The Office Slut Pt. 01

The storage room was exactly as I remembered it from last Tuesday. Narrow aisles between metal shelving units. Boxes of toner stacked haphazardly against the back wall. That single buzzing fluorescent light that made everything look slightly yellow and desperate.

I was bent over at the waist, rummaging through a lower shelf for the client folders Mr. Henderson needed for the 3 o'clock meeting. My skirt had ridden up as I bent, the cool air of the room hitting the backs of my thighs. I hadn't bothered with stockings today. Just my black lace panties and the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any moment.

The door clicked behind me.

I didn't turn around. I knew that sound. That particular rhythm of the door closing, the shuffle of dress shoes on concrete, the pause as whoever it was took in the sight of me bent over like an offering.

"Need help finding something?"

Marcus. Sales manager. Forty-two. Married with a picture of his kids on his desk and a reputation for being ruthless in negotiations. I'd blown him in the parking garage last Wednesday while he took a conference call with the Chicago office.

"I think I found it," I said, still not turning.

I heard him move closer. The scent of his cologne reached me first, something expensive and woody. Then I felt the heat of him standing right behind me. Close enough that I could sense his body without touching.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to that register that made my stomach clench, "when I saw you come in here alone, I thought to myself... that seems like a waste."

His hand settled on my hip.

I kept my position bent over, my palms flat against the cool metal shelf. My heart was already hammering against my ribs, sending blood rushing to all the places that mattered.

"Is it?" I asked.

His other hand joined the first, both gripping my waist. He pulled me back slightly, and I felt it. The hard length of him pressed against my ass, straining against his suit trousers.

"Very much so," he murmured.

He ground against me, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock up and down the cleft of my ass through the thin fabric of my skirt and panties. I bit my lip to keep from moaning. I was already wet. I had been since I walked into this room and realized how quiet it was back here, how isolated.

"You're already wet for me, aren't you?" he asked.

He didn't wait for an answer. His hand slid around my hip, down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. His fingers found my slit immediately, slick and swollen and ready.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You are soaked."

I pushed back against his hand, needy and shameless. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through my spine. He stroked me once, twice, his fingers sliding through my folds but not quite touching my clit. Teasing me. Making me squirm.

"Please," I whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

He removed his hand and I heard the sound of his zipper. The rustle of fabric. Then his cock was there, hot and thick and bare, sliding against my skin. He pulled my panties down just enough to expose me, leaving them stretched around my thighs.

"You want this?" he asked, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance.

"Yes," I gasped.

He pushed inside me in one long, hard thrust.

I cried out, my hands gripping the shelf so hard my knuckles turned white. He was big. Thick. He filled me completely, stretching me around him until I felt impossibly full. He didn't give me time to adjust. He started moving immediately, pulling back and slamming into me with a force that rattled the metal shelving.

The folders I had found fell from the shelf, scattering across the concrete floor.

"Quiet," he grunted, his hand coming around to cover my mouth. "Unless you want the whole office to hear you getting fucked like a whore in the supply closet."

The words should have offended me. They didn't. They made me hotter. I moaned against his palm, pushing back to meet his thrusts. He was hitting deep, angling just right to brush against that spot inside me that made my vision blur.

He fucked me relentlessly. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the small room, wet and obscene. His free hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back just enough to arch my spine. He used me like I was nothing but a warm hole for his pleasure, and I loved it. I loved the roughness of it, the desperation, the knowledge that he had seen me vulnerable and bent over and simply taken what he wanted.

My orgasm was building fast. I could feel it coiling in my belly, tightening with every stroke. He was panting now, his breath hot against my neck, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"You're going to make me cum," he growled. "I'm going to fill this tight little pussy, and you're going to walk back out there with my cum dripping down your legs. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," I moaned against his hand. "Yes, please, cum inside me."

He groaned and slammed into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt him swell, then pulse, hot and thick, flooding me. He kept thrusting through it, working his seed deep inside me, marking me in the most primitive way possible.

He stayed inside me for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. I could feel his heartbeat through his cock, still buried in my sensitive flesh. Slowly, he pulled out. I felt the immediate loss, then the warm trickle of him beginning to leak from me.

He stepped back. I heard him tucking himself away, zipping his trousers.

I stayed bent over for a moment longer, trembling, my pussy throbbing and full of him. Then I straightened slowly, pulling my panties back up. The lace was immediately soaked, pressing against my swollen folds, holding his cum inside me.

I turned around.

Marcus was adjusting his tie, looking as composed as if he had just finished a budget review. Only the flush in his cheeks betrayed him.

"Client folders," he said, nodding at the scattered papers on the floor. "Right."

I smiled at him, feeling the heat between my legs, the weight of his gift settling inside me.

"Thank you for your help," I said.

He smirked, his eyes dropping to my skirt. "Anytime."

I walked past him, my hips swaying, my thighs sticky, his cum warm and intimate inside me. The door clicked shut behind us. I had a meeting in ten minutes. I would sit through it, smile at the appropriate moments, take notes, and all the while I would know.

I was full.

I was claimed.

And anyone could be next.