Girlfriend's experience

The conference room was silent.

No one had expected that. Damn, she was submissive. The dam had burst when she sat down at the computer and waited publicly for instructions. Naked except for her high heels, she smiled at the camera. Six men stared at the projector and suddenly couldn’t think of anything funny to say.

“Shit,” said the boy. “What do we write now? How do we proceed?”

Tom had drawn the second lot.

He was supposed to decide. In his late thirties, slimmer than Manfred, his hands already sweaty. The others looked at him. The recording continued. Peter—the name they’d stolen—had to type something; otherwise, she’d be kneeling there until noon.

Silke saw that “Peter” was typing.

Then the message appeared.

Peter: You did a good job. I’m proud of you. Are you ready for the next task?

She nodded at the camera.

Peter: Okay. Someone’s going to come to your door again in a moment. You’ll open the door. You’ll ask him what he wants.

In the conference room, the boy was happily typing away at the keyboard. That would give them time. Tom could think about what he wanted on the way there. They urged him not to be too shy. He should state his wish.

Tom was just setting off when Manfred returned. The two high-fived each other. Briefly. Awkwardly. Manfred sat down, still red-faced, and stared back at the projector, where Silke was still kneeling on her heels.

Tom walked slowly.

He didn’t have much experience with women. What could he ask for? He felt uncomfortable in front of the camera. Manfred had already had a blowjob. Tom thought of hands, of tits, of anything that sounded less like porn but still counted—and suddenly found himself standing at the door.

He’d forgotten to knock. He just walked in.

Silke was startled. Her shoulders tensed. Then her expression softened. Another older man. What had Peter been thinking? Two in a row, neither young, neither handsome in the classic sense. A test? A punishment?

“How can I help you?”

He said nothing.

In the conference room, his colleagues groaned in frustration.

“Shit, he’s screwing this up.”

Silke recognized that shy look.

She didn’t know who he was. But she knew he was too shy. What a strange punishment. Peter was sending her men, and the second one couldn’t even get a word out. The camera caught both: her bare breasts, his uncertain hands on the doorframe.

She decided to take the initiative.

She looked up—not at the lens, but at him.

“Do you want me to be your girlfriend for the next few minutes?”

He looked at her.

Then at the camera.

The LED. The lens. The knowledge that someone was watching.

“Should I turn the camera away?” Silke asked.

He nodded.

She decided to just throw her blouse over it.

No unplugging. No clean cut. The fabric over the lens, dark, a last strip of skin, then nothing. The sound was still there. The image was gone.

In the conference room, a groan—this time angry.

At Peter’s place, the same thing.

Silke stood up and walked toward him. She pulled on his hand until he was truly in the room, and closed the door. What does Peter expect now, she thought. Damn it, she covered the camera. Will she get in trouble for that? Again, she thought things through cleverly. Then this will turn into a radio play. From now on, she would say everything she did out loud.

She walked toward him and asked, “Can I kiss you?” Then she kissed him gently on the lips. His lips were dry. He was trembling. “Can I put my tongue in your mouth?” The tingling between her legs grew stronger. What is she doing here? This was even more humiliating than just doing it. But she kept going. She kissed him extra loudly so the microphone would pick up everything. Smacking. Breathing. “Do you want to touch me?”

She acknowledged his nod with a moan as his trembling hands touched her breast. It had been a long time since she’d been touched like that. Could it be that he was a virgin? But he’s in his mid-thirties. She kissed him and at the same time guided his hands over her body. Waist. Hips. Back to her breasts. He grew bolder. A sign for Silke to go further.

“Can I undress you?” He nodded. She said aloud, “Then I’ll start with your shirt. Then your pants.” She pulled the shirt over his head. Unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down. “Can I kiss your body?” This time he said yes quietly. She kissed him noisily. Collarbone. Chest. Stomach. She was getting closer and closer to his cock. Just before she got there, she asked, “Do you want to kiss my body, too?” He nodded.

“Start at my neck. Then my breast. Then my nipple. If you’d like, you can kiss my stomach and hips, too. Then my thighs. Now the inside.” She gasped. “Yes. You can kiss and lick my pussy.”

He did.

Silke didn’t moan exaggeratedly. It was truly wonderful. An uncertain tongue, warm, too honest—the clitoris, the labia—a few minutes during which she kept her hands in his hair and the microphone picked up her real moans. “Can I see and touch your penis now?” That soft voice again. Yes. Then she pulled down his underwear.

She gasped.

“Uh. It’s really big.” He looked. “I know women like to say that. But it really is big.” She kissed the tip and took it into her mouth. Even so, two hands still fit around the shaft. He was unsettled. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re big. Didn’t you know that?” He shook his head.

Shit. He really was a virgin.

She whispered it in his ear. “Are you still a virgin?” He nodded. “Do you want to have sex with me today?” He said yes.

“Good. You can fuck me. But first, I’m going to give you a handjob and a blowjob. And then I want to measure that thing.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She worked on his cock. Mouth. Hand. Saliva.

Two fists gripping the shaft, the head of his cock between her lips. She had underestimated her skill. He came all over her chest. Warm. A lot. Damn it, she hissed. Not because of the cum, but because she’d lost his erection.

She looked at him. There was panic in his eyes.

“Don’t worry. That was on purpose. I wanted you to shoot your first load so it would last longer later. I’ll get him hard again now.”