Blushing furiously, heat and shame crawling down my body, I made myself speak. "I am sitting in my office right now with my blouse hanging open, fondling my breasts. I am a filthy, desperately horny,, sex-starved whore." My face burned; from somewhere far away, the rational part of my mind looked at me aghast. "I-" I gulped, and my voice caught in my throat. "I'm dripping wet right now, because I've been masturbating all day but I am not allowed to come. And being made to tell you these things, even though I don't even know who you are, is..." I shivered and slid my hand over my breast. "Is making me wetter."
As soon as the words left my mouth, the truth behind them hit me full force. The floodgates opened; my pussy twitched and my juices saturated the thin fabric of my panties and poured down my thigh. I moaned and closed my eyes, and leaned back farther in the chair. I ran my hand up over the curve of my breast, then higher, over my throat, along the side of my neck, and moaned again. All these elements-the filthy talk, the forced exhibition, performing for someone else-all these things were familiar, things I had explored before, but put together in this way, they were electrifying and new. The rational voice inside me fled as I surrendered completely to the heat.
"Oh, God," I sighed, "I am a filthy little fuck toy. I love masturbating for people I don't even know. I love being told to write filthy things on my body. I love sucking cock, I love being given to another man and ordered to let him have my body..." The words came pouring effortlessly out of me. I caressed myself and fondled my breasts, eyes closed, intoxicated by the act of spilling these intimate secrets into the phone, to the unknown person who would hear the message.
I ran my fingertips lightly over my body and down over my legs. The feeling, a whisper of sensation over hungry skin, made me shudder. I lifted my skirt and traced the contours of my labia through my panties, feeling warmth and dampness. "Mmm," I said, as I cradled the telephone handset like a lover, "I want you to know I feel very, very dirty right now." I pressed my fingers beneath my panties and slid them deep inside myself. "Unh! I have my fingers in my cunt, and oh, God, it feels good." I worked my fingers in, and gasped. "My cunt is shaved bare. I feel filthy telling you all this, like a dirty well-fucked tramp. Oh!" I withdrew my fingers and ran them up my body, over my breasts, leaving two trails of wetness on my bare skin. "My fingers are dripping with my juices. God, my body is aching to be stripped bare and tied down and used for sex." I raised my fingertips to my mouth, parted my lips, and extended my tongue slightly to meet them. "I can taste myself all over my fingers." I wrapped my lips around my fingers and drew them in deep, slurping noisily. "I love sucking a cock after I've just been fucked. It tastes so-"
The handset beeped. "Message limit reached," came the metallic voice. "You may hang up or press star for delivery options."
I jumped slightly and hung up the phone. In that instant, all the embarrassment and shame that had gone to places unknown while I'd been talking came sweeping back over me like an inferno. My ears, face, and neck burned hot and red. I snatched my fingers away from my lips and stared at them like they were detached from me, some alien things that had landed here from nowhere. My thighs were soaked; my nipples were aflame; my body quivered and hummed, crackling with tension and shame.
A sudden need to cover myself rushed over me. I closed my blouse with shaking hands; it took three tries before I could button it back up again. My nipples strained against the cloth,. I smoothed down my skirt and sat panting. I can't leave the office! I probably smell like sex! Anyone who looks at me will know what state I'm in.
The thought brought a twitch between my legs. Arousal, mixed with the shame, the peculiar psychology of my sexuality asserting itself the way it always did...
...and I still had to let Robin know I'd done as I'd been told.
I picked up my cell phone.
Done.
I feel dirty.
Whose phone number was that?
No reply came. Minutes ticked by. The shame ebbed, and the needs of my workday life pressed in to replace it. I unfolded from the chair and unlocked my office door. Outside, people were returning to their cubicles from lunch. The office filled with the sounds of people being productive.
I returned to my desk and turned my attention, as best I could, to the demands of work. I had even more trouble focusing than I had before; the greater part of my mind was occupied processing the message I had just left. For reasons I did not completely understand, calling that phone number and leaving that message for a mystery audience made me even more uncomfortable than I had been when Robin had told me there was someone else watching as I masturbated on my Webcam. I really did feel dirty, and exposed in a way I hadn't felt on the camera.
