Forbidden office fling exposed

I stared at the screen, my stomach hollow. The boss’s face was a grim, pixelated mask on the video call. Beside me, Lena’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the empty office.

“Effective immediately,” the boss’s voice crackled. “The security footage from last night was… illuminating. HR will courier your final checks. Clean out your desks.”

The screen went black.

Lena’s hand, which had been gripping the edge of my desk, now trembled. Her face, so confident and hungry just hours ago, was pale. I couldn’t speak. My mind flashed back—not to the humiliating meeting, but to the beginning. To the photo.

*

It had started thirty-six hours earlier. A late-night project email chain. Just Lena and me, finalizing the quarterly report. My phone had buzzed with a new message from her.

Just a thought on appendix B, the preview read.

I’d tapped it open.

It wasn’t a thought on appendix B.

My breath caught. The image was stark, high-resolution. Lena—my colleague, the woman from accounting with the sharp wit and sharper blazers—was naked. She was standing before a full-length mirror, one arm casually raised to tie her hair up. The photo cut off just above her nose, but the rest… God, the rest was seared into my retina.

The elegant line of her neck. The perfect, pert swell of her breasts, nipples a dusky pink and taut. The incredible cinch of her waist, the flare of her hips. And below… a smooth, shaved mound, bare and vulnerable and breathtakingly intimate.

Wrong chat. Oh God. Wrong chat, she typed a minute later, the message already marked ‘read’ by me. The photo vanished, recalled. But it was too late.

I didn’t reply. What could I say? Nice photo? Mistake noted? My heart hammered against my ribs. I spent the next hour just staring at my darkened screen, the ghost of her body imprinted on the back of my eyelids.

The next day in the office was pure, exquisite torture. Lena was a storm of nervous energy. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. A permanent, deep blush stained her cheeks and throat whenever I was near. She fumbled with files, stammered through the morning meeting. She knew. She knew I’d seen it. Every glance I stole felt electric, charged with the secret we now shared.

I couldn’t concentrate. All I saw was the phantom of that photo—the curve of her breast in her silk shell, the hint of her waist under her tailored skirt. The memory of that bare, smooth skin below her navel was a constant, throbbing distraction.

The office emptied out for the evening, one by one. Finally, it was just us. The silence was a living thing. My door, always open, framed a shadow.

She stood there. Lena. Not blushing anymore. Her eyes were dark, direct, holding mine.

She didn’t speak. She stepped inside and closed the door with a soft, definitive click. The lock engaged.

My mouth went dry.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the side zipper of her pencil skirt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. She pushed it down over her hips, let it pool at her feet. She stood there in just her blouse, heels, and a tiny pair of black lace panties. The photo hadn’t done her legs justice—long, toned, incredible.

Her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse. One. Two. Three. She shrugged it off. The black lace bra matched the panties. She hooked her thumbs in the straps, slid them down her arms, and let it fall.

There. The reality was better than the memory. Her breasts were perfect handfuls, her nipples already hard peaks in the cool office air. A soft, helpless sound escaped me.

She smiled then, a small, wicked thing. Her hands went to her hips, slipped beneath the lace of her panties. She bent slightly, rolling them down her thighs, stepping out of them. When she straightened, she was utterly naked. Completely exposed. The shaved skin of her pussy glistened faintly.

“You looked,” she whispered, her voice husky. “All day. You watched.”

I could only nod.

She crossed the room, her heels ticking on the tile. She stopped between my spread knees where I sat frozen in my office chair. Her scent—jasmine and warm woman—wrapped around me.

Her hands went to my belt. The buckle clinked. The button of my trousers popped. The zipper hissed down. She didn’t fumble. She was sure, purposeful. She reached in, her cool fingers wrapping around me through my boxers. I was already rock-hard, straining. A low groan tore from my throat as she freed me, my dick springing up, thick and eager.

“You liked the picture,” she stated, her eyes locked on my length. She sank to her knees.

Her mouth was heat and wet velvet. She took me in, deep, with no hesitation, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. Oh, Christ. My head fell back against the chair. My hands tangled in her sleek, dark hair. She worked me with a skill that was devastating—sucking, licking, hollowing her cheeks. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room. I could feel the tight coil of my climax building already, a frantic pressure in my balls.

She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips swollen. “Not yet,” she breathed. She stood, lifted one leg, and straddled my lap. She guided me to her entrance, holding me steady. Then she sank down, taking me inside her in one slow, breathtaking inch at a time.

She was so tight. So impossibly hot and wet. She sheathed me completely, a low moan vibrating in her throat as she settled onto my lap. She began to move, riding me with slow, deep rolls of her hips. Her perfect tits bounced inches from my face. I leaned forward, capturing one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, her movements growing faster, more urgent.

