Girls Who Masturbate at Work

"Girls Who Masturbate at Work" by HeyAll

Nifty can be supported here, every dollar counts.

https://donate.nifty.org

Support my work on Patreon for custom/exclusive content. Tips are appreciated.

https://www.patreon.com/HeyAllStories

https://twitter.com/HeyAllStories

xxx

It's the clothes more than anything. Not the bustling atmosphere, the ultra-modern building, or the amount of young people walking around using new slang. No. It's the clothes that make the moment come alive. The undergarments, the form-fitting fabric, the shoes. It looks expensive but you can look great with an affordable price if you know where to shop.

Don't get me wrong, being here is daunting. I haven't worked an office job in over a decade. Marriage and parenting took me out of the rat race, but divorce brought me back.

I worked from home during that time, running a popular blog for mothers which has made my resume attractive to this major tech company. My blog is the only reason they'll hire someone who hasn't worked in an office for that long. The fact is, they're interested in appealing to certain demographics and people like me can help.

"There's a cadence to working here," she says. "Meetings are routine and things are time sensitive. You have to keep track of projects. The casualness around here can give the wrong impression, but make no mistake, it's very much a demanding job. You'll also be working closely with colleagues in the marketing department."

Dr. Khanna is a licensed therapist, but her main function is being the performance coach. Because I've been out of the corporate loop for so long, HR thought it would be a good idea for her to ease my transition back into the workforce. She's around my age and she's been preparing me to collaborate with a younger crowd.

"I'm already getting back into the swing of things. Everyone has been super nice."

"That's the environment we strive for. But don't let friendliness fool you. There's a healthy dose of competition which can be intense at times."

"Some things never change. I just need to find my rhythm."

"You should be fine with the work-life balance. It's the social setting which worries me."

"Am I that old?"

"You're hitting your prime. It's more, these girls play by different rules."

"Let's hope they don't eat me alive."

That was meant to be a joke, but it's worrisome that Dr. Khanna stops to think, as if that's an actual possibility. As if the laid back setting is just a ruse and backstabbing is the norm.

Dr. Khanna leans forward. "The girls in marketing are brilliant in their own way. But they can be... particular. They're young, but driven. Be prepared to be pushed, but you'll also learn a lot."

"I'm excited. Maybe they can learn from me as well. I have a lot to offer."

"HR made the right decision hiring you. Love your attitude."

xxx

It's a humbling experience to work beneath someone who's half my age. Her name is Vivian and she's this attractive dark haired Eastern European girl in charge of social media marketing. It's a job title that didn't exist when I worked in traditional marketing a long time ago. That's literally her title. Social Media Content Strategist.

She keeps charts of data analytics, figures out which trends are popular, what kind of content gets the most engagement, demographics, etc...

Unlike other young women her age, Vivian dresses the part, and then some. In fact she dresses better than most women anywhere. Certainly the best dressed woman in this building. Where most young women are happy to wear jeans, leggings, flats and sneakers, Vivian always wears heels. No exceptions. Always with a nice blouse, different colors, always with a skirt. Always designer brand, best of the best.

That's the image she projects to her 200,000 social media followers across platforms. People follow her content for modern day career advice. And she is the modern woman. Her `day-in-the-life' videos often go viral. You want job interview tips? Check out her page. You want to dress to impress? Check her out.

I'd like to think that we've become friends. She invites me to coffee, sometimes to lunch, and we talk about personal topics in between work. I've never felt like age was a factor between us, which was a welcomed relief, and we have more in common than anyone would guess.

Anyway, we're meeting in her office soon for content strategy. The company is launching a new fitness apparel line with built-in technology (sensors that track heart rate, steps, activity levels). Vivian is spearheading the social media campaign targeting working women and busy moms, but engagement has been softer than expected.

She has a brilliant office on the third floor with a window view. I call it brilliant because it's minimalist in style, but she has an arrangement of high heels displayed on top of a file cabinet, right by the window. As I'm walking to her office, I enjoy the open space community and glass doors. This place has style for days, much different than companies I used to work for, where it almost felt like jail at times.

Her place has a sense of privacy since it's further away from most other people. The glass walls are frosted in the center, which means the top and bottom are clear, but the middle is blurred. I always know when she's in her office because I can see the heels on her feet through the lower glass, especially when she's wearing the red ones.

