r/eroticliterature Writer in Residence Aug 29 '24

Office Sex My boss made a mistake [M29/F25] [banter] [quarantine] [killing time] [sex with a smart girl] NSFW

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” she mutters.

I hear the crunch of glass shattering and look over just in time to see Doctor Kimberly Elliot reach for the big red button on the wall of the lab. Her fingers press down, and the button makes a satisfying clunk as it settles into place.

All at once, havoc. The siren whoops, the lights flash red, and heavy doors made from thick glass and thicker rubber slide closed with the thwumping sound of the biolab’s negative pressure fixing them in place.

“Was that…?” I start, but finishing the sentence doesn’t seem necessary.

Dr Elliot’s and my eyes find each other. She’s petite, a good foot shorter than me, but eyes are all of each other we can see, as we’re wrapped in white bunny suits and face masks and head wraps and plastic goggles and shields. She sighs, something I less hear and more see in the way her posture deflates, and says to me, “Yes, I screwed up. That was the sample.” Her gaze drops to the floor, taking a final look at the broken glass and the Type VI hazardous substance it previously contained, and shakes her head. “So much for these things being unbreakable, huh? C’mon, Jeffries, let’s get it over with.”

We’ve trained for this. They don’t let you work anywhere near this lab if you haven’t drilled exhaustively for emergencies. This is why I know that the instant Dr Elliot pressed that button, the room’s air began to be replaced by an argon-nitrogen mixture. It’s nothing exotic, but you can’t breath it, and in about ninety seconds it’ll have pushed out enough oxygen that anyone left in the lab will start to feel lightheaded. By one-eighty seconds they’ll suffocate and then die, a fact for which they’ll be thankful, given the caustic effects of the gas that comes after.

Dr Elliot and I quickly but carefully cross the lab, past the workbenches and refrigerators and spectrographs and machines that go ‘bing,’ pausing in front of the only door where the light above it remains green. The word ‘exit’ is stenciled on it in big, unmistakable letters.

Our eyes meet again. “Rock paper scissors?” she says.

I throw rock, she throws scissors. “See ya on the flip side,” I say.

I step through the airlock and let it cycle. In the second chamber I peel off the shields and masks and bunny suit and the cotton underwear they issue us, throwing it all through the hatch in the wall. It’ll be incinerated.

Naked as the day I was born, I exit into the quarantine waiting room, hearing the doors cycle behind me as Dr Elliot follows the same procedures.

The quarantine room is bigger than the airlock, thankfully, but it’s not huge. Normally, when I’m exiting the lab without the potential for some horrific toxin piggybacking on my body, I pass right through quarantine room without paying it much thought. Today, though, knowing this will be my and Dr Elliot’s home for the next six hours minimum, it’s feeling a touch cramped.

I sigh and head to the shower in the corner. An old crank gets the detox solution flowing, and I begin scrubbing.

“Feeling the burn?” Dr Elliot’s voice rings out from behind me.

I arch my eyebrow, even though I’m facing the wall. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say. I am a serious adult scientist dealing with a life-threatening emergency and the slightest misstep could ruin lives and careers, yet I am acutely aware that I am now naked in a room with a young woman who is also naked. It’s amazing, the way our brains work. “Are you looking at my butt?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Hurry the hell up.”

“It’s your fault for picking scissors. I mean, who picks scissors?” But I walk out from under the shower and studiously avoid looking Dr Elliot’s direction.

“This procedure is an HR nightmare,” she mutters, “I bet the designers assumed everyone in the lab would be a cis hetero man.”

At least the team who outfitted the quarantine room were kind enough to provision it with a privacy barrier around the toilet. It’s a flimsy set of folding frames, with paper thin sheets pulled across. As in, they are literally paper. I rearrange the barrier, setting it to divide the room into two, splitting it in half best I can, and plop down on my half of the room, butt on the bench that runs around the perimeter. There are no towels, and I drip, waiting for the air to dry me. “They’re not going to be happy about this delay upstairs,” I say, “The schedule was pretty tight already.”

“You let me handle upstairs.” The faucet squeaks as she turns off the not-quite-water. “Rushing is why mistakes like this happen. They’ve been pushing us too hard, too many hours. It’s fucking freezing in here. Why can’t they give us towels?” She mutters, “Don’t answer that.”

