When you just told Cynthia that you would have to stay late at the office this evening, she volunteered to stay until all the work was done to help you out.

“I like working here,” Cynthia says. “And I like helping you out.” She gives you a little grin, a harmless but sweet little grin, before turning to head back to her desk.

You had both been standing near the coffee pot, but now you stare at her pert little ass (it’s not THAT little) as she walks away.

That line from that old song comes back to you: “I hate to see her go, but love to watch her leave.”

You smile to yourself.

Something buzzes in your pocket, far too close to the head of your stiffening cock, and you snap out of it. Of course it’s your cell phone.

It’s Caroline, your girlfriend. She’s been a little standoffish since you neglected her in the recent incident with Victoria—When she had to just sit there and watch you shove your cock in her roommate’s ass. The way Victoria had yelped as you’d fucked her bottom with no lube but your own spit...the way she’s yelped for you to “MAKE IT FIT!!!” as Caroline stood beside the bed and watched you blow your lust into the rear of a woman that wasn’t her...The way she’d shunned your cock for the few days after because it “still smelled like Victoria’s ass” that had gripped you so tight and throbbed and pulled at you deep inside her...had finally milked you out to the depth of your root with her throbbing, twitching, winking butthole...

You need to compose yourself.

You take your phone into the bathroom and go in a stall so no one will notice your now-full erection.

You take your cock out of your pants to relieve the pressure, and it stands in full salute in front of you, ready to do your bidding, while you take out your phone to see what your girlfriend wants or needs...

All the text message says is, “Are we doing dinner tonight?”

You know you seriously have to make up for what happened between you and Victoria (right in front of her), but you already know tonight can’t be the night. You really don’t want to tell her though.

“I can’t tonight,” you say.

It had to be done.

“I have to work late,” you add.

You put your phone back in your pocket because you aren’t quite ready to hear the reply that will surely be coming any time.

The word “coming” turns to “cumming” in your head...You wrap your hand around your warm cock and give it a couple gentle, sensuous strokes.

You notice that at some point within the past thirty seconds or so your cock head has begun to drool, and your hard cock is now connected to the tile floor of the bathroom through a long, clear, sticky string.

You reach to grab a square of toilet paper from the dispenser as you feel your phone buzz again in your pocket.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Caroline’s new text reads. “I’ve been a bitch lately, and I just wanted to make it up to you.”

Now you feel bad.

You tell her you’re the one who should really be sorry, and you admit that the whole thing with Victoria was probably a huge mistake in your relationship. (Your face begins to get warm, probably blushing now, and your hands tremble slightly just thinking about Victoria and her desperate, wagging ass...)

You delete the part of the message that said Victoria was a mistake, because you don’t want to ruin future chances if one should arise.

“Arise...” You think to yourself, looking down, as the weeping hole in the tip of your penis slobbers, making a fool of himself. He knows nothing of love...He only knows the intervals between frustration and relief.

You’re getting distracted...

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” You send the message to Caroline.

She instantly replies, “Maybe we can go to dinner tomorrow night.”

You’re off the hook.

“Sounds great,” you reply and then tell her you love her.

She loves you too.

You put your phone back in the pocket of your pants that have by now fallen down your legs to your knees, and all you can think about is a girl’s panties around her ankles...

You think back to Victoria’s black lace thong that had landed across your face in bed...you think of its weightlessness, the animal urge (to the point of domination) it had awakened in you...

You think of Victoria’s thongs and panties you have come across in the past...each one of them unique in its own way, but each somehow sexier than the last as you recall them...The way her own private scent has called out VICTORIA to you every time you’ve jacked off into her bathroom sink holding a weightless pair...

You shake yourself back to reality.

You are never going to get out of this stall if you don’t focus on something else...on work...but you don’t want to work. You want to stroke your cock, because this is one of those rare times that your imagination is so vivid and so good that you wouldn’t even need a photo right now to bust a real sprayer of an ejaculation deep into the water of the company toilet to the image of Victoria’s raised ass and pouting pussy hiked into the air behind her, wagging gently from side to side, pleading again for your package.

