It's a slow work day. I still have a lot of tasks to finish but nothing urgent, leaving me with ample time to stare into space. My mind can't help but wander back to the dark confines of his car that night. The hairs on my arms stand and my nipples harden as images of our tryst flash in my mind's eye. I check my calendar and, just as I suspected, I'm ovulating.

I sigh and pull up a couple of recordings on my phone and play the one that's more than 30 minutes long. I take out my clit sucker, place it strategically in my underwear, then I put on my headphones and get back to my monitor. This is what I like to do nowadays - listen to his moans while I do easy tasks, the ones that don't require much brain power.

Eventually the excel sheets starts to blur and all I see is the empty road before us from that night, his voice like tendrils exploring my erogenous zones. My hands have traveled the short distance from my keyboard to the inside of my shorts, adjusting my toy to the optimal position for pleasure.

I remember his voice in my ear, breathing hard and moaning softly. He knows how the sounds he makes get to me, how it turns me on, how much it makes me wet.

I remember the feel of his fingers as he curves them around inside me, putting on the kind of pressure that elicits moan after wanton moan.

I remember how he stares at me as he licks my juice off of his digits, his gravelly voice saying I taste good embedded in the folds of my brain.

And just as he's about to cum in the audio, I spill over the edge, riding wave after wave along with him, his moans and curses overwhelming my senses.

I catch my breath after coming down from the high, clit still tingling from being overstimulated. Every move that creates even the tiniest of friction against that bundle of nerves sends a lighting of pleasure up my spine, body twitching in the process. I swallow, mouth dry, brain foggy, but satisfied. Time to get back to work.