The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Penelope was worried. She was doing things she would not normally do. Not one bit of it. Things she was doing seemed so out of character and, indeed, involuntary. Things she would just not do and did not know why.

She pulled her hand from her brassiere. She had simply slipped her fingers into it, inside her blouse, to relieve an itch. Everyone scratched to relieve an itch, but discreetly. Perhaps you would not think twice about scratching an arm or hand, might be a little more conscious of relieving an itch to the back or knee but you simply would not scratch an inner thigh or a breast with anyone looking—would you? Let alone actually put your hand inside your brassiere and scratch an itchy nipple with your colleague, particularly a male colleague, watching—now would you?

Penelope reddened as she caught Steve Knowles eye. He smiled but he had seen her hand. She knew it and knew he would very much liked to have scratched that itch for her, right inside her brassiere. It was not that she did not think most men would have liked to have done that—she was not stupid—but Steve Knowles was the sort of guy who seemed to be mentally undressing you most of the time. Her impression was he had been undressing her in his mind ever since she had found herself working next to him. It would have been an exaggeration to say he had mentally undressed her more times than she had done herself for real in all of her 23 years but she could imagine he had done worse when alone. She was sure he had imagined her doing all sorts of things and him doing all sorts of things with her whilst wanking. She felt, much as she disliked him, he was the sort of guy who thought things but would not dream of doing anything about them.

In any case, why had she worn that quite low cut blouse anyway—and why had she bought it in the first place? She had seen Kirstie’s eyes narrow when she had first walked in wearing it to the office the week before. Newly washed and ironed she had worn it again that very day. It was very comfortable, being entirely cotton, but it was rather revealing and had necessitated buying a new brassiere with rather lower set cups. She shifted in her seat and opened her lunch box.

It was whilst finishing her lunch that she looked up again and saw Steve watching her. She reddened again. What had she been doing with that banana?

What indeed? She recalled peeling it very slowly and then sucking on the firm flesh. It was one of those just about ripe bananas which are a bit tasteless, before the banana flavour really comes in. She knew she had been thinking about banana flavour and how she had liked banana flavoured lolly-pops when young and how she liked to suck them. She bit into the banana and saw Steve across from her wince. Why had he done that? Surely she had not been sucking on the banana rather like a...

She knew she had and she went bright red and Steve Knowles just smiled and went back to his work. What was happening to her? Why was she doing these odd things? She had indeed been sucking the banana like a hard penis. She realised that was exactly what she had been thinking of—a banana flavoured penis.

Penelope, or Penny as people called her, felt somewhat happier the next day with ‘that blouse’ in the wash and a much more conservative shirt on with blue stripes and a rounded ‘Peter Pan’ collar. The same brassiere, though. It was not really needed because of the conservative cut of the shirt, but that was the one she had picked up. She was in the lift on the way up to her floor, looking at herself in the mirror when she frowned. She knew which brassiere but suddenly could not remember which pants she had put on. It mattered not at all under her neat cream linen skirt but it was a sudden puzzle. Too minor a detail of a morning even to recall but there was the sudden thought—had she actually put any on at all?

It mattered not if they were a conservative pair or one of her more decorative and lacy items or even perhaps a ‘raggy’ pair from the back of her knicker drawer but—had she actually put any on? Penelope was alone in the lift and her hand went to her thighs. She could not actually feel anything underneath. Her usual visit to the ‘Ladies’ on her way from lift to office confirmed her fear. It was not as if she was in any danger of an inappropriate exposure—she was not exactly dressed in a mini-skirt but... but it was not like her. She could not recall every having forgotten panties before.

Penelope felt as if Steve knew she had no knickers, it was just the way he looked at her as she sat down. His eyes flicked down to her skirt but with her knees together and her longish skirt he could not possibly see anything, still less know anything about the lack of panties.

“I’ve got nothing to wear on holiday.”

