Exposed at the Office - Sex Stories

Exposed at the Office

... thinking?

At that moment, with my legs stretched wide, skirt hitched up, splashes of water on the floor, my boobs bulging out as I lean over the basin, the hand dryer stops. In the silence, I hear the outer door of the bathroom swing open. I freeze. There are two steps until Sophie, Mr Daniels' PA, rounds the inner wall and stops dead, taking in the sight in front of her. The blood rushes up my face in a crimson blush, my mouth falls open as I try to think of something - anything - to say, but no words come. Shock registers on Sophie's beautiful, immaculate face, and then amusement, with just a hint of cruelty behind those gorgeous brown eyes, framed by her perfect lashes.

"Well, that's one way to make an impression," she smirks. She raises her smartphone. "Smile!" I freeze, mouth gaping, totally exposed. Click. The shutter goes. "Please, carry on!" she says, making her way into one of the cubicles. As the door lock clicks shut, I am sure I can hear the swoosh sound of a text message sending.

My stomach drops. My mind is in turmoil. What should I do? I picture myself as Sophie's phone has caught me: one wet foot up in the sink, one filthy foot tiptoe on the floor, my skirt bunched up around my waist...she could probably see my panties! Oh God, my tummy exposed, my little breasts crushed together in a push-up bra...what a picture. And that image is probably in the office WhatsApp group right now, the group that I have not yet earned the right to be a part of. I ...

... picture the notifications pinging into people's phones, their curiosity as they unlock, and then their amusement...maybe open laughter..."hey, have you seen this?" as they pass their phone to the next desk. She won't have sent it to Mr Daniels, will she? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I going to do?

I realise I am still standing exactly as I was when Sophie came into the bathroom, with warm water still flowing over my left foot. I take it out, leaving a wet - but clean - footprint on the tiled floor, and swap to my other foot, cleaning it as best I can. The cubicle door remains shut. I grab my blouse and quickly button it, covering my bra. The sweat patches aren't properly dry - of course they aren't, what was I even thinking? - but a cold chill has settled across my body and the dark patches under my arms are the least of my worries. I need to dry my wet feet. Can I get them up under the drier?

I hear the flush of the toilet, then the click of the lock as the cubicle door opens. Sophie appears, stalking into the bathroom, her superiority and control oozing from every pore.

"P-please, Sophie, let me explain..." I gasp, my voice coming out something like a squeak. "I-I...the bus..."

"Kneel," says Sophie, looking at me coldly.

"E-excuse me?"

"I imagine you don't want that photo spread around the office?"

"N-no, Sophie, please don't spread it around," I gasp. Maybe I'd been mistaken. Maybe I hadn't heard that text message swoosh after all? Maybe it wasn't too ...