The cubicle door finally gave, and my first impulse was to say ''I told you so'. But I'm not about to ruin the mood.

But I did told her so: the door just can't take all that rattling and abuse. The sink countertop would have been the better choice: it'll be easier on both our hips and knees...

The mirror was the deal-breaker. She can't bear the sight of her ass conjoined to my hip and her reflection staring back -- perfect makeup and hair ruined, dress shirt disheveled, eyes rolling to the back of her head, jaws agape -- when all she could see in her periphery was the diamond from her engagement ring. Periphery, of course, both in the literal and figurative sense. I told her to take the damn thing off if wearing it while getting off from my cock bothers her so much; she said it won't make a difference.

"Oh, hell" she exclaimed as the door tipped forward. I managed to wrap my arms around her waists and reel her back in before she stumbles forward; but so much for the cubicle door, and any hopes of getting out of my shift early.

"I'm billing you for the repairs on that one" I jabbed in jest as I held her in place, my cock between her legs.

"Fuck, don't stop -- wait!"

I began forward, intent on finishing our business over the washroom sink and infront of the mirror, her conscience be damned. I'm almost close. But she clawed at my thighs, resisting, and gave me a familar and cold, deathly look through the mirror.

I thought better, then. She was still my boss, regardless of what happens privately between us. Don't bite the hand that fed you, and all that...

"Suit yourself" I said, reining her away from the mirror back to the cubicle. "No, wait -- people piss and shit here -- wait" she protested once more, as I gently push her down to brace the toilet seat.

"I cleaned up before you went in" I reassured her. But of course I won't tell her that I really didn't. Anyway, no one uses the men's bathroom on fifth.

"Unless you want to be on fours on the floor shut up, and let me finish."

I was sweating in my overalls, but she didn't want me out of it. She didn't want to see and feel me naked, emphasis on the last bit, her words. Neither won't she let me undress her: he didn't want it to be real despite how real it all felt; it was only something 'fun'.

Only...her idea of fun is as warped as her marital values. She absolutely hates my guts, you see; and I hers. And yet, here we both are.

"Come on. Let me hear it."

"Do I really?"

"Say it" I repeated icily, encouraging her by pistoning my hips harder and fondling her tits through her shirt, her nipples hard as pebbles.

"Thank you. Mr. Eckert -- fuck!"

"You could be louder, you know. No one's gonna try the door with the sign outside" I egged her on, my other hand yanking her head back by the ponytail.

"Fuck! Not my hair -- fuck, fine. Thank you for your hard work and dedicated service, Mr. Eckert. Fuck! -- just finish and let me go!"

~

Hey there! Send me a message if you're interested in playing this out. I'll have to be firm on using messages instead of chats, and I won't entertain offers of moving the roleplay elsewhere. In your title, provide your age and favorite piece of underwear so I'll know you are paying attention.

The premise is simple: we loathe each other, which sometimes happen between people from different corners of life. You are my employer: successful, no-nonsense, beautiful; and I am the guy who picks up after you: the ambitionless lowly janitor or maintenance crew. And yet, we find ourselves in each other's company every now and then. We fuck, outwit, insult and degrade each other sweaty and hoarse; but we won't fall for each other, nor enjoy the sex in the conventional sense. But who ever enjoyed conventional sex?

I'm looking this to be either a one-time thing, or a long-term, ongoing exchange. Preference of course will be given to literate partners with terrific grammar and spelling, and who can output more than a paragraph's worth of reply.

Cheers!

Kinklist: https://i.imgur.com/8waJVmt.png