When I approach the office, I see Vivian's red heels on the floor through the glass wall, but she's not wearing them. The heels are scattered on the floor as she's sitting on a rug by the wall, and her stockings-covered legs are spread. Her skirt is hiked and her back is against the wall.

I notice her hand between her legs and I stand still in the hallway. Her movement, that position. I know what she's doing and I wonder if she's had something to drink, that perhaps there was a special occasion and she's had one too many early cocktails. But I've never known Vivian to be a drinker. She always goes out of her way to be formal in the workplace.

Her toes curl and her stockings brush against the rug. Her thighs shiver and her back arches against the wall. When she relaxes, I know she's had an orgasm. God, the audacity of that. Especially knowing that we have a meeting. Maybe I've misjudged her all this time.

When she pulls her hand away, I see a vibrator and suddenly everything feels so much worse. Having a few drinks (assuming she's had any) and losing self-control is one thing, but having a vibrator is intentional. It's a deliberate act. Bringing something like that to the office is never an accident. She sits there for a moment to rest, the vibrator still in hand.

My initial reaction, strangely enough, is to blame myself. I'm early, after all. I check my phone and I'm six minutes ahead of our scheduled meeting. Still, that's no excuse to be doing something so lewd during peak morning hours.

I head in the other direction and pace around the hallways which have a view of the outdoor area. People walking to and from the main building. Many people are working outside with their laptops, sitting beneath tree shades.

Ten minutes later I head back to the meeting. I'm late, which bothers me, but I feel like it's enough time for Vivian to settle down from whatever state of mind she's in. When I get to her office, I knock on the glass door and enter. She's sitting behind her desk. The heels are back on her feet. She's typing on her laptop, as if she'd been working this whole time.

I apologize for being late, she's mystified that a few minutes is even an issue.

xxx

Two days later I'm back in Dr. Khanna's place of tranquility. That's what she calls it, since her main job is helping people achieve the `winning state of mind.' It's hard to focus because of how close she is with Vivian and I'm wondering if she had any idea. I wonder if I should even broach the subject or not. She stops, reads my facial expression, and she lifts an eyebrow.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

"Sorry, it's nothing."

"Please, this is your personal space. I'm here for you."

"Even if it involves another colleague, or a boss?"

"Even so."

"I had a meeting with Vivian the other day. You're familiar with her office, right? Glass walls, glass doors."

"Yes, I know what you mean."

"When I went to her office, through the bottom of the glass, beneath the frosted part, I saw her sitting on the floor. On a rug. Her legs were spread, her heels were off. Do you get what I'm implying?"

Dr. Khanna nods. "Where were her hands?"

"One between her legs."

"Bare handed? Or did she have a vibrator?"

"Vibrator from what I could tell. Wait... How would you know that?"

"Because I devised the program. That's how I know. Call it stress release. Call it a way to retain top talent."

"Doing... that? Masturbating?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it is."

"Does everyone know about this?"

"Only certain people. The CEO is a busy man. But the COO is a woman who lets us do whatever we want. Like I said, it helps us retain top female talent, which is a priority here."

A bewildered silence hangs in the air after Dr. Khanna's explanation. My mind races, replaying the scene in Vivian's office, the heels, the vibrator. Dr. Khanna's words were meant to be reassuring but it's having the opposite effect. Part of me feels disappointed in myself for believing that I've found the perfect job and the perfect career path. If there's one thing I've learned from my parents -- if something looks too good to be true, it probably is.

"Were you planning on telling me?" I ask.

"Yes, but I prefer easing women into this. It depends on personality types. For someone like you, conservative in nature, I was going to wait a month."

"Oh my god."

"Is this something you're interested in?"

"What if I disagree?"

"That's totally fine," she says. "Obviously this isn't for everyone. It's a generational thing as well, in my view. It'll just be kept away from you, like it's kept away from everyone else. Simple as that."

Dr. Khanna might believe her words hold no threat, but there's a slight subtext to what she's saying. I've navigated corporate waters long before any of the MeToo stuff existed. I know what it's like to be excluded, whether intentional or not, and how it can affect your career. And being `kept away' is code for not being trustworthy, or a team player.