Her inner muscles clenched around me, a rhythmic, milking pressure. I was lost in her, in the scent and feel and sound of her. I gripped her hips, helping her rise and fall, our skin slapping together. The office chair creaked in protest. Her climax hit her suddenly; her body went rigid, a sharp, broken scream torn from her lips as she convulsed around me. The intense, fluttering pressure was too much.

I pulled her off me just in time, spilling hot streaks across her flat stomach with a guttural shout.

We sat there, panting, connected by the mess between us. But the fire wasn’t out. It was banked, waiting. I was still hard, aching. The image of her from behind, from that photo, flashed in my mind.

I turned her in my lap, so her back was to my chest. I kissed her shoulder, my hands roaming over her breasts, her stomach. One hand dipped lower, through her wetness, past her sensitive folds, to the tight, forbidden pucker behind.

She gasped, but pushed back against my finger. “Yes,” she hissed. “There.”

I reached for the desk drawer, fumbling for the small bottle of hand lotion. I slicked myself, now painfully hard again, and coated her other entrance. She braced her hands on the desk, presenting herself to me. I guided my tip to her, pressing against the tight ring of muscle.

It gave way slowly, an exquisite, burning tightness. She whimpered, pushing back, taking me in. God. It was tighter, hotter, an overwhelming sensation. I sank into her to the hilt, buried deep in her ass.

Then I fucked her. Hard. Deep. Each thrust drove a choked cry from her lips. The lewd, wet sounds of our coupling were loud, shameless. I pistoned into her, my hands gripping her hips, watching myself disappear into her body. Her pleasure was a palpable force, her second orgasm ripping through her, making her clench around me so tightly I saw stars.

My own release was a tsunami, a blinding, white-hot explosion that emptied me into her depths. I collapsed over her back, spent, trembling.

Now, in the cold light of the fired morning, the memory was ash in my mouth. Security footage. Every sinful, explicit moment. Recorded.

Lena turned to me, her eyes wide with the same devastating realization. The silence stretched.

Then her lips, still slightly swollen from last night, parted. 

Her hand landed on my forearm, her fingers cold. The silence wasn’t just shock anymore. It was a vacuum, and she was the first to fill it.

“We have to get it back,” she whispered.

I blinked. “Get… what back?”

“The footage.” Lena’s voice gained strength, a low, determined thrum. The color was returning to her cheeks, but it wasn’t a blush of embarrassment. It was a flush of something else—reckless energy. “The physical drive. It has to be in his office. The main server archives automatically, but the local drive on the security monitor… that’s the one he reviewed.”

“Are you insane? We’re already fired. He probably has copies—”

“He doesn’t,” she cut me off, her dark eyes gleaming. “He’s cheap. The system’s old. It saves locally to a hard drive for thirty days before it auto-wipes. If we take the drive, the evidence is gone. It’s our only play.”

“Breaking and entering is a play?”

“It’s not breaking if we still have our keycards until midnight.” She stood up, her body moving with a predatory grace that made my breath hitch. This was the Lena from last night—the one driven by thrill, by the need to shatter rules. “He’s at the corporate retreat in the city. The floor is empty. We do it now.”

The logic was paper-thin. The risk was monumental. But looking at her, at the fierce set of her jaw and the memory of her naked body burned into my mind, the no died in my throat. This was madness. It was also the only thing left.

*

The office was a ghost town. The silence was thicker now, oppressive. Every shadow from the empty cubicles felt like a watching eye. My own breathing sounded too loud.

Lena moved like smoke. She’d pulled her blazer back on, but I knew what was beneath it. The knowledge was a live wire in my gut. Her heels, muted on the carpet, led the way to the corner office—the boss’s domain.

She swiped her keycard. The light blinked red.

“He deactivated them already,” I hissed, a surge of relief and dread mixing in my chest.

“Not this one.” She pulled a thin, metallic card from her wallet—a lockpick shim. “He gave this to me last year when he locked himself out. Told me never to tell.” Her smile was razor-edged. She slid it into the door jamb, wiggled it with a practiced twist, and with a soft click, the door yielded.

We slipped inside.

The room smelled of his cologne and stale ambition. The massive desk dominated the space. And there, on a side console, was the security monitor, a small, blinking light indicating it was recording. Right now. Of us.

Lena went straight to it, her fingers flying over the keyboard. I stood guard at the door, my heart a jackhammer against my ribs. Every second stretched into an eternity.

“It’s encrypted,” she muttered. “Password protected. I can’t just delete the files.” She yanked the cords from the back of the tower. “We take the whole thing.”

The tower was heavier than it looked. As she wrestled it from the console, a low groan of straining plastic filled the room. She lost her grip for a second, and the edge of the case slammed against the desk.

A framed photo of the boss’s family wobbled, teetered, and fell.

It hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack.

