I just had the best helpdesk ticket… [M/F 20s] [librarian] [masturbation, vibrator, groping, handjob] [60 minute SLA]

We don’t get many helpdesk calls from the library offices. No surprise really, as the people there tend to be more tech-savvy. When they do call in, it tends to be a problem that requires real effort to solve. Which is why I’m annoyed that Erik assigned this one to me, “What the fuck, boss? You know I’m trying to get outta here.”

“It’s not me, Wes,” he shrugs, “They asked for you by name. Said you helped them last time. Same thing again.”

I frown, that couldn’t be — I’ve avoided any real work for weeks. “Who’s it who’s asking? Who’s–” I look at the request form, “–Leslie?”

“That’s that blonde girl, the new one. Research department maybe? Just get your lazy ass up and go over there. You won’t mind, she’s hot.”

“Can’t say shit like that anymore, boss,” chimes in Felicia, not bothering to look up from her screen, “But it’s true, Wes, she’s hot as fuck. If you don’t want the ticket, I’ll take it.” Felicia’s into girls, all the time likes to remind people of this.

I’d much rather solve problems remotely, without leaving my desk. We all would. But I sigh and stand up, gather my things. “Fine, whatever. But don’t let this hurt my metrics. It’s like a twenty minute walk just to the building.”

“Fuck your metrics and jog,” Erik says, “You’re just fucking around on reddit, anyway.”

“Go to hell!” I advise him, closing the door behind me. Erik and Felicia and me, great working relationship.

I make my way through the center of our community college campus and into the main library. Up four stories, into the east wing. There’s few people around, being that it’s a Friday afternoon, and in this section the stacks are all reference material. Few people have the misfortune of needing to do research right now.

I sigh while I walk down the row of offices, finding the right door. I knock.

“Come in!”

I step inside, and there’s a small reception area with one cubical, and a set of offices branching away. It’s deserted, or nearly so. “Hello?” I say.

“Oh, you’re here!” A blonde girl, my age-ish, pops up from behind the cubical, hair so bright it’s nearly white. And she’s extremely cute, with a bright smile and glistening lips.

“Leslie?”

“That’s me!” she says, “But I was just the one that filled out the form. Jordan’s the one with the problem. Something with her Excel, she’ll show you.” She points her thumb down the hallway. “Third door, can’t miss it.”

The hot girl isn’t even the one I get to talk to? What is this bait and switch crap? I grumble and march off down the hallway, find the door labeled ‘Jordan, Research Ass.’ Who abbreviates ‘assistant’ that way?

I knock.

The voice rings out, high-pitched and annoyed. “What?”

“Uh, IT?” I say, pushing the door open.

Even more exasperated. “What?” The voice belongs to a girl — woman — my age, sitting behind a desk. She’s got a fancy office chair, and the desk is nice, one of those with a motor to raise and lower it, so you can either sit or stand while working. And the woman, it takes me a moment, out of context, but then the pieces click. This is the same Jordan from my Chemistry track, we’re in the same study group. I don’t know her well, and didn’t know she worked here. And she recognizes me, too. “Wes? What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t seem all that happy to see me. “Uh, Leslie said you were having some problem with Excel I guess?”

She grits her teeth and hollers, “What the fuck, Leslie?”

Leslie appears at my side. “For that issue you were telling me about. Remember?”

Jordan’s fingers are on the keyboard, but she’s not typing. She looks dazed, distant, embarrassed? “I remember. Why did you…?” Her lips push together, like her jaw is clenched, and she gives the blonde girl a look. “Did you have to?”

I’m a little off-balance, unclear what drama I’ve walked into. Framed by a ponytail of brunette hair, and with thin-rimmed glasses thrown in, Jordan’s been blessed with a kind face and big, shimmering eyes. She’s got the type of honest, innocent demeanor that encourages you to be nice to her. I can’t imagine finding enjoyment in annoying her.

But Leslie’s smiles spreads, ear to ear. “Yep, I did.”

I swallow, glance between the girls, and ask, “So, uh, do you want to show me?”

Jordan’s eyes track back to me. “Show you what?”

“Uh, the problem?”

“I, uh…” Jordan squirms, looks around her desk, “It’s, um–”

I frown, step closer, leaning in to look at her screen. I glance at her as I do. She’s got on this simple, button-down white blouse, very professional. But her short pleated skirt is like catnip to me, the way her thighs slide underneath so sexily, always mere inches from full exposure. The way the material flares out around her hips, hinting at a tantalizing round butt beneath… I blink, force my gaze to the screen. “Show me,” I say.

Now that I’m up close, I become aware that Jordan’s breathing is shallow, like she’s nervous, tense. “It’s really nothing,” she squirms.

“Jordan,” Leslie chimes in, “Let Wes sit.”

Jordan hesitates. “You– uhhh, ok.” She stands, a weird writhing of her hips as she does so, and she gasps again. She bites her lip. “Here you go,” she says, her words squeaking as she pushes the chair at me.

What the fuck is going on here? But I sit on her chair, and Leslie bites her lip and grins at our exchange like she’s having the time of her life. “Take the mouse, Wes,” she says, then flicks her eyebrows at Jordan. “Show him where to click.”

“Ok.” Jordan’s breathing is quick and impatient, and she leans over me, hips near my head in a manner that’s very distracting. And then she places her hand on mine on the mouse. Her palm is sweaty and hot, and her fingers curl around my hand. “I, uh…” she says, her fingers quivering, “I–” She groans, grits her teeth, her torso twitching.

“Sorry, Wes,” Leslie says, her eyes gleaming in some secret delight, “She’s a little nervous.”

