Over the next two weeks, I slowly divulged to Sarah more and more tidbits of my kinks and my personal exposure to them. Gauging her reaction via text was difficult but manageable. Her only exposure to “my world” was the occasional blindfold for a bit of teasing sensual foreplay. About as vanilla as a blindfold can get.
The day came when I knew I could accelerate things – there were no subtle signs, no, she opened the door and it was loud and clear. I had just fulfilled a picture request for R. I told her about it and she teasingly asked if she could see it. It was just my tits so I texted it to her phone. I didn’t hear back from her right away, in fact 10 minutes went by.
Her response is a photo of her own tits. A mimic of the picture I sent to R. Taken just then, just for me. The accompanying text read:
Your pic made my head spin and my mouth water. I hope I have returned the favor, even if in a small way.
Oh hell. It had, perhaps, a greater effect than she imagined. I knew she’d look this good but I did not anticipate the immediate carnal reaction I would have. Creamy pale and lightly freckled skin, full C-cup size, pale pink and slightly puffy areola and a little darker pink nipple. Tiny pink peaks. My clit throbbed and I subconsciously touched a finger to my lips and then slipped the finger inside my mouth a bit; my need to lick and suck her was immediate and visceral. I actually sat there for a minute and pondered if there was a way, a place, somewhere somehow I could get her naked breast and my mouth to meet pronto. Sadly nothing came to mind except my need to sate my pent-up lust – my own hand would have to do. I quickly texted a response, a casual statement of her beauty, and then I made a beeline for my favorite jerk-off restroom. I smiled at her on my way past her desk. She texted back, asking where I was going, but I didn’t answer her. Not yet.
I propped my phone up in the stall, hoping it would not fall, so that I could stare at her hands-free. Leaving both hands free for masturbating to a relatively quick orgasm in 5 minutes.
As I walked back by her desk she looked at me quizzically. Again, a near-immediate text.
Where did you go? And why are your cheeks so flushed?
And so I told her, via email. I told her that I ran off to masturbate in the restroom and all because of one little pic from her. I told her all the dirty things I wanted to do to her, all the kinky things. Things I would do with my lips and tongue and teeth; with my fingers and the palm of my hand and my fist. I told her that I wanted to claim her, make her mine if only for brief glimpses. Have her under my control.
I am stunned, speechless, and in awe of your daring. Stunned and speechless that my photo caused that reaction. Clearly I am not as brave as you, because it didn’t even occur to me to attempt that even though my reaction to your own photo was equally amazing. And even if it had been mild, the reaction caused by your words has done it. I am incredibly horny, most certainly shockingly wet and would kill for a good O right now. Everything you said, everything you want from me and to do to me, yes yes PLEASE! Just be gentle and patient, Mistress ;)
Oh god, I’m sorry, I hope I wasn’t being too cheesy and naive there. “Mistress” just flew out from my fingers and I hit ‘send” before I fully realized it.
I thought for a minute, but only a minute. I had to test her. I replied in short order:
When it is warranted, Mistress will do just fine. So you’re horny, eh? Why wait? I want you to go down to the 8th floor restroom, the one that’s in the corner of the east hallway. It is not used very often, it’s where I go. Use the handicapped stall at the very end of the row. I want you to go do what I just did. I want you to come for me. That’s an order, Sarah. No reply, just go, NOW.
After one minute, I followed her. I snuck into the restroom as quietly as possible. Practically held my breath as I slowly crept towards that last stall. I stood where I knew she couldn’t see my feet, and I listened.
I grinned and silently swooned. I heard that unmistakable sound, the wet rubbing sound, of a girl getting off.
I planted my feet where I was and leaned forward with my upper body, until one eye was looking into the crack between the door and stall wall. She had her pants down, but had only pushed her panties to the side, so my view was partially obstructed, but it was still insanely sexy. I didn’t want to break her obvious concentration so I leaned back, backed up a few feet and just waited on her. I strained my ears listening to the barely-there sounds of her fingers rubbing her swollen clit, getting faster. Then the sound of what seemed like a long exhale, probably from her holding her breath. In that exhale I swear I could hear her whisper something but I don’t know what. Despite my own recent orgasm I was aching and dying to come again.
I waited a few moments and then cleared my throat.
“Sarah, open the door, now.”
She didn’t say anything but I heard the rustle of her rearranging her clothes and then the sound of the latch opening. I pushed it open impatiently and relished the look on her face for a brief moment. It was this delicious combination of startled and embarrassed and aroused and sated and orgasm-happy yet apprehensive. I bit my lip, smirked, and in one rapid move I shoved her against the bathroom wall. I gripped the neckline of her top and pulled both it and her bra cup down in tandem and quickly, ravenously, moved my lips to her exposed nipple.
I had been wanting to do that for what felt like forever.
The moment we returned to our desks, I sent off a quick email:
From now on when I order you to masturbate in the restroom like that, you are to do it with your legs spread wide apart and panties pooled at your ankles. None of that demure crap you just pulled…..