My Assistant Discovered Why I Was Closing the Office

My name is Mateo, and I’m going to tell you about something that happened a few months ago at my office, changing almost nothing except the names. I’m thirty-nine, divorced for the second time, an area manager at a consulting firm downtown. A two-hundred-square-foot office, two partitions separating me from the entrance, and two assistants on the other side of those partitions.

I’ve liked being watched ever since I was very young. Having people know I’m naked when I’m not supposed to be. I never found a logical explanation for it. It’s a low, constant current that occasionally becomes uncontrollable. I learned to manage it, to hide it, not to let it ruin my marriages, though, come to think of it, maybe it was part of the reason neither of them lasted.

The one who’s with me all day is named Romina. Twenty-six, married, and working for me for two years. Until that month, I’d never looked at her differently. She was efficient, friendly, with the kind of honest laugh you could hear from the other end of the hallway. She brought me coffee, organized my schedule, stood in for me in personal matters when I couldn’t keep up. Nothing more.

The first assistant went to the head office for a training session. From eleven in the morning onward, I was alone with Romina, because no one else on the floor came into my section after that hour. That Wednesday I had a very long Teams call with people in Bogotá. I asked her to close the door and turn off the lights; the combination of the fluorescent tube and the screen was giving me a headache. Only the natural light coming in through the window and the skylight in the ceiling remained.

—Are you available? —she asked me on the internal chat half an hour later.

I was on mute. I turned my head toward the partition, as if I could see her through the laminate.

—Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?

—I don’t know. Maybe you’re not wearing any clothes.

I felt the lash across my chest. The office was hot, yes. The air conditioner worked either too much or not at all. But her question wasn’t about the heat.

—I’m not wearing any clothes —I replied, laughing so it would sound like a joke—. It’s unbearably hot.

—I don’t believe you.

—Then don’t believe me.

I closed the chat with my hand trembling a little. I turned my attention back to the screen, where someone was talking about projections for the next quarter, and started seriously thinking about doing it. Making the lie only partly a lie.

If I do it, no one will find out.

I stood up slowly, outside the microphone’s range. I took off my jacket, my shirt, my undershirt. Then my shoes, trousers, socks, and boxers. I stood naked in the middle of my own office, the air conditioner’s current moving over my body, my nipples hardening at the touch of the air, my cock already beginning to swell against my thigh. Then I put my vest, trousers, and shoes back on. Nothing else. No underwear, no shirt. If anyone came in, it would be a disaster, but the vest’s high collar gave me just enough of an excuse. My head was buzzing.

—I’m going to stop by and leave something for you —she wrote.

—Come in.

She entered without looking directly at me and set a folder on the desk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, she smiled, and said:

—Liar. You’re dressed.

—Well, I got dressed again —I improvised, not really knowing what to say—. I wasn’t going to receive you like that.

—For my sake, make yourself comfortable. I won’t turn around, or I’ll close my eyes.

—Good to know —I murmured, and she laughed and left.

I closed my eyes. I heard her chair roll to the other side of the partition. It was an invitation, without a doubt. An invitation with the alibi of denial: I’m not going to look at you, but you make yourself comfortable. She was signing off on every instinct I had without signing anything.

I took off my vest, trousers, and shoes. I sat naked in the chair again, my cock already hard and pointing toward my navel, the shiny tip coated with a thread of pre-cum that dripped from my glans. I ran my thumb over the head and smeared it, slick and slippery, until it gleamed all over. I pushed the chair forward and hid my body beneath the desk. If the Teams camera had switched on by itself, they would have seen the face of an ordinary man in an ordinary meeting. The rest was my secret: my cock thudding against my belly whenever I moved, my balls pressed against the cold leather of the seat.

***

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The meeting continued. I began to feel that the secret was useless if no one perceived it. That I needed her to know, truly know, that I was standing there naked. The thought squeezed my chest like a hand.

—Is it visible? —she asked in the chat.

—I told you I was making myself comfortable. I’m naked.

—That’s not true. I don’t believe you.