And yet...
And yet I was incredibly, powerfully aroused. I caught my hand surreptitiously creeping between my legs as I thought about the things I'd said. My mind drifted; I remembered how Robin had made me talk to Ranbir and describe what was happening as he'd taken me, and wondered what it would be like to leave a message on a stranger's voice mail while Robin fucked me. I thought, too, about calling that number, and letting the voice mail record as I masturbated to orgasm, and shared myself in so intimate and vulnerable way with this person I did not know.
The afternoon passed in a haze of lust, arousal, and distraction. Quitting time was on me before I was even aware of it. A giddy, tingling sense of shame washed over me-you'll have to walk by everyone in the office! They'll be able to tell!-and my nipples hardened under my blouse.
I packed up and left quickly, scarcely saying goodbye to anyone, feeling self-conscious. In the parking garage, I glanced up at the security camera, and felt a tingle between my legs. A brief sexual fantasy flashed through my head-hands on my body, ripping off my clothes, teeth on my neck, a quick hot passionate fuck standing up against the concrete pillar supporting the ceiling, while the security guard watched from his booth-and then I was in my car and navigating through traffic.
"Robin! I'm home!" I sang when I walked through the door. "Are you going to tell me who you made me call this afternoon?"
He met me at the door with a grin on his face. He was wearing a button-up dress shirt, slacks, a narrow black necktie. "No." A fierce and unexpected kiss choked off any further questions, and I gave myself over to it, I returned the kiss hungrily, greedily, arms wrapped tightly around him, and whimpered my need and desire. It went on and on and on, that kiss, and I moaned and ground against him and feared that I would come right there.
Finally he broke the kiss and I panted and stared wordlessly at him. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me further into the house. I let out a shriek of surprise, but he did not respond at all; he merely kept pulling me, fingers tight in my hair, through the living room and into the study.
"Are you a good girl? Have you been doing as you're told?" Before I could answer, he spun me around and bent me over the huge antique roll-top desk that was one of his prized possessions. "Let's find out."
I gripped the edge of the desk and stayed there, amid the scent of hardwood and old books, as he pulled my skirt up over my ass. I heard him unzip his slacks, then he pulled my panties aside and in one deep thrust he was inside me. I screamed and closed around him and oh, God, it felt good. His hands gripped my thighs tightly and he began taking me in long, hard strokes. I moaned and pushed back against him, accepting him deeper, and slipped one hand between my legs. I stroked my fingers over my clitoris, obeying his directive to masturbate as soon as I came home, "May I come? Please?" I asked, barely able to speak through the ripples of pleasure that accompanied every thrust.
He didn't reply, but grunted as he moved faster, taking me hard across his desk. I heard his breathing quicken and felt him harden and swell within me, and I knew he was close. "Please, please let me come!" I sobbed, my fingers still moving in rapid circles around my clit.
He threw back his head and roared as he slammed into me, and I felt the hard wet slap of his orgasm gushing deep within me. I screamed and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and fought against my own orgasm, and behind me I felt his hands tighten on my hips as he pounded me and shook with ecstasy.
Then he was finished and he withdrew from me without warning. I cried out, suddenly empty, and felt his come spill out of me. I remained there, leaning over the desk, gasping, wanting him so desperately to plunge into me again, fill me, take me roughly, grant me release. "Please... please..."
He slid my panties back into place. "Not now. I have a surprise for you. Look down."
"What kind of surprise?" I asked, with more than a hint of trepidation.
"Look!"
I looked at the assortment of papers and books on the desk beneath me, a little off-stride. "I don't get it-oh!"
There, sitting on top of a stack of papers, two long, thin cardboard rectangles-tickets, to the performing arts center. "You didn't!"
I did," he said smugly. "I also got us reservations at a restaurant downtown. We need to go in-" He looked at his watch. "Right now. Come on."
"I need to take a shower first. In case you hadn't noticed, I've just been fucked, and I'm a little messy."
"No. No time." He zipped his pants and smirked. "We need to leave right now."