Debbie had nodded, “Me too. I need a whole new summer wardrobe.”

Across from the two of them Penelope saw Steve Knowles smirk and she knew he was thinking of her wearing nothing on holiday. It was not what she had meant at all. He was probably thinking of them both together on holiday—Debbie and she both naked. She ignored him.

The girls talked away and at lunchtime even went out to the shops together.

“Been shopping?” Asked Steve.

The two large bags in her hands made the question redundant.

“Mmmm, clothes for the summer.” She tucked them in beside her chair and settled to work. She had taken longer than usual over lunch. She had been shopping. Her firm was flexible over hours but now she had time to make up and would need to work late.

Steve seemed to be of a similar mind and as 6 o’clock wore on to 7 o’clock the office emptied until there were just two people tapping away—she and Steve.

“So, what did you buy?”

It was annoying. Being disturbed from her work and by Steve Knowles to boot.

“Oh, some summer shorts, a couple of tops, a bikini. You know, beach and pool things. Nick and I are going to Cyprus, half board, nice hotel for a beach holiday.”

“Yeah, I’ve been to Cyprus. Hot, very hot—Paphos?”

Steve made the usual sort of helpful suggestions though Penelope was not sure she would bother with the Museum of Cyprus thinking the beach was rather more an attractive idea than Roman antiquities and statues, even if of Aphrodite, apparently.

“Do you want to see what I’ve got.”

Penelope was surprised at herself for making the offer. It just came out of her mouth. Lesley or Angie would have been interested: it was unlikely a male colleague would be, still less Steve Knowles. And why had she extended the conversation anyway? It was not something she did—with him. She was even more surprised at herself when she picked up the bags and brought out the items. “What do you think, do you think they’ll suit me?

“Very nice. Yes, very nice indeed. I’m sure they will look just the job.”

Right answer. She gave him that.

“You sure? Difficult not seeing them on.”

“I can imagine.”

“You can’t. Look I’ll show you, There’s no one else here.”

Steve had shrugged his shoulders, “OK.”

Penelope was suddenly excited at showing off her new purchases. It was only later she realised how strange that reaction had been for her. Suggesting to Steve Knowles, of all people, that he might like to see her new summer wardrobe. It was just so out of character for her.

She almost skipped behind a screen separating one group of desks from another and dropped her skirt to the floor and pulled on her new denim shorts being careful as she pulled up the brass zipper not to get her fair curls caught in it—potentially ‘ouch!’ Momentarily she wondered why she had not bought new panties when she had been out shopping. It would have been easy enough to do.

Off with her striped shirt and on with the light blue linen short sleeved top. She liked the flat collar and it looked particularly good, she suspected, with the buttons undone, showing just a bit of cleavage. Perfectly easy to do in the brassiere she was wearing.

“What’ya think?”

Steve expressed his appreciation and his comment about the collar of the linen top went down really well with Penelope. It chimed with her own thoughts. She headed off for the ‘Ladies’ to look at herself in the mirror. The top looked great and her legs were going to look fine—with a tan—beside the pool.. The idea of sitting by a poolside bar on one of those bar stools swinging her leg in those shorts appealed. She walked back to Steve with a real spring in her step.

“The bikini’s good too. Not too skimpy. I don’t like that—and it’s secure, you know, I don’t want a mishap. Not me!”

It might well be Penelope did not want to find ties or straps slipping or coming undone in or by the pool but she seemed to forget that changing behind the screen was a good idea when trying on and showing Steve her new purchases.

She had got as far as undoing the buttons on her new linen shirt and unclipping her brassiere when, as she shrugged the garment forward, it came to her Steve was there right in front of her and he could see her suddenly exposed breasts.

“Oops!” she giggled. That was not really like her either. Not one bit. “Don’t look.” She reached into the bag and put on the bikini top, arranging her breasts inside it. She glanced down at Steve. He was looking at his papers and not looking, or rather ogling, her. He had done just as she had said. She was surprised. She had expected him to stare..

