It has been weighing on my mind lately. The tension building up inside me until I feel like I could scream. Making me so nervous I jump at the slightest noise. I walk around the office on eggshells certain that everyone who looks at me knows. They look in my eyes and in a heartbeat they can see the truth in my gaze. The truth of my lust.
They know how strong my desire is for you. They know that my attentive devotion to my job is more than just the need to be a great assistant. That it is because of my need to attend to, and be near, you.
Somehow when they look at my face, they see the things I have done. The subtle, erotic things.
Like the way I press my crotch against the edge of your desk when I lean over it to review a document with you. Or how when you walk past me in the copy room and no one is there, I grab my nipples through my blouse. Twist them. Pinch them hard as I think of your commanding hands on my willing body.
Or maybe they hear it in the sultry edge of my voice when I answer the phone; a dark, satin caress of sound that flicks across your ears like my tongue on your skin.
But it goes so much deeper than that.
Like how I read your emails and look at your cell phone bills, just so I can know what is going on in your life. How I listen to every conversation you have; every interaction with colleagues, clients, staff members. I take in every detail about you so I can know you better. So I can feel close to you.
Do they know about the time I sat in your leather chair, looking out over cityscape below and slipping my hand under my skirt? Do they know I bit my lip until it bled to keep from screaming out my release as I fingered my pussy to orgasm right there in your chair while you were at a luncheon?
I wonder if they know about the scarf? The one you thought you lost. You didn’t lose it, by the way. It’s in my bedroom, tucked away in a drawer. When I am lonely at night, I take it out and wrap it around me as I reach for my favorite vibrator. I smell your scent, drawing your essence into me as I tighten it around my neck, the way I wish your hands would hold me. I fuck myself hard, the smell of you, the feel of your scarf against my skin getting me so aroused, I cum like mad.
I haven’t used it in a while. The last time I did, I jerked that scarf so tight around my neck that I passed out.
Do they know about the conference room table? How I bent myself forward over that long, cool expanse of glass and fucked myself with your “Board Chair Appreciation 2011” Award?
Oh I tried to resist. I waited for two weeks for the urge pass. But then one night, while working late and compiling records for a client, the urge became too strong. I called out your name. Face pressed into the cold glass, I shoved the thin tip of that award into my ass while I rubbed myself and came in a stream down my legs. All for you.
And you don’t even know.
But the rest of them? The other workers in the office? I can’t shake the feeling they know. It haunts me. But my love for you keeps me coming to work every day in spite of their knowing looks. My love keeps me here by your side.
Your husband has no idea how lucky he is.