Coffee Break

3 min read

When I got back to my desk, I saw the handwritten note stuck to my computer screen: ‘Meet me on the back stairs in your coffee break!’ It wasn’t signed, but of course I knew exactly who it was from. And she knows perfectly well that I don’t drink coffee. It’s just a little code we use when we want some fun.

She’s the girl that all the guys in the office want to kiss, and no wonder -she’s vivacious and funny, with wavy blonde hair and amazing long legs. It took me a while to pluck up the courage to even smile at her, and I was so surprised and flattered when she started chatting to me whenever she met me at the water cooler or photocopier. I ran into her often enough that I started to suspect it wasn’t a coincidence. And then one day she told me none of the guys panting after her stood a chance – because she was into girls. Or to be more specific, she was into me.

Things happened really quickly after that – within a couple of weeks we went from flirting to sharing breathless kisses in the elevator between floors and fingering each other frantically in the ladies’ restroom. The funny thing is, we’ve never hooked up outside of the office. I’m married, and I wouldn’t even have described myself as bisexual before I met her; and she’s a serial dater, and likes to torment me by recounting her sexual adventures in graphic detail. To be honest, we both really get off on the illicit nature of our encounters, and the risk of getting caught makes every second we spend together so exciting.

I tried to play it cool and wait awhile before responding to her request, but the thought of touching her had me trembling with arousal. After just a few minutes of futile attempts to concentrate on my work, I dialed her extension and let it ring once before hanging up, to let her know I was on my way. I brushed my hair, checked my lipstick, and told my co-worker at the next desk that I was taking a break. She looked at me with her eyebrow raised questioningly – I’m pretty sure she suspects I’m up to something – but didn’t comment.

I reached the stairwell first, my pulse racing as I waited. It wasn’t long before I heard the tap of her heels coming down the stairs towards me. She didn’t even pause to say hello, just pushed me up against the wall and started nuzzling my neck, sucking hard enough that I knew it would leave a bruise. She likes to mark me, it’s one of her perverse little games, and she laughs when she sees me wearing a scarf on a warm day because she’s left some trace of our liaison on my skin. I could tell her to stop, but I don’t. The thought of her branding me as hers turns me on like crazy.

When I started to let out little moans and whimpers she spun me around to face the wall, my hands going above my head to brace myself as she pressed against me. I felt her breasts squash against my back, nipples hard, as she whispered in my ear.

“Have you been getting wet thinking about me touching you?” I nodded, feeling myself blush. She slid a hand up to my breast and squeezed. “Tell me. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” she hissed.

“Please… please touch me,” I stammered, my voice quivering with exquisite shame at my own neediness. Her other hand went up my short skirt, pausing at the top of my thigh. I squirmed with frustration, knowing she wouldn’t continue until I told her exactly what she wanted to hear. “I need your fingers in my pussy,” I murmured, my inhibitions melted by the heat of my desire. “I’m so wet… fuck me with your fingers…” At that, she slid her hand higher, her fingers sending a jolt of sensation through me as they made contact with the damp crotch of my panties. She rubbed harder, the fabric soaked through with my juice as the delicious friction built. Her fingertips pushed as far into my slick hole as the flimsy cotton barrier would allow, and I felt almost embarrassed by how quickly my body responded to her touch as I started to shake with pre-orgasmic tremors.

“Such a horny little slut for me,” she whispered, nipping and tugging at my earlobe with her teeth. “Imagine what the boss would say if he caught little Miss Prim and Proper getting finger fucked on the stairs?” She pulled my panty-crotch aside and thrust two fingers right into my pussy, her thumb strumming my clit. I gasped, the stimulation overwhelming me to the point where my legs started to buckle… and then I heard a door open, and footsteps ringing in the echoey stairwell as they descended towards us.

I froze, my whole body vibrating with tension and the need to come; but I should have known my paramour would find our imminent discovery an irresistible turn on. Pinning me against the wall even harder, she moved her free hand to my mouth to stifle my moans as she fingered me frenetically. I was already on the edge, and it only took a few firm strokes against my G-spot before I was convulsing with the force of my orgasm.

What she did then was so typical. As the footsteps drew closer, she lifted her sticky fingers to her mouth, winking at me as she sucked them. Then she slipped through the nearest door, leaving me to straighten out my clothing, breathless and flushed, as a tall figure in a suit came into view. It was one of the senior partners, and he gave me a very strange look as he passed me.

I didn’t get much work done for the rest of the day; I was too busy daydreaming about the feeling of her hands all over me, and worrying that I’d get fired if I didn’t stop taking such crazy risks.

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More confessions from me here — if you think you can handle it! Maybe have a cold shower first…

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