Now to be clear, she's in no way threatening to blackball me. She's not holding this over my head. But it's the obvious byproduct -- intentional or not. It's like how men used to make important deals in the strip club or golf course. Places filled with cigar smoke. Sure, you're invited, but do you even want to go?

"You know what? I'm not a fragile person. Maybe there's something to be said for a little self-care during the day."

She nods. "That's the spirit. Studies have shown that taking short breaks for mindfulness or relaxation can improve productivity and focus. That's been my experience. Of course, we want everyone to feel comfortable here, so we'll need to schedule additional appointments."

I wonder if Dr. Khanna knows that I'm bullshitting. I'm not a prude, but whatever these women are doing lacks basic decorum. Plain and simple. She'll never change my mind but if that's the game, then that's the game. If someone wants to vibe in their free time, that's something I'll have to learn to ignore.

xxx

What lingered most from that session was being labeled `conservative.' Not politically conservative, but my identity in general. It's a stinging feeling given my age. Conservative. Is that how she sees me? A relic clinging to outdated ideas of professionalism? I feel like I've been maligned for having common decency.

That was yesterday. Today I have a meeting in a conference room with the rest of the team. We're finalizing social media strategy to create additional buzz for the new activewear products. This includes paid partnerships with online influencers.

It's the third floor, open space, then down the hallway. Each conference room has glass walls with frost in the center. I can see the shape of two women behind the glass and I enter the room.

My jaw nearly hits the floor.

Lexi is using her laptop wearing a tiny undershirt -- no bra underneath -- while Olivia is standing behind her looking at the screen, wearing a black bra and jean pants. They're both young and vibrant ladies, I love working with them, and they flash hesitant smiles in my direction.

"Oh hey," Lexi says. "We weren't sure how comfortable you are with this style yet."

Olivia chimes in. "Do you mind?"

A false smile creeps over my face. What exactly were they told about me? They stare at me like being fully dressed in normal office wear is an obstacle to the hard work they're doing. Like I'm the deviant one here. With that in mind, I'm still the newest member of the team, these are their rules, and the last thing I want to do is create drama.

"Keep doing what you're doing," I say. "Comfort matters, right?"

"Oh, thank you."

"Bras and panties were never meant for me."

Their comments are playful but they undress like it's nothing. Locker room style undressing. One button at a time, zero nerves, and their eyes are still focused on the laptop screen as they reveal nipples and body parts. One girl is barefoot, while the other is still wearing heels.

As you can imagine, I'm floored being a few feet away from nude colleagues. I'd never heard of such things happening, much less this brazen. Vivian's masturbation was tame compared to the brutal awkwardness I'm facing. It's like looking at the sun. I can only take glances at a time.

I open my laptop and pretend to be unphased by their state of undress. Is this how the rest of the meeting is going to happen? There are other women on the team coming as well. I wonder if Olivia and Lexi plan to get dressed, or worse, if the other members will do something similar to get comfortable.

"Can you take a look at this real quick?" Lexi says. "These are the new graphics I made."

I gulp deeply, because now I'm forced to interact with them in the name of professionalism. The surreal sight of their nudity in a conference room is spellbinding. Their nipples are erect from exposure, Olivia is pink while Lexi is light brown. I clear my throat and walk over to them.

They show me what they've been working on, graphic designs which will be used for online marketing. It's phenomenal work. They're both so talented and deserve to be working for a place like this. From where I'm standing, I can see the color of their nipples on either side of my vision. My heart races. I wonder if they can feel my breathing against their bare skin.

"Looks great. You two are really talented."

"Thanks," Lexi says. "We've been collaborating for a long time."

You can imagine the tension I feel each time another woman steps through that door. Is someone going to freak out? Nope. No one bats an eye from Olivia and Lexi's bare tits. Just an exchange of hello' and putting their stuff down. At this point, it must be a generational thing. I'm the oldest of the bunch. The conservative.' The prude.

Everyone takes their seats. No one else gets nude, but everyone gets comfortable. Upon closer inspection, I notice a few of the women are braless beneath their tops. Vivian, our boss, arrives last and she takes off her heels and walks around in black stockings as she leads the meeting.

