Exposed at the Office - Sex Stories

Exposed at the Office

... getting really exasperated now. The guy who is supposed to be next looks like he's about to lose it.

"Yes, please," I say, trying to muster a smile.

"What for?" asks the barista.

"Er, oh, I..." I stammer. What can I say? I need to deliver my bra in it to a girl in the office or my boss is going to think I'm offering myself to him sexually? Come on, think! "I...I just need it," I say, weakly. The barista looks at me like I'm from another planet.

"Okay..." she says, handing over the empty paper bag. I take it like it's a lifebelt, clutching it tightly as I move away from the counter, enduring the mutters and open stares from those behind me in the line. What must I look like to them? Blouse gaping open, clearly broke, begging in Starbucks for an empty paper bag? I guess I look like what I am: a pathetic loser.

I stand and cringe by the counter, waiting for my coffee. People move through the line but don't stand near me, like I'm some kind of weirdo that might infect them with my patheticness if they get too close. I hear my name being called and step forward, grab the cup, and leave as quickly as possible, my shame following me like a cloud.

Head down, I rush to the road, waiting for the lights to change, conscious of how long this part of my mission has taken me, and how little time I have left. As soon as the traffic stops, I practically sprint across the street towards the office, my heels clicking against the roadway, until one of them disappears down a ...

... drain grate and snaps clean off, and I'm catapulted forwards. Sophie's coffee flies from my hand and slams into the ground, the lid bursting off, and the contents spreading in a hot, brown pool before running back towards the grate where one of my heels is still stuck, draining past it into the sewers below. I land in a heap on the kerbside, my skirt flipped up, showing off my bare behind to the entire street.

That's when I start to cry.

Tears running down my cheeks, I sob as I haul myself up and try to preserve my dignity by straightening my skirt. My hands and elbows are grazed, and so are my knees where my fall has ripped clean through the delicate stocking material. The coffee is gone. Pathetically, I'm still clutching the empty Starbucks bag I begged from the barista. I reach for my shoe, which is stuck in the drain. I give it a tug, and it comes away, leaving the heel behind. I'm conscious of people walking past, giving me a wide berth. Nobody stops to help. It's like I'm a pariah, something to be avoided. Had they seen my naked buttocks? Had I flashed my pussy at the whole street? Oh God...

Picking up my shoes and the empty coffee cup, I hobble into the office and straight to the bathroom for the second time that day, trying to hide my face and my scrapes from the nosy receptionist. There are a couple of people at the mirrors, touching up their makeup, so I dart into a cubicle as fast as possible and take stock of my situation.

My left shoe is completely ...