You snap out of it.

Release would be so much better, but letting the load build deep inside you will make this work day far more interesting since you’ll be around attractive women for the rest of the day. Your mind deviates from Victoria and slips back to Cynthia.

Victoria has her grips in you—You have to admit it—But Cynthia’s pert tits, her supple body, her real peach of an ass pull your mind in two different directions.

You pull up your pants, belt jingling at you as you do so, stuff your begging erection deep down inside, and zip up.

You lean forward at the sink so that anyone who might enter the bathroom won’t see the bulge that threatens to rip past your zipper, to free itself, to see Cynthia for the first time with its own eye.

You let the cold water run on your hands and splash some on your warm beet face. You have to pull it together.

After a while, you begin to settle down—Cold water really does do wonders, and you walk back out onto the floor where people work at the desk and no one is any the wiser of where you’ve just been (in your own mind) for the past ten minutes.

You glance at a clock on the wall as you head back to your office and stop in front of it. You check the time against the time on your phone.

They match up.

You hadn’t been in there for ten minutes...it had been more like twenty five...Time gets away sometimes.

Later on, you walk out into the scorching heat of the parking lot at lunch time, and a small breeze tickles your neck, just brushing you, and your cock begins to stir like earlier in the morning.

After you’d left the bathroom, you’d had a hell of a time keeping things flaccid through your somewhat close contact with Cynthia the remainder of the morning.

But now the warm air tickling you is making you stir.

Until you get to your car and notice a flat tire on the passenger side rear.

Passenger rears...rubber...earlier this morning, you wouldn’t have been able to keep from getting a hard on from such things.

This isn’t good though. You had already used your spare a couple of weeks ago, but it too had gone flat from all the road work going on near your office building.

“Fuck,” you say out loud.

Looks like you’ll be skipping lunch today to figure out this situation.

When you get back into the office, you walk over to Cynthia, who is eating a piece of grilled chicken at her desk, and ask her if maybe she wouldn’t mind calling a couple of tire shops around the area this afternoon to check out your options. You have so much work to do, and if either of you are going to get out of here tonight, you have to get this figured out with as little effort on your part as possible.

“Sure,” she says. “Anything you need.”

In the privacy of your office, now that things would be working themselves out—Now that Cynthia was working them out—You pull your phone out of your pocket, knowing it’s a bad idea because you have so much work to do, and begin to distract yourself by swiping through Cynthia’s photos you’ve been finding on her social media accounts.

Her skimpy outfits drive you wild.

Your cock stirs in your pants again, but now that you’re behind your desk, you no longer care. You touch yourself through your pants a little as you look at her photos on your phone, all the while glancing up at the actual Cynthia whose new desk is right outside your door...

Your thoughts turn back to taking your phone back into the restroom and letting go of the heavy load that only continues to build...You'd actually lose some weight if you were to go into the restroom and relieve your aching balls, to just blow a quick one into the toilet and relieve yourself.

For some reason—And maybe deep down you know that it’s because you’ll actually be alone with Cynthia in the office tonight, even though you really don’t have any hope for anything happening between you—You resist.

You certainly won’t make the first move, not in the work setting anyway, and especially since she sort of reports to you as her boss. You consider yourself a professional, and you would never do anything to jeopardize office relationships.

You find a photo of her in a tight short dress where she’s sort of squatting down to get in a group shot with her girlfriends, and the way her ass protrudes out behind her causes that old familiar heat to flush your face again.

Your breath catches—You imagine the friend next to her in the photo fucking with her by reaching back and pulling the short dress up over her ass, revealing that she wasn’t wearing panties underneath. You imagine a guy—Maybe it’s you—who is so pent up with sexual frustration that he can barely stand it anymore walking right behind the girls when it happens. He looks over at just the right time—in the two or three seconds before Cynthia gets the dress pulled back down over her tight ass and begins to slap at her friend—The girls are all giggling—The guy catches a glimpse of what will be burned into his brain in vivid detail for the next several days.

