Sexting you at work [MF] [Cheating] [Humiliation]

*Another fictional piece I’ve been working on. Please send me a message and let me know what you think?*

You have a lot of work to do today. It is the end of the month and things get a little manic at this time. Even though you know you need to focus, you can’t help but pick up your phone when it pings the familiar sound of an incoming message. You’re slightly surprised to see it’s from me, normally I would just call, but you open it. It’s a photo I appear to have taken of myself in a mirror. In it I am wearing a tight fitting black lycra dress which shows off my figure nicely. My breasts are pushed up into a welcoming cleavage which is visible in the low-cut, square neckline. The hem of the skirt is a little above mid thigh but has risen slightly giving a generous view of my toned legs. It has risen up because I have one hand up behind my head to emphasise the curve of my back in this slightly side on view, my long blonde hair lying neatly down my spine in a lazily held together ponytail, the tips of the longest strands reaching the small of my lower back. I am smiling a friendly smile for you, and you can tell I’ve taken time with my makeup.

“Wow! You look hot. You at work like that?” You text back.

“Thanx. No, been shopping. Like my new dress?”

You respond with a thumbs up emoji and put the phone back down to get on with some work. A few moments later it pings again with the arrival of another picture. The dress is gone now, but the pose is similar only this time I’m wearing a matching set of pastel blue floral lace push up bra and panties. You instantly recognise it as the set you bought me for my birthday last year, the ones I usually save for date night because I know how much you love me in them. The bra holds my firm breasts perfectly with enough but not too much swell above the cup, my nipples poking at the thin fabric. The straps are delicate giving an exaggerated air of femininity to the set. The panties are little more than two triangles, one larger one at the front and a smaller one at the back, held together by two thin straps sitting high up around my hips exaggerating my long legs, and a thong that reaches underneath. The colour contrasts perfectly with my lightly bronzed skin. You can see the glint of my diamond belly button stud sitting sexily in my flat stomach, another gift from you.

“Those are my favourite!” is your response.

“I know. Like?”

“Of course I like! I’ve got a semi here! If I didn’t have so much work I’d be in the bathroom right now” you fire back.

A brief pause then ping, another picture. I am now side on to the mirror and am looking over my shoulder at the camera. My bra clasp is undone but I’m holding it in place with an arm across my chest. In this one you can see the bare flesh of my left buttock and you can tell that all that time at the gym is paying off as my tight toned curves blend down into the back of my leg. I have my left leg pushed up slightly as my foot rests on my tip toes, which forces the muscles to tense, exaggerating the shape.

“David, you got a second?” You’re startled by the voice and quickly put the phone, screen down, on your desk. One of your colleagues is standing by your chair, holding a printed report. You have a momentary panic, did she see that you wonder, then you realise you are sporting a sizeable and growing erection, can she see that? It takes a few moments for you to help her with her query during which time your phone pings twice more. “Do you need to get that?” she asks. But you tell her it is fine. When you are done, she says “thank you” and smiles at you, or was it a smirk, before she is gone. You franticly grab for the phone, checking that there is nobody else overlooking, and open the next message.

In this one I am completely naked, still side on to the camera. I am looking again over my left shoulder with my upper body twisted towards the shot allowing a clear view of my left breast, the nipple already erect where I have teased it slightly. My left leg is bent in a similar position obscuring my cleanly shaven pussy from view. My blonde hair is now out of the pony tail and is flowing loosely over my shoulder and down my back. You really wish you had gone to the toilet now when you had the chance, but there is no way you can walk across the office without someone noticing the tent in your trousers. The second message is a similar shot, but with my free hand pushed down between my legs, touching myself, my head tilted back slightly, my eyes closed. That look on my face.

It’s as you are looking at this most recent image that a thought crosses your mind.

“Where are you? I don’t recognise that bathroom.” You send.

“Gareths” is the reply you get. Instantly you feel uneasy, who the fuck is Gareth?

“Who’s Gareth, why are you there?”

I ignore the question and instead send “Did you like those last two?”

“Yes you look amazing” you reply but you are now wondering why I am not answering the question so you ask it again “Who is Gareth?” You skim back through the photos, now not looking at me, instead looking for something you recognise, but you see nothing. By the time you’ve scrolled back to the most recent messages I’ve replied.

