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Crunching up another piece of paper, I sit back in my work chair and yawn. Looking at my watch I notice it’s getting kind of late. Spinning my chair around, I stand up and stretch. I can feel my shirt pulling out from the waistband of my slacks. My bra straps hang loose in the front for a moment while I lift my arms. Looking around, I see that no one is in the office. There’s one light on at a desk but the seat is empty. I grab my purse and walk around my desk and towards the back door. I turn left and walk down the hall to the ladies room. The door to the men’s and women’s are identical save for the sign.
Not even looking, I push open the door while checking my phone. A few new texts, a missed call, nothing is really going on. Walking in, I put my phone away and drop my purse on the small modern looking sofa. Looking in the mirror, I see myself. My hair is a little disheveled from working all day. But all in all it’s just how I looked when I left for work this morning. I take off my glasses and clean them before reaching into my purse; I pull out some lip-gloss Ankara escort and put a little dab on the middle of each lip.
Smacking my lips together I put the gloss back in my purse and turn around, my heels tapping quietly on the tile. Pushing open a stall door, I pull out some tissue paper and wipe the seat. Turning around I unbutton my slacks and shimmy them down to my ankles. My white oxford hangs down to my hips covering half of the blue boy shorts I’m wearing. Looking down, I put a thumb under each side and push down as I sit on the toilet seat. I can feel the warmth between my legs slowly cool with the lacy panty no longer there. I spread my legs, the soft fabric of my slacks rustling around my ankles. Slightly apart, my legs stop, trapped by the waist of the pants. I lean back simply relaxing for a moment.
It’s been a long day. Lunch was hours ago and dinner is for when I get home later. I close my eyes and can still see the huge pile of work I still have to do. My left hand moves in between my legs. My palm rested against my mound idly stroking through Ankara escort bayan the hair. The soft gentle touching over my pussy excites me. A soft moan escapes my lips. “I like my job,” I think to myself, “but it can get to be too much.” Working everyday has slowly drained the excitement from my life, moments like these are when I wake up from the banality of paperwork and the monotony of my 7am-3pm existence. “Maybe when I get transferred things will be better,” I think. A moan slowly turns into a whimper as I feel my middle finger slide into my moistening slit.
I crack my eyes, looking down I see my hand between my tan white thighs while my breasts slowly rise and fall. My other hand struggles with the top two buttons of my shirt. One, two, my shirt is open. The skin above my bra begins to cool but stays warm. My thoughts disappear as I watch my hand push down my bra. The straps dig into my shoulders then ease up as my breasts slip free of the bra. Air-conditioned coolness on my nipples, I lean back on the toilet. My middle finger is joined by a second.
My Escort Ankara lips part slightly releasing a moan louder than any previously. I feel a wetness spreading down the joint of my thighs. I look down, watching my hand, hearing for the first time the rhythmic squelching my fingers are making as they penetrate over and over. I laugh, amused at the sound, but my laughter turns quickly into another whimpering moan as my legs involuntarily widen. My back arches, tilting my head towards the ceiling. I feel a cool slide next to my ears, my earrings I realize. My glasses seem suddenly heavy, and my face is warm and flushed.
My right hand is slowly teasing my nipples, playing with the metal ring in my left breast while my other hand is finding some natural rhythm. I’m breathing harder and faster, each sweep of my finger elicits a new and louder moan. I am alone in my private world; oblivious to all the concerns and worries I had five minutes ago.
I don’t notice the barely audible sound of the washroom door swinging open. My fingers pull out, too far this time and I begin leaking. The smell fills the stall, I breathe in, shuddering as I open my eyes. Down, past my exposed breasts, beyond my sodden bush, and under the edge of the stall door is a pair of gleaming black dress shoes…
Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32