It’s Cynthia’s bare ass, sticking back, her butt crack spread from throwing it back—It’s Cynthia in all her glory, her best kept secret now on full display for god and everyone.

And that poor guy for whom a small taste is much worse than nothing at all...But he wouldn’t take it back for anything.

As he walks, he imagines having swiped a finger up her exposed butt crack, tickling her little balloon knot, shocking the hell out of her, making her yelp—But the souvenir on his finger—The invisible yet most intimate reminder of her—Would have been priceless. He imagines that butt crack long after, the crevasse, the dark bullseye, making those cheeks clap right there on the sidewalk in public.

You snap out of your daydream again as Cynthia enters your office and stands in front of your desk.

You look up at her with a small start.

There is something like a small, subtle flicker or glint of humor in her eyes that make you wonder if she knows what you’ve been up to.

“I found a spot,” Cynthia says, holding her phone and looking down at it for reference. “They’ll actually pick up your car from the lot, but they don’t do rentals, so you’d be without a car for tonight.”

Your wheels are turning now. For the slightest moment, you consider asking Cynthia for a ride home, but then you remember that she lives in the opposite direction, and you wouldn’t ask her to go out of her way after staying late already.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Do you want me to tell them to go ahead then?” Cynthia pauses by your office door, looking back at you.

You won’t trace the sexy outline of her body there in your doorway—Her nice shoulders, down to her pert tits, down her smooth tanned arms, and then finally down over her curvy thighs. You won’t stare at the spot where you know a nice thigh gap waits beneath her work skirt.

You won’t do any of this because she’s staring at you, waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” you choke. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cynthia smiles and leaves your office, her hips rolling gently from side to side as she walks with command back to her own desk.

You stare at her toned calves—Hers are the legs of an athlete—She had been on a dance squad back in college, only a few short years ago...

You like to think that, like you and the currently sticky-wet crotch of your underwear, she sometimes gets wet at work too. She must...musk...

You’d love to be her chair right now.

Finally, the work day comes to a close and your colleagues begin to trickle out of the office one by one and two by two. You hadn’t exactly gotten done today all that you’d set out to do—If there were really a horny jail, you’d definitely have spent the day locked up—But now that you’re almost alone in the office with Cynthia, you don’t regret anything. Your boredom and longing, by the minute, are becoming excitement and need (if only the need to flirt freely and maybe accidentally brush against her now and then).

You text Caroline and ask her if she will be able to pick you up later—You’ve been so distracted that you hadn’t even told her about your car tire.

She replies that she made plans after you said you wouldn’t be able to hang out tonight, but tells you to hold on while she figures something out.

You are walking toward Cynthia’s desk when your phone rings.

It’s Caroline, so you answer.

“Victoria said she can pick you up later,” she says.

You pause—This is more than you’ve bargained for.

“Are you there?” Caroline asks.

“I’m here,” You say, but nothing else.

“Is that okay?” Caroline asks.

It’s more than okay with you, but you won’t say that.

“That’s fine,” you say, a little weakly.

“Look,” Caroline says. “I said I was sorry; you said you were sorry...let’s just leave it where it is.”

Caroline isn’t showing any signs of even regretting the past at this point, and it all seems better than expected...Too good, maybe.

“Heyyy!” Victoria announces her arrival as she flits into the office later, and you look up as he walks toward you where you sit in your office. You notice that Cynthia also looks up before standing quickly and jogging over to meet Victoria halfway.

“Girrrrl!” Cynthia squeals, running over to Victoria.

“What the hell?!” Victoria is obviously caught off guard by seeing Cynthia in this place, and the two laugh and hug each other like old friends.

“You two know each other?” You ask, leaving your office and walking over to them.

“We met at a bar like three weeks ago,” Victoria says.

“We became best friends that night,” Cynthia smiles. She seems to be blushing.

“We won’t talk about what we did,” Victoria says.