This time I didn’t wait. I’d taken everything off, so I pushed the chair backward until I was beside the coffee cart, which stood just on the other side of the partition. If she leaned around, she would see all of me: my cock standing straight up toward the ceiling, my balls hanging between my spread thighs. Romina appeared in the doorway as if I’d summoned her. She covered her face with her open hand, but her fingers were spread far enough apart for her to look between them. I saw her gaze drop straight to my cock and stay there, suspended. I saw her lips part slightly.

—I still don’t believe you —she said, with a smile that was no longer the joke it had been before—. But I need you to sign something.

—Come here. Close your eyes.

She walked toward me with one hand extended and the other over her eyes. She was holding a piece of paper and a pen. Her fingers were still just as spread. She was clearly looking. She reached the side of the desk. The thought of her being so close, so quiet, so deliberate about it, took my breath away.

—I don’t think you’re naked —she said, her voice a degree lower.

—Hug me, then you won’t have to look.

I hadn’t thought she would do it. I’d only said it to see what would happen. But she dropped the paper on the desk and leaned toward me. The hug lasted a long time. She was wearing tight cotton leggings. My cock landed right against her pubic bone, pressing against her through the fabric, and I felt the heat of her pussy through the cotton, the dampness already beginning to leave a dark stain between her legs. My cock jerked against her on its own and left a sticky thread across her leggings. She let out a tiny, restrained gasp when she felt it. I slid one hand over her lower back and squeezed her against me for a second, just one second, so she could feel every inch of my cock outlined between our bodies.

—You really are naked —she whispered—. Well, thanks.

She pulled away slowly and took the paper with her. She didn’t look at my face before leaving. I was left there with my cock dripping and her dampness still marking the tip.

***

She went to the bathroom. I imagined what she was doing there: her leggings pulled down to her knees, her fingers buried in her wet pussy, her open mouth pressed against the tile so she wouldn’t scream. I dressed hurriedly, with that mixture of excitement and shame that always comes afterward. The meeting continued. What meeting, I no longer knew. When she came back, she poked her head through the door and said:

—Don’t get dressed. Seriously, it doesn’t bother me that you walk around like that.

—It’s not because of you.

—Whatever the reason. Make yourself comfortable.

I have a reclining armchair against the back wall. My mother gave it to me when I moved, and although it didn’t match the décor, I left it there. When I was very tired, I’d lie down for twenty minutes. That afternoon, without thinking too much about it, I took off my trousers and lay down. I called out to her over the partition:

—If you want, come give me a leg massage.

Romina massaged my calves and shoulders, always fully dressed. An office thing between acquaintances, nothing more. This time she took a second to answer.

—With your eyes closed —she said.

—Whatever you want.

She appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelids were trembling. She walked toward the armchair with her arms extended like a sleepwalker and found my leg by touch. She began massaging my calf slowly with both hands. She moved up to my knee, then a little higher. Every time I told her “higher,” she laughed, opened one eye, and closed it again. But she didn’t go higher. The boundary was the middle of my thigh. My cock was eight inches from her wrist, hard and throbbing, demanding, with a fat drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip like a pearl. I saw her open her eye again and fix her gaze on that drop, saw her run her tongue over her lower lip without realizing it.

I slowly took hold of her wrist and guided it upward until her fingertips brushed the base of my balls. She let out a muffled “oh.” Her fingers went rigid, neither moving down nor up, barely touching the crease where my thigh met my groin. I felt her breathing quicken beside me.

—That’s far enough —she said, pulling her hand away as if she’d been burned. She stood up.

—Romi, please. Touch it. Just for a second. Wrap your hand around it and that’s all.

—Another day. If you call me again, I’ll come. But don’t tell me beforehand. Let it be a surprise.

She laughed. I covered my face with my forearm and ran my other hand along my cock, one single stroke from base to tip, to calm myself and so she would see it before she left. I heard her exhale sharply. I felt the chair on the other side of the partition take her weight, heard her resume typing, faster than usual, making mistakes that she erased now and then. The meeting had ended a long time ago, and I hadn’t even realized it.

