Pleasuring and Being Owned by a Colleague

It’s been a couple of weeks since we had that conversation about my colleague.

The very next day, I invited him to cook dinner with us and he said he would, so as instructed, I gave him your mobile number.

You called him that night, when I was in the bath. I heard your voice, caught the odd word through the open door. Plenty of gaps as you listened to him. Sex was mentioned, something about blowing him. Secrecy.

We met him in a coffee shop in town last week and you talked through specifics with little input from me. You know me well enough to negotiate for me. I watched, listened, sipped coffee and avoided eye contact. Until he addressed me directly.

He said my name. I looked up at him, got transfixed again by his stare, my inner slut glorying, my cheeks flooding with heat. Attraction. And now I knew he felt it too. Electric jolts to my heart, my stomach … my clit. I swallowed, put down my cup; a tell-tale clatter.

“Do you want this?”

I caught my breath, “yes.” He stared at me, and my cheeks got impossibly hotter. I could see your amused expression out of the corner of my eye.

Later you told me you got it now.

And this takes us to today.

I’m wearing a corset affair, under-bust with straps. It’s meant to be worn as shapewear, so it’s like a suit that pulls you in in all directions. It ends halfway down my thighs. I’m also wearing stockings. The suit is practical, it’s designed to be worn under clothing, but allows the wearer to go to the toilet without having to get undressed. So yeah, my tits are free at the top, pushed together by the shoulder straps and up by the suit itself. The large cutout between my legs lets my whole mons show, and a goodly portion of my ass. I’m also wearing, for now, my dressing gown. I insisted on this, you’d have preferred me without when he arrives, but you of course let me have it.

I usually feel comfortable in my skin, comfortable in my clothing, no matter how unusual or revealing. And usually, I get a real thrill out of this suit. But today …

The doorbell goes and I hear your voices in the hallway. I’m feeling scared; nervous and shy.

You both come into the kitchen, you offer him a drink. I’m standing with my back to the window, and I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I can’t believe he’s here, it’s so strange, so out of context to see him in my kitchen, and me in my dressing gown.

He is looking at me, staring again and I realise I’ve been rude. I haven’t greeted him. Flustered and embarrassed, full of the social awkwardness I feel at work, I stutter out a welcome. I have had time between our meeting last week and today, to try and work out what it is about him that unsettles me yet turns me on so much. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s because I associate him with work, and because he’s above me in the hierarchy, which of course speaks volumes to my submissive self.

He continues staring, nods a fraction. You’re talking to him, and I oh, I’ve been doubly rude. I interrupted you talking with my greeting.

I look at you. You’re watching me, that amused expression on your face again. You continue talking, turning your eyes to him and I glance his way, he holds my eyes a fraction longer, then gives you his attention. You hand him a glass of wine.

The tension I’m feeling is getting unbearable. The situation seems suddenly ludicrous to me and before I can stop myself, I let out a snort of a laugh. He looks startled, stares at me again. I’m so embarrassed, uncomfortable; I want to be invisible.

You stalk over to me, take my hands in yours, I’ve been making tense fists out of them.

“Look at me,” it’s a command and I respond. I look at you, you hold my eyes, “focus on your breath.” I do, I take a few, begin to feel calmer. “Do you want to go on?” I nod and I hear him let out a breath of his own.

You lead me away from the window, gesture him over.

“He’s going to take your gown off,” you tell me, stepping away from me. And this is a moment I need to get through; this revelation of me. My breath quickens. He is in front of me now. I watch his hands, they reach toward the belt of my gown, and slowly, oh so slowly, they undo the bow there. The loops slither free, leaving just the knot. He slips his fingers under either side of it and he pulls the knot away from my body, it slides over his fingers until the belt falls open, but the gown doesn’t. My tension rocketing again. I take a shallow breath, glance up at him. He steps behind me, close enough for me to feel him breathing; I feel him sniffing the fragrance of my hair. I look at you, standing there in front of me. The moment stretches out. I’m hyper aware of his proximity, my heart beating up into my throat.

His hands reach over my shoulders, you’re watching them, he lifts my gown and lets it slip down my bare arms. It slips over my tits, whispers over my nipples, they immediately harden and I shiver. Your gaze moves down over my body, it feels like a physical touch; thrilling.