“Good, I am glad you like them. Because that’s the last time you’ll see me naked.”

You read it twice, then again but you didn’t misread. You have a cold sweat beginning to form. You have no idea what is going on, but you know it isn’t fun anymore. These last few messages have done for your blooming erection, so you get up and head into the corridor. You send me another message as you walk.

“What’s going on Claire. Call me” You can see the little read receipt and know I’ve read it, but by the time you walk the 50 or so metres to the corridor I still haven’t called or replied.

“?” you send, and again the read receipt but no response. You hit the logo to call me. It rings twice and then goes to voicemail. You don’t want to admit it, but deep down you know I diverted the call. You dial again, this time straight to voicemail without even ringing. You’re beginning to panic now. Your thoughts flitting between, why am I ignoring you? Who is Gareth? And lastly, as you still in your confusion hold out hope I’m not deliberately ignoring you, am I ok?

You pace up and down the corridor trying to think. What did I say I was doing today? Do you remember me talking about someone called Gareth, is he a work colleague? What have you done that could lead to me ignoring you, did you miss something, an anniversary of something important? You call another two times, both times straight to voicemail and both times you leave a panicked “call me back” message. You send another text “WTF is going on Claire, call me back please, I am worried” this time however, to your increasing dismay, there is no read receipt.

You head back to your desk and sit there a moment, staring at the conversation, rifling back through it a few more times looking for clues. You wonder if you should call one of my friends, my sister maybe. But what would you say? After 10 mins you remind yourself that despite all this you have a deadline for the end of the week and you were already under pressure before I messaged. You decide to get on with it and see if I call back. Two more hours go by during which time you must have checked your phone a dozen times, like that was going to make a difference. You’ve hardly been able to concentrate, and you know you’re falling more and more behind. Then, just as you are reconciling yourself to having to stay late, finally, your phone pings.

You grab it and open the message without even considering if you should move out to the corridor again.

“Remember when I said you’d never see me naked again?” it reads.

“Yes. Why haven’t you called me?” you reply timidly, wondering where this is going.

“I lied” is the response. Then your phone pings again. It’s another photo.

It’s a closeup of a pair of naked breasts. You know instantly they are mine, you’d recognise them anywhere, you love my breasts. You tell me nearly every time we make love that they are your favourite part of my body. You love how they feel when you hold them, the weight is just perfect you say. You love how sensitive my nipples are. You love how they fall slightly into my armpits as I lie back on the bed. But most of all you love how they look in the mirror as they swing beneath me when we fuck doggy style. In the photo, the nipples are erect and there is a flushed tint to the skin. There is also a glistening that it takes you a second to notice, sweat, have I been working out? Then it hits you like a wall, ‘oh my god’ you think, not sweat… cum.

You go to type something, but I’ve seen the read receipt. I’ve been waiting for the implications of that first image to sink in and as soon as I see the telltale bubbles that let me know you are typing, I send the next picture.

This time it is a close up shot of my underwear, lying on the floor. Your favourite ones. The ones you bought me for my birthday. The ones until today I saved for our special date nights. They are in two small crumpled discarded piles; the bra has cum splattered across one of the cups. The panties are ruined, the thin waist straps torn in half where they have been ripped from me.

Again you go to respond, but again I am waiting.

The next is a photo of me. I am kneeling on the floor looking up at the camera, directly into the lens. I look happy, the way I look at you when we’re snuggled on the sofa, or when I’ve had a couple of drinks and I’m plotting what I’ll do to you when we get home. Only this time the happiness is from the cock in my mouth, and it isn’t your cock. My hands rest on my thighs as a couples of inches of it have disappeared into my mouth. My lips are sealed tightly around the shaft and from my compressed in cheeks you can tell I am sucking hard. Near the bottom of the frame you can see hips and pubic hair of the owner of this cock. Gareth you assume, and you can tell he is definitely longer and possibly thicker than you. On the exposed part of the shaft you can see traces of my bright red lipstick.

Now I don’t wait for you to try to respond, and the images come quickly.

