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Two fully clothed adults, one adult Indian man and one adult Indian woman in an after-hours Indian office corridor.

We Abandoned the Client Breakfast for Office Sex

8 min readOffice Sex Stories

“You told Kendra I wasn’t hosting.”

Sienna didn’t bother with a greeting. She stopped at my desk with her blazer still on and her badge clipped crooked. Two floors down, the client breakfast had already started, glassware tapping in the gallery like a clock we were supposed to obey.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, which was the wrong first sentence. The third floor of our Milwaukee office had emptied for the retail partner launch. Monitors glowed on abandoned desks.

“Don’t be cute, Nate.” She set her palm on my cubicle rail. “Kendra just thanked me for taking the morning. I didn’t take the morning. You did.”

Last Thursday she had muttered, after a long stand-up, that she couldn’t do another two-hour smile-and-nod. I heard that as a request. This morning I told Kendra to put only my name on the host rotation so Sienna could skip the gallery.

The actual promise, from last quarter, was that we would work the room together so neither of us got stuck with the difficult buyer from the Midwest account. I had rewritten that promise alone and called it kindness.

“You said you were done performing. I was trying to give you the out.”

“You were trying to decide for me.” Her voice stayed low even with nobody at the nearby desks. “I prepped the talking points for the aisle display. I wanted to be down there. You don’t get to manage my calendar because I complained once.”

Not a Favor

“It wasn’t a power play.” Standing made more sense than hiding in the chair. “You looked wrecked last week. I didn’t want you stuck pouring coffee for people who don’t read the brief.”

“Then ask.” She didn’t step back. The blazer brushed my shirt. “You have been doing this little rescue act since February, and I keep letting it pass because the work still gets done. Today it didn’t. Today you erased me.”

Heat sat under my collar. A laugh from the gallery rose through the stairwell. Hosting was the job for the next two hours. My feet stayed planted on the carpet tile.

“You’re right. I should have asked. I also didn’t want to stand next to you down there pretending I don’t watch your mouth in meetings.”

She blinked once. Not shocked. Caught.

“That is a stupid reason to tank a host list.”

“It’s an honest one.”

Sienna’s fingers curled on the rail. “If this is you trying to make the argument interesting, pick a better tactic.”

“I’m not trying a tactic.” The words came out rougher than the office allowed. “Go downstairs if you want the breakfast. I’ll tell Kendra I screwed the rotation. Or come to the materials library and we stop pretending this is only about the roster.”

She looked at the stairwell, then at me. “If I walk in there, it’s because I want you, not because you volunteered me off a list.”

“Good.”

She turned first. The path took us past the quiet kitchenette and the unused stand-up screen. The materials library sat at the end of the floor, mostly windowless except for a narrow interior pane. Sample boards lined the walls. A felt-covered table took the center. She went in. I closed the door without locking it.

Glass Between Us and Them

Through that interior pane the open office looked abandoned. Beyond the desks, stair glass held a smear of gallery light. The breakfast kept going without us, which was the whole problem and the whole opening.

Sienna dropped her blazer on a stool. “You don’t get to look after me like I’m a task.”

“I know.”

She hooked two fingers in my belt and pulled. The kiss was impatient, teeth and breath, not the kind of contact you start if you plan to return to a client tray. My hands found her waist over the blouse. She made a sound into my mouth when my thumb pressed the heat at her hip.

“Shirt.”

Buttons went wrong, then right. She pushed the fabric off my shoulders and put her mouth on my throat, biting just enough to make my pulse jump. Cream silk came open without a popped button. The bra was plain and nude. I kissed the upper swell of her breast and she arched like she had been waiting through every standup for a less professional hour.

“February,” she said against my skin. “You took the late vendor call so I could leave. March, you rewrote the deck header I already liked. I noticed. I also noticed you staring when you thought I was reading.”

“You were never reading.”

A short laugh. “Sometimes I was. Sometimes I was wondering what you’d do if I shut the laptop.”

The table caught her when I lifted. Sample chips clicked in their tray. Her skirt bunched at her hips. She dragged me between her knees and rubbed along the front of my trousers until a curse slipped out of me, too loud for a floor that was only supposedly empty.

“Take them down.”

Belt, zip, the drop of fabric to my thighs. She wrapped her hand around my cock, tight and unhesitating, stroking from base to head until my breath went uneven. I hooked her underwear aside, then down her legs when she lifted her heels. Two fingers slid into her slowly. She was already wet, inner muscles grabbing, and she held my wrist to keep the pressure where she wanted it.

“Don’t tease. I didn’t come in here for a meeting.”

The talking points she had written for the aisle display were still in her head, unused. That fact sat in the room with us, ridiculous and hot. I curled my fingers and watched her mouth open. She pushed down onto my hand and swore at the ceiling tiles.

“Wallet,” I said, because stopping without saying why would have been worse.

The condom came out with the usual clumsy office motion, foil and roll. She watched, then pulled me close with her calves. I pushed into her in one steady line. She swore, quiet and filthy, forehead against mine. The table inched toward the wall. I held her hip and found a rhythm that had nothing to do with hosting.

She met every thrust. Nails found my shoulder. Deep strokes pulled a broken sound from her that she would never use on a call. When I changed the angle she gasped and grabbed the table edge, knuckles white against gray felt.

“There. Don’t get polite now.”

Polite had left with the host list. I fucked her in short hard drives that made the sample boards shiver. Her breasts moved against my chest after I tugged the bra cups down. The interior window sat at our left, empty desks beyond it, gallery noise a distant wash. Nobody walked the floor. We still kept our voices down, which made it worse, tighter, more concentrated.

Sienna hooked a hand in my hair and yanked my mouth back to hers. The kiss went sloppy. She pushed back onto me as much as I pushed in. Cream silk hung from her elbows and kept catching on my wrist. I shoved it off her arms entirely and it puddled behind her on the felt.

“You really thought I wanted a rescue,” she said, breath hitching. “I wanted you to stop treating me like glass and start treating me like this.”

“Tell me if the table is too much.”

“The table is fine. Harder.”

I gave her harder. Her heel dug into the back of my thigh. A stack of fabric swatches slid and fanned across the floor, one corner kissing my shoe. She laughed at that, then lost the laugh when I stayed deep and ground against her clit with the base of my cock.

“Nate.” My name, once, like a warning and a request.

Between us I got my hand where it needed to be and rubbed in time with my hips. Her thighs clamped. She came with her mouth open against my cheek, shaking through it, inner walls fluttering around me so hard I had to grit my teeth to last.

That almost finished me. I held still inside her while she rode the last of it, then started again, slower, because she pulled me back in with her calf and said, “Don’t you dare pull out yet.”

The second rhythm was messier. Sweat at her temple. My trousers still trapped around my thighs. Her skirt a dark band at her waist. Each stroke made the felt whisper. She watched my face with a kind of fierce curiosity, as if she were filing this next to the unused talking points, something she would remember in the next standup and not show.

“Come on,” she whispered. “You’ve been carrying this around. Put it somewhere.”

I drove in and held, cock pulsing inside the condom, breath punched out of my lungs. We stayed locked for a few seconds, her calf still hooked around me, the table no longer quite centered under her.

She Chose the Dark Switch

After, we stayed like that a few breaths. She laughed once, not kindly, not mean. “You still owe me an apology that isn’t your dick.”

“I’m sorry I pulled your name.”

Sienna looked past my shoulder at the smear of gallery light in the stair glass. Her blouse was still off. The bra was still shoved down. She reached past me anyway and hit the library switch. The room dropped to the thin glow under the door.

“We’re not going down there,” she said, and left her hand on the switch like that was the whole decision.

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