Hi, bdsmerotica, it’s been a hot minute. I last posted on here before the times of generative AI smut. I’m back for another hot minute because this confessional episode made a recent fap session and I haven’t been able to, well, fap it back into the back of my mind.

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One of the most mind-blowing orgasms I ever had took place in an office cubicle (not mine, my then age gap boyfriend’s), almost naked, on all fours, with his lips on my ear telling me I was such a good slut for begging. My insides tensed so hard around his cock that the condom slid, and I blacked out on the carpet.

Now that we all know how the story ends, please indulge me because the devil is in the details of how we got there.

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A lot of my formative sexual experiences happened in the context of my first serious long-term relationship. I was 19 and he was 42 (don’t worry, I have since learned that such big age gaps are my kink, not my LTR preference).

I had many of my firsts with him. He took my virginity, he gave me my first sex toy orgasm, he taught me to ride a cock into mutual oblivion. He introduced me to the delicious joys of cum play, along with the tricks to enjoy a deep creampie without tempting pregnancy. Key to today’s adventure: he taught me that public play can have a great effect on orgasms.

He gave me some of the strongest orgasms in my life. The rapport we built was phenomenal and he helped me overcome a shy and conservative adolescence to embrace the kinks I worked hard to hide. He was sexually astute in finding the extra inch that was up for grabs in my inner slut, and he always turned it into an extra mile.

His sexual genius, and how my admiration for it grows as time passes, was in creating opportunity.

One Saturday we were together, the AC broke. It was during a summer heat wave, and it had become unbearable at his place. It was so hot overnight he hadn’t fucked me in the middle of the night, can you believe it? When we agreed to go somewhere with working AC, he encouraged me to wear the sundress he had bought me, which was a few inches shorter than anything I previously owned.

I was used to feeling judgmental looks on us whenever we were out in public, but that day at brunch was different. The looks I got in that dress from other men in that restaurant turned it all into a spectacle where I was the young arm candy with the guy that would get to taste it all. It was a view I usually worked hard to avoid because I knew (thought?) we were much more than that, but, in retrospect, there was no way out of it. 19-year-old me was a fucking smoke show and he was the guy driving a fucking fancy car.

He sat by my side, not across, at the restaurant booth, and his hand grabbed mine the second time I moved to adjust the skirt that kept going up my thighs. It was a form-fitting dress, perhaps too tight for my behind.

“Stop hiding yourself. I want them all to see.”

In a way, I panicked. I might be a slut, but it has always been my pride that no one knows, right? But his hand discreetly tugging my cleavage open before resting on the bare part of my thigh was not helping that cause.

It really was not helping, no, until it suddenly was. To be honest, I don’t remember what we ate that day, because his thumb kept tracing lines against my skin. It took up all my bandwidth, mustering the composure not to beg him to finger me there and then, but he knew. Maybe I was betrayed by my nipples pressing against the dress, my silence.

“I think I should ask you to go to the restroom and bring back your underwear inside the purse…”

I miss his power plays, but I think sometimes he underestimated me. I turned to him, smiling, because I had learned from the very best how to create opportunity.

“I don’t have anything to put in there.”

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After brunch, we didn’t want to go back to his place because the heat was worse than when we left, so he proposed that we head to his office. At least there would be working AC there, and no one would bother us.

It sounded as good a plan as any — we could both scroll our phones in the cool shade. But his hand on my thigh as he drove, this time fondling what he could only caress discreetly earlier, made me realize that phone-scrolling was not in his plans at all.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can for me. I want anyone passing by to see your clit,” he said, knowing exactly how to get my body going. I spread my legs for him and he teased my thighs, approaching the bare source of heat but always shying away when he was close to touching it, almost as if this were a take on car safety.

“Please touch me,” I begged, desperate. In heat, in all possible senses. The tight dress had practically rolled up on my hips, keeping me in full display.

He did not. His fondles continued, the car seat making dents in my flesh from how far I spread my legs. I did not actively think of the possibility of being found out like this, a young slut giving herself to the older man driving, but the forbidden made me hornier.

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Things calmed down when we got to his office, deserted on a weekend. He did not offer me a seat, but he did not seem to be paying much attention either as he looked through papers on his desk. Maybe he was getting ahead of Monday, I thought, and I was the only one struggling to mind anything other than the heat in my insides.

I looked around the office. It was an office for two, a cubicle of sorts — he clearly wasn’t the director, but he was not forced to mingle with all the interns my age, I guess. Apparently, he did so by choice…

Whatever memo grabbed his attention turned out not to be so compelling. When he turned around, we started to make out, and his hands felt deliciously aggressive as he exposed me again. His hands freed my breasts from the skimpy sundress, pinching my nipples while holding me up against him. With his arm around my waist, he positioned his hand to feel my ample behind under the tight skirt.

“You’re such a little slut to go out like this, with no underwear on. You really wanted my fingers in you at the restaurant, didn’t you?”

I could only moan my confirmation when he shoved a couple of his fingers inside me, rewarding my wetness with a hiss. “Maybe we should do this more often, parade your naked little pussy around to get you ready for my cock…”

I was so incredibly horny that his fingering in our embrace was enough to start building up pleasure. I wasn’t able to think, to respond. When he withdrew from me, he lifted my dress off.

I remember the nervousness distinctly — looking towards the closed door, towards the ceiling.

“Are you sure there are no security cameras?”

“So it was okay for me to finger your pussy, but you don’t want to treat the security guy to the sight of you getting my cock ready for your pussy?”