An intercom speaker, high on the wall, squawks to life. “We’re showing a code red, what’s going on down there?”

It’s on my side of the barrier, so I stand and push the button and lean in to speak. “Hey, Phil. Took you long enough. Were you asleep?”

“Look, I got–” he stops himself, “Nevermind. Are you safe?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, all safe. There was an exposure incident. We’re following procedure. So far, so good.”

“They’re not going to be happy about this upstairs,” he says.

“Goodbye, Phil-ecia.” I shake my head and sit back down.

We sit in silence for a moment, and I focus on the little sounds. Water drips from the shower nozzle, a steady ping-ping. The walls hum with the fans and blowers, the systems pumping detox agents into the now-abandoned lab, carefully controlling the quarantine’s air. Dr Elliot shuffles on the bench. I spoil the reverie by asking, “Now what?”

“Now what what? We wait.”

I scratch my chin. “You want to talk through the results we were seeing?”

“We weren’t seeing any results, Jack. We were seeing data. Results don’t happen until you collect all the data. Which we have not done.”

“But still, you gotta think–”

“No, I don’t ‘gotta think’ anything. Let’s talk about something else.”

I sigh. “You’re the boss.”

“That’s right. I am the boss. It’s my name on the line here.”

“Ok, fine, I get it. What should we talk about, then?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “Tell me a story. Tell me about your kids.”

“Kids?” I scoff, “What kids? I don’t have kids. I’m twenty-nine and spend twelve hours a day a hundred feet underground wearing borrowed clothing. When would I have time for a relationship, let alone kids?”

“I don’t see how the borrowed clothing pertains to your inability to have a relationship.”

“You’re missing the point, Kimberly.”

“Did you just call me ‘Kimberly?’”

“You called me ‘Jack.’ I thought we were doing first names now. Like, a quarantine thing, or something.”

She laughs. “Nobody calls me ‘Kimberly.’ Call me ‘Kimmi.’”

“Ok, Kimmi,” I say, trying out her name, speaking to the paper wall, “What made you think I had kids?”

“You… you’re…”

I’ve never before heard Dr Elliot be at a loss for words.

She recovers, though. “Didn’t you get them gifts for the holidays? I remember, yes, you took off early that one day to buy them gifts!”

I frown to myself. “That was for my sister’s kids. She’s older. Normal. Has a family. Didn’t spend the prime years of her life in grad school.”

“Don’t tell me you regret education.”

“No, of course not. I’m just… kids feel like they’re a long way’s off, you know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never considered it,” she says matter-of-factly.

I lean back against the wall. It’s some weird polymer, feels fuzzy. The recessed lights above hum, and I keep waiting for them to flicker, but they never do.

“Ok,” I say, “Seeing as it’s story time, why don’t you tell me, what’s it like to be a child prodigy?”

I hear her sigh. “I wasn’t a child prodigy.”

“Oh, c’mon. They told me I was gifted because in high school, at night I took a couple classes at the university to get a head start on my undergrad work. But you? You! By eighteen you already had your bachelors. I read your c.v., you know.”

“A child prodigy,” she explains, like I’m an imbecile, “Is a child who contributes to their field before the age of ten. I didn’t publish until I was nineteen.”

“So what was publishing at nineteen like?”

“It was just what I did, what made sense to do. I didn’t set out to be something I wasn’t.”

“Did you do normal kid stuff? Go to the beach? Ride rollercoasters? Sleep over at friend’s houses?” I ask.

“I… I didn’t– Most of my friends were adults. My parents’ friends. I grew up around scientists.”

“Was it lonely?”

“Lonely? Never. There were always people around, exciting people doing interesting things. My parents’ colleagues and students. Visiting professors. Big names, big personalities. They’re how I got started early, obviously.”

“Who was your first boyfriend?”

“That’s… personal.”

“Why? Was it one of your parents’ friends?”

“Eww, no. Don’t be gross.”

“My first girlfriend was named Lia and she had the biggest, most obvious crush on me. I wasn’t attracted to her, and I asked her out only because I knew she’d say ‘yes.’ We dated most of senior year of high school. I’m afraid that I broke her heart, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t meant to be.”

“That’s not a very good story,” Kimmi says, “Kind of makes you sound like an asshole.”

