The Midday Moan
Her lunch hour just got a lot more hands-on.
She rushes into the cubicle in the bustling office restroom, her heart hammering with a potent mix of excitement and guilt. She knows it's reckless, indulgent even, but the craving is too strong to ignore. The memory of her lover's touch, the way he makes her body convulse with pleasure, overwhelms her senses. Slamming the door shut, she yanks her leggings down, the fabric catching on her heels. Impatience wins: she leave...