You've got a Conference Call

As you sit back in your chair, trying to sort things out in your mind, a notification pops up on your computer. Oh, that's right, you think to yourself after seeing the reminder, I've got a conference call in a few minutes. You take a few deep breaths to try to calm yourself down, but you're interrupted when your computer blips again, this time with a new email. It's from an address you've never seen before. So you open it.

"Laura," you read aloud, "during your conference call, you will receive several emails from this address. You will repeat their contents to the other people in the call. You must open every email you receive."

Huh. What a weird email. You can't seem to figure out what it means. You should probably just forget about it. You should forget about it.

A light on your telephone set lights up and you press it.

"Hello, Laura," says the voice on the other end. It's Samuel Rothschild, one of the senior partners you work under.

"Oh, hello," you reply.

"I've also got Jim here with me."

"Hello," says a lighter voice which belongs to Jim Maxwell, whom you just recently passed in the halls... topless.

"Oh-hh... h- hello...." you manage, your voice straining as you recall what happened earlier. Your face is turning bright red from embarrassment. You start to breathe faster. Your pussy gets wet. The realization dawns that while you are embarrassed, you're mostly aroused. Incredibly aroused. It hits you like a rocket to the snatch and you bite your lip to keep from moaning. There's nothing else you can do, and you shoot your hand down the front of your skirt and start rubbing yourself through your panties.

"Now," says Sam, "we're calling to talk to you about your performance review."

"Yes," says Mr. Maxwell, "I believe we discussed this earlier?"

Just his voice is enough to set you off. You try to speak but the words come out just as a new pang of lust hits you, and as your fingers brush against your needy clit.

"Ahhhh... YES!" you moan out, half answering the question, half urging an imaginary lover to fuck you harder.

There's a pause.

"Are you okay, Miss Mailer?" asks Sam. "Are you working on something else?"

Your computer blips.

"I'm just jilling myself in my office like a good little girl!" you say.

There's a much longer pause.

Honestly, you're more surprised than they are. What are you saying?! And to the people who control whether you get fired! Well, it's not like it's not true... You look down and confirm that, yes, you haven't stopped playing with yourself under your skirt. You can't even seem to take your hand away.

"What... did you say?" asks Jim.

"Uh... I mean..." You struggle for some kind of explanation. "I'm just, uh, jilling myself off over how good of an employee I am!"

"Um, okay..." says Mr. Rothschild. "Please try to refrain from using that kind of language in the future, Miss Mailer."

You breathe a sigh of relief as your computer blips.

"If I do," you say, "feel free to plug up my dirty, slutty mouth with your cocks!"

"Miss Mailer!" says Jim, and the forceful way he says it sends a jolt straight down through the center of your chest and into your gushing folds. You moan, involuntarily.

"Laura, this is highly unprofessional!" yells Sam.

Why are you saying these things? Do you have a **** wish? Are you trying to look like a slut? Maybe it's... because you are a slut? Only a slut would say those things... and you said them, so... Doesn't that make you a slut? A dirty, dirty slut who loves cocks and jizz and making men hard and rubbing her pussy and fucking everything in sight and

You shake your head, hard. It hurts, but for a few moments you can focus. You manage to pull your hand away from your sex. It's shiny with your lust.

"Laura, if you don't answer me this instant, consider yourself terminated!" says a voice through the phone. You can't even tell whose at this point. It sounds like you missed some of the 'conversation' while you were reigning yourself in.

"Laura!"