Office Surprise

Don't ask me how something like that could happen. It just happened. OK?

I was the victim here, remember?

You want full detail of the incident? OK. Give me a chance to describe the environment. See if you can picture this.

I work in one of these chicken coop offices. You know the type. Everyone has their own little cubicle with walls high enough to cut down on sound and to shield everyone from everyone else.

You get to work, you enter the maze, you settle down for the day and no-one knows if you're even there unless they come to the cubicle to check. My particular cubicle was on a dead-end corridor, mine being the last door there. People just don't pass my cubicle so I don't get interrupted by chance passers-by. Anyone there is there for a reason. Generally they have a problem and hope I'll have a solution.

Clothing wise, I favour miniskirts, lacy blouses and long boots. They really set my legs off. No-one cares what I wear to work. Like I said, I'm tucked away, so I'm not a distraction.

Sexual harassment is frowned upon. Anyone who tries it gets a single warning. They take heed or they're out the door. Management are hot on this. I've never been harassed, and neither have any of my friends that I know of. That's part of the reason this all took me by surprise.

Now what happened is, I had this stack of folders I was working my way through. They were neatly stacked to one side while I was working on one and I got this phone call. I answer the phone and I'm chattering away, trying to answer some idiot's inane questions, and I needed some stuff from one of the folders. The bottom one of course, so I shoved the rest of them even further to the side while I fished out the information I wanted.

By the time I'd finished the call, I had stuff all over the desk, and I had to sort it out again. So I gathered up the folders and stacked them where they'd originally been. I found that I'd just dumped the phone on the desk after the call, so I grabbed it and slammed it back on its base.

And the bloody cord was under the folders, wasn't it. The damn things tilted and slithered off the desk, all over the floor and under my side table. So what do you do when that sort of thing happens? You pick them up, of course.

Most of them were right there and I could just bob down and grab them and put them back on the desk, but the couple under the side table were awkward to get at. In theory, I just push the chair back, bend down and get them, but the chair has this bust wheel, doesn't it? It won't slide and it's bloody awkward trying to shift it about. It's set just where I like it, so I didn't want to move it. I've complained about the jammed wheel, but it's low priority I'm told. They'll fix it when they can.

Anyway, I figured it'd be easier for me to just bend over the chair and fish around with a ruler to drag the folders closer to where I could grab them.

So there I am, bent right over the chair, bum up, head under the side table, scrabbling for these folders.

The next thing I knew, someone's hooked a finger under the crotch of my panties and pulled them to one side and this whacking great cock is being rammed into me. What'd I do? What do you think I bloody did? I squawked and jumped and tried to get up fast.

The result was I cracked my head hard against the side table and damn near killed myself. So there I was, my head spinning and me trying to gather my senses and while I'm doing this Joe Nobody is taking full advantage of the delay.

The first coherent thought I had was my pussy saying to me, "Hey, we got a visitor. I hope you're ready for action." That cleared my mind wonderfully, but it was a bit late. I could feel the Joe Whoever was well and truly inside my pussy and pushing hard. I must have relaxed when I cracked my head, as he didn't seem to have had much trouble getting in good and deep.

I start to squawk and struggle, but I promptly copped a slap on the bum. Then this voice asks do I really want to make a fuss and have people come and see what's going on?

I mean, Christ, would you? Have people come rushing up to my cubicle and find me bent over my own office chair getting bonked by a mammoth cock?

How the hell do I know the exact size? It was inside me and seemed to be filling me. Any more cock and I would have split in two. I can assure you, from my position, if felt huge.

So I shut up and waited. I figured he'd probably pull out and step out of my office hastily. I mean, I didn't really think it was more than a nasty bit of harassment at this stage.

I wised up fast enough. He pulled back and then came back in, nice and smooth. It wasn't long and he was poking me good and hard and there was nothing I could do but take it.

OK. There was something I could do, apparently. I found after a few solid strokes that my pussy got really interested in what was going on and wanted to play. Next thing I know my bum is bobbing up and down in time to his poking me, and he's laughing and observing how it seemed I liked it.

So that was the situation, me stuck over the chair being ravished by Joe Somebody with my own body enthusiastically co-operating with this cock that was dictating terms to me. Half the time I was hoping someone would come and rescue me and the other half dreading that someone would come and see me getting bonked like that.

The son of a bitch didn't seem to have that problem. He just took his time and his pleasure, constantly thrusting into me, driving my poor pussy wild with desire. After what seemed like ages he started really humping me. I knew why but there was nothing I could do to stop him.

Actually, I think I preferred him to come inside me rather than pull out. Can you imagine the mess if he'd pulled out and sprayed all over my office? Anyway, suddenly I could feel that hot splash inside me that said he was coming, and then I was coming, and I don't remember the next couple of minutes too well.

By the time I got myself back under control, he'd pulled out and gone. I haven't the faintest idea who it was. It's not really the sort of question you can go around asking.

Mind you, I have a nasty feeling that that bitch Dianne knows who it was. She came around to see me later that afternoon with some problem she wanted fixed. As she left she made this comment that she'd been around earlier, but that I'd obviously been busy and she'd thought it better not to disturb me.