Catch us if you can…

…But please don’t – it’s the risk of being caught that’s so exhilarating. If we actually did get caught, we would probably die of embarrassment.

And what are we doing that we don’t want to get caught doing? Nicking sweets from the newsagents? Writing rude words on toilet walls? Flicking elastic bands at people in the office? What do you think?

A few months ago The Man and I were going through a particularly horny phase and there just weren’t enough opportunities outside working hours to satisfy our hunger. So we thought about how we could squeeze in some extra activity at work, if only there was a secret safe place.

After some exploring, The Man found an empty, slightly dusty room in a part of the building very few people used. We had to pass a couple of offices to reach it and go up a flight of stairs, so it would involve carefully timing our journey and hiding if anyone came out of either office on the way.

Our first rendezvous meant him going up first, texting me and waiting. I snuck out – for all anyone knew, I was off to the ladies’.

I tip-toed upstairs, into the little ante-room, which contained a few empty boxes, a sink, trolley and shelves. It had the musty attic smell of somewhere not entered very often. We kissed frantically. I hoped I wasn’t getting any phone calls downstairs. His zip came down; I knelt and devoured his already hard penis. Then he moved on to me, his fingers finding their way inside me, making me tremble and feel light-headed. I completely forgot about bloody phone calls. We were both now slightly dizzy and on the brink of combustion. He leaned me over the sink and entered me from behind. We fucked quickly and quietly but it was enough to have our fill (and thrill).

We then went our separate ways, heads down and back to our desks. I didn’t have any phone messages and no one had even noticed I had been out of the room for more than five minutes.

On another occasion we found ourselves unable to contain our physical enthusiasm on a train journey home. It had been one of those evenings of flowing alcohol which left everything with a sunny hazy glow, giving the illusion of all being well with the world and nothing seeming impossible. We had both acquired the slightly drunken drive to make things happen, even though we had no place to do it that night. The Man had led me through at least four or five train carriages to find an empty one where no one would see me bent over his lap, my head bobbing up and down.

And we just couldn’t leave it there, after the sheer luck of not missing our stop. My ex was babysitting so there was no way we could go back to my house.

The Man led me to some nearby woods and we clambered up through the undergrowth, until we were a few yards in and reasonably out of sight, but still getting light from street lamps and nearby houses. We then carried on what we started on the train, getting more and more turned on by the setting and the fact that we were only yards from people and the occasional voices and footsteps of passers-by on the pavement below. What if someone else chanced upon our spot?

As the leaves rustled from our movements, I bent over a small, slightly crooked tree trunk as The Man again entered me from behind and our movements became more frantic and rhythmic and our breathing heavier. As he climaxed I pulled him closer and pressed his torso against my back as though we were imitating a large tree trunk with branches made from our limbs and a sticky sap pouring from it.

 

Try my blog – drunkenslutmum.co.uk

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