“Be still.” a quiet command from behind me. I catch the subtle approval in your eye. I grasp the command, hold onto it and my hands don’t need to grip anymore, my breath under control again.

He goes over to you, gives you the gown and picks up his drink. You’re both leaning against the counter in front of me, sipping your wine, eying me, my body. Again, time stretches out. You free the belt from the gown. I don’t need to be told, I turn around and put my hands behind my back. You tie my wrists together, turn me back around.

“On your knees,” your whisper speaks straight to my clit. I get down quickly, cast my eyes down and wait.

You start discussing how you’ll cook, who’ll do what. I feel my juices, my clit a hard nub. I wait, minutes later, he comes to me, doesn’t smile. He reaches his hands down, cups my tits, holds them in his hands, my nipples hardening against his warm palms. He gropes, then gently tugs, pinches, rolls and teases my nipples. But he’s not looking at me, he’s talking to you. His groin is at eye level and I can see he’s getting excited. I feel another thrill, draw a deep breath.

You finish your plans and he slaps both of my tits smartly a few times, so they bounce together, grabs a grape and pops it into my mouth and goes to do some chopping.

Presently you come to me and blindfold me. You lay your cock against my chin, and I obediently open my mouth. You harden and swell into my mouth, holding my ponytail in your hand. You hold my head steady, gliding in and out of my mouth for a moment, then pull away. I am rewarded with a sip of wine. It’s difficult with the blindfold, but I manage without spilling any.

The tattoo of his knife stops. There’s a clatter of pan going onto the hob. I feel the warmth of a cock against my lips again. I open my mouth, accepting it, it’s him this time. His cock is smooth, long, thinner than yours. I explore his head with my tongue, licking around his ridge, flicking it back and forth and I have a shocked thrill, this colleague’s cock in my mouth! His warm hands slip over my ears, muffling sound. But he doesn’t fuck me, he lets me choose how to accept his cock. I lick my tongue up and down his length. Then of my own volition, I slowly suck him in, my mouth moving down over his length. His tip at the back of my throat, still I push further until I feel his hair tickling, then pressing into my lips. He makes the slightest “mmmhh” of approval and I let him slide out again, swirl my tongue around his tip.

This time he gives me a sip of wine before he goes back to his pan. Shortly after a sizzling starts and the first delicious cooking aromas drift about me.

I am a pleasure station. You take turns with me over the next hour, whenever it’s convenient for you, teasing yourselves in my mouth. My tits are intermittently fondled, squeezed and slapped. I become more and more horny, desperate, enjoying every single moment, even the waiting.

Once the final preparations are done and the roast is in the oven. You help me stand. The thighs of my suit are a wet mess, covered in my juices.

You remove my blindfold and free my wrists, then, lift me up. I wrap my legs around you, feel your hard cock against my soaked pussy. You carry me to the kitchen table and sit me on the edge. I dutifully lie back and you spread my thighs wide, displaying my cunt, my state. You both look down at me, I feel inspected and it’s so damned thrilling. He reaches a finger down, strokes over my wetness. A brush over my clit and he dips it into my cunt, slips in another and spreads them out inside. I let out a quiet moan of pleasure.

He moves to the side, his cock hard and ready. He takes my shoulders in his hands, half lifts, half drags me to the edge of the table, so I can take him into my mouth, and I do. Uhh, mmmh.

You slip some fingers into my cunt and fuck me with them, I look up at him, see him watching your hand. He pulls out of my mouth, leans down, whispers, “I’m going to fuck you,” directly into my ear, yet another thrill to my clit.

He slips on a condom, you let him take your place. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders, pulls my hips towards him and impales me with his cock. With one arm, he holds my thighs against his chest, so he can better fuck into me.

You come to the side, and I take your cock into my mouth. You watch him using me, your fingers find my nipples, pinching and pulling. I reach down, my fingers playing with my clit, you don’t stop me. He comes first, with a series of grunts, spasms inside me, then pulls out, lifts my legs from his shoulders. I feel the emptiness, but you rescue me, coming around and skin on skin pushing your way inside me. You bat my hand away from my clit and take over. I can tell you’re on edge, but you hold off, fucking me slowly until I shudder out my orgasm around you, then you let yourself go, fucking into me until you come too.

Afterwards, we go to the sofa to wait for dinner. I feel wonderfully used, but strangely powerful. I drowse a little, thoroughly satisfied and listen to you two planning my dessert.