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Saturday Seeds at the Office

By: kjane



I work at a large, corporate finance office and recently had to work a few hours on a Saturday evening. I had planned to go in for a couple of hours that morning, but I had been nursing a hangover from the previous night, so my motivation was somewhat low. As the hours passed, I started to feel guilt about avoiding my duties, so I decided, "Fuck it, I'll go in tonight no matter what." I made my way to work at 7:00 PM on a beautiful Saturday evening. It was going to suck, but working a little would make my Monday much more manageable, as it would enable me finally to get caught up. 

The office at which I work is secured on weekends. To gain access to the suites, one has to have a keycard. My company also makes people sign in at a security desk on weekends. The security guards typically just stay at the front, and do not generally patrol the suites after 5:00 PM. I decided to dress extra casual: nice sweat pants, tennis shoes, a sports bra, and a T-shirt. If I was going to be toiling in my cube, doing boring work on a Saturday evening, I was determined to at least be comfortable. 

After I signed in at the front, I took the elevator up to the twelfth floor, and unlocked the suite with my key card. I turned on just a few of the lights near my cube, before settling into my office chair. I started prioritizing my paperwork, which at the time seemed overwhelming. There was so much to do that I wasn't even sure where to start. Maybe I wasn't going to get caught up by Monday after all, I thought. I decided that I would work three hours maximum and leave the rest for Monday. I am a salaried employee, so I wasn't earning overtime pay anyway. 

After working for about a half an hour, I could hear the shuffling of paper across the way. Hmm, someone must be here, I thought. I could also hear a radio playing faintly in the same direction. My curiosity was perked, so I decided to see who else was toiling at this corporate hell hole on a Saturday night. When I got over there, I learned that it was my coworker and good friend Jack. 

"Hey, you are burning the late-night oil too, huh?" I asked. 

"Oh, hi Jane. Yeah, I have a few deadlines to meet by Monday, and it is hard to get anything done with the phone ringing off of the hook during the weekdays." 

"Yeah, tell me all about it," I said. "I'm in similar straits. Well, if you need anything, just come on over and I'll try to help. We need to get out of here. It is Saturday, for chrissakes." 

"Ok," he giggled. "I'm sure that I'll need help with something at some point." 

"Don't be afraid to ask," I said with a smile, before leaving to return to my cube. 

I suddenly felt better about being at work on a Saturday evening, knowing that Jack was there to share the misery. Although Jack and I work in slightly different roles these days, in prior years we worked in teams, so we knew each other well. Our work relationship developed into a friendship that has remained strong, although I have had to redefine its parameters occasionally, because he once admitted to me that he was in love with me. This would have been no big deal, except for the fact that he was married. 

It all happened about a year ago. We were working on several projects together, and we would discuss them at lunch. We would also discuss personal things, since we were friends. After awhile, I could tell that Jack was interested in seeing me outside of work, on a more personal level. He was separated from his wife at the time, but due to financial reasons, he was not at the point where he wanted a divorce. It was going to cost him tens of thousands of dollars to do so. However, he clearly was in a bad marriage. 

At the time, he started writing me letters, some of which I answered. It was fun to have a written dialogue with him. However, the content of his letters became increasingly more intimate, until he finally confessed that I, not his wife, would be the perfect girl for him. He wanted me instead. I wrote back to him and stated that I was not interested in being someone's mistress. I was in my thirties, divorced, had a boyfriend, and had no desire to be the "other woman," which is what I would be as long as he had a wife. 

This is not to say that I wasn't attracted to Jack. I am attracted to him now, actually. He keeps in great shape, has gorgeous Euro-male facial features, and is smart. I love that he is a literate man who can express himself well. If he were not married, I'd be after him in a second. He would be a most lovely catch. Last year I told him that I was flattered that he was attracted to me, but that the timing and circumstances weren't right. Incidentally, he returned to his wife after I told him that I wasn't interested in anything but friendship. 

To this day, I can tell that I bruised his feelings a little, but that was inevitable. He took my rejection of him pretty hard, since his feelings for me were sincere, however irrational they may have been. We stopped working together as a team after that, to keep the level of personal awkwardness to a minimum. We have remained friends, although I can still tell that, even a year later, he longs for me. I am still attracted to him as well, but he is still married. It isn't going to work. Ever.

Anyway, after I returned to my cube, I continued working away on my projects. A few minutes later, Jack came by with some folders. He did have a question for me. 