Penelope was more careful with the bikini bottoms and nipped behind the screen before changing from the shorts to the swimming item.

To be standing in just a bikini in the open plan office was a little odd but there was only Steve there and he was very complimentary.

“A really ‘wow’ item, Penny.”

She turned this way and that feeling almost as if she was already on holiday, almost as if the sun was already hot on her skin.

“I’m going to have to do a bit of tidying.”

“Huh?”

It was not reasonable to expect a man to understand, so Penelope pointed down between her opened thighs and pointed to quite a few fair curly hairs which were visible around the edges of her bikini both between her legs and up her hips. Her pubic hair was reasonable luscious.

“These!”

“Oh.” He looked. “Bit of scissor work and shaving then? Not something I’d need to do.”

“Not even with Speedos—do you wear those?”

“Not actually. Swimming trunks unless it’s the sort of beach you don’t need...”

“Oh. I’d never have thought of you going to that sort of ... I’ve never... don’t think I’d like a nudist beach.”

Steve had shrugged. “Nice swimming like that.”

“Well,” she left that conversation, “either way you wouldn’t need to shave ’cos your hairy legs and your pubic hair would seamlessly merge and no one would notice but with my legs and my hairy...”

She stopped herself. What was she doing talking to Steve Knowles, of all people, about her pubes? He, though, was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish.

“I’ve, err, a rather full bush.”

He was looking, looking at the way the front of her bikini bottom mounded, clearly noting it was pushed outwards by her curls. She felt momentarily embarrassed. What was she saying to Steve Knowles?

“Lovely bikini anyway. Like the colour very much. Suits you.”

Penelope smiled. Yes, she thought it just right. “Well, better get back to work or, perhaps, it really is going home time.”

Yet when she glanced at her desk she realised she really needed to get a few more things done. Twenty minutes later she became aware that she had simply sat down and got on with her work and was still in her bikini. Moreover she really needed to go home, she was meant to be going out later. She stood, undid her bikini top and stepped out of the bottoms. She was now in a hurry and needed to dress and go.

It was only as she turned that she remembered Steve Knowles. He was still there and looking at her. She was not sure it was actually a surprised look on his face.

Penelope walked out of the building dressed again in her blue striped shirt and her skirt thinking about her evening, looking forward to it and then it seemed to hit her. She had just shown herself naked to Steve Knowles. Naked! She could not believe she had done that. Why had she showed off her purchases to him, in any case? She did not really like him. It was not as if he was a friend or a nice young man she might like to go out with. Quite the opposite. How had she forgotten he was there when she had taken her bikini off? It had been so stupid. For a moment, before her hands had flown to her breasts and pubes, he had seen her completely naked and, as she had scuttled behind the screen, must have seen her bottom as naked as the day she was born.

The thought that she had exposed herself to Steve Knowles was still very much in Penelope’s mind as she arrived for work the next day. She was dreading what he would say and was so grateful when he did not refer to it. He had just looked up and said, “Good morning,” and returned to his work.

Nothing was said between them for most of the day. It was how she preferred things and she had a lot to do. About five o’clock she became aware of an itching on her forearm. She scratched at the cotton of her blouse. A few minutes later she became aware of the feeling again. Undoing the button at her cuff she inspected her skin. It did look a little pinker where it itched. She scratched with her nail.

“Anything wrong?” It was Steve Knowles.

“No, Steve, just an itch.” He was irritatingly observant.

But the itch did not go away and ten minutes later she again inspected her forearm. Was there something of a rash there?

“Have you changed your washing powder.” Steve had come up behind her and was looking at her arm. “That can cause irritation, a reaction to a different formula. It happened to me. Had to change both the powder and use a lotion for a time. Had to slap it all over my skin.”

It was not a good image. Steve Knowles ‘slapping’ a lotion all over his skin.

