The prompt – #Courier – was given by Ruby Kidell at The Erotic Notebook, for #WankWednesday. Merci Miss Ruby.
Hand clamped tightly between her thighs, pressed inside her damp knickers, she checked the clock. One fifty-eight pm. She was edging, her body tense, ready to fall to gasping orgasm if she moved an inch.
He always arrived at two o’clock. Every week. Couriers didn’t make a lot of money, it wasn’t a high profile job, but they certainly had punctuality to recommend them.
Through the glass walls of her office she observed the assistants milling about, doing the work she paid them for. She also had a clear view to the exit and found her gaze flicking from the silver doors of the lifts to the clock, on repeat.
It was the fourth week in a row she had played this game. Her co-workers knew nothing of it. She enjoyed the thrill of touching herself, her fingers teasing the lips of her cunt, whilst watching them carry out their daily tasks. She reveled in the danger of being caught.
The first week he hadn’t been sure. Striding into her office with the usual brown envelope, service with a smile as always, he had sensed her slight tension, but he couldn’t be sure.
After a week of replaying the happy but rigid smile she had given him, he couldn’t help but wonder if what he thought, what he hoped, had actually happened. And when he exited the lift and made his way through the room of pretty, twittering assistants, his eyes had gone immediately to her, watching her press down on her hand. The arching back, the rocking motion was unmistakable. This faithful employer of outstanding reputation was sitting on her fingers, once a week, and coming in full view of her entire staff.
It was true, she was nothing special. Mousy brown hair, a pretty but forgettable face hidden behind expensive glasses. She wore business suits that were practical rather than seductive. But she was sweet and slender and her smile was warm and, having discovered her weekly activities, he had found her the subject of his masturbatory fantasies for just over a fortnight.
The clock struck two and her eyes flicked directly to the lifts. Sure enough the door opened and he appeared. Walking, almost gliding across the room, his eyes were fixed on her. She remained still. This time she would wait. This time she wanted more.
Reaching the glass door, he tapped politely and she nodded her head, an indefinite whimper escaping as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.
Her heart, her breath, all seemed to stop, hang in suspense for a moment as he approached the desk and slowly passed the envelope across the shiny, oak table. Moaning, her eyes reaching for him, she moved her hand inside her knickers, the other, white knuckled, clutching the edge of the table.
This time her whimper was loud and certain as her cunt clenched and she came in waves all over her poised fingers.
He just stood there watching her, the envelope held between them, a smile of desire and delight playing across his lips as the scent of her filled the room.
Trembling she relaxed and the colour began to return to the hand gripping the desk. Pulling the other from her sodden panties, she reached for the envelope, letting her wet fingers skid across his hand as she took it.
He breathed deeply, his eyes dark with lust, and turned, walking out of the office, the wetness of his favourite client pooling in the palm of his hand.