Exposed at the Office - Sex Stories

Exposed at the Office

... broken, the heel left in the drain grate outside. The right one is okay, but I can't exactly walk on one heel the rest of the day. My stockings are ripped on both knees, and laddered down my calf where I scraped it on the kerbside. The coffee cup is crushed and empty, like the paper bag. And, somehow, I've lost another button off my blouse in the fall. There are only three left now, and it's open to just below my ribcage. My grazes aren't bad; there's a little blood which I mop up with some toilet tissue, trying to work out what to do next.

Some kind of autopilot takes over. I dab at my eyes with more toilet tissue, noticing mascara coming off with my tears, but I am resolute. I have no coffee, no pastry for Sophie, and no way of getting any more. I am going to fail that part of my task. But maybe if I do the rest of it, she'll forgive me? It certainly can't get any worse...can it? But even as that thought flashes across my mind, I've unbuttoned my blouse and shrugged out of it, and I'm unclasping my bra, letting my breasts fall free. I tuck the bra into the pastry bag, before inspecting my blouse for damage. Thankfully, I've avoided coffee splashes. There are a couple of marks, but it's not too bad. I pull it back on and fasten the three remaining buttons, tugging the loose lapels together to try and cover my chest. My nipples are clearly visible through the fabric, poking out like rat's noses, and if I move too much from side to side the neckline will gape and they'll be ...

... visible for real. I'll just have to be super careful.

I peel my stockings off. They're ruined anyway. I may as well take them off. My new plan is to deliver all three of my packages - bra to Sophie, shoes to the copier, stockings to Mr Daniels' chair - as quickly as possible and get back to my desk to try and cover myself up. I'm very aware that I'm only left wearing two items - my wraparound skirt and my now-three-buttoned blouse - to cover my nakedness. I check the bow tie on my hip for safety, as I really can't afford to lose that as well. I gather myself, and step out of the cubicle.

What I see in the mirror is awful. I have panda eyes from where my tears have wrecked my makeup. The blouse is worse than I thought, gaping open and showing off my chest. Carrying my shoes and balled up stockings with a crumpled Starbucks bag, I look exactly like a slut doing the walk of shame home from some guy's house the morning after the night before, having been thoroughly fucked and then kicked out. This is not the impression I was hoping to make today. But, unless I get a move on, it's going to get a whole lot worse.

*****

From the moment I step out of the bathroom, I feel like everybody's eyes are on me. Heads turn as I pass. People stop working, stop talking, and stare openly. I try not to think about what they must be thinking, what they are saying as they turn to one another, the hubbub of gossip that follows in my wake like gulls after a trawler. It's horrible. I will ...