It's like being in the Twilight Zone and my gaze sometimes drifts toward those nipples, while no one else is phased by them. That's how casual they are with each other. And then there's the masturbation issue. Are they all doing the same thing in private?

Later that afternoon, I text with Vivian to discuss the state of things. If I'm going to be working here for the foreseeable future, then I need to know the landscape. No more secrets or surprises. It's not a confrontation, it's about being smart.

Vivian: Sure come to my office at 2 pm. Might be busy , just come in

At that exact time I head to her office. Now I'm ready for anything thrown my way. I've already seen it all. Plus this is my chance to perhaps set a few boundaries.

I can see her heels on the bottom of the glass wall. She's standing and moving in place, which I can see through the frosted center. It looks like she's dancing or stretching.

Opening the glass door, Vivian is standing beside her desk, while another woman is bent over, laying front side down. Vivian is dressed in her usual silk blouse and skirt and stockings. The other woman is wearing traditional office wear, but her bottom is down, feet flailing in the air.

It takes me a split second to realize that Vivian is using a strap-on against this woman's bottom. And in another second I realize that I know this woman, someone from the HR department, someone a bit older than myself. This is pure domination. A young boss penetrating an older woman across a desk. It's a show of force. Vivian knew I'd see this.

The older woman starts to cum when the thrusts go faster. Her cry is muffled. They know I'm here, they heard the door open and my footsteps at the entrance. Perhaps this is something Vivian does to people, have them come to her office, make them watch. It's a powerplay on both ends -- the woman being fucked, the other woman made to watch.

Vivian pulls the black strap-on out, slow, merciful, and the woman's feet go back to the floor. By my estimation, it's a solid six-incher, slick with vaginal fluids. I'm unable to peel my eyes away. I can't walk away if I tried. My legs are weak. My feet are frozen to the ground, just as she had intended, I'm guessing.

The woman on the table climbs off and right away she pulls her panties up and fixes her bottom. She's blushing, her face beet red, and she can't bring herself to look at me. It's the expression of utter defeat, but she wouldn't change a thing. She's under the spell of a powerful young woman. She thanks Vivian for the `weekly appointment' and then scurries away when I step aside.

Vivian undoes the strap around her crotch, giving me a glimpse of her patch of pubic hairs, and then she pulls her skirt down. She places the sex toy on a paper towel on the table, letting the toy stand upright. It shines under the sunlight from the window. A woman's cum. She uses a wet wipe to clean her fingers. She's looking at me, business as usual, like time is important.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asks.

She sits on her desk and twirls the heel on her foot in slight movements. Her legs are closed, but she's pantyless. This isn't exactly a sexual invitation, she's using the same tone she always uses when talking to me. But how could I ignore what I'd just seen?

xxx

The first thing Monday morning I'm in Dr. Khanna's office for an emergency meeting. I'd been emailing with her over the weekend about my employment status and if I'm capable of proceeding. The work is great, I love my job and colleagues, but it's the other factors that make me uneasy.

I explain this to her in person with greater detail. She sits there and nods, listening to every word, analyzing my body language, and I get the impression that she's heard these feelings before. Dr. Khanna is wearing a smaller skirt today with pantyhose and I wonder if that's intentional at all.

"Your feelings are valid," she says. "Not everyone is suited for this lifestyle. But between us, did Vivian give you any tasks to perform? That's always been her management style for as long as I've known her, to give tasks."

"I was given tasks. Yes."

"How did that make you feel?"

"It made me feel small, smaller than I've ever felt in my life. Belittled. I can't get over the fact that I'm almost twice her age, and here we are, she's giving me orders about how to dress."

"Did that arouse you? Does it arouse you now?"

"It's complicated."

"But you were aroused at some point, correct?"

"Yes, sure. It's a human response, I'd like to think."

Dr. Khanna gives a slow nod. "We've known each other long enough. Show me."

Her eyes gesture to my outfit, as if she knows what secret I'm hiding beneath. I can't believe this. My mind scrambles. Is this some secret plot between them to test my loyalty? Or is this purely about sexual control? I glance down at my clothes, so unassuming, but we both know what's underneath.

