We [MF] Did a Bad Thing at the Office

I’m a consultant at a distribution center for 15 years. Office is in the front, warehouse in the back. I manage the networks and piddle around with the phone systems as well. We’re doing an upgrade, it’s been going on 18 months, I’m there 12 hour days, three days a week.

There’s a manager in one wing with a dozen women in their 50s and 60s reporting to her. I’m in their age range, so we are peers, have all the same songs and movies. As a professional office, they generally dress business casual, although one is always in a pair of dress jeans, and another is always in oversized smocks and yoga pants.

One day I was working late, configuring machines. Eventually I was the only one there. Or so I thought. I left my cube, full of machines, hardware and boxes of cable, and saw light at the end of the corridor.

I walked down to see who had left there light on. Turns out Rebekah was there. She never stayed late, was hourly, but end of month and some computer problems conspired to give her some OT.

So it was late and she was waiting for some reports to run, so we chatted for a minute. She was Russian, distinct accent but perfectly fluent, no problems understanding her. She was tall and graceful, a bit solid but plain, modest clothes and funky practical shoes, how media stereotypes East European women.

She would walk by in, holding her shoulders back and it was obvious to see she was well built, even though her tops were high neck and blousy, very discreet. But today she had a bit of a v-neck with criss-crossing, lacing pulled tight, still very modest, but still if she leaned forward at her desk and you stood above her, there was potential for a peek at some good cleavage.

So we were talking, I was standing at the opening to her cube, her desk was 90 degrees but she was turned partly to me, still so she could keep an eye on the progress of her reports running.

I couldn’t help but try to sneak a peek when she turned to her computer, but she changed her mind at the last second and turned back to me, caught me looking down her top.

She reflexively put her hand to her collarbones, our eyes meeting. “Oops’, I stammered. “Sorry couldn’t help it. I’m a guy…” and shrugged.

“Oh, no, it’s OK, Just reflex, you know.” She put her hand down. I kept my eyes on her face. “no, really, it’s ok that you look. I don’t mind.” She thought for a second. “Actually, I kind of like it that you wanted to look. Not like most of the guys around here. With you, I don’t mind at all.” With that, she leaned forward, inviting me.

I glanced quickly but looked away immediately. “No really, look at long as you want!” she paused. “Sally (the manager) and I check you out when you walk down the hall. Only fair. And I haven’t had someone want to look, well, not someone who wasn’t creepy, for a long time.” With that, she leaned forward a bit more, and with her index finger, tugged her neckline down as far as she could. I dropped my eyes to her v-neck, but this time I didn’t immediately avert my gaze.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked. “Ummm…” she looked down and answered herself. “I guess you can’t really see very well. How about this?” She pulled one end of the criss cross string, loosening i tup, and then spread the sides of the v-neck. “Better?” She giggled. I looked again, and noticed the swell of her breasts spilling out of the lace edges of a bright red bra. “Red lace, huh?”

She blushed a bit, and said, “I don’t like to dress to attract attention, but I like to feel sexy underneath. “Nice!” I approved. “Really nice!”

As my eyes continued to focus on her neckline, she tugged the sides open more, using both hands, and then down a bit more, the lack of criss cross allowing more exposure. Her cleavage was fully visible and I could see a substantial part of her bra.

“You fill that out very well. Looks great!” She smiled demurely. “I’m glad you like, meeting my eyes. I can see that you like the view”, as her eyes dropped to the front of my jeans. I could feel my cock, comfortably cradled in my athletic cut sport briefs, resting off to the side, but I didn’t think it was visible. Evidently I was wrong. “I can see the bulge in your jeans. But I can’t tell if you’re hard” she looked again, pointedly, and I felt myself involuntarily stiffen a bit.

“Seems to me that if you’re comfortable enough asking if someone is aroused, you are in a position to find out for yourself.” I chuckled, but with an underlying serious intent. Would she make a move? I was suddenly very aware of how close I was standing to her, definitely within arms length. And also aware that I was starting to stiffen.

She looked up at me, and then at my jeans again. I could tell she was hesitating, wanting to reach out, but nervous. Flashing a little cleavage is one thing, touching a coworker is clearly a cross the line past straight flirting.

“Looks to me like you’re hard.” She smiled again. “Right there”, she pointed, her fingertips extended, about 2 inches from me.

I looked down at her finger, and followed when it was pointing, thrusting my hips forward a bit in doing so. “Where, exactly?” I asked, pretending to be innocent. We both knew at this point that we had the same desire, she wanted to touch me and I wanted her to try. It was simply a game of chicken to see who would break first – would I ask her to find out or would she touch but without me saying anything.

She drew an invisible line in the air, an inch from the now obvious ridge to the right of my zipper. I hitched up the waist, enhancing the bulge just a bit. “You mean there?”

“Yes. There. It starts down here, ” she moved her finger to the base of my zipper, “and then goes all along to here” and when her fingertip reached the end of the ridge, she lightly tapped it with the tip of her finger.

“Yeah”, I said, and I looked pointedly down her blouse again. With that, she pressed her fingertip against the end of the ridge and ran her finger all the way to my zipper.

“Yes, I think you’re hard.” She squeezed the shaft between her thumb and fingertips, and continued, “Yes, you definitely have a hard-on. I’m glad of that.” She continued to squeeze, helping me grow, then began teasing.

I had fantasized about this for a while, but now that it was happening, I suddenly didn’t know where this was going to go. I realized, I didn’t know if she was married. And we were breaking the number one rule, NEVER mess around at work. But we had switched from just flirting to something, well, way more. And she was totally into it. So I let her continue.

(to be continued)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/njdcaa/we_mf_did_a_bad_thing_at_the_office