***

A week of tacit agreement passed. No strange chats, no jokes, nothing. I wondered whether I had dreamed it. Until the following Tuesday, when the first assistant announced midmorning that he was leaving for another training session.

I waited twenty minutes to make sure he wasn’t coming back. Then I closed the door myself, without turning off the lights this time. I took everything off, even my boxers, even my socks. I stretched out in the reclining armchair, my cock firm against my abdomen, my hands behind my head, my legs spread and everything on display—balls, cock, the cleft between my ass cheeks against the leather. When I couldn’t wait any longer, I picked up the internal phone.

—Romi, can you come in for a moment?

—I’m coming.

The second between that “I’m coming” and the sound of her footsteps on the vinyl floor seemed endless. The leather of the armchair creaked every time I breathed. I heard her get up, take three steps, and appear in the doorway. I was against the side wall, directly in her line of sight. No sheet, no trousers, nothing to disguise me. My cock was so hard it hurt, pointing at my navel and visibly pulsing with every heartbeat.

Romina stood in the doorway and said nothing. I saw her swallow, saw her shoulders tense, saw her nipples show through the thin blouse she was wearing. Then came a smile, a sly, lingering, shameless smile. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t surprise. It was confirmation that we had crossed a line a long time ago, and that she knew it just as well as I did.

—Call me again —she said, and left.

It took me a moment to understand. Then I dressed slowly. At six that evening, when we were both heading toward the elevator, she waited for me in the hallway. I always hugged her goodbye—a brief office hug, a pat on the shoulder. This time, when I squeezed her, she whispered in my ear:

—That’s no fun. I prefer the hug with nothing on.

—Don’t tell me twice. In my office, now.

***

We went back. This time I locked the door. I took everything off again while she stood in the center of the office, her bag still hanging from her shoulder. She was wearing a sleeveless, straight-cut, cream-colored dress. I approached her naked. I let her hug me like that, her dressed and me not. My cock pressed against her stomach, just below it, wetting the fabric with the tip and leaving a dark stain that spread across the cream-colored cloth.

—And you? —I whispered in her ear, my voice hoarse, running my tongue over her earlobe.

She didn’t answer with words. She yanked off her dress and let it fall beside the armchair. She was wearing simple white cotton panties, with a huge wet stain between her legs that outlined the lips of her pussy through the fabric. She pulled them down with both hands to her ankles and kicked them aside. I saw her shaved pussy, the swollen, glistening lips, a thin strand of fluid hanging from the inside of one thigh. Then she hugged me again. Skin against skin for the first time. Her breasts were just the size of my open hand, her nipples hard as little stones, the rest of her body warmer than mine. I grabbed one ass cheek with each hand and lifted her slightly, until my cock was wedged between her thighs, the entire shaft sliding over the lips of her pussy and soaking itself in her with every movement.

—Oh, shit —she let out, clenching her teeth against my shoulder—. Shit, shit.

I kissed the base of her neck, then lowered my mouth to one nipple and sucked the whole thing, tugging it with my teeth until she moaned. I knelt without letting go of her waist, ran my tongue over her navel, lower, to her hairless pubis. I spread her thighs with my hands and buried my face in her pussy. She was soaking wet. A dense, sweet smell of a woman who had been aroused for a while. I sucked her lips one by one, licked her slit from bottom to top with my flat tongue, found her clitoris, and worked it in circles until her knees buckled and she had to grab the back of the armchair to keep from falling. I heard her moaning softly, trying to hold it in, covering her mouth with her other hand.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —she whispered, her voice broken—. There, there, there.

I slid two fingers inside her and curled them upward, searching for that spot inside while I kept sucking her clitoris. I felt her pussy tighten around my fingers, felt her whole body beginning to tremble—thighs, belly, everything. She came against my mouth with a muffled moan, biting the back of her hand and soaking my beard with her juices. I didn’t let go of her clitoris until the trembling subsided and she gently pulled my hair to make me stop.

—Come here —she gasped.

