Chapter 5: The Second Shift – No Fabric Between Us

The alarm dragged me awake at six-thirty, but I’d already been lying there for an hour, the soaked black thong from yesterday clutched to my face like a lifeline. I’d fallen asleep with it pressed over my nose and mouth, her dried slickness filling every breath while Lisa slept unaware on the far side of the mattress. The fabric had grown warm against my skin overnight, the faint salt-and-musk scent deepening into something almost sweet and addictive. By the time I finally rose, my cock was half-hard and stayed that way through the shower and the silent drive downtown.

The sixth floor felt different the moment I stepped off the elevator—sharper, more dangerous. Every ordinary sound carried an edge: the soft ding of incoming emails, the rustle of papers, the low murmur of colleagues greeting each other over coffee. I knew what had happened under her desk yesterday. She knew. And now the entire building seemed to pulse with the possibility that someone else might figure it out.

I arrived early enough to watch the office wake up. Sarah showed up at eight-fifteen in the same charcoal pencil skirt that had hugged her so perfectly the day before, paired with a pale blue blouse that clung to the heavy curve of her breasts. During the morning stand-up she stood at the front of the small conference huddle, voice steady as she ran through her numbers. When her gaze flicked to mine for the briefest second, the corner of her mouth lifted in the tiniest smirk—gone so fast I almost doubted it. My stomach tightened. My cock gave a slow, heavy throb against my thigh. The rest of the morning dragged in a haze of tickets and forced conversation, every normal interaction layered with the secret weight of what waited at 2:15.

At 1:50 my phone vibrated on the desk. One new message from her.

2:15. Same place. This time you’re tasting the real thing.

I spent the next twenty-five minutes trying not to look at the clock. When the time came I stood, legs unsteady, and walked the short hallway to her office. The door was ajar again. I slipped inside without knocking.

She was already seated, chair rolled slightly back, skirt rucked high around her waist. No panties. Just the smooth, bare skin of her thick thighs parted in invitation, her pussy already glistening under the soft desk light. The sight hit me like a fist to the chest—pink and swollen, the outer lips puffy and slick, her asshole visible just beneath in the shadowed cleft.

“Close the door,” she said quietly, not looking up from her screen. “But don’t lock it.”