The Scent That Got Me Wet

I'd been out of work for a while, but everything had changed. Finally, a fresh start. I was excited, buzzing even. New people, new job… that feeling like life was finally getting back on track after being stuck for so long.

I picked my outfit carefully: discreet, but snug where it counted. A light perfume, almost unnoticeable. Makeup on the subtle side. Only one annoyance: my period had just ended, but there was still that stupid fear of a leak. I put on a panty liner, just in case.

Right on the first day, I was greeted with smiles and a bit of curiosity in the air. The team seemed welcoming, friendly even. They invited me to happy hour straight away. The vibe was good, you know? I felt like I could be happy there. The atmosphere was light… until he showed up.

The problem hit like a whisper. A scent. It wasn't strong cologne. It was… man smell. Not that sweet or woody stuff from some fancy store. It was something rawer. Smell of warm skin, of the nape of the neck, of sheets after a good fuck. Something between sweat and pheromones. And it was subtle, but it sank deep into my nose and left me dizzy. My legs went a little weak. My uterus? It throbbed — Well, it wasn't exactly the uterus...

"Impossible… am I already ovulating? Has to be," I thought, kinda panicked.

I started glancing around discreetly, trying to figure out if I was the only one feeling it. I leaned into one of the girls' shoulders and whispered:

"Hey… you smell that? That good smell… someone's cologne?"

She frowned, looked around, and replied:

"What cologne? I don't smell anything…"

And another one, next to her:

"Me neither. You crazy? Here it's just stale coffee and mold from the AC."

But no. I could smell it. The room was small, cramped with too many people for a pointless meeting. But the scent… it cut through everything. It was damp. Exciting. Something was wrong with me.

Once the meeting ended, the teams split up, and that's when I found out who owned the scent that was driving me crazy. It was his last day, and he was handing over all the work to me. We went to his office, which would soon be mine. He kindly told me to sit at what would be my new desk, and very professionally, I have to say, he stayed by my side.

When he leaned forward, resting his hand on the desk and explaining something about workflow, I couldn't pretend to pay attention anymore. His voice was deep, kinda husky, and it came with that scent. God, that scent.

It wasn't just the cologne; it was his body. The heat he gave off, the sound of his breathing, the closeness. He crouched by my side for a bit, pointing at some chart… and I could barely figure out where I was.

I felt my panties soaked. Not just damp. They were really wet, to the point where I squeezed my thighs together hard, trying to hide the insistent throbbing growing between my legs. I crossed, uncrossed. Tensed my hips. Tried to hold back, but my body wouldn't listen. Every time he got closer, my clit pulsed like it was begging for help — or a finger. Anything.

I just thought: "If I touch it, if I give it a little scratch right now… I'm screwed. I'll cum right in the chair."

He stood up, making a muffled sound of pain:

"Ow, I banged up my knee… it's hurting, you know."

He stretched out, massaging his leg with a grimace, and I laughed, kinda awkwardly. But the laugh caught in my throat when my eyes stopped right there… at that level.

His pants were bulging. Not obviously, but enough that I couldn't look away. There was volume. There was shape. There was everything I wanted right then. I blinked slowly, like I could hide my hungry stare. But it was pointless. I was hypnotized.

My chest rose and fell faster. The skin on my face burned. I felt the heat dripping down there, spreading. My panties were sticking, glued to the wet skin. And it wasn't sweat.

He was saying something, explaining a process, pointing at the papers… and me? I could only think about his mouth. The texture of his skin. What it would be like to hold that cock with both hands and smell him up close, stronger. I was sitting there, pretending to be professional, while my body screamed for filth.

If he put his hand on my leg right then… I swear… I'd spread.

Well, I couldn't do anything, and I, who never thought a little workplace harassment could feel so good, was just sitting there with a blank face.

He could have left early. He had the freedom to. But he stayed. Stayed by my side the whole day, helping with every detail, going over everything with me like it was the most important thing in the world.

I remember a comment over coffee:

"That guy's awesome… could be at home, but he's here, giving it his all, handing over the job all chewed up so no one gets screwed. Real professional."

I just smiled, but inside… inside I wanted to bite the mug. Because he wasn't just there — he was in me. In my body, in my head, in the center of my soaked panties since mid-morning.

At the end of the day, he left with me and another coworker, part of the way. And even without saying anything, I knew: he had nothing to do. He was just there… close. And I was dumb enough to think that meant something. Or slutty enough to hope it did.

At the goodbye, he gave me a firm, formal handshake, smiling like I was just another colleague.

"Good luck the next few days. You'll kill it," he said.

I held that hand a second longer than necessary. And when he walked away, I discreetly brought my fingers to my face, like I was fixing my hair, and sniffed. I checked out his ass, watching him head down the empty street alone.

His scent.

"Fuck. Should've used my left hand; now I'll lose the smell soon." "All I could think about was jerking off later!"

I raced home with my heart pounding and my head full of scenes that didn't happen. I ignored all my family's questions — "How was the first day?", "Did you like the people?", "And the boss, is he cool?"

Fuck that.

I locked myself in the bathroom. Shut the door with my foot. Threw my pants on the floor. My panties were stuck, almost see-through from all the liquid built up during the day. I yanked them off in a frenzy, feeling my pussy lips part, wet, throbbing. I sat on the edge of the sink, legs spread wide, my hand sliding easily between my outer lips, seeking my clit.

My mind was on him. That mouth. That stubble. The way he spoke low and firm. How he crouched by my side, with his cock right there, near my face, testing me without knowing.

I started slow. Drew gentle circles with my fingertips, and the flesh was already quivering. I went lower. Slid two fingers in easily. Hot. Wet. Flooded. My breathing was ragged.

I closed my eyes.

I imagined him watching me. Telling me I was a good girl. That he saw how wet I got. That he noticed. That he stayed for that reason. Because he wanted to see me explode.

My hips started moving on their own. Right hand inside, left squeezing my tit under my shirt. I moaned low, bit my lips to keep from yelling.

"Call me a slut," I thought. "Fuck me in the middle of the office, make me cum with my mouth shut so no one hears."

I came.

I came hard. In a way that made my leg shake. The orgasm hit hot, pulsing, thick. It dripped between my fingers. I did it again, still with his image in my head. My whole body vibrated. And only then did I stand up.

I stepped into the shower without rushing, letting the warm water run between my legs, washing away the desire — but not erasing it.

I stood there, thinking.

"How do I talk to him? Text him? Ask some dumb question? Invite him for coffee? Hit on him straight up?"

I knew that story wasn't ending in that bathroom. Or with that handshake. There was something there. And I'd find a way to talk to him again.

I'd figure it out.