I was really happy the day I hooked up with a construction worker in my office. I was pretty, charming and an associate at one of the oldest law firms in Manhattan. I got to wear nice outfits, had a nice office and enough work so I didn’t feel useless. I was on top of the world, and I wanted to celebrate.
He was standing in the doorway while they were remodeling the conference room. Long dark hair, blue eyes, a skull tattoo on his bicep. I walked right up to him and started talking. He knew exactly what I wanted. I asked him to come in my office and check a broken light fixture. When he followed me in, I locked the door behind him.
After he left and I came down from my orgasm, I sat in my chair and started to shake all over. I was too terrified to leave my office, too terrified even to move. I was certain people could see the cum on my face, could tell that I was still damningly wet beneath my skirt.
After I don’t know how long, I texted my friend. A few minutes later she texted back: “Dw girl. You’re good 😊. Nobody knows.” I sighed with relief and texted her back a 💗. Then I straightened my clothes, got up and left my office to get some work done.
That was the last time I hooked up with anyone. I had three or four extremely short-lived boyfriends (each of whom I was convinced was the love of my life) before I met the guy I’m with now. We’ve been together four months, and I’m really happy.
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