Exposed at the Office - Sex Stories

Exposed at the Office

... never, ever live this down. I know I'm going to have to leave, get a new job. I can never show my face here again after this. But if I can rescue my panties, and my pictures, maybe - just maybe - I stand a chance of getting a reference.

First stop, Mr Daniels' office. The door is ajar, and I can see it's empty. I step inside, and hurry over to the chair, dropping my stockings into the seat as instructed. I know I don't have long, but my eyes are drawn to the desk drawer. I know what's inside. I know my doom is in there. I can't resist reaching out and giving it a little tug. It's locked. Of course.

Next, the copier. I leave Daniels' office, and hurry across to where it sits, humming quietly, against the wall. I don't make any pretence about needing copies, as I don't have time to waste. I just want this to be over. But I am careful as I lower myself to the ground in a squatting position, letting my skirt fall to cover my dignity, but also being careful to keep my back straight and my posture upright. If I lean forward, my blouse will gape open and give everyone in the office an eyeful of my exposed tits. It's awkward, but I manage to ease the paper cupboard open, and push my shoes inside, before clicking it shut again. I carefully stand upright, keeping my eyes forward, and turning to pad across the office carpet on my bare feet. I know my cheeks are burning with embarrassment; I can feel everyone watching me, their eyes boring like lasers into my skin, which prickles ...

... with the unwanted attention. I'm certain someone is going to stop me, ask me what I'm doing, and I'm equally certain if they do I will just collapse in tears. But nobody does.

Finally, like the final opponent in some kind of sick video game, I know I have to face Sophie. She doesn't have her own office, but her superior position as Mr Daniels' PA means she has a little cubicle screened off from the rest of the open plan floor, just a few steps away from Mr Daniels' office. I can feel my mouth drying up, my tongue papery and my lips parched, as I approach. What will I say about her coffee? How will she take the news?

I step around the corner into Sophie's den. Part of me is glad to be screened from the puzzled and curious stares of the rest of the office, but the other part is terrified to be face to face with my tormentor. She turns and looks up at me, and actually laughs out loud. I feel all resolve crumble. She has complete control. I hand over the Starbucks bag, which she takes as though it's filled with dog poop, inspecting it at arm's length with a wrinkled-up nose, before dropping it onto her desk.

I'm still holding the crumpled, empty coffee cup. I realise, now, how stupid this is, how pathetic I am. It would have been better to be empty handed than to do this. But somehow, now I'm here, I can't stop myself. It's like I'm under some kind of spell. I hold out the empty, broken receptacle, and mutter my explanation.

"I'm sorry, I spilled it. And I don't have ...