“I’ve got it in my drawer if you would like.”

Penelope was not going to ‘slap it on all over’ but was happy to squeeze and apply it to her forearm. It seemed to do the trick. Six o’clock passed in comfort.

By six thirty it was very different. She was itching all over her arms and chest. She scratched and looked up to see Steve watching her.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s back—the itching.”

“So I can see.” He reached in his drawer and pulled out the lotion, put it on his desk and pushed it towards her. “If I was you, a shower and then apply this. It worked for me.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

It was only when she was in the shower, rubbing her skin with liquid soap that it came to her that she had not picked the lotion up but had left it sitting on Steve’s desk. She said a very rude word in exasperation at herself.

Dried and clad in one of the work’s towels she padded through the empty office towards where Steve and she had been working. The company was not exactly generous in the size of towel it provided. Adequate but no more. It was bigger than a hand towel but nothing like a bath towel. Wrapped around her it hid her breasts and just about came low enough to hide her pubes. She did not miss Steve watching her the whole way as she came up the office between the empty desks.

“Forgot the lotion.”

He smiled, picked up the bottle and handed it to her. “Yes I know, brought it down but of course the door was locked. It would be!”

Penelope reached for it, let go of the towel and down it fell—just like that. She had thought she had tied it securely but evidently not—very evidently not. All of a sudden there she was completely naked, a little pink and damp, there in front of Steve Knowles and he did not do the instinctively polite thing of looking away—anything but. She gasped, grabbed the lotion bottle, bent to pick up the towel, realised she really should not have done that—what else had he then seen? And ran, so conscious Steve would be watching her bouncing buttocks the whole length of the office back to the shower room.

The lotion, though, was so soothing, as she rubbed it into herself, all over her itching arms and breasts—and it did the trick. There was nothing for it but to dress herself in the same clothes as before but that did not seem to bring back the itching. She returned to Steve feeling rather self conscious. She kept showing herself naked to him. What must he think?

“Thanks Steve, worked wonders.” She handed the bottle back. She paused. “Sorry for the mishap.” She had to say something. She was quite sure he was not sorry about it. Not sorry at all. Awful to think of him perhaps later wanking at the memory of what he had seen but she could hardly tell him not to, could she?

Next day she hardly spoke to Steve. She was so busy and it was only in the evening with still so much work to be done that, back at her desk for almost the first time that day, he spoke to her.

“Penny, did you make an appointment for the doctor.”

She looked blankly at Steve. What was he on about!

“You know, your rash, your itching?”

“Oh, no, been too busy and it didn’t come back all night or all today.”

“I think it might be your washing powder or washing liquid.”

“Yes, must change that and get an appointment. I’ll do it tomorrow. Oh, it’s Saturday. Might be difficult but I’ll try.”

Now Steve had mentioned it, and the itching of the day before was in her mind, she began to feel it again. Just a slight irritation. She tried to ignore it but without thinking began to scratch. It was very localised. Just under her armpits, around her back where her bra-strap went and very much all over her breasts.

Penelope looked up and realised Steve was watching her scratching a breast through her blouse and brassiere. She stopped and looked back at her work, but knew she was reddening with embarrassment.

She was coming to the end of the report, the conclusion nearly complete when she half thought Steve said something. She ignored that but then the incessant itching went into overdrive. One moment just an irritation: the next unbelievable. She was suddenly panting, scrabbling at her clothes, almost ripping the buttons off her blouse in her haste to remove it. Penelope had to get the material away from her skin. She was frantic. There were too many buttons, even buttons to her cuffs. Her fingers were trembling, she was all of a shake as she pulled, trying to get the buttons through their little holes. Bliss as she threw the cotton to the floor, relief as she scrabbled at the clasp at the rear of her bra-strap and the strap parted. She threw the thing to the floor and the terrible itching reduced.

She looked up, eyes wide, her breath coming in short gasps causing her breasts to shake up and down. Of course Steve Knowles was looking. He was looking open mouthed at her.

