Discipline in Your Absence

I know I was supposed to be reading or writing something. Managing something. The truth is I was distracted and my hair was down, and I could feel it against my neck when I turned my head to see what bullshit some politician was saying on ABC News. Every time I turned my head, I felt it brush my collar bone and when I pushed it away from my face and pulled it back, the tension it created in my scalp made me tingle a little bit. I thought of you pulling my hair.

I tied my hair up and went back to the nonsense of scanning news articles and clicking crap I shouldn't, searching for something meaningful to occupy my time. I put my head in my hands and sighed and figured if I thought really hard about it, I could will myself somewhere else. Somewhere that smelt like warm skin and sounded like heavy breathing, soft moans and sternly whispered directions. I thought of you asking me what I wanted.

When I stretched, so I didn't lose feeling in my legs (or my soul),and I could hear the blood flow through my ears, I arched my back and clasped my hands above my head. I imagined them tied there, my wrists attached to each other exposing my vulnerable torso and neck. I had to get out of my office.

As I walked down the fire escape and the cold air crept up the stairs and up my skirt, I felt the fabric of my panties, warm against wet swollen lips. It's like my natural response to almost every emotion is sexual arousal. Given I had precious little to do; I walked across the foyer to the change rooms, knowing they'd be empty in the middle of the day.

I started to pretend that you'd set me a task.

Be a good girl.

Show me.

I chose the shower stall at the end and took my hair down as I walked in and closed the door.

Don't sit down. Not yet.

I closed my eyes and slid my hands down over my chest to rest on my hips. I turned towards the partition and pressed my face against it, like I was being pushed against it. I let my breathing get a bit louder, knowing I'd have to restrain myself later.

Don't let anyone know.

You are to masturbate until you almost cum. Twice. Standing. You are not allowed to cum.

I stood with my legs spread slightly apart and kept my panties on. With two fingers I started pressing my swollen lips and I felt how wet I'd become thinking about the task. I pinched my lips together and felt my clit growing. I pinched harder and started pushing my knuckles against my clit, with a rolling motion that made me a bit unsteady on my feet.

Stay standing.

I put my left hand against the partition for leverage and I slid my hand inside my panties, one finger on each side of my big clit. My fingertips were throbbing as much as my cunt, as I started rubbing and flicking the tip. My panties were tight and restricted how much I could move my hand, which was lucky given I couldn't cum. I tried to slide my fingers inside but I couldn't reach that special rough spot because my panties stopped it. I kept trying to reach with two, then three fingers. My fingers and most of my hand were wet. I leant against my bent arm on the partition and looked down to see my panties were soaked too.

Do not cum.

I took my hand out and whimpered a little. I had an imprint of my top where it pressed into my arm and a cramp in my thigh from standing.

Twice.

I took my panties off and wiped my hand with them. Lubrication is good but I needed a bit of friction too. I needed to build the heat.

Holding my panties in one hand, I put my knee up on the bench and went straight to my clit, pinching and pulling it gently until I felt my juice dripping slowly onto my thighs.

Do it properly. Be a good girl.

I stood on two feet and because I was no longer restricted by fabric and I reached up deep inside myself, pressing against the front of my cunt from the inside and feeling the spongy place of heaven. I knew I was cheating. I was so close to cumming I put my panties in my mouth so I didn't moan when I took my fingers out. My fingers were pruned and shiny. I took a photo of them to prove myself to you. I took another pic of my panties, still in my mouth.

Twice and I didn't cum. It was fucking record for my discipline. Especially when the task wasn't even real and there was no known punishment.

I sat on the bench and considered the contrast between my mouth and cunt. My mouth was dry and full of fabric. My cunt was wet and aching to be filled.

I put one foot up next to me so I could reach better and slid two fingers inside my wet cunt. This one was a bonus. This time I could cum.

I closed my eyes and heard my breathing in my head. I could smell the shampoo of the shower stall mixed with my musk and heard the faint creaking of the bench as my stroke got deeper and quicker. I pressed my palm against my clit so every time I thrust, I pressed it. Three fingers. The heel of my palm. Four fingers. That spongy heavenly spot. My thighs tensed and I bit down on the fabric between my teeth. I stopped the grabbing motion at my cunt to rub my clit furiously. I gripped the bench with my left hand and tried not to slip off as my hips jerked. Trying to be restrained extended my orgasm and I rode it out, eyes shut tightly.

I sat there, my heart racing. I spat out my panties and caught them, remembering I wasn't at home. They were damp when I put them back on and when I walked out of the stall, I heard someone washing their hands at the basin.

I washed my hands, replacing the smell of musk and salt with a fake flowery fragrance that snapped me back to the fluorescent hellish reality of an office job.

I walked back to my desk, a very good girl.