With a deep breath I play along. I undo my pants and slide them down, there's nothing under, which is what Vivian had instructed. It seems they're working together to get me naked in the office, one step at a time, and it's working. They're breaking me down. I could have refused Vivian's request but it's hard to refuse my boss.

My pants are around my ankles and Dr. Khanna is pleased. Her eyes are fixated on my crotch, which is clean shaven, and she licks her lips. My bare butt is pressed on the seat and I feel guilty for the next person who has to sit here.

"Vivian wanted me to come to work like this," I say. "No undergarments down below."

"And?"

"She wanted me to masturbate at work. But I don't think that's appropriate in your office space."

"I invented this method, remember?"

Her gaze is piercing. She expects me to do it. This can't be right. Everything about the situation screams `wrong' -- the secrecy, the vague instructions, the way her eyes gleam with blatant arousal. I've always known Dr. Khanna to be a brilliant woman and her resume speaks volumes, but this is a different side to her, one that's craving the forbidden.

I touch myself while she watches, slow, careful circles at first, then faster at a gradual pace as I get more comfortable. She isn't surprised by my compliance. She's done this with countless others since the women in my department are accustomed to this. The more comfortable I get, the faster I rub.

The eyes of Dr. Khanna never leave my fingers. She's transfixed, obsessed. I've masturbated for partners before, but something about the office takes it to a different level. The fact that she's so esteemed makes it special and insanely erotic.

I cum on her leather chair. I figure that if the mess is such a big deal, she'd stop me, or tell me to cover it with something, but she doesn't say anything. My orgasm is intense and my body shivers. She licks her lips while watching. My fingers keep going until my orgasm is done, then I take a deep breath and relax.

"How was that?" she asks.

"Embarrassing. That's the word that comes to mind."

"These things take time. Trust me. And remember, discretion is paramount. Not everyone needs to know what we're doing. You've shown remarkable poise. Consider this your initiation."

"Is that what this is? An initiation?"

"Be honest, you'd be bored to tears if you returned to a normal office."

"Maybe I like boring."

"You're still exposed and you left a wet stain on the chair."

I'm speechless because she's right. I'm still exposed, my pants are down around my ankles, and the wetness on my skin is starting to turn cold from how long it's been exposed. I press the palm of my hand over my private area instead of covering up.

She adds, "Normalizing this kind of work environment can take time. You're from a different generation, there's more progress to be made."

Again with the age thing. We're from the same generation but clearly she's more liberal-minded than I am. She has a point about me being conservative, at least compared to her.

Dr. Khanna leans back in her seat, this time her eyes are locked with mine, and she pulls her skirt up. No panties. I didn't expect it any other way. Her pubic hairs are a dark, curly bush. Thick and luscious. Her skin is like milk chocolate. When she spreads her legs, her pussy is bright pink.

No time is wasted as she rubs her clitoris in fast circles. Her body becomes alive with sexual energy. Her fingers plunge inside when she's wet enough. Again, our eyes remain locked while this happens. I'm sure I look embarrassed. She looks so confident though, fingering herself with zeal, on track to having a fast orgasm.

xxx

The next afternoon, right before lunch, I'm bent over Vivian's desk. The same position as the HR lady, in the exact same spot. I'm facing her collection of heels which are placed on a file cabinet by the wall. Those heels are worth thousands -- Louboutins with signature red soles, Manolo Blahniks with sky-high stilettos, and Jimmy Choos that shimmer.

Every muscle in my lower back and bottom screams in protest as I hold the impossible prone position. This, apparently, is part of the initiation. Vivian had called it a `test of focus and determination.' Focus? Maybe. Determination? Absolutely. But most of my attention is focused on the searing burn in my core from the black six-inch strap. Humiliation flares within me.

The door opens, revealing a young woman with cute features and a shy expression from seeing my degradation. She enters the room and places something on a table.

"A package with promotional materials," she says.

Vivian keeps thrusting. "Thank you, that's all."

When the door closes, the irony strikes, just last week I was in the same position as that young woman, opening a door to a different world. One with a strap-on and high heels, stockings, dominance and submission. Now I'm on the receiving end of it. All in a week's time.

