There are a few rules a girl should follow when casually hooking up with a guy: Know your boundaries, don’t reveal too much about yourself, and, perhaps most important of all, do not get involved with a coworker. This is the story of how I broke that last one—in the most glorious of manners.
I’d just gotten myself a fresh new job at a small office, an open space inhabited by a short-staffed team who referred to themselves as a “family” (should have spotted that red flag miles away, I know). Of all 20 employees, there were only three or four straight men, which, naturally, meant the bar was oh so low. Nevertheless, there was this guy, let’s call him George*. What was so special about him? Not much, TBH! Sure, he was funny and tall, but his hottest trait was that he worked in the same office as I did. I swear “office goggles” are real—otherwise unremarkable people suddenly seem so much more bangable when you’re working together.
And so there I was, down bad for a coworker. We started chatting on social media after work and what started as small talk quickly turned into some fairly PG-13 flirting. George would gush about how much he wanted to hang out or how excited he was to see me on Monday. But for the time being—at least as far as I was concerned, anyway—this was purely an online thing. Did I immediately get wet when I saw him glide past me in the office every morning? Of course. But I was dutifully resisting the urge (and what an urge) to take this after-hours flirtation to the physical level. George, however, seemed to have less self-control.
One day, as I watched him race toward our office building behind me, trying to catch up with me as I headed inside and not trying to hide it, it just clicked. I knew it right then and there: George was done playing games. He was going for the gold (the gold being my one-of-a-kind Portuguese-Brazilian bunda). As we made innocent small talk outside the elevator, I could feel his eyes completely locked on my cleavage, which, admittedly, I’d left on proud display that morning with his gaze in mind. As the elevator doors slowly closed behind us and I felt his warm breath on my chest, all I thought was, Fuck, what have I done?
When I tell you this man came at me like a lion slaughtering a gazelle. Even before he kissed me, his hands were on my waist. Then copping a feel of my ass over my jeans. Then feeling me up under my shirt. This elevator was fast, and George clearly wanted to get the most out of those 20 seconds.
Needless to say, stepping into the office right after that was probably one of the greatest rushes I’ve ever experienced: knowing I had this hot secret that could only be discovered by the most skilled sleuths (if anyone even cared to notice my flushed cheeks and smudged lip gloss).
These encounters within the company premises became much more frequent. George would ask for my opinion on whatever little project he was working on or would desperately “need my help” with an important task (spoiler alert: he knew how to schedule an Instagram post), and off I went, trotting to his desk where I sat unnecessarily close, enough for him to be able to tell exactly where I sprayed my Chanel Gabrielle that morning. When I smiled and laughed at some joke he told, making my boobs jiggle up and down as I giggled, I swear I saw his bulge rise.
I loved it. I loved the whole feeling of sneaking around, having secret conversations over text in front of everyone, walking into the elevator together in the morning and being absolutely defiled (well, as defiled as you can get in 20 seconds). Most of all, I loved knowing just how much he wanted to fuck me and just how horny I went into the office every single day—talk about an edging kink. The tension alone was enough for me: Imagining what sex with George would be like had me hot and bothered at all times and, to be honest, I was afraid reality wouldn’t match my fantasies. Our short encounters had me satisfied, and they also kept escalating. When we found ourselves alone in the building staircase, he would rub my thighs with his hard-on or fondle my nipples, my tits fully out in the open. One day, I even invited his fingers into my pants, just to provoke him with how wet he made me.
What can I say? Being the Aries Venus that I am, I’m a professional tease.
Cut to one of our late-night chats, when I mentioned this remote-controlled vibrator I own. It’s a lovely dual device where one end is inserted in the vagina (and has no problem finding the sweet spot) and the other sits perfectly on the clit. Not unlike a panty vibe, its whole purpose basically is to be worn, like, out in public and controlled through an app on whatever phone you pair it with. When I first got it, I dreamed of all the restaurants and parties I’d take it to, all the orgasms I was gonna have in front of strangers and be forced to downplay. Tragically, when talking to George, I realized I had only actually used it once. But when our technically unconsummated office fling became a bit too hot to handle, I saw an opening.
