Supply Closet [Part 2]
Tight spaces...
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. All week. The supply closet incident replayed in my mind at the most inappropriate times. Meetings, whilst typing up reports, even while trying to make small talk by the coffee machine.
Three times that week I’d found myself in bed, panties around my ankles, remembering the look on Tom’s face when I’d exposed myself to him.
One week later and he was looking better, more like his old self. He’d even joined in with some office banter that morning. But now, midway through Friday, he was looking at me earnestly.
“Hey Sarah,” he said, his voice casual. “I need to grab some supplies from the closet. You know where the good pens are, right?”
I felt a blush creeping up my neck. I glanced around the office, and once again, everyone was absorbed in their work, no one paying us any attention.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound equally casual. “I can show you, if you want?”
“That would be perfect.”
We stood up almost simultaneously, and I led the way down the hallway, my heart thumping hard. I could feel his eyes on my back, on the sway of my hips in my pencil skirt. I fought the urge to exaggerate my step, to swing my hips from size to size and allow him to observe the jiggle of my ass.
At the supply closet door, I entered without looking at him, too ashamed and embarrassed to make eye contact. Instead, I simply made my way to the pens and bent at the waist to pick them up.
But not before pulling my skirt up around my hips.