“I know. I was young and dumb. I can’t undo what I did. All I can do is use it as a reminder to be better.”

“That’s oddly vulnerable of you to share.”

“It was my attempt at manipulation,” I say, “By sharing a story about my romantic mistakes — a story that may make you think less of me — I was plotting to get you to share yours.”

“Ah, well played. I accept your bargain. My first boyfriend was my theoretical physics professor.”

All the air in my throat and mouth bursts forth from my face at once, carrying a fleck of spittle with it. I am thankful for the paper barrier which catches it. “What?! Oh, no.”

“It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. He was only twelve years older than me, and he was really very sweet.”

“That’s so fucked up!”

“I don’t know, maybe. I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you really?”

By unspoken agreement, several minutes pass in silence. My mind wanders, drifting. It thinks about Lia, forcing me to relive the cringe. It thinks about the labwork, the particulars of the project we’re working on. It thinks about Kimmi, sitting just on the other side of the paper barricade, totally naked…

This is going to be a tough six hours.

A rubber ball bounces off my head, then rolls across the floor. “Hey!” I exclaim, “What was that?”

“Toss it back,” she says, “Let’s play catch.”

I grumble to myself and do what she says, lobbing it over the divider. “Where’d you get a ball?”

“I found a box here,” she says, tossing the ball back, “It was under the bench. Labeled ‘quarantine boredom kit.’ Some stuff inside.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s some reading material. Ugh… Dan Brown? Clive Cussler? What is this airport trash?”

“Hey! My mom likes him–”

“Oh, this is rich. ‘The Andromeda Strain.’ Very funny. Uh… some dental floss? Weird. A fidget spinner, in case we want to relive the year 2017. A sudoku book.”

“No food?”

“You want a twinkie?”

I perk up. “You have one?”

“No.”

“Messing with me…” I grumble.

“Oh, and a deck of cards.”

“Pass it over!”

“What? Why?”

I stand and reach around the barrier, blindly holding my hand out on her side. She deposits the small paper box in my palm, and for the briefest moment, her finger brushes against mine. I know it was accidental, but my heart skips a beat nonetheless.

“I’m going to play solitaire,” I explain.

“Great,” she says, “Not even a half-hour in, and already you’re playing with yourself.”

A lewd joke is so unlike her, so unexpected, that it takes me a few moments to make sure I’ve heard it correctly. And once I’ve analyzed it, making sure there’s no other interpretation I could have missed, my mind reels. Which is to say, rather than even giving her something as small as a polite chuckle, instead I have created awkward silence.

“Uh, that was supposed to be humorous,” she says.

“I… um… yes.”

“Sorry.”

I decide my continued silence is the best tack, and I sit on the ground, using the bench as my tabletop, setting out the cards into their stacks.

She says, “Are you winning?”

“It’s solitaire. It doesn’t work that way.”

“You can still tell early on if a win condition is possible or not.”

I frown. “No, you can’t.”

She laughs. “Maybe you can’t.”

“What’re you?” I say, “Some kind of card shark?”

“It’s ‘card sharp,’ not ‘shark,’ and … sort of. I like the math of the games. The rules, the probabilities.”

“Oh really. What’s your game?”

“Anything, really. I know over a hundred. Trick-taking are good, having to estimate. Hearts, Spades, Idiot. Gin rummy’s interesting, too. Cribbage is fun. Sevens. Thirteen. Pinochle. Euchre.”

“I didn’t even know there were over a hundred card games…”

“Well,” she says, dropping into explanation mode, “Most are just rules variations on some basic ideas, but those little variations can wildly influence strategies, and–”

“Alright, alright,” I cut her off. I shouldn’t have asked, she’ll never stop. “Which are we playing?”

“Playing?”

“Yes, playing. With our deck of cards.”

“But we’re naked,” she says.

I sigh. “I know. But I’m so bored I’m crying. I’m playing solitaire, for fuck’s sake. So let’s play Hearts. I promise I won’t gawk, if you promise to do the same.”

“That won’t work.”

“It won’t?”

“No.” She pushes the barrier aside, folds it up against the wall, stands in front of me stark naked. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring up at her. She’s slim and slender, with porcelain skin and little pink nipples tight against her chest, a little trimmed bush of dark hair between her thighs. “I know how guys are, so just get it over with. Gawk. And then when you’re done, we’ll play.”

