Stefanie goes on the offensive

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I snap, discretely, at my phone as I rush to the bathroom for privacy. “You can’t treat a person like this!”

I enter a stall, close the door behind me and sit on the closed toilet with my legs together to try to contain the unsolicited arousal I’ve been trying to ignore all day.

“Firstly, according to my research, I absolutely can treat a person like this without repercussions, so you’re wrong there,” he states. “And there’s nothing wrong with me,” he adds quickly.

“Joss turn it off right now or, so help me, I will find and **** you.” My rage momentarily eclipses my arousal. “I know where you live.”

He cuts me off. “You’re in no position to tell me what to do. If you try anything, and I mean anything, then I can turn your life into a living nightmare, so play along for now and maybe you can enjoy yourself.”

“Fuck you,” I spit down the phone.

“Okay then. Clearly you need more time to come to terms with things.”

The line clicks as he disconnects the call and almost immediately my artificial need doubles.

I crush my knees together in effort to reassert control over my mutinous body while I come up with a plan for what I can do next.

I know calling Joss will be fruitless, judging by how that call ended, so now it’s a matter of making it through the day without getting into a downward spiral of trying to satisfy myself, and also not getting myself fired.

Aside from experiments with this toy, I’ve never felt so turned on in my life. I know it just came from a twist of a dial Joss controls but it didn’t make it any less real to my body. I can still function but any lapse in concentration ends with one of my hands wandering my body to my breast or somewhere even less appropriate for this building.

I manage to get back to my desk without having to engage in conversation and spend the rest of the day at my desk idly scrolling up and down in the spreadsheet trying to look busy. I take the stairs rather than the elevator to avoid conversion and make it to the bus stop.

I’m glad the city got rid of their diesel busses long ago because the stimulation from the engine vibration would be too much for me. Even speed bumps are a source of torment for me on this journey. The only other constituent of the bus was a relatively attractive intern from the office, normally 3 years too young for me, but it took a lot of willpower to not jump him.

As I inadvertently eye him up he smiles at me. I try to smile back but mentally kick myself as I end up biting my lip.

I’m grateful that I chose to wear a long dress today because evidence of my arousal is all down my leg by the time I arrived home, and pants would have been a nightmare.

My chip notifies me of an incoming call from Joss just as I’m finishing dinner. I accept, eager to be free from this torment.

“Hello?” I ask.

No response.

“Josoahhh!” I feel him enter me and lose control. My body feels like I’ve been been waiting for this for years.

I stand up next to the dinner table and place my hands on it and bend over it as I feel him enter me again and again.

I can tell he’s listening to me and my body performs for him as he speeds up his rhythm. It doesn’t matter to me that he’s moving a piece of bioplastic slightly on himself because I’m being lovingly fucked from behind.

I start by moaning slowly but as my own climax builds my noises become more animalistic.

“Yes baby” … “yes” … “it feels so good” … “use me Joss” … “keep going, I’m gonna” … “I’m gonna cum baby” … “yes yes yes” … “I’m so close” … “keep going” …. “I’m nearly” … “nearly” … “come onnnn”

My legs shake as I approach the orgasm I’ve been prevented from having for a day of teasing. My hands are gripping the edge of the table and I’ve taken a step back from the table so I can put my head down and lift my ass up. My back is arched and my knees are pushed together — my position is one of pure need.

“Just a bit more” … “keep going” … “yes” … “yes”

I try to expedite my own climax as I feel his pumping getting more aggressive as it does when he’s close to finishing, but it has no effect.

I do everything I can with my hand, including rubbing harder than I ever normally would, but it didn’t seem to work.

I feel like I’m building infinitesimally closer with each second but never quite….

“Joss keep going” … “yes” … “no, more! honey!” … “no!” … “don’t stop!” … “NO!” …

It’s too late. I feel him finish inside me. The call disconnects without him saying a single word, leaving me in my ****, contorted posture, rubbing myself as hard as I can to no avail.

It takes a further 5 minutes of trying on the floor of my living room before enough sanity had returned that I can remember that orgasm is off the table and persuade my hand to stop.

Sleep is somehow going to be even harder tonight than it was last night. I look at my phone.