“…You’re joking, right?”

Damn, his power game still makes me melt when I think about it.

“Get on your knees and get me ready.”

If there were any surveillance cameras, the security guy got rewarded with an image of naked me, on my knees, crawling to my age gap lover to unzip his shorts and suck him — not hard, because he was rock hard by the time I got there, but rather to suck him wet. Deep down, I needed his hand in my hair, his cock giving me the head rush that would have me blabbering and begging for more, as he had been training me to the previous weeks.

My first orgasm was chronologically close to that moment. I couldn’t help myself when he dragged me off the ground to bend me over the desk, the cool surface brushing my nipples with every of his thrusts. I started moaning, and his hand moved to muffle the sounds coming from my mouth. “That’s it, baby, squeeze that cock,” he urged me as my own body approached the first orgasm, my ass bouncing against his pelvis as he fucked me through it. I held on and he rewarded me.

For an introverted person, I sure as fuck liked playing office slut and coming all over his cock in his shared cubicle.

He usually had great stamina, but my first orgasm (and a morning of public foreplay) destroyed him. He had managed to remain discreet, but his ecstatic moans told him away as he came undone inside me, emptying his seed deep in me — though protected by a condom this time.

I had come, but I was not done. Thankfully, he could tell as much. The same hands that held me in place to make me take the cubicle pounding of my life, heaving marks on my ass and my hips, turned me around to sit me down on the desk, legs spread. His lips feasted in my pleasure, fingers spreading, stroking, filling, hitting the corners where pleasure is built. I was so horny and lost in it that I can’t honestly remember if I was loud or quiet, how long his tongue lasted between my legs.

“I think you reacted more intensely when I was fucking you from behind,” he whispered, wiping his lips after my second orgasm — notably less intense than the first one, yes. Still, I was trembling in both pleasure and hunger, naked on his desk. But he was right.

“I really like it when you fuck me from behind, it feels really good in my pussy,” I confessed. Since the day he took my virginity, he had worked with me to find the most pleasurable angles, the words that would push me over the edge consistently. It was easy to share sexual epiphanies with him.

Despite the working AC, we were covered in sweat, and my hands were beginning to slip on his desk. His executive decision to relocate us to the carpeted floor, on all fours again, turned out to be golden.

His erection came back and he positioned himself behind me again, this time without pushing in. I remember spreading myself more, hips almost wiggling as I tried to move back onto him, still hungry for his cock deep inside me.

He chuckled, slapping my ass, letting his cock brush and get trapped in my folds for the shortest of seconds. He was teasing me, egging me on.

“I think you liked the stares earlier. You certainly seemed very ready to spread your legs for me in the restaurant. What were you thinking of?”

“Please fuck me,” I responded, both answering and not answering. I just needed the release.

His fingers spread my cheeks, my little hole, toying with the body that was willing to do anything for one more orgasm. “Please,” I practically whimpered as he stretched my holes, letting the head of his cock bounce against my ass before he finally positioned himself at my pussy.

I practically sat on him, my flesh spreading further against his pelvis with each of my movements. “Rub your clit while you grind on me, baby,” he encouraged, finally getting down on all fours himself to hold my frame to his, supporting me as he fucked me from behind.

My fingers moved to stroke my clit, which was slippery by now, and over sensitized from how long it had been fully engorged. “Don’t stop,” he said firmly when he sensed my hesitation.

I kept rubbing myself, but then he stopped his movement when only his head remained inside me.

“Please don’t stop,” I begged, my hips chasing his. “I need it…”

“Then don’t stop begging me, baby,” he said, resuming his movement. “You’re going to learn to beg for cock today.”

His words had an effect on me, they truly did, because I about came right then. Well, I really just got very close, and his hiss told me he felt it, but when I tried to focus on the sensations he stopped abruptly again.

“Please fuck me, please fuck me until I come,” I practically yell-begged, my fingers furiously trying to push me over the edge.

“You’re not allowed to repeat the same words, but you have to keep begging,” he upped the challenge, the sweat of his torso dripping onto me.

“Please keep pounding my pussy, I’m going to come so hard for you…”

I was getting there. At some point, it was physiologically impossible to keep following his orders, so I focused on the orgasm about to explode. He knew, and he let me do it. His lips reached my ear,

“Come for me. Show me how badly you wanted to come the minute those guys saw your perfect ass in that dress. Did you want them to know your pussy was naked for my cock?”

I came. I twitched. I screamed. The most intense wave of pleasure known to me washed over my body, wrecking me, making me lose control on the office floor.

“You’re such a good slut, learning to beg like that,” he whispered, my body coming undone under his. It was all so intense I blacked out for a few seconds, and only reacted when I was on the floor, facing down, his cum spraying over my pussy lips and ass.

Reader, I can count on one hand the number of times sex was so good I blacked out. Two more took place with him.

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We broke up because, despite the stellar sex I do still miss, I chickened out of commitment at that time. After gifting each other the most memorable hate fuck of my dreams, he eventually found the age gap wife of his dreams. I think they make a great couple! I’ll say, though, that my ego fluttered when he drunk-texted me years later that his office still reminded him of me. I’m not gonna lie, that office probably still smelled when he got back on Monday, and the carpet burn in my knees took a bit longer than that to fully heal.

I didn’t respond to his extramarital text message, but I can’t say I never dreamt of another round with him after he got married. I find myself fapping to this one memory from time to time.

Broken ACs and office cubicles. Who would have thought?