“Oh god,” Jordan mutters, “F-f-fuck…”

I stare at the nerdy girl, eyes wide, as she pinches her legs together and her hips twitch to the side, into my shoulder. She loses balance and falls onto my lap, groaning, legs quivering.

I catch her, stop her head from hitting the desk, and try to right her. She’s acting like… but no, that’s ridiculous, that can’t be. I say, “Is everything ok?”

“Yes…” she whimpers, “Yessnngggg…”

“Oh wow,” Leslie admires, “Look at her go.”

I’m reeling, unwilling to trust my senses. “What?”

Jordan bounces down, straddles me, grinds her crotch into my leg. Her cheeks are flush and her mouth hangs open, lips glistening. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, and her glasses slip down her nose. She pushes them back up, shoulders writhing, back arched, chest pressing out against the fabric of her shirt, straining the buttons. “Sorry,” she moans, although she doesn’t look sorry.

Leslie giggles. “You don’t mind, Wes, do you? If she climaxes on your lap? I mean, I know it’s pretty forward, just going around, having orgasms next to cute boys who never asked for it. But I didn’t think she’d actually cum, you know? She must be more sensitive than I realized. Plus she said you were checking out her ass the other day, which I know isn’t, like, an invitation to just do whatever, but, I mean, it’s what I’ve got, so…”

It’s true, I had been checking out her butt the other day. She’d been wearing these high-waisted jeans at our study group, and she’d been writing on this large sheet of paper on an easel. As she turned to write, my gaze would automatically drift down, growing envious of the denim wrapped so tightly around her juicy butt. Then she’d turn back to the group, and I thought I was being discrete, but I guess she saw where my eyes were looking.

So… “She’s orgasming?” I say.

“Almost,” she whimpers, “I’m so close.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Leslie whistles, “Wes, why don’t you help her over the edge?”

Jordan’s eyes focus, find mine. “Please?” She lifts her skirt, and her legs go up up up. And where they meet, she’s got tight, white panties, saturated wet and bulging out around some interloper. I look, study what’s going on, confused at first. But there’s a buzzing — I’d been hearing it along, thought it was some piece of office equipment — and I realize Jordan’s got a vibrator, her panties holding it in place against her pussy.

“Well, fuck,” I mutter.

“Please,” she repeats, then she shoves her skirt back down, tucking it between her thighs, pinching them together. “Sorry,” she whines, “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” Her hips are pulsing, rhythmically rubbing her crotch into my leg.

Leslie seems to be enjoying this nearly as much as Jordan. “Or you could give her to me, I’m happy to finish her off,” the blonde girl says, “But one way or another, we can’t leave her on the cusp like this forever. It’s cruel.”

“Please,” Jordan whimpers.

It’s time to take charge. I push Jordan up, bend her over her desk. She gasps, trying to push her ass up, but she’s weak-kneed. I push the button on her desk, the one to raise it to standing position. Jordan gasps again as she finds herself elevated, her legs soon lifted in the air, her feet unable to reach the ground.

Leslie’s grin is gone, replaced with a surprised awe. “Damn,” she mutters, “Wish I thought of that.”

With Jordan’s butt now in my face, I lift the hem of her skirt, revel in the sight. A thick bubble, a round whale-tail of an ass, panties damp and clinging to her mound, riding up between her cheeks. I gently grab her butt, squeeze it, feel its glorious shape. I grab her panties, yank them tight. I stroke down her crack, teasing her ass, her pussy.

She gasps and squeals and moans, little signs that she’s liking this as much as I am.

I smack her ass, a playful slap.

“Harder,” she says.

I do what the lady asks, and she groans in pleasure. I do it again, and again, until her groans become continuous, giving her the ecstasy she craves. I slide my hand under her panties and grasp the vibrator. There’s two there, I realize with a gasp, one inside her sex, the other egg-shaped, pushed up against her clit. I tweak the egg, massaging it into her, using my thumb to tease her ass.

She grips the desk hard, her legs kicking in the air, back arching. Her groans become a scream, her ass spasms, her thighs quiver. “I’m cumming,” she wails, “I’m cumming…”

I see her through it, not resting my hands until she comes back down, falls limp against her desk. She pushes herself down, sliding into her chair, collapsing into her seat in a daze, eyelids heavy.

Leslie looks delighted with herself. “You should ask her out,” she says.

I look down at Jordan, halfway embarrassed to be seeing her like this — sweaty, panting, pulling a vibrator out from inside her. But mostly I’m horny. “Do you want to–”

“Yes,” Jordan cuts me off without even a glance, “I’ve got a place not far from here. I’ve got leftover Chinese in the fridge and a box full of condoms.”

My dick twitches. “Well then. Guess I know what I’m doing tonight.”

The next Monday, I set my stuff down in the IT office and log in, humming to myself.

Felicia leans over, frowning, peering at me like I’ve grown a third arm. “You seem happy,” she says.

“Guess so.”

“What’d you get up to this weekend?”

I nod my head side to side, bouncing to music that’s only playing in my mind. “Not much,” I say, “Stayed in, ate leftovers, studied.”

“Studied,” she repeats dryly, her disbelief plain.

“Yeah,” I say, giving away nothing, “Chemistry.”

She frowns. “I see.”

“By the way,” I say, “You remember that ticket from late Friday? The one from the library research department? Leslie?”

“Yes… what about it?”

“Nothing. Just, you should go check in with Leslie. Make sure they’re all, err, happy with our work.” I wink.

Felicia eyes me warily. “Right.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/zg2leb/i_just_had_the_best_helpdesk_ticket_mf_20s