It was the day before Thanksgiving. Orla needed an escape from her family. Her husband and toddler were loudly wrecking the house, her in-laws were in town visiting and her mother wouldn't leave. "I just want to help," she would say and then proceed to do nothing productive. Usually, she would work from home but with a house full of chaos she sat in her car outside the office watching raindrops crash against the windows. "At least nobody should be here," she thought before heading inside. Most of her office was remote anyways and those that weren't surely wouldn't drive into the office today.

She flips the light switch to reveal a cold, empty office. Her cubicle once vibrant with plants, photos, and knickknacks is now just a shell of what it used to be. A lone picture from her wedding and a small glass frog remains. Looking around she is surprised to find most of the cubicles filled with personal effects. She rolls her chair to the space next to hers. It belongs to Marty, a man in his late 40s, about 10 years older than Orla. It's cluttered with bobbleheads from various sports teams, a few half-empty coffee cups, and scattered paperwork. She picks up a frame just under his monitors. It's a picture of his wife, three kids, and himself in full make-up in the stands at a football game.

About an hour goes by when Orla hears the office door open. Peering over the wall of her cubicle she finds Marty walking in her direction. "Of course, the person literally next to me would be the only one to show up today," she thinks to herself. The two exchange pleasantries and catch up when Orla's phone rings, it's her husband. Without asking, he's invited his friend's family over for Thanksgiving dinner. "Also your mom started prepping the turkey," he adds. Orla sits in a silent rage. Preparing the turkey and roasting it is one of her favorite parts about the holiday. She hangs up the phone and groans, laying her forehead on the table.

Rolling his chair over, Marty places a hand on Orla's back. "What are you doing?" she scowls. Quickly he takes his hand back. "Don't fucking touch me," she barks, sitting back in her chair. Despite her hostile reaction, she felt comfort when he touched her back. Tears have started welling up in her eyes. This isn't the Orla that Marty remembers. He starts apologizing but she races out of the office and into the bathroom. It takes a few minutes to compose herself. She feels bad for snapping at Marty, he's always had the best intentions despite always invading people's personal space. Still, she is furious at her mother for starting the turkey preparation without her. Leaving the bathroom stall, she looks herself over in the mirror. After taking a few deep breaths she returns to the office.

Marty starts apologizing a mile a minute as she walks in. Orla opens her arms for a hug and apologizes for snapping at him. Her head rests on his shoulder as she unloads all her frustrations. It's cathartic to be held while venting. The way his warm body felt against hers and his arms smothering her body against his ignited thoughts in Orla's head she'd never had before about Marty. His hand starts to rub her lower back just above the rim of her jeans. The rhythm of his breathing has changed, he can feel the spark too. She doesn't want him to let go as things continue to spiral out of control, she can feel him getting hard. Both of them know this is getting out of control when Marty lets go first and sits back in his chair. Orla rolls her chair to face his and takes a seat. His face is red and he wonders if she could feel his erection when they were hugging.

"My turn," says Marty.

He starts blabbing away all of his frustration to Orla. "My in-laws are staying in my bedroom. My wife is sleeping in our daughter's room. I get an inflatable mattress in the garage. My brother and his family are coming today and I have no idea where they are going to sleep. I don't even have work to do today. I just wanted to get out and clear my head," he rattles off. He places his hands just above Orla's knees on her thigh and looks her right in the eyes. "I feel like I am losing my mind!"

The two start giggling. Marty's hands are still on Orla's thighs. Subconsciously he starts rubbing them gently up and down, tracing his fingertips around the holes of her distressed mom jeans. "What are you doing?" she asks, innocently. His hands fly from her legs. "Sorry!" He says in a panic. Orla insists it's okay, even going so far as to put his hands back on her thighs. "It sounds like we could both use a little stress relief," she says.

Cautiously, Marty lifts his hands. "I shouldn't touch you like that anyways," he adds. He looks around the empty office like they are about to get caught. Orla rises from her chair and stretches her arms to the ceiling. Marty can't take his eyes off the rim of her jeans and her exposed soft skin. As she lowers her arms her black shirt conceals her skin. Quickly Marty lowered his head but it was too late. Orla caught him checking her out.

"Think anybody else is coming in today?" she asks Marty.

Orla looks out the window toward the parking lot. Only two cars. The rain is still falling from the sky.

"No," he says, nervously.

So, the only person to stop me from sitting here would be you," Orla says, seductively sitting on Marty's lap. She places his hands back on her thighs. He lets out a loud sigh, accepting the inevitable. "Should I get up?" she asks, concerned she misread the situation. "Should you? Yes. Do I want you to? Absolutely fuckin' not," he says through gritted teeth. His hands ravage Orla's body. He feels up her thighs to her hips. Exploring under her shirt he traces the rim of her jeans before feeling the soft skin of her stomach as she leans back into him almost toppling them over. Orla breathes heavily, excited by his touch. Marty's hands squeeze her chest. She can feel his cock growing harder. He kisses her neck causing her to let out an audible moan.

"Are we really doing this?" she sultry asks.

"We shouldn't but I can't stop," he says, squeezing her breasts harder than before.

Orla wiggles away from Marty's grasp. She stands facing him sitting alone in his office chair. His erection juts out, creating a tent out of his pants. Her hands open the button to her jeans before slowly pulling down the zipper. She shimmies her jeans down past her crotch revealing a black underwear. Nervously, she glances at Marty. His eyes are locked on her every move. Orla gets on her knees and crawls to the middle of their cubicle area. On all fours, she looks back to Marty as he tosses his pants onto his office chair before positioning himself behind her.

Marty takes a moment to admire the ass in front of him. The thin black string of her thong doesn't leave anything to the imagination. Orla leans forward and pulls her panties down around her knees, joining her jeans. His warm hands caress her hips. There is a momentary pause in anticipation of what's about to happen. Orla's head rests on the floor, ass in the air on display for Marty. Reaching back she pulls her pussy lips open for him. Marty slides his hand along her opening, his fingers glistening with her excitement.

Taking hold of his girth, he rubs the head along her slit until it starts to disappear inside Orla. She lets out a groan of absolute pleasure. Marty clutches her hips and he starts to thrust. He looks down to see his shaft flowing freely in and out of Orla. It's a familiar action but the woman isn't his wife. Orla has dark brown hair and his wife is a strawberry blonde. Lust takes over, he pulls out long enough to tug her jeans and panties off all the way and nudges her legs apart further. The action resumes and the sound of Orla's grunts and moans fill the silent office. Her knees burn with every thrust, scraping across the carpet.

Orla's thoughts are similar to Marty's. The feeling is like what she would get from her husband at home but this cock is different. She dares to think it might even feel better than when her husbands. Marty breaks her train of thought, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling back. "Oh, fuck," Orla blurts out. He starts to unleash himself on her body. All the pent-up frustration from the impending holiday comes out. Marty grips her hair like a handle and hammers Orla. Her toes start to curl, and she can feel her body about to give in to what it wants. Unrelenting, he continues until he can feel her entire being tense up. Finally, release. Orla’s body trembles. She can’t remember the last time she came unaided during sex. He continues to plunge his cock into Orla causing her to shriek. Marty releases his grip on her hair and she falls back to the floor. His pace crawls to a stop. Orla rests on the ground, panting to catch her breath.

Marty pulls out and Orla slowly rises to her feet. Her knees are raw from the rough carpet. “Oh shit, are you alright?” he asks. Orla pulls her shirt off and reaches back to open the clasps on her bra. “Couldn’t be better,” she says with a devilish grin. Marty’s face lights up in anticipation. The straps fall off her shoulders and Orla taunts him briefly before exposing her chest to him. His jaw drops in awe of her breasts. Before she started working at home her chest was something he ogled on a daily basis. "Those must be twice as big as my wife's," he thinks to himself. She stands before him fully exposed now. Her brown hair frames her voluptuous chest. Nervously she attempts to cover a C-section scar with her hand. Below that is the light stubble of pubic hair and her stunning hips. There is a striking tattoo of a bat on her thigh.

The pair stare at each other in a standoff to see who is going to make the next move. Orla eyes Marty. He is tall with a dad bod, scruffy facial hair like her husband, and a few tattoos scattered around. Despite the lull, he still has a hard-on. From where she is standing it looks bigger than her husband's. It's certainly got more length to it. Marty takes a few steps toward Orla as she backs against the cubicle desk behind her. He gets lost in her blue eyes with flares of golden streaks while their faces are only inches apart. Up until now, this was raw sex lacking passion and fueled by tension.

Silence rings out around the office. Orla glances over her shoulder, clearing some paperwork before hopping on the surface behind her. Marty fills the void between her legs and takes her in his arms. His lips are drawn to hers resulting in passionate fireworks. Their lips only separate when he starts to kiss her soft breasts. He sucks on her left nipple while grasping her right breast with his rough hand. Marty moves his mouth to her right nipple for a moment. Orla pushes back on him.

"Sit in your chair," she says.

Marty backs away and plops down in his office chair. His eyes light up in anticipation as Orla approaches him. She drops to one knee and then the other, resting her elbows on Marty's thighs. Her hands begin to stroke his cock up and down. Marty groans drawing a smile from Orla. In one motion she sweeps her hair away and wraps her mouth around his cock. She can taste her juices lingering on him. His body melts into the chair. Glancing toward him, Orla finds him intently watching her every move. The salty taste of his precum invades her mouth. With him barely out of her lips, Orla shakes her head from side to side. "No, no, no. Not yet," she teases, wagging her finger.

She pushes Marty's legs together, turns around so her butt is almost in his face, and stands over him. Orla reaches down and tugs on his warm, rock hard cock. She wants it, her body wants it. He is grinning ear to ear when she looks back. As Orla squats down onto Marty's lap. It disappears quickly inside her. She giggles in delight at the feeling. Orla starts to rock her hips back and forth on Marty. He reaches under her arms and starts to fondle her chest.

"Pinch my nipples," she whimpers.

He is quick to meet her demands. Squeezing her erect nipples in his fingers. Marty gives a gentle tug on one of them. It was a hit as Orla yelps and snickers. She places her hands on the armrests and begins to bounce up and down. The slight position change leaves her body feeling intoxicated. Marty's hands slide down her stomach, resting on her hips. She is quick to grab one hand and place it back on her breast. Marty takes the hint and continues to play with her nipples. Orla's head droops forward. The office chair rattles and creeks under their weight. "Oh my god," she gasps, out of breath. Unbeknownst to her, Marty is clenching his jaw trying to hold back from unloading into her.

Marty gives an overzealous yank to one of her nipples. Orla throws her head back followed by her body. She melts into Marty. Her lips quiver, hips twitch. Sweat drips down her cheek. His warm hands grasp at her chest. Orla's eyes softly close. "I can't believe I came again," races through her mind. Still, her hips rock back and forth, Marty's cock buried inside her. A low-toned howl comes from the man below her.

"Get off! I'm going to blow," bellows Marty.

Mentally he wants to throw her to the floor and shower her in his with his cum. The reality is her hips continue to undulate on him as she lays back against him. "It's okay," she says lightly. Orla doesn't flinch as he floods her insides. His fingers dig into the soft skin of one of her breasts, the other into her thigh. His cock bucks inside her with less vigor with every spout. The action slowly subsides. The pair huff and puff for air. Orla lies relaxed against Marty. As his hard-on dissipates, still lingering inside her. Warm cum seeps out of Orla.

"Feel better?" she asks in a relaxed tone.

"Significantly," emphasizes Marty.

"I'm not too heavy laying back on you like this?" questions Orla.

"Not at all. Do you feel better?" he responds.

"Of course but I don't want to get up" she laments.

Eventually, she climbs off Marty. He remains seated. She looks around for something to clean her crotch with eventually spotting a napkin on another desk. Luckily it's clean and she wipes between her legs. The napkin quickly turns to a sticky mess but she's clean enough to get dressed and use the bathroom. Marty smirks watching her adjust her thong in place before hiking her jeans up high around her hips. "You okay?" Orla asks. "Yeah. Sorry. Just admiring your beauty," he says with a smile. His wife is good looking by traditional standards but Orla has always had this sexy aura around her. Almost like forbidden fruit he never thought he would taste. After closing the clasps on her bra, she plops her breasts into the cups. Adjusting the straps for comfort. Marty bites his finger, this image will remain in his head forever.

Orla throws her shirt on and retreats to the bathroom. When she returns Marty has his shirt on. His pants are draped over the side of his cubicle. "I think that's enough work for today," jokes Orla as she starts packing up her things. Marty's manhood hangs out from his shirt. Even soft it looks enticing. She takes a seat and waits as he finishes getting dressed.

"I don't want to inflate your ego too much but even before I met my husband it was rare for me to orgasm from sex. You gave me two in the span of 10 minutes," Orla remarks fondly.

"Yeah? I am glad you enjoyed yourself too. I hope I don't come off like a creep for saying this but I have daydreamed about doing that since the day I met you," he says, shoving his laptop into his bag.

"You're not creepy at all. Also, if you're worried. I am on birth control," Orla says, rising from her chair.

The two leave the office together and stand just inside the lobby looking outside. It's still raining. They wish each other a Happy Thanksgiving. Marty races out to his car with his work bag over his head trying to stay dry. Orla follows but takes her time, enjoying the cool air and drops of water on her face. He waits until she starts her car before starting to drive away. They leave together, Orla inadvertently following his car to the highway. As they head home to their families they hold respective guilt over what transpired. Neither of them woke up with intentions to cheat, they just felt overwhelmed and underappreciated. Full of stress with no outlet. When the opportunity to feel desired and work through their personal frustrations presented itself, they jumped at the opportunity. As they pulled into their driveways they shared the same thought, "Could it happen again?"