Link to Part One: [https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8swq7v/a_story_from_work_mf/](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8swq7v/a_story_from_work_mf/)
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Nothing happened for almost two weeks. Nothing really changed. Not at work, anyway, where Kristen treated me exactly the way she always had—friendly, flirty sometimes, but with not so much as even a knowing wink about what had happened between us.
Things did change a little bit for me personally, though, if I’m being honest.
Some brief history on me. While I don’t consider myself someone with a huge amount of experience, I’m not exactly helpless with women either. I lost my virginity at a pretty normal age. After that, in college, I had a (small) handful of hookups. One or two of which involved some dates and some romantic feelings. The other one or two being things that just happened at parties. Either way, I’d never been in a serious relationship.
And, more to the point, I’d never experienced anything even close to the intensity of what happened with Kristen in the break room. Compared to anything I’d experienced with women before, what happened with Kristen was like touching a live electrical wire.
For days afterword, every time I was alone I felt overwhelmed with the urge to replay the entire thing in my mind. Every little detail stayed fresh to me. The way she bent over slightly before she started undressing. The way she smelled when I got close to her. And, of course, the shock of seeing the words written on her.
Every time I thought about it, a wave of butterflies ran through me.
And, butterflies would be the right word, actually, because this is the thing—the whole situation had made me feel like I was starting to fall a little bit in love with her. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but it was true. I thought about her all the time. I already liked her so much—her cute attitude, her brains, her beautiful face—that to now suddenly see this other intense side of her…it was almost too much.
At work, however, I pretended like nothing had happened. And, like I said, she kept treating me completely normally. Which is why I had probably almost lost hope, two weeks later, when the next thing eventually happened.
I had just come in for a dinner shift a few minutes previously, along with a couple other servers, when she walked in. We were all standing in the back hall making small talk before we had to gear ourselves up for the night. Kristen put her big tote bag on a hook on the coat rack, then opened the bag a pulled out a plain Manilla envelope.
“Hey,” she turned to me, smiling. “This is that school stuff you wanted.”
Of course, I hadn’t asked her for any ‘school stuff,’ whatever that even meant, but I understood immediately that she was up to something, and that I should do my best to play it cool.
“Oh, hey. Thanks. Totally. Yeah, I’ll look that over tonight. That’s awesome. I appreciate that.”
I realized that I was talking too much, so I stopped, and just stood there.
“Cool. Well, this is your backpack, right,” she asked, pointing.
“Oh, yeah. Totally. Here, let me grab that.” I took the envelope from her and fumbled it into my bag. “Thanks. Thanks again. Appreciate that.”
“No problem,” she said, and walked off towards the dining room.
I was so excited by the fact that something had finally happened that it took me a second to realize I was still standing amongst most of my coworkers, now with this lump in my throat and a heat in my stomach and chest. I had to stay turned toward my backpack for an extra minute, pretending to have trouble closing it, in order to make sure that the outline of my dick hadn’t become visible in my pants. After calming down, I headed off up front to get to work.
You’d think with the distraction of wondering about the envelope that my shift might have gone bad or dragged on, but it was the opposite. It flew by. I was in the zone all night. I charmed the pants off every table I had, I made awesome money, and I stayed out of the weeds all night. It was great. At the end of the night, I slipped my backpack off the coat rack, said my goodnights as usual, and headed home.
Entering my apartment, I was relieved to remember that my roommate was working that night, and wouldn’t be home till well after the bar closed, so I had the whole place to myself for the next couple hours. I went into my bedroom, put my backpack down, took the envelope out, and set it on my small desk.
But I didn’t open it immediately. In fact, I took a shower and ate some food, the same way I always do after work, except this time teasing myself, dying to know what was in the envelope. Eventually, feeling ready, I sat down at my desk, opened the envelope, and looked inside.
What it seemed to contain were a handwritten note, and a series of photographs. Immediately, I desperately wanted to look at the pictures, whatever they were. But I also wanted to take my time with every part of things, so I slipped the note out and looked at that first.
