New Hire

I work for a large financial company in our headquarters in downtown Manhattan, and this story relates to a particularly mind-blowing series of events that unfolded over the course of one unforgettable week earlier this spring. I figure I am your average twenty-nine-year-old horny male, always on the hunt for a hot sexual encounter after a dry spell that had stretched longer than I cared to admit. Work kept me busy enough that casual dating apps felt like more effort than they were worth, and the last few months had left my balls aching with unspent tension. I was primed for anything, and when opportunity finally knocked in the form of a new hire, I seized it with both hands and every inch of my cock.

I had recently been promoted to team leader of a group of nine colleagues in our open-plan office on the thirty-second floor. We sat in cubicles that offered almost zero privacy, yet somehow we still managed to trade dirty jokes and lingering looks between deadlines. My manager called me into his glass-walled office one Thursday afternoon and announced that a new analyst named Sophie Harrington would be joining my team the following Monday. She was twenty-four, fresh out of a top MBA program, and already making waves for her sharp mind and even sharper presence. The rest of that week I spent every idle moment fantasizing about her. In my head she was a walking wet dream, the kind of office angel who would drop to her knees under my desk and suck me dry while the rest of the floor stayed blissfully unaware. Reality rarely matched fantasy, but this time I hoped against hope that it would.

Monday morning arrived gray and rainy, the kind of New York weather that made everyone hurry inside with umbrellas dripping onto the lobby marble. I was buried in emails when reception called to say Ms. Harrington was waiting downstairs. I rode the elevator down, heart already thudding a little harder than it should have. When the doors opened and I spotted her standing near the security desk, I stopped dead. Sophie was not the airbrushed model of my late-night jerk-off sessions, but she was infinitely better. Five-foot-seven of pure curves and confidence, with long honey-blonde hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She wore a fitted charcoal blazer over a cream silk blouse that clung to high, full tits, the kind that strained against the fabric just enough to promise soft flesh underneath. Her matching pencil skirt stopped mid-thigh, hugging the swell of her hips and the tight roundness of her ass. Sheer black stockings disappeared under the hem, and black patent heels clicked softly as she shifted her weight. Her face was pure temptation: full lips painted a deep berry red, high cheekbones, and green eyes that sparkled with amusement when she caught me staring.

“Well?” she said, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting.

I realized I had been eye-fucking her for several long seconds. Heat flooded my face. “Sorry. Sophie, right? I’m Chris, your team lead. Welcome aboard.”

She smiled, and the expression lit up her entire face. “Hello, Chris. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy working under you.” The double meaning hung in the air for half a heartbeat before she extended a manicured hand. Her grip was firm, her skin soft and warm. I led her to the elevators, trying not to watch the way her skirt stretched across her ass with every step. On the ride up I kept my eyes forward, but the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and musky—curled into my lungs and went straight to my cock. By the time we reached our floor I was half-hard and praying my trousers hid the evidence.

The rest of the day I forced myself into professional mode. I settled her into the cubicle right beside mine, introduced her to the team, and walked her through the latest client reports. Every time she leaned over my desk to look at a spreadsheet, the silk of her blouse shifted and the soft tops of her tits came into view for a second. I caught myself staring more than once. The other guys on the team were no better; I saw more than one pair of eyes locked on her legs as she walked past. I shut that shit down with a sharp email about workplace conduct, even though my own thoughts were anything but clean.

Tuesday and Wednesday crawled by. Sophie proved herself competent and quick, asking smart questions and catching details others missed. She also dressed like she knew exactly what she was doing to every man in the vicinity. One day it was a deep emerald dress that hugged every curve and ended just above the knee. The next it was a white blouse so thin I could see the lace pattern of her bra when the light hit just right. My cock stayed in a near-constant state of readiness. At night I went home and jerked off thinking about bending her over my desk, sliding that skirt up, and burying my face between her thighs until she screamed.

Thursday brought an urgent client deliverable that had the entire team scrambling. Numbers were missing, systems lagged, and tempers frayed. By late afternoon I was ready to put my fist through a monitor. I needed more paper for the printer and stomped down the corridor toward the supply room, muttering under my breath about incompetence and shitty software. The supply room was more of a walk-in closet lined with metal shelves stacked with reams of paper, toner, pens, and binders. I yanked the door open and froze.

Sophie was bent over at the waist, reaching for something on a lower shelf. Her skirt had ridden up just enough to show the lacy tops of her stockings and the smooth, pale skin of her upper thighs. The rounded cheeks of her ass strained against the fabric, and for one dizzy second I imagined ripping that skirt clean off.

“Fuck, that’s a sexy sight,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

She straightened slowly and turned, a knowing little smile already on her lips. “I’m glad you think so.”

I felt my face burn. “Shit. Sorry. Long day. Didn’t mean to—”

She stepped closer, closing the distance until the tips of her breasts nearly brushed my chest. The door swung shut behind me with a soft click. Her perfume wrapped around us like a private cloud. “Maybe I can help with the stress,” she said, voice low and husky. One manicured hand reached down and traced the growing bulge in my trousers, outlining the thick length of my cock with deliberate pressure.

