Chapter 2
I’d been out of work for a while, but everything had changed. Finally, a fresh start. I was excited, buzzing with energy. 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: subtle, but snug where it counted. A light perfume, barely there. Makeup on the toned-down side. Only one annoyance: my period had just ended, but I still had that dumb fear of a leak. I slipped on a panty liner, just in case.
Right on the first day, I was greeted with smiles and a touch of curiosity in the air. The team seemed welcoming, almost too friendly. They invited me out for happy hour on the spot. It felt good, you know? I could sense I might actually be happy there. The vibe was easy… until he showed up.
The trouble hit like a whisper. A scent. Not some heavy cologne. It was… man smell. Not that sweet or woody shit from a fancy store. It was rawer. The scent of hot skin, of neck, of sheets after a good fuck. Something between sweat and pheromones. Subtle, but it drilled right into my nose and left me dizzy. My legs went a little weak. My womb? It throbbed — Well, it wasn’t exactly my womb…
“Impossible… am I already ovulating? Has to be,” I thought, a bit 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… did you smell that? That amazing smell… someone’s cologne?”
She scrunched up her face, looked around, and said:
“What cologne? I didn’t smell a thing…”
And another one, next to her:
“Me neither. You crazy? In here it’s just stale coffee and mold from the AC.”
But no. I could smell it. The room was small, cramped with way too many people for a pointless meeting. But that scent… it cut through everything. It was damp. Arousing. Something was wrong with me.
Once the meeting wrapped up, the teams split off, and that’s when I found out who owned the cologne that was driving me nuts. It was his last day, and he was handing over all his 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 super professionally, I have to say, he stood right beside me.
When he leaned forward, resting his hand on the desk and explaining something about the workflow, I couldn’t pretend to pay attention anymore. His voice was deep, kinda gravelly, and it came with that scent. God, that scent.
It wasn’t just the cologne; it was his body. The heat radiating off him, the sound of his breathing, the closeness. He crouched down next to me for a bit, pointing at some random chart… and I could barely figure out where I was.
I felt my panties soaked. Not just damp. Straight-up wet, to the point where I was squeezing my thighs together hard, trying to hide the insistent throbbing building between my legs. I crossed them, uncrossed them. Shifted my hips. Tried to hold it together, but my body wasn’t listening. Every time he leaned in closer, my clit pulsed like it was begging for mercy — or mercy or a finger. Anything.
I just kept thinking: “If I touch it, if I give it a little scratch right now… I’m screwed. I’d cum right in the chair.”
He stood up, making a muffled sound of pain:
“Ow, I banged my knee… it’s hurting, you know.”
He stretched out, rubbing his leg with a grimace, and I laughed, kinda awkwardly. But the laugh caught in my throat when my eyes landed right there… at that level.
His pants were bulging. Not obviously, but enough that I couldn’t look away. There was volume. Shape. Everything I wanted right then. I blinked slow, like I could hide my hungry stare. But it was pointless. I was hypnotized.
My chest rose and fell faster. My face burned. I felt the heat dripping down there, spreading. My panties were sticking, glued to my 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. How it’d feel to grip 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’d put his hand on my leg right then… I swear… I’d have spread open.
Well, I couldn’t do anything, and me, who never thought a little workplace harassment could feel so good, was just sitting there playing it cool.
He could’ve left early. He had the freedom to. But he stayed. Stayed by my side the whole damn 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 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, my head, 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 I should. And when he pulled away, I discreetly brought my fingers to my face, like I was fixing my hair, and sniffed. I checked out his ass, watched him walk away down the empty street.
His scent.
“Fuck. Should’ve used my left hand; now the smell’s gonna fade fast. All I could think about was jerking off later!”
I raced home with my heart pounding and my head full of scenes that never happened. I ignored all my family’s questions — “How was the first day?”, “Like the people?”, “And the boss, is he cool?”
Fuck it.
I locked myself in the bathroom. Kicked the door shut. Threw my pants on the floor. My panties were stuck, almost see-through from all the liquid built up over the day. I yanked them off in a frenzy, feeling my pussy lips part, slick and throbbing. I sat on the edge of the sink, legs spread wide, my hand sliding easy between the outer lips, hunting for my clit.
My mind was on him. That mouth. That stubble. The way he spoke low and steady. How he crouched next to me, his cock right there, near my face, testing me without knowing.
I started slow. Traced soft circles with my fingertips, and the flesh was already quivering. Went lower. Slid two fingers in easy. Hot. Wet. Flooded. My breath hitched.
I closed my eyes.
Pictured 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. 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 lip 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.
Came hard. So hard my leg shook. 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.
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.