Forgot to wear panties to the corporate party.
I'm thirty-seven. Life seemed drawn with a ruler: a solid marriage, two school-aged kids, a stable position as head of a small department in a large construction company. A world of concrete, metal, and male energy – our department had always been a strictly male kingdom, of calculations, projects, and strong coffee. Until a hurricane named Irina stormed into it.
Sergey, a colleague from an adjacent department, got his wife a job with us, having arranged for an expansion of staff. Irina is twenty-eight. Of average height, a brunette with a cascade of dark hair, she captivated everyone from the first minute. Not just beautiful – dazzling. A smile with dimples in her cheeks lit up the office like the sun
after the rain. Perfect features, a lively, keen gaze. Ira is a laugher, the life of any party, but beneath that lightness hid a sharp mind and rare diligence. With me, the boss, though not the most formidable, she maintained a pointedly respectful demeanor – "Aleksey Petrovich," even though with her husband Seryoga we were on a first-name basis.I know they recently moved, their little boy isn't in kindergarten yet, often stays with his grandmother in another city. Sergey is an eternal wanderer on business trips. And we have a culture of overtime: more time – more money. Irina blended into this rhythm. And often stayed alone in the rented apartment, in silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
Her beauty, accentuated by feminine cunning – short skirts, tight blouses, skillful makeup – did not go unnoticed. Male gazes, like bees to honey, constantly swirled around her. Sergey was incredibly lucky – she was the embodiment of desire.
Dmitry stood out especially. Athletic, charismatic, a thirty-two-year-old guy with a great sense of humor. He became her "knight": gave her rides, helped with heavy things, fixed minor household issues in Sergey's absence. Something more than friendship hung between them. An invisible tension, charged glances, slightly prolonged touches. But there was no evidence, only sweet interaction under our not always approving observation.
And then – Dima's birthday. He threw a party at a noisy nightclub downtown. Our "landing party": me, Irina, good-natured Ivanych (over 50), and Max (23 years old) in his own car. Max picked up Ivanych, then me. I settled in the back. Next – Irina's address.
The club met us with a wall of sound, flashing lights, and a crowd. Dima, seeing Irina, froze for a moment – a silent delight and lust flared in his eyes. Feasting, gifts, toasts, dancing, a sea of alcohol. Irina – the queen of the ball. Bright, magnetic, at the center of everyone's attention, especially Dima's. My gaze followed her relentlessly. By midnight, no one was sober. Dima, having taken off his shirt, danced bare-chested until security brought him back to reality. A slow dance with the birthday boy – Irina in his arms, he was in seventh heaven. The exodus began. Dima vanished with new acquaintances, Ivanych left with colleagues, Max found a partner on the dance floor. Irina was nodding off at the table. Time to go home!
Max stayed, but offered to help get Irina to a taxi. Dima waved his hand – "they'll see me off." I'm in the taxi on the right in the back. Irina, barely moving her legs, plopped down on the left. Max waves his hand, hugging some girl. We drove off. Irina immediately collapsed onto me and fell asleep. I tried to hold her head on my shoulder, but she slid down onto my lap, grabbing my knee with her hand. "Damn! A 40-minute ride like this!" She was lying on her side, legs tucked, her dress riding up indecently, revealing the smooth, stocking-free skin of her buttocks. My cock, already tense, stood rigid, pressing against her cheek through my trousers. On bumps, her head swayed, persistently pressing against the hard bulge. My left arm dangled – I threw it over the back of the seat, it became uncomfortable, I lowered it… and it landed on her waist. Every nerve was on edge. Carefully adjusted my cock, lifting her head a bit, but it remained pressed. My hand on her waist, feeling the slenderness of her figure under the silky fabric, on bumps involuntarily slid lower, higher. The desire to take it out, to touch her exposed skin was physical, burning. "I love my wife. Colleague. Subordinate. Stop!" – the mantra sounded quieter and quieter. Her breath, a mix of expensive perfume, hookah, wine, and something warm, feminine, intoxicated me more than the alcohol. I stroked her hair, examined her eyelashes, the line of her neck, the curve of her leg in the black stocking… "How I want her!" – screamed inside. "Can't!" – reason desperately fought. Finally, her house.
