I spent the entire afternoon under the cold, unrelenting b*zz of fluorescent lights, playing the part of the ice-cold professional for a client who had no idea how I was squirming in my seat. Every time he asked for yet another revision - every time his gaze lingered a moment too long on my crossed legs beneath the glass conference table - I could feel a pulse of heat that had nothing to do with the broken thermostat. I smiled, took notes, and projected competence, all while my body rebelled with a low, insistent throb that made it almost impossible to concentrate on the endless slideshow of brand strategy and projected numbers.

By the time the office finally emptied out and the gray cubicle maze fell silent, my hands were trembling - not from exhaustion, but from the kind of need that gnawed at the back of my throat until every word I spoke sounded strained and artificial. I closed my office door with a click, fell into my chair, and let the mask drop. My heart pounded in my chest, so loud I half-expected the night janitor to hear it as he rattled his keyring somewhere in the hall. I still had forty minutes before I was scheduled to meet the same client for dinner, but I knew there was no universe in which I would survive another hour of small talk with this desperate, swollen ache caged between my thighs.

I propped one foot on the edge of my desk and stared at myself in the bl*ck reflection of my monitor. My white, chunky heels - absurdly impractical for office sprints - looked filthy in the bl*e computer light, the patent leather scuffed from months of restless pacing. But they grounded me, made me feel obscene and powerful at the same time. I willed myself to slow down, to be deliberate. I unbuttoned my blouse down to the sternum, exposing the soft grey lace of my favorite bra, which couldn't even pretend to contain my hard nipples. I trailed my fingers along the exposed skin, tracing the outline of my ribs, my sternum, my stomach, until I reached the band of my skirt.

The skirt had always been tight, but tonight it felt like a chokehold. I hiked it up around my hips, barely registering how my skin dimpled around the waistband. No panty lines - no panties at all. I had gotten lazy (or maybe just cocky) about wearing them to the office, telling myself it was about comfort, but I knew exactly what I was doing. The shock of cool air on my bare p*ssy made me shiver, and when I slid my fingers between my legs, they came away slick and shiny. I watched in the reflection, fascinated by the way my hand disappeared under the desk lamp and the way my other hand gripped the arm of the chair as if to anchor myself in the moment.

I wanted you to watch. That was always the most potent part - the idea that someone could see me, that I could show you just how helpless and depraved I could become. I turned the camera on, lined up the angle so you would get the full view: my parted thighs, my trembling hand, and the mess already blooming between my lips. I didn't ask for permission. I spread my legs wide and held your gaze through the lens the way I'd never dare to do in person. Maybe I was daring you to stop me, or maybe I just wanted to rub your face in the fact that I was, for these few minutes, the one in control.

But I wasn't, and we both knew it. The need was bigger than me. I reached into the bottom drawer, past the backup wireless mouse and the unopened granola b*rs, and retrieved the dildo I kept in a soft velvet pouch. It was thick, veined, heavy in my palm and slightly tacky from its last frantic use. I pressed the head against my slit and paused, savoring the way my body tensed with anticipation. The first push was almost a relief - like scratching an itch I'd been made to ignore all day. I rocked my hips slowly, easing the toy inside, letting it stretch me open until I could feel every ridge. My other hand was already on my clit, rubbing in hard, frantic circles that sent shocks through my entire body. I closed my eyes and saw you watching, your breath caught, your jaw clenched, your hands gripping the arms of your chair in perfect, frustrated sympathy.

Every movement made the need sharper, not softer. I picked up speed, humping the dildo with short, desperate thrusts and grinding my heel into the carpet for leverage. Wet sounds echoed in the empty office, obscene and magnified by the silence. I bit my lip to keep quiet but soon I was gasping, l*ttle cries leaking out as the pressure built and built. I imagined you in the dark, hunched over your phone, watching my every move. I wanted to show you how greedy I could be, how hungry. The camera dropped to a view from below, zooming in on where the thick c*ck disappeared into my swollen, fluttering c*nt. My juices glazed the shaft with every stroke, dripped onto the floor, smeared across my thighs in a way that made me blush even though no one could smell how raw and primal it was.

My legs j*rked and spasmed, the chair tilted dangerously on its wheels, and still I couldn't stop. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the toy. I clutched at the desk with one hand, desperate for something solid to keep me from floating away. My blouse slipped off one shoulder, exposing more skin than I ever would have dared in daylight. I imagined the client seeing me like this - his polished, demanding executive writhing and soaked and taking herself apart for a stranger who might as well have been a ghost in the machine. I imagined you walking into the office right then, catching me with my face twisted in pleasure and my skirt bunched up around my waist, and instead of blushing or covering up, I just kept f*cking myself harder, daring you to do something about it.

The *rgasm h*t like a wave breaking. All the tension, the need, the humiliation and desire, crashed together and ripped a moan from my throat that left me slumped and shivering in the chair. I felt my p*ssy clamp down, milking the dildo in rhythmic pulses, and my slick made a mess of my hand and thighs and probably the upholstery. For a long moment I just floated, eyes half-closed, body soft and spent, the only sound my ragged breathing and the distant whine of the HVAC.

When I finally managed to stand, I was lightheaded and trembling. I wiped myself down with tissues from the printer stand, straightened my skirt, dabbed at the wet spot on the chair with my sleeve. I was suddenly, perfectly calm - my mind was quiet for the first time all day. I packed everything up, shut off the lights, and left the office just as the last rays of sunset streaked the city outside.

But the real question is, after watching me f*ck myself like this, would you have let me walk out the door without giving me the real thing first?

Eye Glasses Hairy Bush Milf Worked Up and Panty-Free: Office MILF F*cks Her Creamy P*ssy at the Desk with C4s.com

Eye Glasses Hairy Bush Milf Worked Up and Panty-Free: Office MILF Fcks Her Creamy Pssy at the Desk with C4s.com