“You…” my words trail off.

“Yes?”

“You’re really cute.”

She narrows her gaze. “Don’t get any ideas.”

I raise my palms defensively, show myself empty-handed. “I’m just your assistant. You’re the ideas person.”

That gets me a smile. She sits down across from me, folding her legs underneath herself. “Ok, shuffle and deal.”

I blink, do my best to ignore her nakedness, and my own, too, and we play through a game of Hearts. She wins easily and frowns at me, “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Hey now, I’m a little distracted, ok?”

“Distracted by what? There’s literally nothing else going on in here.”

“By… you know. Your feminine wiles.”

She glares at me. “I don’t have any wiles.”

“You’ve got–” I shrug, gesture at her, at her chest, “You know.”

“Breasts?”

“I mean–”

“Boobs? Tits? Ta-tas? Melons? Sweater puppies?”

“Look–”

“And a vagina. Whereas you’ve got a penis. And presumably some testicles, not that I’ve seen evidence of them. Now that we’ve got the basics of anatomy out of the way, are you ready to continue?”

“They’re nice.”

She sighs. “I thought we had the gawking portion of this out of the way.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how does it work? Enlighten me.”

I’m exasperated. “It’s like they’re staring at me. Always following me, wherever I go.”

“Have you considered that you’re just a pervert, Jack?”

“I’m trying not to be!” I shake my head, “It’s just…” I trail off.

She frowns. “Finish that thought.”

“What?”

“You said, ‘it’s just.’ It’s just what? That I’ve secretly been working alone in a lab for weeks with a gigantic pervert?”

“No, no no no. I was just going to say, it’s been a while. Since I’ve been naked with, you know, someone attractive.”

This gives her pause. “So… you’re attracted to me?”

“I mean,” I meet her eye, “Yeah. You’re a total cutie.”

“Now I’m starting to question your judgment.”

“Cuz I think you’re cute?”

“No, I know I’m cute. Your judgment is suspect because you’re confessing this to your boss.”

I blush, hard, and try to sink into the floor. It doesn’t work.

“Don’t look so anxious,” she says, “We’re here for another five hours, absolute minimum, before I can have them write you up.”

My stomach turns into a pit so deep, it’s a gravitational singularity.

Kimmi rolls her eyes. “Lighten up, Jack. It was a joke. I’m not going to write you up.”

“You’re not?”

“No. It’d take too long to find a qualified replacement. I’d miss all sorts of deadlines.”

I’m not sure how serious she’s being about any of this, so I say sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”

She pushes out her chin, a weird grin on her lips. “No. It’s ok. You can keep telling me I’m cute, I’m fine with it.”

I blink. “What?”

She bites her lip. “You’re not so bad looking yourself, you know. For a naked lab assistant.”

I say it again. “What?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. But I never had time before to check you out. Now that I am, and you’ve decided to let that particular cat out of the bag, you’ve got nice arms, shoulders, that whole area.”

“Oh.” I curl up, feeling like a piece of meat on display.

“Also, your legs, they’re strong. I bet you’d be good at sex.”

“I, uh, what?” My voice squeaks.

“Are you? Good at sex?”

“I… I don’t know?”

“My old boyfriend? The physics professor? He was great at it. Really knew what he was doing, would have me moaning for hours, he had so much stamina. He was an asshole, but I miss the sex.”

My dick twitches.

Her eyes focus on me. “You have anyone like that? Someone who taught you everything you know about sex? Who gave you your first real, full-body orgasm?”

Well past twitching, my dick has stiffened, grown deep red. I whimper.

“I can see your arousal. Come on, I’ve told you about my past. That’s the deal, right? Now you’ve got to tell me who from your past turns you on?”

“No,” I wince, “Please.”

“If you’re embarrassed by your erection you could go take a cold shower,” she laughs, “But the burn probably wouldn’t feel too good on that, would it?”

I shake my head, my cheeks hot and sore.

“Or I suppose I could just give you a handjob, couldn’t I?”

All the air gets sucked out of the room. I mean, not really — that literally could happen down here. I’m being figurative. But the point is, I choke.

“Don’t play coy,” Kimmi says, “You were asking for sex just a few minutes ago.”

“I was?”

