DemiMistral

My little daily rebellion. The rubbing of the fabric against my skin was already a delicious reminder of why I appreciate these moments. I pulled out some papers, tried to concentrate. but the sensation of the cold desk on my forearms, the smell of freshly printed paper and the sound of my own movements eventually distracted me.

My fetish has always been the two-way routine: the daily loaded with desire. That's why, when I leaned forward to plug the charger under the desk, I felt my breathing change.

The reduced space, the smell of wood, my hair touching my shoulders.. It was as if every detail was designed to provoke me. I stayed a few seconds there, deliberately. Savoring the posture, the momentary vulnerability. Savoring the idea that if someone entered, he would find me like this: between work and fantasy, between professionalism and desire. I came out slowly, sat down on the chair and bit my lip. Nobody had arrived yet. It made the temperature rise in my chest. I opened the computer, but my thoughts were not on the emails; they were on my own skin, on the way the fabric rubbed my thighs with every breath I took...

I felt a little shiver. The kind of thrill that only comes when I'm exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I love: silently disobeying. Be the woman that everyone sees as serious, correct.. without knowing that under the table, my fingers run through my leg under the pretext of "sitting comfortably ». The clock rang the time of entry. I heard footsteps in the hallway. I stood up, took a deep breath and adopted my professional posture.. Only I knew what happened here a few minutes before. I alone felt the heat that would accompany me all day, hidden under my skirt. And this complicity with myself.. was my greatest pleasure.