“What did you do?” You ask, but the two just giggle, and Victoria slaps Cynthia hard on the ass.

“You’re such a slut!” Cynthia says, quickly pinching Victoria’s left nipple, making her squeal. Victoria quickly claps both hands over her mouth, and the two are instantly lost in a laughter you can’t understand; you want to more than anything.

“Thank you for coming,” you say, looking at Victoria, who only barely seems to register that you’ve said anything.

“Welcome,” she says, looking back over at Cynthia—They snort and laugh some more about something you’ll probably never know about.

“Hey,” Victoria says, looking back over at you, a more serious thought now obviously sobering her girlish-giddy mood.

You wait for her to continue, but she won’t come right out with it. You watch as Victoria chews on a thought, turns it over in her mind. “Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.”

“You have to tell me now,” you say. “What is it?”

“Mmmm,” Victoria presses her lips together, unsure if she wants to go there.

“Why did you even bring it up?” You ask.

“Okay,” she says. “But just cuz we’re friends.”

“Okay...” You have a feeling something is really up. Your mind turns to your girlfriend. “What is it?”

“Well...” Victoria’s glance flits over to Cynthia and then back to you. “Caroline went out with friends from college,” she says.

“I know,” you say. You have a weird feeling in your gut, but you don’t know why—You don’t want to know why.

“John’s there,” Victoria says.

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach, and your face flushes. You feel your pulse quicken as your heart begins to thud in your chest.

“You want me to take you to her?” Victoria asks.

You think for a moment, not knowing what you want. John and Caroline go way back, and he is the one person you know Caroline doesn’t trust herself with, especially not alone. At least they aren’t alone.

“They rode together to the bar,” Victoria says.

“Fuck,” you say—It escapes involuntarily.

Cynthia glances at you, before turning her attention away from the conversation and over to a far window. She walks back over to her nearby desk and sits down.

“Are you okay?” Victoria asks.

“I’m sure nothing’s gonna happen,” you say. “We had a good conversation earlier today about what happened the other night.” You realize you’ve said this in front of Cynthia, but the moment feels a little too big to care.

“What did she say?” Victoria asks.

“She told me she was sorry, and I apologized too.”

“She and I have been fine,” Victoria says. “Which is why it surprised me so much that she’d let John take her to the bar tonight.”

“They won’t be alone,” you say. “You know those girls she’ll be hanging out with.”

“I know,” Victoria says. “I just felt like I should say something.”

Victoria looks back over at Cynthia, who is reclining in her chair, rocking gently back and forth in what appears to be a peaceful (or tired) contemplation.

“How late do you have to stay tonight?” Victoria asks.

You look at Cynthia, who is now looking at you, and then down at the floor. You think for a moment. “I don’t know,” you say finally.

“Mind if I hang out?” Victoria asks.

“Good with me,” you say.

A little bit later, when you come out of the restroom, you notice Victoria is sitting on Cynthia’s desk and that the two are talking in a hushed tone.

They both look at you when they hear you coming. Victoria giggles.

“Hey, Big Boy,” Victoria calls to you in a teasing tone, then looks back at Cynthia and they giggle.

You know Victoria has told Cynthia everything about the other night.

“Cynthia was just telling me about how she has a cr—” Victoria starts, but Cynthia cuts her off by standing quickly and covering her mouth with her hand. Victoria falls gently back onto the desk, and Cynthia hovers over her with a fake-threatening, blushing look on her face.

“She has a crush on you!” Victoria gets the words out, and Cynthia covers her own face in embarrassment and stomps once like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You stand there trying to take it all in.

Your face is growing warm again—Hot actually.

“I brought shots,” Victoria says, hopping down from the desk and somehow returning the atmosphere to almost normal. Cynthia is still blushing and won’t make eye contact with you.

Victoria digs around in her bag and pulls out a few airplane shots of vodka and some cranberry juice. She pours you each a drink into the cups from the water cooler, and you all cheers.

“To us,” Victoria says in salute, and you have no fucking idea what she means, but you like the sound of it.