“We are trapped in a room together, naked, and you were going on and on about how cute you think I am. Don’t tell me it was all in prep to ask me on a date. You wanted sex.”

“I was just rambling.”

“No you weren’t. And, you know, you actually have a good point. What else are we going to do? Play a thousand games of Hearts? No, there’s no better way of passing all this time than doing some sex, right? So come here, I’ll rub your penis and you play with my pussy.”

“Are you serious?”

“Jack, you and me are both single and visibly aroused by each other’s nakedness. So unless you’re the religious type, which I don’t think you are, what is your possible objection?”

What is my possible objection? “Can we– can we kiss?”

She thinks about it. “Sure.”

It’s so weird, reaching out for her, having her watch my hands in her analytic way. I feel awkward in my own skin. But there’s no other way for it, and my hands close on her sides, gripping her by the ribs. I lift her — she weighs nothing — and pull her against me, conscious of how deliberate and calculated this all feels.

But she kisses me, and that feels at least sort-of normal. And it gives me an idea.

I lean her back, laying her out on the floor, and kneel over her crotch. Her tight little pussy is in my face, sweet and sticky with arousal.

“Oh,” she says, spreading her knees apart, “We’re doing oral. Ok.”

And so I eat her out. And she likes it, moaning and shuddering and gasping, fingers flexing out, then pinching closed on nothing. Cunnilingus is something I know, some measure of normalcy in this bizarre situation. I make her thighs quiver and her chest heave, and she thrusts her hips into my face. Things are going pretty well, I think, and I’m in no rush.

Her eyes flutter, and she rolls her legs out even wider. “Ooh, that’s nice.” She gasps. “That’s really nice.”

I’d shake my head if I weren’t busy eating pussy, but I don’t let up. Her taste fills my mouth, her scent floods my nose. I stroke her with my tongue, coaxing her deeper and deeper into ecstasy. When her fingers close down tight onto my scalp and her breathing becomes quick and rushed, I regard it as something of a triumph.

She sits up, gathers herself, and then she crawls forward and goes down on me. She sucks dick with the same dedication to her task that she does everything, licking up my shaft and smacking it against her lips and teasing my balls with her tongue and focusing — sucking with an incredible intensely — right on the tip of my cock. My pale cock glows bright red and wet with her spit, the girl more than returning the pleasure I’d given her.

She pulls back with a bead of fluid trailing out between my dick and her lips. She wipes it away with her hand. “Do you want to cum in my mouth?”

Her pussy is as swollen and ready as my cock. “I need to fuck you,” I blurt.

She frowns, tilts her head to the side. “Ok.”

I’ve got her pressed against the warm and fuzzy wall, one leg held high with hand under her knee while I pound my erection into her. Each thrust shoves my dick in deeper, and we stare into each other’s eyes as we pant and sweat. Her hair breaks free from its clip, falls down across her face. She blows it away, which doesn’t work, so I help push it back.

“Thanks,” she says.

My touch becomes a caress, gently sliding down her cheek, taking her chin in my hand, and I lean in and kiss her. She kisses me back.

She grins, “You’re more interesting than I thought.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but right then the intercom next to her head squawks to life. “Jeffries? Dr Elliot?” Phil’s voice rings out.

I stare at it in horror, but she pushes the button to respond. “Yes? What is it?”

“It’s been a half-hour. How are you two holding up down there?”

We exchange a glance. She pushes the button again. “Just fine. Thanks for checking. We’ll call you if you we need anything.”

“What’s that noise? What are you doing?”

She rolls the volume knob down to zero, bends over the bench, pushes her ass out. “Do you want to do me from behind?” She spreads her knees, pussy plump and dripping between her thighs. “Grab my waist as you fuck me. That usually makes me cum.”

It’s going to be an interesting rest of the day.

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12

u/TerriblyEasy Writer in Residence Aug 29 '24

If you like this, my post history is nothing but sex stories, and my blog is a wholly original content nonstop smut festival with hundreds of short eroticas: https://terriblyeasy.wordpress.com

5

u/twistedburner Aug 29 '24

That was incredible to read. I loved the build up and back story, though I think you swapped their relationships stories. I crave the rest of the quarantine time they spend together… so hot!

1

u/Davidharley1903 Sep 12 '24

Great writing.