“Sorry, Steve,” she gasped. “You’re right, should have seen the doctor, oh, oh, so itchy, so tender.” Her hands reached and she was rubbing with both hands at her breasts, pulling her fingers up them towards her nipples. “Could I have, could I have your lotion?”

Waiting for Steve to open his drawer and retrieve the bottle was torture. Was he deliberately taking a long time? She reasoned he was not teasing her, just her impatience to feel the relief.

“Shall I?” He was undoing the lid, one turn, another turn.

“Oh yes, please, lots of it.” Her hands fell away and she pushed her breasts forward for Steve to squeeze the lotion out and onto them. She was not in the mood to pussy foot around taking the bottle and doing it herself. The urgency upset her usual caution.

Relief as the cold lotion fell in thick droplets on her skin. It was a relief, a partial relief.

“Shall I?”

But he was already spreading the lotion with his fingers, rubbing it out onto the burning skin of her breasts. Utter bliss to feel the spreading lotion, soft, wet and cooling as Steve’s fingers spread the white lotion. He had put plenty on. She raised her arms up in the air, allowing him to spread it under her arms. She turned and he was rubbing it onto her back where her bra-strap had so chafed and rubbed. The hyper sensitivity was receding and being replaced by a different feeling. Penelope turned back to Steve,

“I think, perhaps that’s enough, I... oh, oh, oh!”

Steve was massaging her lotion covered breasts, one in each hand, a slippery feeling as he squeezed and rubbed, an utterly pleasurable feeling. It was lovely, so pleasurable, so enjoyable.

“I think you can stop now, Steve, I...”

“Oh dear, you are very excited aren’t you? Your nipples are like little hard, dried peas”

But she hardly heard him, her whole concentration was on the fingers stroking her breasts. Excited? It hardly described what she was feeling. Her breasts felt on fire—at first in an unbearable itchiness but now in a nice way, a very nice way, a so sexual way, but nonetheless on fire—every touch sweet torture.

Of course she came, of course she orgasmed. Penelope had never felt quite like that before. Had not even thought it was possible to orgasm just from breast stimulation or so quickly but, looking back, she had more than seen sparks and her panties felt absolutely sopping as if the lotion had been placed there too.

Penelope blinked, suddenly aware the itching had completely stopped, feeling equally suddenly shocked at the whole scene. There she was in just trousers, her black smart trousers, her breasts exposed and nipples extended with both breasts liberally coated in white lotion—and there was Steve standing in front of her, his hands upheld and equally covered in the lotion. Penelope could not believe that had just happened, that she had let Steve do that or she had orgasmed so strongly. How awful, and how Steve must have so liked getting hold of her breasts. He had looked down her cleavage often enough. And there was the evidence of his excitement. She could see rigidity in his trousers. His penis was so obviously fully engorged.

“I... I’ll... um... thanks for the lotion. It’s all better now. I’d better, I’d better shower like yesterday.”

“That would be a good idea, Penny.”

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Well, yes,” he looked puzzled, “of course.”

Why had she said that? Of course she did not need help showering. Why had she asked him to apply the lotion? Had she actually done that? She knew she had felt an incredible urgency because of the itching—an itching that seemed now to have gone as fast as it had come. She hurried off. It was only in the shower she realised she had left her blouse and brassiere on the floor by her desk. Her mouth tightened. She would have to walk back like that. Well, actually, she could take a towel but Steve Knowles had already done more than simply see her breasts. She shivered at the thought of how he had massaged them and, awfully, how good it had felt. The evidence was there to see on the bench in the shower cubicle in the form of sopping panties lying atop her trousers.

When she returned, walking bare-chested up the office, she found Steve had picked her clothes up, neatly folded them and placed them on her desk.

“Did you see the doctor about your rash, your itching?”