We froze. The sound echoed in the silence. My eyes locked with Lena’s. In hers, I didn’t see fear. I saw a wild, sparkling adrenaline. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the swell of her breasts against her silk shell a mesmerizing distraction.

“So much for quiet,” she breathed, a laugh caught in her throat.

The tension was a coiled spring. The risk, the illegality, the sheer stupidity of it all… it should have been terrifying. But watching her, flushed and alive with the danger, it transformed. The air between us crackled, the same electric charge from yesterday, magnified a thousand times by the peril.

She hefted the tower, grunting softly with the effort. The movement strained the buttons of her blouse. One popped open, revealing a sliver of black lace and the smooth, pale skin of her cleavage.

I was across the room in three strides. My hand covered hers on the cold metal of the computer case. “Leave it.”

Her eyes flew to mine, wide, questioning.

“He already fired us. He’s got digital copies somewhere, he has to. This is just… a trophy.” My voice was rough. The scent of her jasmine perfume and the faint, lingering musk of our earlier encounter filled my senses. “This is pointless.”

“So what’s the point?” she challenged, her lips parting.

My other hand came up, my thumb tracing the exposed line of her lace bra. Her breath hitched. “This.”

I kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision of panic and desire, a desperate claim in the heart of our ruin. Her mouth opened under mine, hot and willing. She kissed me back with a furious hunger, her free hand tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

The computer tower hit the floor with a heavy thud, forgotten.

My hands went to her blazer, shoving it off her shoulders. It fell on top of the tower. I tore at her blouse, buttons scattering like little pearls across the boss’s expensive rug. The black lace bra came next, my fingers fumbling with the clasp until it gave way. Her perfect breasts spilled into my hands, warm and heavy, her nipples instantly hard pebbles against my palms.

“Here?” she gasped against my mouth. “In his office?”

“You started this,” I growled, my mouth leaving hers to trail down her neck, to latch onto a nipple. I sucked hard, and she cried out, her back arching, pushing herself deeper into my mouth. “You love the risk. I see it.”

“I do,” she moaned, her head falling back. “God, I do.”

I walked her backwards until the edge of the massive mahogany desk bit into her thighs. With a sweep of my arm, I cleared it—pens, papers, the bronze nameplate clattering to the floor. I lifted her, setting her down on the smooth, cold wood. She lay back, gloriously naked from the waist up, her skirt rucked up around her hips. The black lace panties were gone, I realized. She’d never put them back on after last night.

The sight of her, spread across our former boss’s desk, her shaved pussy exposed and glistening faintly in the dim office light, was the most illicit, arousing thing I’d ever seen.

I didn’t bother with my shirt. I unbuckled my belt, yanked my zipper down, and freed my aching cock. I was already fully hard, thick and throbbing with the adrenaline and the sight of her.

I moved between her splayed legs. The head of my dick nudged against her heat. She was so wet, the slickness coating me instantly. I looked down, watching as I pressed forward, parting her swollen folds, stretching her open.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice a husky command.

I dragged my gaze up to hers. Her eyes were black with lust, her cheeks flushed. This was her element. The forbidden. The exposed. The risk.

I sank into her in one long, slow, relentless thrust.

Oh, fuck. She was scorching hot, unbelievably tight. Her inner muscles clenched around me in immediate, welcoming spasms. A guttural groan tore from my chest. Her legs hooked around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back, pulling me deeper.

I set a punishing pace from the start. This wasn’t about finesse. It was about claiming, about pouring the fury and the fear and the desperate lust into each driving plunge. The desk rocked with our rhythm. The computer monitor shook.

Her cries were unfiltered, loud in the silent office. Each snap of my hips drew a sharp, beautiful gasp from her lips. I leaned over her, taking a nipple back into my mouth, sucking and biting as I fucked her. Her hands scrabbled at my back, my shoulders, her nails digging in through my shirt.

“Yes… right there… don’t stop!” she chanted, her hips meeting mine thrust for thrust.

The lewd, wet sounds of our joining were obscenely loud. Skin slapping against skin. Her ragged moans. My ragged breaths. The creak of the desk. It was a symphony of their undoing, performed on the stage of their disgrace.

I could feel her climax building. Her breaths came in short, sharp pants. Her body tightened around me, a vice-like grip. “I’m… I’m going to…”

“Come,” I ordered, pounding into her. “Come on his desk, Lena. Show him what he fired.”

It tipped her over the edge. Her body arched off the desk, a silent scream on her lips as the orgasm racked her. Her channel convulsed around my cock, rhythmic, milking pulses that pulled me toward my own abyss. The intensity was blinding. I drove into her once, twice more, burying myself to the hilt as my own release exploded. Hot pulses shot deep inside her as I groaned, my vision whiting out at the edges, my entire body shuddering with the force of it.