It was written in cute, neat handwriting, and it said the following—
*Dearest [My Name],*
*I suppose a little bit of explanation is in order.*
*As you found out for yourself last week, I, your friend and coworker Kristen, am also a slave. I belong to—and am at the utter disposal of—the person you have been introduced to previously as my ‘boyfriend’, whom I shall refer to throughout this letter as ‘S’.*
*Our arrangement is quite simple—I do whatever he tells me to do. That’s all. I do anything and everything he asks me to, no matter how embarrassing or degrading I find it, because it fulfills me to be used in this way. Perhaps you can understand that, perhaps you can’t. In return for my obedience, he gives me his affection and care. He is my protector…my boss. He is also my friend and companion.*
*As to the current business—*
*S has commanded me to enclose the following pictures to you, in the hope that you find them pleasing.*
*S has instructed me to ask of you, if you are willing, the following: that you choose the picture you like the most, and that you masturbate onto it. And, when you are done, that you take a picture of the results, and that you send that picture to the email address enclosed on the back of this note.*
*He has also instructed me to be polite, and to thank you for considering this proposal, so I will do that now:*
*Thank you. Thank you for looking at me naked. Thank you for masturbating to these pictures of me. Thank you for coveting me. And thank you for your participation in my proper treatment.*
*Signed,*
*Kristen, slave girl*
Once again, Kristen had managed to produce an intense experience in me, this time without even touching me, because every word of the letter was like a wave of heat and pleasure moving through my body. Slowly tucking the note away, I pulled the pictures out of the envelope. And that’s when the next surprising thing happened. Because, to put it simply, the pictures weren’t at all what I was expecting. I guess with all this talk about ‘slavery,’ and ‘obedience,’ I was expecting whatever I thought of as bondage, or ‘hardcore,’ images. But the pictures weren’t like that at all.
For one thing, they seemed like genuine film photographs, and they were printed on glossy, almost thick stock. The images were all of Kristen, and in most of them she was naked, but not graphically so.
In the first, she was curled up on a couch, reading a book, in what I assumed to be her and Steve’s apartment. Only her naked thigh, crossed legs, and arms were really visible.
The next was her entire naked body from behind as she bent delicately over a sink to fill a glass of water. Light from the kitchen window was falling on her hair and her shoulder, putting them in contrast to the rest of the image. It was gorgeous.
In the third, she wasn’t naked at all. It was simply a close up of her, at a little breakfast table, laughing, one hand cutely trying to hide her face from the shot.
The fourth picture picture was of her stretched out in a bathtub, one crossed leg sticking out of the water, again reading a book. Her hair was up in a loose bun behind her, with soap suds clinging to the bottom of it, and to her neck.
The last picture, the fifth, was the only one that was in any way pornographic. It was taken from above, in a bed. In it, she was completely naked, her knees pulled up high to her sides. Her head was almost blurred, being tossed in one direction, her hair falling across her face. But still you could see that she was biting down on her lip, as she had one hand thrust between her legs, touching herself.
I studied the pictures intensely. I wasn’t sure how I felt about all this, or what the right move was. In the end I guess I just decided to…do what they had asked.
I laid all the pictures out on my bed and stood next to it, looking down at them. I started touching myself, first through my pants, then pulling my dick out and jerking off. I wanted it all to last a long time, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. In moments, I was already close to an orgasm. As I got closer and closer, it suddenly occurred to me that I had to pick out one of the pictures. My eyes darted frantically between all of them. They were all so beautiful. Finally I grabbed the last one, the fifth one, and pulled it closer to me. I think I chose that one because of the position she was in. It made it so easy to imagine being there with her…as if I could actually feel myself laying down on top of her…pushing myself into her…
A surprising amount of come shot out of me and landed on the photograph.
I stood there, breathing, my head head rolling back in satisfaction. As I came to my senses, I admit that for a moment I felt kind of silly or embarrassed about the whole situation. But in a way, I actually did want to do what they had asked me to do. I figured I kind of owed it to them. So, as daintily as I could, I picked up the photograph and moved it over to my desk. Turning on my small lamp and pulling out my phone, it took me a couple attempts to get a picture that looked right. I managed to get one that I was happy with and then, as quickly as I could, I wiped my come off the picture. Given the heavy, glossy stock, it actually hadn’t done too much damage. Which was good, because I really wanted to keep all the photographs.
Entering the email address she had written into a new email on my phone, I gathered the photos and the note, put them back into the envelope, and sipped them into my desk drawer.
And then, shaking my head at the recent bizarre turns my life had taken—wondering what, if anything, could possibly come next—I attached the picture to the email, and hit send.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8t751o/a_story_from_work_part_2_mf_ds
Gifted writing! Thanks, looking forward to the next one!