My breath left me in a rush. I grabbed her by the waist and crushed my mouth to hers. Her lips parted immediately, tongue sliding against mine in a wet, hungry kiss that tasted of mint and pure want. She stroked me harder through the fabric while I shoved her back against the nearest shelf, papers tumbling to the floor. My hands found the buttons of her blouse and tore them open, revealing a black lace bra that barely contained her full tits. I yanked the cups down, freeing soft, heavy flesh tipped with tight pink nipples. I lowered my head and sucked one into my mouth, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

Sophie moaned into my hair and fumbled with my belt. “We don’t have long,” she whispered, but her hands were already freeing my cock. The cool air of the supply room hit my heated skin for half a second before her fingers wrapped around the shaft and stroked from root to tip, smearing the bead of precum that had already leaked from the slit.

I pushed her hand away and spun her around so she faced the shelves. I hiked her skirt up over her hips, revealing a matching black lace thong that disappeared between the cheeks of her perfect ass. I yanked the thin fabric aside and ran two fingers along her slit. She was already soaked, her pussy lips puffy and slick. I pushed those fingers inside her and curled them, feeling the hot, silky walls clamp down.

“Christ, you’re dripping,” I growled against her ear.

“I’ve been thinking about this since Monday,” she admitted, pushing her ass back against my hand. “Every time you walked past my desk I got wetter.”

I pulled my fingers out, sucked them clean, and then guided my cock between her thighs. The head nudged her entrance. I thrust forward in one smooth stroke, burying myself to the hilt in her tight cunt. She cried out, the sound muffled against her own arm as she braced herself on the shelves. Her pussy stretched around me, hot and ridiculously snug, the kind of grip that made my balls tighten immediately. I started fucking her in deep, steady strokes, watching my thick shaft disappear into her and come back glistening with her juices.

The risk of getting caught only made it hotter. Every time footsteps passed in the hallway outside I slowed, keeping my cock buried deep while Sophie trembled around me. When the footsteps faded I slammed back into her harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the small room. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while I pounded her. She came first, a sudden violent clench that nearly milked the cum right out of me. Her whole body shook, thighs quivering, a strangled moan escaping her throat as her pussy flooded around my cock.

I wasn’t finished. I pulled out, spun her again, and dropped to my knees. Her skirt was still rucked up around her waist. I yanked the thong down her legs and shoved my face between her thighs, tongue spearing into her cum-slick cunt. She tasted sweet and salty, her juices coating my chin. I licked and sucked her swollen clit until she was grinding against my mouth, one hand fisted in my hair. A second orgasm hit her harder than the first; her knees buckled and I had to hold her up by the ass while she rode my tongue through the aftershocks.

When I stood again my cock was throbbing, the head an angry purple. Sophie dropped to her knees without being asked. She looked up at me with those green eyes half-lidded and took me into her mouth in one long slide. Warm, wet heat enveloped the head, then more, until her nose pressed against my stomach and my cock was lodged deep in her throat. She gagged softly but didn’t pull back. Instead she swallowed around me, the muscles of her throat massaging the sensitive head while her tongue worked the underside. I held her head and fucked her mouth in short, controlled thrusts, watching saliva drip down her chin and onto her exposed tits. She hummed around my shaft and reached between her own legs to rub her clit while she sucked me.

I lasted longer than I expected, but the sight of those berry-red lips stretched around my cock eventually undid me. “I’m gonna come,” I warned.

She pulled off just long enough to say, “In my mouth. I want to taste it,” then sealed her lips around me again and sucked hard. I exploded with a groan that echoed off the metal shelves. Thick ropes of cum shot across her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed every pulse, milking me with her hand until the last drop was gone. When she finally released me, a thin strand of saliva and cum stretched from her lower lip to the tip of my cock. She licked it away with a satisfied little smile.

We cleaned up as best we could with a box of tissues, straightened our clothes, and slipped out of the supply room separately. My legs felt shaky. My cock was still half-hard, already wanting more. Sophie’s cheeks stayed flushed for the rest of the afternoon, and every time our eyes met across the open office I saw the same raw hunger reflected back at me.

That night I went home and jerked off twice more thinking about the way her cunt had clenched around me. Friday morning I arrived early, half hoping the office would still be empty enough for a repeat performance. Sophie walked in wearing a tight black dress that hugged every curve and a pair of heels that made her legs look endless. She stopped at my cubicle, leaned down so only I could hear, and whispered, “My place after work. No interruptions.”

The rest of the day was pure torture. Every time she crossed her legs I remembered how those thighs had trembled around my head. Every time she bit her lip while concentrating I remembered how those same lips had stretched around my cock. By five-thirty I was rock hard again and ready to climb the walls.

We left together under the thin excuse of finishing a client call. The elevator ride down was silent but charged; her hand brushed the front of my trousers once, deliberately, and I nearly came right there. Outside we caught a cab to her apartment in the East Village, a renovated walk-up with hardwood floors and big windows that let in the last of the evening light. The second the door closed behind us she was on me, mouth hungry, hands already undoing my shirt.