Managed to wake her with difficulty. Couldn't get out on her own. Leave her at the entrance? Impossible. Dismissed the taxi, put my arm around her waist – her body flexible, pliant. "Aleksey Petrovich, forgive me… I'm so…" – she mumbled with a drunken smile. Found the keys, opened the building door. With my help – to the elevator. "Can you manage from here?" – hope to go home. "Oh, see me… to the bed… please?" – a voice with a plea and… a promise? My heart pounded like a hammer.
The floor. The apartment door. She sat on a pouf in the hallway. "Help with the shoes?.. Oh, can't feel my legs…" – a new trial. I entered, closed the door, took off my shoes. Squatted down in front of her. Still believing I would go home to my wife. All concentration – on the heel, the buckle. Undid the right one, took her foot – light, graceful. Lifted it to take off the shoe… And I saw. The dress had ridden up higher, the light fell on the tanned skin of her inner thigh, the smooth shaved pubis… and the neat slit between her labia. No panties! My mind switched off for a second. My hands mechanically removed the left shoe, but everything inside had already turned upside down. Blood rushed to my groin, my cock turned to stone. Without heels, her legs lowered, the treasure was hidden. I stood up to lift her. "Just take her to the bed and leave," – an uncertain thought. Looked at her. Her gaze was fixed on the bulge in my trousers. Hope collapsed. "Aleksey Petrovich, just carry me to bed already," she said with a smile that held weariness, challenge, and invitation.
Lifted her in my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed close. "Where's the bedroom?" – voice hoarse with tension. "That way…" – a whisper. Laid her on the bedspread. She lay on her side, tucking one leg. The dress slipped, revealing that same forbidden zone again. I froze, devouring her with my eyes. I could still have left. If she had been wearing panties.
She lay there, displaying herself, and with closed eyes, with that same drunken smile, began to speak slowly, drawing out the words: "You… noticed… I'm not wearing panties?" Pause. "I… when I was rushing… getting ready… I just forgot to put them on… Remembered… only when I sat next to you in the car…" Silence. Her chest rose rhythmically. "But Dima… noticed… when we were dancing…" Another pause. Her eyes opened, looked straight at me, dark, enticing. "You… will help me take off the stockings and the dress?.. Because I… so drunk… can't manage myself…"
I got on my knees in a 69 position, lowering her head between my legs so her lips and nose touched my balls. I needed to wake her up. With two fingers I entered her vagina again, began stimulating from inside. It responded with moisture. Her breath on my skin became deeper, then came kisses, touches of her tongue. She, in a half-daze, caressed me with her mouth, moaning softly. I switched hands in her vagina, and with the other began stroking my cock. My balls touched her lips, nose. Orgasm was approaching. I increased the pace and pressure with both hands. She responded with a movement of her hips, her moan became louder, her vagina made wet sounds. Another minute – and she came again, pressing her lips into my perineum with a loud moan. A few more powerful strokes – and I came, shooting warm semen abundantly onto her stomach, chest. The rest trickled down. I swung my leg over her and collapsed, exhausted, into an abyss of fatigue and satisfaction. Fell asleep instantly.
Woke up at seven in the morning from the cold. Irina lay in the same stockings, covered with a corner of the bedspread. Panic: need to get home before the family wakes up! Woke her with a gentle kiss. She hugged me, smiling sleepily. "I have to run." "Of course," – her voice was a bit hoarse but cheerful. She looked at herself, covered in dried white streaks. – "And I… need a shower. And water… loooots of water."
Monday. Morning coffee in the department. We reminisced about yesterday with laughter. Irina, as always, chatted with Dima, her laughter ringing louder than anyone's. But in the evening, when I stayed late alone in the office, the door quietly opened a crack. She entered, closed it behind her. Came right up to me. Without a word, kissed me passionately, her tongue demanding a response. Pulled back, looking me straight in the eyes, with that same cunning, promising smile that was in the taxi and on the bedroom threshold. "Are we working late today, Aleksey Petrovich?" Not "Aleksey," but "Aleksey Petrovich." In that address now was not distance, but forbidden sweetness. I understood. The office romance had begun. But this… this was already a completely different story, full of new rules and much greater risks.