"Jane, I'm trying to calculate the future interest on this case, but I can't remember how to do it. Can you help me?" 

"Sure," I replied. "It is simple. Remember that future value is a result of the compounding of interest earned on the present value, or starting amount. As time progresses, the periodic interest is added to the starting amount and the next periodic interest amount is calculated based on that." I scribbled down some of the formulas for this on a post-it note and gave it to him. "Got it?" 

"I think so," said Jack. "Thanks so much." 

I thought he would simply leave and continue working, but he remained at my cube. He had a soft look on his face, like he wanted to talk or something.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked. 

He paused for a moment, looking somewhat hesitant. "Can we talk for a moment, Jane?" 

"Sure." 

"I just have to get a few things off of my chest about you," he said. "I'm so sorry that I told you that I was in love with you last year. Really, I didn't mean to make our friendship awkward." 

"Don't worry, Jack," I said. "It is okay. We are all human, and I know that you and your wife have been going through some bad times." 

"No, I really regret it," said Jack. "The problem is that those feelings that I expressed to you last year have never really gone away. I'll only say this to you once, and you don't even need to respond, but just know that I love you, Jane." 

Oh shit, I thought. Damn, we're going through this again. I came here to get some work done on a Saturday, and instead I'm finding myself dealing with a not-so-secret admirer at 8:00 in the evening. Shit. 

"I know, Jack," I said. "Let's just be friends, okay? It will never work." 

Jack's face became elongated. "I'm sorry," he said. "It is just that I so wish that I could see, touch, and have you." 

I tried to make him feel better, without pushing the poor guy into the dirt. "As I have said before, I can sense your interest. You are a smart, beautiful man, but you are married and it is not going to work. What can I do to help you get over me in that way? I still want to be friends, but I'm worried about the strength of your feelings for me." 

I could see the wheels turning in his mind. "I have fantasized about you daily. Would it be okay for me to see you just once?" 

"See me?" I asked. 

"Yeah, see you. I've always wanted to know what you look like. I won't touch; I just want to see you," he said. 

It was clear that he wanted to see me naked. I thought about this for a moment. If I did drop my sweat pants right here in the office (which was a possibility, since it was late and no one was around), would it allow this poor guy finally to get over his crush on me? I thought about the pros and cons, and tried to process the general weirdness of his request. I decided to acquiesce. 

"Okay, Jack. If it will help you get over being in love with me, I'll give you a peek. But you cannot touch me, because I'm not going to allow you to cheat on your wife." 

He had one more request, and it was a little unusual, to say the least. Or hell, maybe it wasn't.

"Can I stroke myself while I watch?" he asked. 

I thought about whether it was a reasonable request. No, I thought, it was not reasonable at all, but the whole conversation had turned into a theater of the absurd, so why not? "Okay, you can pull it out," I replied, thinking that I must be insane for allowing him to do that.  

I did not tell him that I actually kind of wanted to see what he looked like too. The last thing I needed was to ramp up his cravings even more. Without saying another word, I got up from my chair and looked deeply into Jack's eyes. If I was going to undress at work, of all places, I was going to determine the pace at which the proceedings occurred. I went over to the cube next door, and brought over a chair in which he could sit. Once he was seated, I stood in front of him, bent down, and unlaced my shoes, kicking them off to the side. Then I stood up, placed my fingers in the waistband of my sweat pants, and smoothly brought them down across my milky white thighs. 

"You are beautiful," said Jack. "Oh, you are beautiful." His eyes were glazed, and he lifted up his ass to unbutton his jeans. He slid them down part way, along with his underwear, and pulled out his thick, erect cock. It wasn't very long, but it was uncircumcised and as thick as my wrist. I had fantasized about what it might look like for some time, and it was actually a beautiful rig. As beautiful as the rest of him, in fact. 

I continued to strip, as he began to stroke. I reached underneath my shirt and unhooked my bra. Then I raised my shirt over my head and let it fall gracefully to the floor. I tossed my bra onto him, as he sat there watching. He took the bra, put it in his right hand, and used it to stroke his cock rhythmically up and down. By then, I was down to just my panties and socks. I decided to leave my socks on. I moved up closer to him, so that my crotch was at his eye-level, and rolled down my pink, silk panties. I know that he could smell my sex. I was not going to admit it, but I was enjoying what we were doing. It was improper and hot. And at that moment, our brains were becoming monopolized by the "hot." 

