Girl on the Net

This gorgeous kinky office story is written and read by Carolyna Luna, and originally appeared on her website. 

I wonder if my employees are curious about the frequency of my shuffling body today. Or of the constant hiss of the pneumonics in my office chair releasing and engaging again as I stand and then sit back down aggressively. No one has commented on the cacophony of its wheels scraping against the floor. They’re used to my furious typing, as I often spend my day that way, but that’s never stopped them from dropping by for the usual interruptions and banter. It’s odd enough for a Friday afternoon when no one’s ever in the mood to work. Even odder because I’m not furiously typing today. As the hours of silence have spilled into late afternoon, I really wonder if they somehow possibly know that my body is trying to betray me…

I can’t begin to work on my task until I actually know what my task is. I grit my teeth, cross my legs, and sip icy water, willing my mind to focus on the mundane work I could be doing instead. Still, I can’t calm my fluttering heart or quiet my muddled brain.

Ravenous. Vigorous. Wet. Unsettled. Every attempt to work bounces me back to the theme.

Salacious. Hungry. This is fucking middle age? Or is it just me?

I think of cold fingers dancing around my erect nipples. It’s a sensation I’ve always relished. The beauty in the contradiction of it — a dare to pull away and resist the shock of ice against fire. But not me. I never pull away. I always surrender. And that’s why I can’t touch them now. My fingers are chilled by both the air conditioning and the frost collecting around my water bottle. I’ve allowed them to sneak into my bra just enough to lightly caress the skin atop my buxom valley and the warmth trapped in the crease where my breasts and my underarms meet. My body is hidden from view through my open office door by my huge computer monitor. I could easily pull the fabric of my blouse and bra away just enough to tweak my nipples — bolts that have darkened to brown as blood rushes under them. It makes me want to cry. But I won’t touch.

I stand again, and yet another hiss from my chair incites a thought as I walk to the water cooler.

Every Friday, Manny goes into my office to sweep and mop after I’ve left for the evening. I greet him several times a day when he comes in to empty the trash. He’s always pleasant, but he’s known for the wiley ways he gets around the property manager’s rules. It makes me think about how far his streak of naughty might go. If on a day like today, when I’ve been stewing for hours, he might pick up on the scent of my arousal imprinted on the cushion of my chair when he moves it to clean under my desk. Would it excite him? Make him curious enough to lean down for a sniff? Would he look at me differently on Monday if he knew I’ve spent so much of my time in wanton heat?

I’m well aware that I’m losing my mind as I sink once again into my chair with nary a soul having talked to me on my walk to and from the cooler.

The potentially easy access of my skirt is not a welcome one when trying to resist touching my perpetually engorged vulva with every fiber of my higher consciousness. But Irene has insisted on a skirt today.

Fuck it. I dial her extension and my assistant picks up expeditiously.

“Irene, do these people know what’s going on here? I’m really starting to wonder.”

She doesn’t skip a beat.

“Well, no, but I did send out an office-wide message this morning letting everyone know that they shouldn’t bother you today. That you’re working on something very important and time-sensitive. I promised if they complied that you’d dismiss everyone for the day an hour early.”

But before I can answer, she continues.

“Don’t fret, Anna. I’ll have the task in your inbox in about fifteen minutes. Until then, sit tight.”

I know better than to argue. So I hang up. But I don’t sit tight. I watch the clock and shift in my chair. Side to side. Forward and backward. But I’m fairly certain I could climax from the residual friction alone given that I’ve not been allowed to climax for two weeks. So I stop. This only works if I’m good.

When Irene’s email finally pings, I am giddy.

I’ve left something for you in the credenza. Put it in without shutting your door and leave it in. Then walk around to everyone’s cubicle personally, wish them a good weekend, and dismiss them for the day. One by one, Anna. All seventeen employees. If I see a mass exodus, then you have failed. Once you’re done, return to your office, email to let me know if you’ve succeeded, and await further instructions.

I don’t hesitate to reach up to my credenza to find a bulbous metal butt plug and a tube of lubricant which I furiously unscrew. Then, leaning to the right in my chair, I pull my panties to the side and do as I was instructed. First a firm, circular massage to my opening with the tip of the plug before working it all the way in. I nearly cry out in bliss as the exquisite fullness fills my core.

Standing, I readjust my panties and smooth my skirt over my thighs. Before I set off on my task, I email Irene.

“Locked and loaded and ready to begin. But you know, I’m beginning to wonder who the real boss is around here.”

I don’t see her reply until I return to my desk thirty minutes later, dripping with anticipation and wicked pride for my successful, torturous, delicious exertion.

“Don’t wonder, Anna. Know. Or I’ll make it another two weeks.”

If you enjoyed this fabulous kinky office story, check out more of Carolyna Luna’s amazing work at her website CarolynaLuna.com, and head to the free audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud.