Time’s Tight Grip on My Pussy

The rain hammered against the windows of the office building, a relentless, insistent rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of my own heart. Jim was gone, swallowed by the endless expanse of the interstate, and the absence felt like a physical ache, a gaping hole in my very being. It wasn’t just the missing touch of his hand on my lower back, or the way he always smelled faintly of sandalwood and old books. It was the primal, undeniable hunger that had taken root within me, a desperate yearning for his presence, for the release that only he could provide. And, let's be honest, I was already halfway there. The industrial-strength pad beneath my clothes felt like a flimsy barrier against the torrent of desire threatening to overwhelm me. The sheer force of my own arousal was enough to make me sweat, my pulse quickening with each passing second.

Just thinking about it sent shivers down my spine. The anticipation, the slow burn, the inevitable explosion of pleasure. Jim’s massive, hard cock, a weapon of pleasure honed by countless encounters, pounding against me with an intensity that bordered on violent. I fantasized about the positions he’d take, the way he’d grip my hips, the heat radiating from his body as he drove his length deep within me. Three, maybe four sessions, each one more intense than the last, until I finally surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation. The thought alone brought tears to my eyes, a salty testament to the raw, desperate need that consumed me.

Walking through the fluorescent-lit hallways of the office building felt like navigating a minefield. Every movement, every glance, every casual touch from a colleague felt like an invitation, a tantalizing tease that only heightened my frustration. The heavy cotton of my blouse clung to my breasts, emphasizing their swell and making them practically scream for attention. I could feel the heat radiating from them, the constant pressure building beneath my sheer bra, begging for release. It was a cruel irony, to be surrounded by the mundane and the ordinary while my body screamed for something so primal, so raw.

The ladies’ room was my only sanctuary, my desperate attempt to find a moment of respite from the torment. But even there, amidst the sterile tiles and the scent of disinfectant, I couldn’t escape the relentless pull of my desires. Two stalls were occupied, and my supervisor, Ms. Henderson, was indulging in a lengthy grooming session, her eyes lingering on my chest with a disconcerting amount of interest.

“Hi Patty,” she drawled, her voice dripping with condescension. “I see you’re in a state again today. Hope Jim gets back soon. You need to get back up to speed, sweetie,” she added with a sly wink. The audacity! The sheer nerve of this woman. She knew exactly what she was doing, exploiting my vulnerability, feeding off my desperation. “Bitch,” I muttered under my breath, the bitterness a bitter pill to swallow.

One stall left, a cruel reminder of my predicament. As I washed my hands, steeling myself for another round of self-inflicted torment, the sounds of two flushes echoed through the small room. And then, as if orchestrated by some perverse sense of humor, Jill and Nola from accounting emerged, flanking me at the vanity. Their presence felt like a violation, an unwelcome intrusion into my private world.

“Still can’t believe how hot it is out there,” Jill offered, her voice laced with a playful suggestion. “Yeah, Patty here isn’t the only one around here who is hot and bothered,” Nola chimed in, a wide, knowing smile plastered across her face. “Okay, the coast is clear, Patty, so you can do your thing,” Jill continued, her smirk widening. “Enjoy yourself,” she said before departing, the casual disregard for my distress a final, stinging insult. I knew they’d seen me, witnessed my desperate attempts to find solace in the confines of the bathroom stall, and the memory of my previous, explosive climax, complete with moans and contained cries, hung heavy in the air.

With only a few precious minutes remaining, I quickly unbuttoned my blouse, the flimsy fabric offering little resistance to my desperate need. As I circled in for the kill, squeezing, pulling, and twisting my nips with a frenzied intensity, I conjured up Jim’s muscular form, his powerful body looming large in my mind. I imagined him sliding his length deep within me, the heat radiating from his body a tangible sensation that sent shivers down my spine. My throat tightened, gagging with anticipation as he drove his pleasure into me. The sensation built, escalating into a volcanic eruption of pleasure as I lost control, letting out a primal shriek of ecstasy. My muscles clenched, my body writhing in a desperate attempt to contain the overwhelming sensation. Just then, the bathroom door swung open, shattering the fragile illusion of privacy.

“I was listening outside the door, Patty,” Jill announced, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I knew I was right. You were even louder this time than the last two! I couldn’t help but hear,” she added with a triumphant grin. Damn! My carefully constructed facade had crumbled, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The humiliation was palpable, a burning shame that threatened to consume me.

As I stumbled out of the bathroom, a wave of self-loathing washed over me. The realization that my desperate act of self-indulgence had been witnessed, judged, and ultimately, exposed, left me feeling utterly defeated. But amidst the shame and the humiliation, a flicker of perverse satisfaction ignited within me. I had succumbed to my desires, pushing the boundaries of propriety and risking everything for a brief moment of uninhibited pleasure. And in that moment, surrounded by the judgmental eyes of my colleagues, I felt a strange sense of liberation, a defiant embrace of my own sensual urges. The rain continued to fall outside, washing away the remnants of my desperate escape, but the memory of the intense pleasure, the overwhelming desire, would linger long after the storm had passed. And as I continued my workday, a subtle smirk played on my lips, a silent acknowledgment of the secret pleasure I had just experienced, a reminder that even in the most mundane of settings, the human body always yearned for something more.

Did you like this story? Time’s Tight Grip on My Pussy look, but like these, here Sex stories.