I stood up. She dropped to her knees and took my cock in both hands. She stared at it for a second, her mouth an inch from the glans, breathing over it. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked me from my balls to the tip, long and slowly, her eyes fixed on mine. She swallowed my entire cock in one movement, all the way down, until I felt it hit the back of her throat. I held her head with both hands, without pushing, just to keep her there. She began moving on her own, going up and down, sucking my cock hungrily, her tongue smacking against the underside of the shaft. With one hand she held my balls, squeezing them gently, and with the other she rubbed her pussy again. I watched her cheeks swell, her eyes fill with tears when she took me deep, watched her spit on the glans and swallow me again.

—You’re going to make me come —I told her, my voice barely audible—. Romi, stop, stop, I’m going to come.

She pulled my cock from her mouth with a wet sound. A thread of saliva hung from her lower lip to the tip of my glans. She smiled.

—Not yet.

She stood, pushed me against the desk, turned around, and bent over with her hands braced on the wood. Her ass stuck out, her legs slightly apart, her pussy red and glistening between her thighs, offered to me. I pressed it against her entrance. The tip sank in by itself, slippery, into the mouth of her pussy. I pushed slowly, feeling her open around me, feeling her squeeze me inch by inch, until I was completely inside her, my balls hitting against her.

—Oh God —she gasped, arching her back—. Fuck me. Fuck me already.

I grabbed her hips with both hands and started fucking her. Hard and dry, with the whole week of waiting behind every thrust. Each drive shook her body against the desk, made her dangling breasts bounce, tore a short moan from her that she swallowed by clenching her teeth. The office filled with the sound of flesh striking flesh, the wet slapping of her pussy, her ragged breathing. I slapped one ass cheek, then the other, until my hand left a red mark. She moaned louder, no longer trying to be careful.

—Like that, harder, give it to me harder —she gasped—. Break me.

I pulled out, turned her around, and lifted her into my arms until she was sitting on the desk, knocking folders and the pencil holder onto the floor. I spread her legs, settled between them, and penetrated her again in one thrust. Now I could see her face. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth open, a thread of saliva at the corner. She wrapped her legs around my waist and dug her heels into my ass, pulling me deeper with every thrust. I grabbed one breast with one hand and squeezed her neck lightly with the other, looking into her eyes. She nodded, biting her lip.

—More —she whispered—. Squeeze me harder.

I kept driving my cock into her while squeezing her neck just enough. I felt her come again, trembling all over, her pussy milking me, with a long, broken moan she couldn’t contain. I held out as long as I could. Then I let go of her, grabbed her by the hair, threw her onto the desk on her back, and kept fucking her, watching her tits shake with every blow, watching my cock slide in and out, gleaming with her juices, watching a white thread of fluid cling to the base whenever I pulled all the way out.

—I’m going to come, Romi. Where?

—Not inside —she gasped—. On my tits. Come on my tits.

I pulled out, climbed over her, knelt astride her belly, and worked my cock with my hand, three or four violent strokes, the glans aimed at her sternum. I came over her with a grunt, thick, hot spurts falling between her breasts; one reached her neck, another stained her chin. She ran two fingers through the semen on her chest, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them while looking at me.

I collapsed on top of her, my cock still hard and dripping against her thigh, my forehead pressed to hers. We stayed like that, breathing amid the wreckage of the desk, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the hum of our own blood.

After a while she stroked the back of my neck, kissed me slowly, and whispered:

—All right, that’s enough. Get off me, I have to go.

I moved aside. She stood, wiped her chest and neck with a tissue from her bag, unhurried. She picked up her panties from the floor and her dress from the armchair. She dressed while looking me in the eyes, without guilt, without anger, without anything.

—I’ll still be working with you tomorrow —she said—. Don’t think that because you fucked me once, you’ll have me like this every day. When I want. When I say.

—Romi.

She kissed my cheek. She left. She closed the door so carefully that it seemed absurd to me, given the racket that had taken place inside.

I stayed naked in the middle of the office, my cock still throbbing, listening to her heels clicking down the hallway. I heard her greet the guard downstairs. Then silence. I was still standing there, not really understanding what had happened.

For the first time in my life, what had aroused me most hadn’t been the climax. It had been the waiting. The ball suspended in the air, before it touched the ground. Romina already knew that. I still didn’t.