In the fourth picture I am on my back on a bed that isn’t ours. Again I am looking right into the lens of the camera. My breasts have both slid off to the sides the way you like. My legs are spread wide apart and I am pulling my bent knees close up in to my chest opening myself up to the camera. You can see my cleanly shaven pussy, the pinkness of my labia, the glistening of my wetness around the entrance. You can tell from the ever so slight parting of my vaginal opening that something must have been in me only moments before. A finger perhaps, or something else?

In the fifth, I’m in the same position as the one before, only this time Gareth’s hips are pressed up against my ass cheeks. His penis is lying across my abdomen and you can see the head is just below the belly stud you gave me. There is a thin strand of precum stretching from his tip to the shiny diamond. You can tell exactly how far inside me he will be, and you imagine what the next ping will bring, with a sense of dread.

In the sixth, still on my back, Gareth is fully in me, his pubic hair brushing against my cleanly shaven pussy. Can you see the slight swell in my stomach as the curve of his shaft causes the tip of his penis to push upwards slightly, pressing at my belly? I no longer need to hold my legs in place, his weight is doing that for me. My hands are by my sides gripping the sheets tightly. My back is arched up off the bed, my head tilted back and up but you can see my eyes are closed and my mouth is wide open in a moan of pleasure. You know immediately the camera has captured the first moments of penetration, the first thrust that has reached deep up inside me. You can see how much I love it.

The seventh has me on all fours, ass in the air, chest pressed down into the mattress beneath. Gareth is again balls deep inside me and you can’t help but wonder if the tip of his penis is pressing into my cervix. You know from experience this position is the one that gets me most vocal, there is nothing I enjoy more than being fucked from behind. If you could see my face you’d guess I’m screaming, and you’d be right. I can barely take him. But you can’t see, however what you can see is a muscular tattooed arm reaching up my back. My long blonde hair is wrapped at least once, maybe twice, around the hand at the end of it which has taken a firm grip and is pulling back hard. My head is forced back, my chin down into the mattress as he pulls me roughly back onto his cock.

You are not sure how much of this you can take, but the photos are coming so fast you haven’t had time to think. You instinctively open them as they arrive, oblivious to your surroundings. Oblivious to the fact that whilst your mind is racing in its confused state, and your heart has sunk down into the pit of your stomach, you also have a raging hard on. Harder than perhaps you’ve ever been. With dread you realise this has all happened in the last few hours as you sat at your desk working. As I ignored your messages. While you’ve been sitting there like a sheep, writing report after report, working on one spreadsheet after another, I’ve been getting fucked by Gareth, whoever that is. You’ve seen the woman you love covered in another man’s cum, the presents you bought her defiled, you’ve seen her experience pleasure you thought previously only you were allowed to give her.

The eighth photo arrives, and all hope deserts you that this is some kind of sick joke. I’m on all fours, looking back over my shoulder, but this time I’m not looking at the camera. From the angle you realise I am looking into Gareth’s eyes. You’ve seen that look on my face before, the flushed glow I get after I climax, the wanting in my eyes that say I have more orgasms in me if only you’ll help me find them. With horror though in the bottom of the frame you see that Gareth’s cock is now resting at the entrance to my other hole. The tip is pressing against it, beginning to open me up but not yet pushing through. You can see the glistening mixture of lube and my own juices along the length of his shaft, and around my asshole. You notice for the first time that Gareth isn’t wearing a condom, that I am letting him fuck me bareback, something we only started doing after we’d moved in together and I went on the pill. You realise with complete despair that this is what I want, this is what my eyes betray I am longing for. How many times have you tried to persuade me to try anal, and how many times have I refused? For you, this is the ultimate humiliation, and you dread the next message.

“David?” You snap back to reality. You turn to see your boss standing behind you looking over your shoulder. In your surprise you haven’t even hidden the screen, and you wonder how long she’s been standing there. “Is that your work phone David? Please give it to me. And follow me into my office if you don’t mind.” She speaks politely, as if this is the most normal conversation in the world.

As you hand her the phone, you hear the familiar ping of another message arriving.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ol4a4a/sexting_you_at_work_mf_cheating_humiliation