(I): Hand Relief
It all started with the spatter of my cum across the office computer screen. I was standing next to the desk, my trousers and boxer shorts down round my ankles. Emma, my work colleague, was sat on the swivel chair next to me, her jeans off, her legs encased in cream nylon pantyhose, her hand wrapped around my cock, still wanking it as the last spurts of semen now pattered across the key-board.
"Better?" she asked. I nodded. It was all I could do for the moment.
I didn't know it, but Emma was to be the first of a number of sexual adventures I would have with my work colleagues at the institute over the following few weeks. Whether it was because of my now single status -- I had recently broken off an engagement to a young female solicitor in the city -- or simply luck, I was to find myself in a number of lurid trysts, all with women my senior and all work-related...
My diary for that week had perhaps been a little provocative but surely not precognitive;
"Monday 16th
Why doesn't Emma wear skirts any more? Although she's quite short, she's got good legs and a great arse..."
I never thought I would ask her though. But there I was, doing just that the following Thursday.
"I just haven't felt like it," she answered. "Why? You like looking at my legs?"
"Well, yeah, especially when you wear tights...."
"I'm wearing tights right now."
I could feel the saliva juicing up my mouth. I swallowed.
"You want to see them?"
"Please."
"All right. Lock the door."
I did so. There wasn't much chance of anyone coming in, but you never could tell at the institute and it was always better to be safe than sorry.
By the time I had locked the door, Emma had taken off her jeans and was sitting, cross-legged in cream tights at the computer.
"Ok. I don't want you touching me, but I can wank you off, if you like."
I could only nod. Now beside her, I quickly unzipped and lowered my trousers and dropped my boxers, my cock already standing to hard attention.
She took it in her small hand and lightly squeezed it. I could smell her hair, her perfume, the cigarette she'd recently smoked out in the forecourt but could only stand there, obeying her, not touching her, as she began to wank my cock towards the computer screen. I looked down at her, at her nylon clad thigh, her legs still crossed...
I suppose it took only half a minute. I watched her watching my cock, its purple head exposed-covered-exposed as she began to pick up the pace. Grunting, I exploded, the spurts of white cum splattering across the screen, her hand now pumping me hard as I took hold of the desk to steady myself. I must admit to wanting her mouth on me, to have her sucking me, and me with my hands in her hair as I came....
"Better?" she asked.
She cleaned my cock up with a Kleenex before wiping off the screen and then her fingers. As she did so, I pulled up my boxers and trousers.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't mention it," she replied, smiling. She pulled her jeans back on, the hiss of the material over nylon had me twitching again but I had work to do and so did she.
"Can I ask you out sometime," I asked.
"I don't think my boy-friend would be very happy about that," she said, sitting down and beginning to type. "But maybe we can organise another hand relief session if you're good..."