As a secretary in a busy city office I face many difficulties during my working day. One of these is, invariably, the number of male colleagues who ogle me, particularly as there is always an element of pressure from management to dress in a manner appropriate to the job – which means relatively short skirts and heels. Another, though, is the length of business meetings – these can go on for hours, and the story I am going to relate is one very much about the consequences that can arise from being stuck in a room and desperate for a comfort break. I won’t go into detail, but I was bursting after the meeting closed, and my laptop was quickly stowed in my bag. With as much discretion I could muster I left the room and literally ran down the corridor to the ladies’ loo. It was all to no avail. As soon as I was in the cubicle I realised the deluge was imminent, and it was as much as I could do to lift my short pleated skirt high about my waist and spread my thighs wide as I peed like a mare right through my old-gold coloured panties! What a mess. Underwear soaked, stockings damp too at thigh level, though thankfully nothing more. Off came the panties and stockings preparatory to a quick wash in the sink. I rolled on a new pair of stockings (office dollies always carry a spare pair, no matter how senior they are in the pecking order), and hoped that nobody would notice that barely black had been succeeded by tan. I was forced to go without knickers, though, as I had no spare. Checking that the coast was clear, I retreated to my office, and placed the wrung-out garments side by side on the radiator to dry.
As I’ve already intimated, the secretary birds in my office do get a great deal of flirtatious attention from the male staff. The knickers made this worse. Luckily, I spent most of the day in the company of three other secretaries, and when some man or other passed a comment on their present, we offered them a feel if they could guess to whom the panties belonged. Thankfully, they all laughed and none of them took us up on the offer. When I cam back after lunch, though, my panties were gone! My colleagues laughed and said that some office junior was quite possibly wanking himself soft with them wrapped around his cock as we were speaking! I resigned myself to having to replace them, given that they matched my bra.
Nothing further happened until I was in the stock room alone, and up the ladder, and I heard the door open and close behind me. Then came the click of the lock being engaged. I looked behind me to see Clive, my manager, looking up at me. ‘If the offer still stands, I think I’d like to nominate you as the girl going commando’, he said ‘and if I’m wrong you can name my forfeit’. I’ve always fancied Clive, so I took my life in my hands and descended the ladder. ‘Your chance to feel’, I said, as I took my seat on his knee. His hand roamed up under my short skirt, which had risen up when I sat, exposing my thighs almost to my stocking tops. Enjoying his caress on my legs I relaxed, and almost swooned as his fingers made contact with my pussy. Skilfully, he opened me, and with two digits inside me and his thumb circling my love-bud, he brought me to a sweet climax. I needed no words, but simply stood, turned around and, still standing, placed my midriff upon a convenient box. My skirt was drawn up over my shapely arse, and then I felt the bulbous glans of Clive’s cock ease itself into my soaking passage. He paused for a moment, and then fucked me with hefty masculine strokes, pistoning his member into my unresisting body. When he came, I rejoiced in the throbbing of his girth and the soaking feeling of all that potent seed swirling within my receptive matrix. ‘You might need these, to stop you leaving a mess on the floor outside’, he said with a smile – and handed me my now-dry panties.
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