"Robin! I'm-"
"-a dripping, come-filled mess," he finished. The smug, self-satisfied grin widened. "And I'm hungry. Let's go."
'You look awfully pleased with yourself, " I said. He didn't answer; I straightened, and felt his warm wet begin to drip out of me almost immediately.
As soon as the words left my mouth, the truth behind them hit me full force. The floodgates opened; my pussy twitched and my juices saturated the thin fabric of my panties and poured down my thigh. I moaned and closed my eyes, and leaned back farther in the chair. I ran my hand up over the curve of my breast, then higher, over my throat, along the side of my neck, and moaned again. All these elements-the filthy talk, the forced exhibition, performing for someone else-all these things were familiar, things I had explored before, but put together in this way, they were electrifying and new. The rational voice inside me fled as I surrendered completely to the heat.
"Oh, God," I sighed, "I am a filthy little fuck toy. I love masturbating for people I don't even know. I love being told to write filthy things on my body. I love sucking cock, I love being given to another man and ordered to let him have my body..." The words came pouring effortlessly out of me. I caressed myself and fondled my breasts, eyes closed, intoxicated by the act of spilling these intimate secrets into the phone, to the unknown person who would hear the message.
I ran my fingertips lightly over my body and down over my legs. The feeling, a whisper of sensation over hungry skin, made me shudder. I lifted my skirt and traced the contours of my labia through my panties, feeling warmth and dampness. "Mmm," I said, as I cradled the telephone handset like a lover, "I want you to know I feel very, very dirty right now." I pressed my fingers beneath my panties and slid them deep inside myself. "Unh! I have my fingers in my cunt, and oh, God, it feels good." I worked my fingers in, and gasped. "My cunt is shaved bare. I feel filthy telling you all this, like a dirty well-fucked tramp. Oh!" I withdrew my fingers and ran them up my body, over my breasts, leaving two trails of wetness on my bare skin. "My fingers are dripping with my juices. God, my body is aching to be stripped bare and tied down and used for sex." I raised my fingertips to my mouth, parted my lips, and extended my tongue slightly to meet them. "I can taste myself all over my fingers." I wrapped my lips around my fingers and drew them in deep, slurping noisily. "I love sucking a cock after I've just been fucked. It tastes so-"
The handset beeped. "Message limit reached," came the metallic voice. "You may hang up or press star for delivery options."
I jumped slightly and hung up the phone. In that instant, all the embarrassment and shame that had gone to places unknown while I'd been talking came sweeping back over me like an inferno. My ears, face, and neck burned hot and red. I snatched my fingers away from my lips and stared at them like they were detached from me, some alien things that had landed here from nowhere. My thighs were soaked; my nipples were aflame; my body quivered and hummed, crackling with tension and shame.
A sudden need to cover myself rushed over me. I closed my blouse with shaking hands; it took three tries before I could button it back up again. My nipples strained against the cloth,. I smoothed down my skirt and sat panting. I can't leave the office! I probably smell like sex! Anyone who looks at me will know what state I'm in.
The thought brought a twitch between my legs. Arousal, mixed with the shame, the peculiar psychology of my sexuality asserting itself the way it always did...
...and I still had to let Robin know I'd done as I'd been told.
I picked up my cell phone.
Done.
I feel dirty.
Whose phone number was that?
No reply came. Minutes ticked by. The shame ebbed, and the needs of my workday life pressed in to replace it. I unfolded from the chair and unlocked my office door. Outside, people were returning to their cubicles from lunch. The office filled with the sounds of people being productive.
I returned to my desk and turned my attention, as best I could, to the demands of work. I had even more trouble focusing than I had before; the greater part of my mind was occupied processing the message I had just left. For reasons I did not completely understand, calling that phone number and leaving that message for a mystery audience made me even more uncomfortable than I had been when Robin had told me there was someone else watching as I masturbated on my Webcam. I really did feel dirty, and exposed in a way I hadn't felt on the camera.
And yet...
