers Discovered What I Was Hiding

It was ten thirteen when I finally shut off the reception screen. The building was almost dead: only the fluorescent lights hummed above the empty cubicles and, every so often, there was the distant click of an elevator rising with no one inside. The stiletto heels were squeezing my feet like they’d been punishing me for hours for something. Every step was a stab that climbed up my calves and coiled around my hips.

Under the gray pencil skirt, clinging to my skin like a bandage, the discomfort tightened my chest. I could feel the bulge of my half-erect sex pressing against the fabric of my thong, sweat sticking to my groin, the constant reminder that my body didn’t quite fit the image I handed the world every morning when I walked through that revolving door.

But the men knew it. Or suspected it. And that suspicion made them tremble.

Andrés was the first. Tall, with a suit wrinkled from the twelve hours he’d been wearing it, a three-day beard, and that hoarse smoker’s voice that always made me cross my legs under the counter.

—Camila, are you leaving already? —he asked, leaning a hip against the reception granite. His eyes dropped for a second to my tits, then lower, without even trying to hide it—. The night is young. Mateo, Iván, and I were thinking of staying a while in the conference room. Beer, some music. After hours, you know.

The other two appeared behind him as if they’d been waiting for a signal. Mateo, from marketing, with that asshole smile that knew exactly how to look at a woman until she felt uncomfortable and horny at the same time. Iván, from IT, quieter, with black eyes fixed on my blouse as if he were undressing me with his mind.

I felt the heat rise up my neck to my ears. It wasn’t an innocent invitation. It was an invitation to cross the line. They’d been talking about it in the bathrooms, in the work group chats. The receptionist has something different. And that difference had had them hard as hell for months.

—I’m dead —I answered, but my voice came out deeper than I meant, hoarse from exhaustion and from something else—. These heels are killing me and my back isn’t responding.

Andrés leaned in a little more. His breath smelled of recent coffee and raw desire.

—Then take them off. There’s no one here to judge you. And if you want, you can take off everything.

The silence that followed was thick. Mateo let out a low laugh, almost conspiratorial.

—Come on, Camila. We know you’re not like the others. And we love it. Let us see the real you.

Hearing it said so plainly stole my breath for a second.

I looked at each of them in turn. My heart was pounding in my throat. That discomfort was still there, throbbing between my legs, but beside it something else had been born: a wet heat, a sweet rage, a hunger for control. For stopping being the girl who smiled behind the desk, who served coffee and organized calendars, and becoming the one who decided who knelt first.

—All right —I said at last, and my voice came out steady—. But I set the rules. Clear?

The three of them nodded like well-trained dogs.

***

The conference room smelled of old paper, stale coffee and, now, testosterone. They’d closed the blinds before looking for me. All that remained was the low emergency light and the bluish glow of a couple of phones forgotten on the meeting table. I sat on the edge of that table, crossed my legs slowly, and took off one heel. The sound of leather against carpet came out sharp, almost obscene.

—First I want to see you —I ordered.

The three looked at one another. Andrés was the first to loosen his tie. Mateo was already unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy fingers. Iván, impatient, yanked his pants down in one pull. Three hard cocks sprang into the air at the same time: Andrés’s thick one, Mateo’s veined, curved one, Iván’s dark, compact one. All three were already dripping a clear thread that gathered at the tip.

I bit my lower lip. My own sex, trapped under the black thong, began to swell against the fabric.

—Come here, Andrés —I ordered—. On your knees.

The man who that same morning had been handing out orders in a board meeting let himself fall between my open thighs without protest. The smell of his arousal filled the air: male sweat, cheap cologne, and that musky scent of a very hard cock.

—Lift my skirt —I said.

Andrés obeyed. The fabric rose with a whisper against my stockings. There it was: the black thong soaked through, the obvious bulge, the pink head peeking above the elastic, a shining thread running down my thigh.

—Fuck… —he whispered, almost reverent.

—Lick me —I ordered, and my voice trembled for just a second—. But slowly. I want to feel every lick.

Andrés opened his mouth and swallowed me whole. His hot tongue circled my head, slid down the shaft, brushed over my shaved balls with a hungry man’s patience. I tipped my head back and let out a guttural moan.

—That’s it, asshole. Deeper.

Mateo and Iván came closer, stroking themselves slowly as they watched. Mateo leaned over me and bit my neck. His teeth scraped my skin while he unbuttoned my blouse with the other hand. My tits, small, firm, with nipples already hard as stones, were left bare. Iván bent over one and sucked hard, groaning against my nipple like he’d been waiting months for that moment.

—I want to get fucked —I said between gasps, my voice broken—. But I decide how. Andrés, you’re going to sit in that chair. Mateo, you’re going to eat my ass while I fuck Andrés. Iván, you’re going to suck my balls until I tell you otherwise.

The three of them obeyed as if I’d handed them the script to the best moment of their lives.

***

I climbed on top of Andrés, who was already seated with his cock pointing at the ceiling. I pulled my thong all the way down and let my sex, now fully erect and slick with spit, swing free. I grabbed the thick cock with one hand, positioned it, and lowered myself slowly. I didn’t want it anywhere else. I wanted it there: the raw invasion, the friction that reminded me exactly who I was and what I was made of.

—Fuck, so thick… —I growled as the head opened me up.

I sank down centimeter by centimeter, feeling how the cock kept taking more of me, how it burned inside me in a way no anxiolytic had ever been able to snuff out. Sweat ran between my tits. Mateo knelt behind me, spread my ass cheeks with both hands and buried his tongue where Andrés’s cock was going in and out. The sensation made me moan so loudly I startled myself with my own voice.

Iván got underneath the chair, lying on his back, and took my balls into his mouth with the devotion of a man surrendering. His tongue moved up and down, his saliva dripping down my thighs.

I started riding. Hard. Without mercy. My tits bounced with every drop, my sex slammed against Andrés’s abdomen and left a sticky trail on his open shirt.

—Harder —I begged, and my voice didn’t sound feminine or masculine anymore, it sounded hungry—. Harder, fuck. I want you to fill me while I come all over you.

The rhythm turned frantic. The table creaked every time I braced a hand to drive myself higher. The sounds filled the room: skin against skin, muffled moans, saliva dripping, the wet slosh of the cock sliding in and out of me.

I felt the orgasm rise like a fire starting at the base of my spine. I grabbed myself with my free hand, started jerking off furiously, skin blazing, veins swollen.

—I’m coming —I warned—. I’m coming, fuck…

The first shot came out hard and painted Andrés’s face: mouth, chin, one cheek. Long, thick streams marked his eyelashes and open tongue. At the same time Andrés growled like an animal and unloaded inside me: a throbbing heat that filled me until it started leaking down the inside of my thigh.

Mateo and Iván couldn’t hold out. They stood up, jerked off inches from my face and unloaded over me: one between my tits, the other directly into my open mouth. I swallowed greedily, moaning, while hot cum ran down my throat.

When it was all over, I was still sitting on Andrés, his cock still inside me, my body covered in sweat and semen, breathing through my mouth like an athlete after a race. The tremor had reached my fingers.

There was no discomfort anymore. No more of that thing tightening my chest since morning. There was only desire. There was only power.

And after hours, in that conference room that now smelled of sex and victory, I smiled with semen smeared on my lips.

—Tomorrow we do it again —I said, licking a drop of semen from the corner of my mouth—. But this time you’re bringing toys. I want you to watch me come until I can’t even walk.

The three of them nodded, exhausted, devoted.

At last they knew who really ran this office.