I was getting highly aroused, knowing that I was putting on a show for my admirer. As I stood there with my crotch merely inches from his face, I began to rub my clitoris in a circular manner with my right hand. My juices began to flow more rapidly, and my pleasure centers were becoming increasingly engorged. He leaned forward to touch my thickening labia with his tongue, but I stepped back. 

"No tasting, Jack," I said. "That's the deal. No tasting, no touching. You just get to stroke and watch, okay?" 

He was speechless, and just stroked his cock with his fingers that were intertwined in my bra. I stepped back further, sat down, and leaned back in my office chair. I scooted it up to him, so that we were both facing each other in our chairs, our legs almost brushing against one another. I started to jill-off with my right hand on my clitoris while I pinched my nipples with my left hand. I spread my legs wider, giving Jack as good of a view as he could possibly get. I could feel the heat rising within my frame. Watching Jack's cock harden and ache for release was pushing me to the brink. 

I so wanted to fuck him, but I couldn't do that. He was married. I focused my gaze on the tip of his penis, watching it gradually change to a purple hue. I started frantically rubbing my clit, and I could tell that the sight was pushing him to the edge. His legs started to twitch and I watched as his cock became fully engorged. He was going to pop soon.

"Stand up and cum on my pussy," I said, huffing as I was starting to reach the brink of orgasm. "Don't touch it--just cum on it, baby," I urged. 

That thought pushed him into orgasmic oblivion. I'm not sure if it was the notion of creaming my kitty, or if it was the "baby" I tacked onto the latter part of the sentence, but he went over the top after hearing those words. He rose quickly from his chair and, pumping his bra-clad fist maniacally, stood over me and unloaded stream after milky stream of cum onto my pussy and right hand, which I was still using to work my clit frantically. 

"Oh, shit, oh," he huffed, as he drained his balls onto me. "Oh, shit," he said, arching his head back and coating me in his man-milk, clearly in a state of ecstasy.  

The amount of fluid he provided was staggering. I think there was a year's worth of desire in his loins. My entire hand, pussy, and lower abdomen were drenched in cum. It made my getting off that much easier, as I did not have to stop and lick my fingers or dip into my slit for lubrication. I rubbed his cum right into my clit, and within seconds reached a thundering orgasm that shook me from the bottom of my feet to the deepest parts of my brain. It was gorgeously primal. 

"Oh my God," I said huskily, turning various shades of red, my mouth almost drooling, my body drenched in seed. I shuddered hard against the chair, bucking, twisting and writhing. I rubbed his seed onto my pussy as though I was a vase that needed to be polished--I wanted to be completely at one with his musky manhood.

I had not cum that hard in years. I was wasted. Minutes later, after we both came down a little, I took a few tissues that were on my desk and did the best I could to clean up. His seed was everywhere, and since the office did not have its air conditioning turned on during weekends, the stagnant air around us smelled entirely of sex. We needed to get out of there. 

After quickly wiping off my midsection, and while he was buttoning up his pants, I slipped on my sweat pants, without bothering to put on my underwear. I hurriedly put on my shirt, without strapping on my bra. I put my bra and panties back in my bag. It was odd, but all of a sudden I felt like we were about to get caught. It must have been "post-orgasmic paranoia syndrome" or something. Regardless, I felt lovely, if a little hazy and paranoid. 

I looked deeply into Jack's eyes, kissed two of my fingers, both of which were still dripping in our juices, and placed them to his lips. He licked them gently. I could tell that he wanted to kiss me, but I wasn't going to let him. He was married. 

"That's it," I said. "It's over. Hold onto the memory." I paused to let him reply, but he just stood there vacantly. "Go home to your wife," I added. "It is getting late." 

"Thank you," he said softly, before turning and walking away. 

"Jack?" I said as he was leaving. "Can I walk you to your car?" I asked.

"That would be nice," he said. "That would be very nice." 

After I brought him to his car, it was clear that I wasn't going to be able to focus on working anymore that evening, so I packed up my stuff and left shortly thereafter. 

On Monday, when we were back at work, we smiled at each other when we were both in line to use the copier. I sense a certain peace between us now. I hope our erotic encounter can provide closure to his desire for me, so he can start thinking of me solely as a friend. I will not allow myself to have another unclothed encounter with him, but I do want to be friends with him forever. Maybe revealing some of the physical mystery that I may have had with him prior to our encounter will help us mutually move toward those sentiments. Then again, he is a guy. Maybe he will just become addicted to the thought of my pussy. . . .