It had completely escaped Penelope’s mind the whole weekend and actually most of the Monday. She could not understand how that had happened. She had been busy and thinking of other things. Perhaps it had been that other report she had been working upon most of the two days, all Saturday morning and all of Sunday. It was now nearly finished and then she could go home and have a really relaxing evening with a long, soothing hot bath.

“I... err... no, Steve, forgot.”

“That’s frankly silly, Penny, you were in quite a lot of distress on Friday until I applied my lotion. What if I hadn’t been here and it had been locked in my desk drawer? You are a bit of a silly girl.”

Penelope was not at all sure she liked being talked to like that, he was not her mother after all! She was a grown woman and not one who liked being called ‘silly.’ But it was true, she should have made an appointment. It had, indeed, been ‘silly.’

“I’ll put it there on the side of my desk in case you have a flare up again. I’m off now. ‘Night.”

Penelope watched Steve walking up the office and then she was left alone. She worked on quietly finishing the report and then began a final proof reading. Absently she scratched herself. Her right breast and then her left. She looked up and frowned. It was happening again. She turned left and right and looked around the office. There was no one there. Hurriedly she pulled off her shirt and brassiere and reached for the lotion. The relief at squirting the cool, white lotion onto her breasts was considerable. She massaged, actually sighing with the relief.

It was no doubt an unusual sight a few minutes later. A young businesswoman sitting at her desk, working away but bare breasted. A sight that would, no doubt, have gladdened the men on the floor had they been there. A few minutes later the sight was even better.

The itching to her breasts had subsided to a gentle warm sexual feeling. Penelope knew when she finished and got home to her bath it would not be a long soak with a good book but a long soak with candles by the bath and a languid masturbatory session and hopefully a lovely orgasm to complete. Her boyfriend was away so there was no one to share the bath with—she would have to look after herself.

The itching did not simply go away but instead returned with a vengeance. All at once it was there, not to her breasts this time or arms or legs but her bottom and all around her private bits and pieces. Painful burning itchiness. Penelope grabbed at her trousers and yanked them down with her panties. So much better without the material. Penelope grabbed the bottle of lotion and squeezed and began rubbing it on her bottom, between her legs and to her upper thighs. It gave relief only to be followed by an intense feeling of arousal. She could not stop rubbing herself, not simply in a gentle, circular lotion applying motion but lewdly, sexually, her fingers even stuffing themselves into her.

Penelope had the presence of mind not to sit on her chair, not to get the lotion—and her own wetness—on the fabric of the chair: instead she first sat on the edge of Steve’s desk and then, after a few moments, simply lay all along it, thighs widely spread and hand moving between them. What would Steve have thought of the sight if he had been there? And the sounds, had he heard them? Penelope was so conscious of the wet, sticky sounds of her fingers playing in her quim.

The awful, painful itching had gone and been replaced by such a sexual arousal. When she came—both times—she thought she had seen stars.

Slowly, Penelope got to her feet feeling very wobbly, picked up her clothes and made her way to the shower. She really did not like the idea of putting them on again. She was sure the material irritated her skin, though was equally sure a good showering would help. Once more Penelope walked naked through the office. It was not something she would at all wish to do with everyone there. This time not even Steve was there to see her.

As soon as she reached her desk the next day she knew what Steve was going to say. And she had forgotten again—forgotten to make an appointment to see the doctor. In a way she could see why she kept forgetting. The itching was just so intermittent. Her skin had been fine all the evening and during the night. It had quite slipped her mind.

“Did you make an appointment see the doctor?”

It was just as she had anticipated.

“No, Steve. I didn’t.” She almost added ‘Mummy.’ “I’ll do it now.”

But somehow she did not. By the time she had settled, turned the computer monitor on and settled herself, she had completely forgotten about the doctor. She picked up the telephone to telephone but made a completely different work telephone call, indeed several, one after another. She had a lovely lunch break with Debbie in a little vegetarian restaurant. Steve was not invited. They never invited Steve. The afternoon was a busy one full of meetings and Penelope was not back at her desk until well after six and found the office had emptied, except for Steve Knowles. She slumped down in her chair and lay back in it feeling really rather tired.