One morning when I was feeling especially chaotic, I packed my sadly underutilized vibe in my bag and headed off to commit what I like to imagine was one of the more creatively unhinged offenses in the history of workplace affairs. The whole commute I found myself pretending I was a YouTuber filming a “what’s in my bag” video: I don’t leave the house without my Dior Lip Glow Oil—oh, and this is my vibrator! A beauty must-have, if you ask me.
I waited for George to arrive and then went to the bathroom. The vibrator was in, the jeans were on, and thank fuck I didn’t look like I was happy to see him.
By this point, I was second-guessing my every move. Did I really want to get involved with this man? What if someone noticed? Shit, is this, like, wrong? Of course, the menace in me spoke louder and as soon as I could get George alone, I went for it. I placed my phone on his desk, showed him the app and very quietly explained how it works: “There are two motors. This one is the clitoral and this is the internal. Just swipe up and down to increase or decrease the intensity.” As I urged him to crank up the vibrations, I took a quick look around to make sure we had at least 10 seconds to ourselves and put his hand between my legs so he could get a feel of what he was doing to me. George’s eyes glistened like he finally got what he didn’t even know he needed—and then I saw it: his dick getting hard as if in slow motion.
To be clear: It was never my intention to cum at work. Knowing my body, it would be difficult for me to be focused and relaxed enough to give in. I was merely an explorer venturing into new territories—my goal was simply to see what happens when you hand control of your sex toy to a coworker at the office. And what did I find out? First of all, that George wasn’t afraid of reaching full power—and neither was I. Thankfully, my colleagues were loud enough that no one seemed to notice any strange buzzing sounds coming from my desk. But make no mistake, it was vibrating so much that at one point, I swear my chair was moving on its own.
Coincidentally, it happened to be our colleague Mary’s* last day. As anyone who’s ever worked at a small company knows, someone leaving is an excuse to slack off and shoot the shit with your coworkers over cake. So off we went to get a slice of cheap chocolate cake and bid Mary farewell. At this point, I had my phone on me again, but the vibrator was still in. I wasn’t done playing yet, and apparently neither was George. When everyone was busy chatting, he discreetly took my phone and urged me to unlock it ASAP. I obliged, which turned out to be my one big mistake.
George took literally two seconds to open the app and immediately crank the toy up to full power. Not only was I getting sore after a couple hours of being sexually tortured, but having both motors on at such a high level made me tremble like I was fucking convulsing. It wasn’t even pleasurable anymore, but before I could tell George to knock it off, I saw Mary, who was handing out goodbye hugs, coming for me. This lady was closing a whole chapter of her life leaving this “we’re a family” company—who was I to ruin her moment by denying her a hug? Before I knew it, she was embracing me while I had a vibrator in me going at full speed. Josephine, maybe she didn’t notice anything, you may think. Oh, but she absolutely did—I felt like a fucking Nokia 3310 someone was desperately trying to reach, buzzing so hard, you feared it might self-destruct.
But Mary, Mary was a girl’s girl. She was a trooper. Whatever Mary thought she felt, she ignored, probably figuring she didn’t want to know.
By that point, I may not have finished, but I was more than done: I took my phone back from George, turned off the app, and finally took off the vibrator. I was sore like I had just gotten the pounding of my life and I hadn’t even cum. Some boys really do go crazy with their toys. This is why we can’t have nice things, George.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, things fizzled out shortly after that experiment and our affair came to an end a few weeks later—still unconsummated. (I told you I’m a professional tease.) On the bright side, none of our colleagues ever found out about our little office fling. Sure, I heard people had their suspicions, but we were simply too good to leave any traces. George may have been a bit too rough with his toys, but we were both experts at playing the game.
*Name has been changed.
