My First Time Masturbating on a Teams Call During Work
It was 9:27 AM in my home office. Perfect setup: soft light, blouse unbuttoned just right. Not for my boss. For him. Matthias. Logistics guy, 39, that sideways smirk, three-day stubble. We’d been flirting in private chats for months. Safe. Digital. Until today.
Teams meeting droned on. Florence from HR yapping about processes. Thirteen faces, sloppy cams, kids running by. I typed in our private chat: ‘What you wearing under the table?’ His reply: ‘Old joggers. Nothing else.’ My thighs clenched. Heat rushed low. No turning back.
The Approach: Tension Building in My Home Office
‘Montre.’ Show me. He tilted his laptop. Gray fabric hugged his bulge. Accidental? Bullshit. I bit my pen. Heart hammered. He slipped a hand under his desk. I knew.
Mistake one. I typed publicly: ‘If you continue, I’ll struggle to focus.’ Silence. Florence froze. Everyone stared. ‘Joke with Matthias,’ I stammered, face burning. He stifled a laugh, pissed I’d outed us. But the air crackled. Poker game turned lubrique.
His photo hit: abs, hand under waistband. ‘Need you to optimize this flow.’ I nearly choked. Fingers circled my knee. His texts: ‘Hot?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Bet nothing under that blouse.’ Legs crossed tight. Silk panties stuck to damp skin. Breath shallow. Pulse throbbed everywhere.
‘Untie a button?’ Challenge. I did. First one. Skin prickled. Nipples hardened. His cam dipped—joggers tented. Obvious. I giggled into the mic. ‘Cough,’ I lied. He texted: ‘You excite me too much.’ Stomach flipped. Fear mixed with fire. This was it. Crossing the line.
Hand slid under table. Fingers grazed soaked silk. Circled my clit. Slow. Electric. Phone buzzed: his pic, cock out, thumb on glistening head. I gasped. Dove deeper. Two fingers in. Wet sounds faint. Gémissement escaped. He laughed soft.
The Instant: Raw Release and Shocking Slip-Up
‘Montre-moi.’ Hesitated. Then snapped: thighs parted, fingers shiny, tits straining lace. His video: stroking slow, eyes locked on cam. For me. Amid the meeting grid. Florence blabbed. We burned.
Fingers plunged. He pumped. Climax built. Then—rip. Wrong button. Screen share. Our chat blasts: ‘Take off your panties or I’ll rip them.’ Everyone saw. His hand frozen on dick. My fingers slick inside. Faces stone. Stagiaire laughed. Florence gaped.
‘Bad manip!’ Chaos. Pause called. Cams off. But not ours. Not his. Private now. Then—PDG pops in. Towel-clad, post-shower, wine bottle. ‘Love the remote relaxation. Saw it all. 4 PM, my office.’ Wink. We froze. Heart in throat. Humiliation? Or promo?
Alone again. ‘Fired?’ ‘Or horizontal team building.’ ‘Finish elsewhere?’ I stood. Faced cam. Undid buttons slow. Blouse slipped. Bra next. Nipples peaked, begging. Touched them. Ondulated hips. Panties dropped. Naked. Alive. His eyes devoured. Breath ragged.
‘Dépêche-toi. I’m waiting.’ Screen off. First time exposed. Raw. No regrets.
Two weeks later, office legend. ‘Teams Touch.’ Whispers, stares. We got ‘netiquette’ training. Secret blog now: erotic corporate tales. Innocence shattered. Work forever changed. That rush? Addictive. First digital fuck rewired me.