All of a sudden the itching came. It was worse, even worse than the day before and it had come first, this time, not to her breasts but her nether regions—and with a vengeance.

Her eyes shot open and she jumped up from her chair almost overturning it, “Steve, Steve, I can’t even bear to touch myself, please, oh please, It’s the itching. Pull my trousers down and, oh, oh, my panties. Quick, quick.”

Momentarily Steve seemed to hesitate.

“You want me to...”

“Quick, just do it.”

“Your trousers?”

“Yes!”

That she was imploring Steve to touch her, let alone pull her trousers and panties down was something, ordinarily, she could not conceive herself doing but she was so relieved that, once he moved, he did not hang about.

She was leaning forward across her desk, head resting on her arms, literally shaking with the discomfort, no it was pain, as Steve reached around her waist, to undo and pull her jeans down. So stupid to have worn tight fitting jeans, they did not make it easy for him to undo the brass button even with her pulling her tummy in, tug the brass zipper and get the dreadful things down her legs. The panties were so much easier. He had them down in a trice. Penelope kicked off her shoes and the clothing from around her ankles and spread her legs wide apart, really wide. It was bliss to be free of the touching clothing, good to not have her legs touching the other one but, even so, the terrible itching was still there.

“Steve, the lotion, please, please, quickly.” Such a plea and such a joy when she felt the cool liquid squirting out onto her buttocks splash, then splash, then splash. “Rub it please, oh yes” Beneath her head her hands were gripping her arms, she seemed almost paralysed, quite incapable of doing the rubbing herself. So soothing, so pleasurable, such relief to feel Steve’s hands spreading the lotion over her buttocks, a hand to each cheek.

“Oh Steve, yes. In the crack, yes there, oh, that’s good. And my thighs, up a bit, up more, yes there on my cunnie. Rub, really rub, Oh relief, oh bliss! Steve, Steve, my arsehole. Yes, there. Rub, rub, oh it’s so soothing. And inside, your finger, get the lotion inside.”

Penelope hardly knew what she was saying. She had just asked Steve Knowles to stick a slippery, lotion covered finger right up her bottom. She could feel it pushing at her and then it was inside and wriggling, the invading digit spreading the lotion. Such a relief. But it was not enough. There was still a place the lotion had not reached.

“Steve, my vagina.”

“What?”

“Please the lotion—up it. Squirt.”

The feel of the bottle’s neck at her entrance and then it pushed into her and squirting was such a relief and then his fingers followed, spreading the soothing lotion all around. If only, she thought, his fingers were a little longer they could reach... a sudden thought of Steve’s penis came to her mind, erect and with lotion applied to its knob looking like ejaculated semen pushing up into her the whole way, soothing her to her cervix. Was it long enough?

What was she thinking! Desperate for relief even she could not suggest that... but would it not so help? And the feeling was changing, as it always seemed to sexual desire, a need to be fingered and stroked. There was no need for Steve to keep rubbing to stop the itching.

“Steve, I think you can stop, it’s easing.”

But he did not and she had not the strength to push him away. The feel of his fingers was lovely, so pleasurable, so enjoyable even though it was Steve who had his fingers in her vagina and in her bottom.

“You can stop now.”

“You seem very excited, Penny, this isn’t just lotion is it?”

“No, no Steve. I can’t help it. Oh, yes, keep at it, Steve, everywhere. I’m so...” She could not say it.

“Wet?” filled in Steve, his fingers moving in and out of her vagina and bottom like twin penises.

What was she letting him or asking him to do? It was both awful and yet she did not want him to stop. She wanted an orgasm. She got two.