As I approach my second orgasm of the day, I wonder how different my life would be if the divorce never happened. I'd still be at home, writing my blog in the comfort of my living room, sometimes dining room. Living a boring, safe life, one that I'd always envisioned for myself.

But is that what I want? Can I ever go back to that life? For the last few days I've been masturbating like crazy at home, sometimes sneaking away from family time, to the sanctuary of my bedroom or bathroom. Using my fingers to make myself cum, fast as possible, thinking of Lexi and Olivia nude, imagining myself nude alongside them, and of course Vivian fucking. After that, I'd straighten my appearance and continue with family time, as if nothing had happened.

I wet the desk as Vivian's thrust intensifies. The ache in my core dulls as my body gets used to the strap and my orgasm relaxes everything. It's a rebellion against the life I'd always clung to. This isn't just about physical dominance; it's a calculated display of power. The predictable life I'd always envisioned is gone. I feel alive now, only in a much different way. She slaps my butt, there's no turning back now.

"Clean me," she says. "After this I have a work-lunch appointment. You should join."

Vivian instructs me to kneel, to clean her with my hands behind my back, meaning I can only use my mouth. First the strap must be cleaned. Every inch. When she takes it off -- her pussy, mound, and the surrounding area around her thighs. Everything must be cleaned and I do my best using my tongue. It's my first time tasting a woman and the flavor and texture are distinct.

She usually has lunch with people in management positions. Men and women around my age. I wonder if they'll know how Vivian is using me. Not likely, I think to myself, with my tongue stroking her sexual area. I'll be treated like a friend or a simple colleague, we'll be talking about work and personal topics, but Vivian will know that I'm sexually beneath her. That making me sit there at lunch, after claiming me, is to torment me. She gets off on that.

x

Later that afternoon we're in the conference room as the fitness product will be rolled out in a matter of weeks. There's a greater sense of urgency. This tends to make people more productive, more alert, there's more on the line.

On the long table there are laptops, papers, and coffee. The sound of chatter before things get started. The snapping sound of buttons being undone, heels falling to the floor when kicked off, clothes ruffling. There's even the sound of bras being unclasped, for those who wish to take it that far.

My eyes are looking down as my clothes come off. Something that Vivian requested that I do today, to give it a try. Requested -- not forced, not threatened. My bare feet touch the carpet. The rest of my clothes go neatly on the table after a quick fold. I'm naked in my seat, my nipples have turned erect from the exposure, and from knowing that others are looking my way. I'm the newbie, after all, of course people will be looking.

Vivian gets up to start the presentation. The lights are dimmed. She's wearing an unbuttoned silk blouse, cream color, and black heels. Nothing else. No bra. Her thighs and pussy are showing. Curly pubic hairs on display. The center of her bare chest is showing. She talks with complete authority when it comes to marketing strategy and the latest social media analytics.

After about 15 minutes, she takes a brief pause for a few gulps of coffee to wet her throat. Then she takes off her blouse to get naked since standing and talking has made her warm. Her pink nipples are bare and they're soft, she's comfortable showing them off to the rest of the team.

She points to a number on the screen and her nude body is a silhouette on the projection. The bright light frames her body and the shape of her breast. Her nipple. God, that nipple shape on the screen. She has no idea what she's done, but it's having a profound effect on me. I want to cum again after this, from being naked, from working alongside other nude (or partially nude women) and seeing her with iron clad confidence.

The girl sitting next to me, Zahra, is half my age, one of the youngest in the group. Thick framed glasses, Arab background, hipster personality. She's wearing a small skirt and her blouse is unbuttoned. The front cups of her bra are pulled down and her dark nipples are free. Her eyes are fixated on the boss, her hand goes down between her legs. Zahra is finger-fucking herself, she can't help it. It's a cultural rebellion that she cannot suppress.

I'll never understand why I'm doing this, but I reach over and touch Zahra's pubic mound, causing her to freeze. She hesitates, then takes her hand away, allowing me to stroke and finger her pussy. We're as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the presentation, and I continue to explore her most intimate area. Zahra lets go, surrendering to the more experienced person -- me -- to guide her orgasm. She forces herself to relax. Then she cums. Her body tense, her lips quivering.

The End

https://www.patreon.com/HeyAllStories

https://twitter.com/HeyAllStories