I swear, I’ve been replaying this in my head all week. It was last Tuesday, right in the middle of my shift at the office. I’m Elodie, 27, single, and yeah, I get these wild urges sometimes. The AC unit crapped out—hot as hell in there, sweat trickling down my back under my tight blouse. I called maintenance, and this guy shows up. Tall, rough hands, grease-stained shirt hugging his broad chest, stubble shadowing his jaw. Name tag said « Mike. » Fuck, he smelled like oil and clean sweat, that musky scent hitting me low in the belly.
He climbs the ladder, toolbox clanging, muscles flexing as he tinkers. I’m at my desk, pretending to type, but my eyes keep drifting to his ass in those worn jeans. Heart pounding. I imagine dropping to my knees, right there on the carpet that smells faintly of stale coffee. « Everything okay down there? » he calls, voice gravelly, glancing back. I swallow hard. « Yeah, just… hot. Really hot. » My nipples harden against my bra, visible if he looks close.
He finishes, wipes his brow—sweat beads sliding down his neck. Steps down, stands too close. « All fixed. Anything else? » His eyes lock on mine, dark and knowing. I bite my lip. « Um, maybe… show me how it works? » Lame excuse, but it works. He smirks, leans in. His breath warm on my ear. « You sure? Looks like you need cooling off more than the AC. » My pussy clenches. I nod, whispering, « Please. »
Next thing, his hand’s on my thigh under the desk, rough palm sliding up my skirt. Desk phone rings—ignored. « Shh, quiet now, » he growls, fingers brushing my damp panties. I gasp, thighs parting. The office door’s cracked, distant chatter from coworkers. Thrilling. He yanks the lace aside, two thick fingers plunging in—wet squelch echoing softly. « So fucking soaked already. Dirty girl fantasizing about the repair guy? » I whimper, « Yes… been thinking about you taking control all morning. » His thumb circles my clit, rough circles sending sparks up my spine. Odor of my arousal mixes with his grease—intoxicating.
He pulls me up, spins me around. Desk clears with a crash—pens scattering. Bent over, skirt hiked, panties at my ankles. He unzips, cock springing free—heavy, veined, precum glistening. Smells salty, masculine. « Beg for it. » Voice commanding. « Please, Mike… fuck me. Make me yours. » He grips my hips, bruises forming under his fingers. Thrusts in—stretching me wide, burning sweet. I moan, muffled by my own arm. Slaps my ass—sharp sting, skin blooming red. « That’s it, submit. Take this cock like a good slut. »
Pounding rhythm—desk creaking, skin slapping wetly. His balls smack my clit with each drive. Sweat drips from him onto my back, cooling instantly. I taste salt on my lips from biting them. « Harder… own me, » I beg. He grabs my hair, yanks back—arch forcing deeper. G-spot hammered, pressure building. « Gonna make you squirt, sub. » Fingers find my ass, teasing the rim—oily from his work hands. Pushes one in, scissoring. Overload. I shatter—gush soaking his jeans, thighs quivering, cries stifled.
He grunts, pulls out—hot spurts across my ass, sticky ropes dripping down. Pulls me to knees. « Clean it. » Cock in my face, musky cum-smeared. I lick eagerly—salty-bitter tang, veins pulsing on my tongue. He watches, stroking my cheek. « Good girl. My office sub now. »
We straighten up, him zipping, me wiping with tissues that smell like cheap lemon. He slips me his number. « Call when you need fixing. » Door clicks shut. I sit, pussy throbbing, aftershocks rippling. Obsessed. Can’t wait for the next « breakdown. »