It is one thing to be spread across a desk with a co-worker helping you to a fantastic orgasm or two: it is rather another when sexual release has come and you see the situation in the cold light of day—or at least the fluorescent light of the evening. Not dissimilar to the unwise fling at an office party or at a training event when after a wild and impromptu fucking lasting not that long, really, you realise you have just cheated on your partner and will have the guilt with you for years.

Penelope raised her head off the desk. She was still wearing her blouse and brassiere but below her waist she was naked and with Steve Knowles behind her. Not that he was undressed or anything. He could so easily have ‘taken’ her whilst she was so ‘in the mood,’ she had not at all wanted that but doubted she could or would have resisted and having asked him to put his fingers in her bottom and cunny she could hardly have called ‘foul’ had he replaced fingers by penis! Those fingers were still in her bottom and vagina if now unmoving. The shear awfulness came to her. The way it had started with the intense, well pain, and how it had changed to arousal. One thing to have Steve relieve the terrible itching: quite another to have him relieve the terrible arousal. Penelope straightened her body, pushing herself up from the desk. Steve removed his fingers from her very personal spaces. He was grinning.

She could not help it. She looked down and it was as clear as anything he had an erection. Clearly a long enough penis to have pushed the lotion up to her cervix. Unsurprising, of course, that he had an erection given what he had been doing. He was a man after all. She could not complain about that. Indeed an argument could be mounted that reasonably she owed him a ‘hand job’ at least. She was not going to do that.

“Steve, Steve, thank you,” it was easy to be gushing, “the pain, the itching, my skin was on fire. So kind to lend me your lotion and... well, yes... apply it.”

“Happy to help, Penny, but really you do need to see a doctor or skin specialist. This is not right at all. Perhaps, Penny, I don’t know but a natural fibre, cotton, linen or hemp loose light skirt and no panties might help?”

“It might, it might. I don’t know about wearing no panties though. I’d feel so strange not wearing them. Sort of undressed.”

Steve’s eyes made a very obvious movement downwards. Penelope looked and was rather horrified to see just how messy with lotion her pubic hair appeared. Steve’s point was, though, how actually, not ‘sort of,’ undressed she actually was at that moment.

“Oh, I don’t know. This is all so awful. I’m going to have a shower.”

There was not a hint of discomfort in the shower or when she rubbed her skin with the towel. Even s,o she thought it best if she rubbed her whole body with the lotion before going home but she had left it on Steve’s desk. There was little point dressing before returning, at least in her brassiere and shirt. She had left her trousers and panties back at her desk. She walked back with just a towel on her. Penelope had rather hoped Steve would have gone home but he was still there.

“May I borrow the lotion again?”

“Be my guest.”

And he watched her apply it, smoothing a thin layer all over her body. It made her cross. Her attitude rather different now the itching and discomfort was gone. He watched her dress as well. It would have been polite to have turned away and left her to apply the lotion and dress in private but Steve Knowles was hardly going to do that—he was not that sort of bloke. She could see the bulge in his trousers again. He was that sort of bloke.

Out in the night and when nearly home she thought again of Steve’s suggestion of a cotton skirt and no panties and realised she was sort of half way there. A bit pointless with trousers as they touched her skin almost as closely as panties but somehow, perhaps subconsciously, she had simply not put them on after the lotion and just left them on her desk. Penelope thought of going back for them but thought Steve would have noticed and tucked them out of sight or... it would seem so in character, might have scooped them up in his hand as soon as she had left the floor and brought out his hard penis she had seen so clearly bulging in his jeans and masturbated with them, holding them in his hand around his penis. Were her panties now soaked with his semen? Urgh!

Certainly they were nowhere to be seen the next morning when she came in really early in case they had just been left—the cleaners would probably have seen them but that was better than a work colleague seeing a pair of woman’s cotton panties lying on her desk. It was known she worked late. It was known Steve Knowles worked late. Someone might think... they were ‘intimate.’ Gossip spreads quickly. It would be awful.