And yet I was incredibly, powerfully aroused. I caught my hand surreptitiously creeping between my legs as I thought about the things I'd said. My mind drifted; I remembered how Robin had made me talk to Ranbir and describe what was happening as he'd taken me, and wondered what it would be like to leave a message on a stranger's voice mail while Robin fucked me. I thought, too, about calling that number, and letting the voice mail record as I masturbated to orgasm, and shared myself in so intimate and vulnerable way with this person I did not know.
The afternoon passed in a haze of lust, arousal, and distraction. Quitting time was on me before I was even aware of it. A giddy, tingling sense of shame washed over me-you'll have to walk by everyone in the office! They'll be able to tell!-and my nipples hardened under my blouse.
I packed up and left quickly, scarcely saying goodbye to anyone, feeling self-conscious. In the parking garage, I glanced up at the security camera, and felt a tingle between my legs. A brief sexual fantasy flashed through my head-hands on my body, ripping off my clothes, teeth on my neck, a quick hot passionate fuck standing up against the concrete pillar supporting the ceiling, while the security guard watched from his booth-and then I was in my car and navigating through traffic.
"Robin! I'm home!" I sang when I walked through the door. "Are you going to tell me who you made me call this afternoon?"
He met me at the door with a grin on his face. He was wearing a button-up dress shirt, slacks, a narrow black necktie. "No." A fierce and unexpected kiss choked off any further questions, and I gave myself over to it, I returned the kiss hungrily, greedily, arms wrapped tightly around him, and whimpered my need and desire. It went on and on and on, that kiss, and I moaned and ground against him and feared that I would come right there.
Finally he broke the kiss and I panted and stared wordlessly at him. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me further into the house. I let out a shriek of surprise, but he did not respond at all; he merely kept pulling me, fingers tight in my hair, through the living room and into the study.
"Are you a good girl? Have you been doing as you're told?" Before I could answer, he spun me around and bent me over the huge antique roll-top desk that was one of his prized possessions. "Let's find out."
I gripped the edge of the desk and stayed there, amid the scent of hardwood and old books, as he pulled my skirt up over my ass. I heard him unzip his slacks, then he pulled my panties aside and in one deep thrust he was inside me. I screamed and closed around him and oh, God, it felt good. His hands gripped my thighs tightly and he began taking me in long, hard strokes. I moaned and pushed back against him, accepting him deeper, and slipped one hand between my legs. I stroked my fingers over my clitoris, obeying his directive to masturbate as soon as I came home, "May I come? Please?" I asked, barely able to speak through the ripples of pleasure that accompanied every thrust.
He didn't reply, but grunted as he moved faster, taking me hard across his desk. I heard his breathing quicken and felt him harden and swell within me, and I knew he was close. "Please, please let me come!" I sobbed, my fingers still moving in rapid circles around my clit.
He threw back his head and roared as he slammed into me, and I felt the hard wet slap of his orgasm gushing deep within me. I screamed and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and fought against my own orgasm, and behind me I felt his hands tighten on my hips as he pounded me and shook with ecstasy.
Then he was finished and he withdrew from me without warning. I cried out, suddenly empty, and felt his come spill out of me. I remained there, leaning over the desk, gasping, wanting him so desperately to plunge into me again, fill me, take me roughly, grant me release. "Please... please..."
He slid my panties back into place. "Not now. I have a surprise for you. Look down."
"What kind of surprise?" I asked, with more than a hint of trepidation.
"Look!"
I looked at the assortment of papers and books on the desk beneath me, a little off-stride. "I don't get it-oh!"
There, sitting on top of a stack of papers, two long, thin cardboard rectangles-tickets, to the performing arts center. "You didn't!"
I did," he said smugly. "I also got us reservations at a restaurant downtown. We need to go in-" He looked at his watch. "Right now. Come on."
"I need to take a shower first. In case you hadn't noticed, I've just been fucked, and I'm a little messy."
"No. No time." He zipped his pants and smirked. "We need to leave right now."
"Robin! I'm-"
"-a dripping, come-filled mess," he finished. The smug, self-satisfied grin widened. "And I'm hungry. Let's go."
'You look awfully pleased with yourself, " I said. He didn't answer; I straightened, and felt his warm wet begin to drip out of me almost immediately.