Offices happen to place men and women in a small space for several hours every day of the week. Things were bound to happen. When the first office building went up, the first office affair probably happened soon after. Men have had work wives from the very beginning. Whether they knew it or not. Now that you know what it is, I’ll ask again. Do you have a work wife?
Evan was unaware of the term, Work Wife. But after hearing it, he understood that he had a Work Wife himself.
This short is the first in any genre I’ve released to the public. It marks a point in my life that I chose to go after my dreams. You can see more of my work on the Wattpad platform. And my work involving the Xotica Series can be found on Apple Books and Amazon. More of my erotica & free adult fiction can be found here.
A relationship exists that many people actively participate in but aren’t always aware of. It begins subtly, mixed in with the completely innocent conversations about work. Enough of those and the talking became joking. The natural next step is fliting and thus, a work marriage begins. You can have a work-wife at any job. Office workers and people who worked with computers in any extended capacity often had work wives.
If you’ve worked somewhere longer than two years and it wasn’t a family business. Chances are you have a work-wife. You could be work married for years and never know it. I didn’t realize it until I was almost three years into my job. The 16th floor of the Myers & Myers ad agency was filled with designers and developers like I was. Men and women from places and backgrounds you wouldn’t expect. For instance, my trainer had been an authentic Sikh practitioner. Great guy and smart but not someone you’d run across very often in Atlanta. The women were even more interesting.
I had lunch with a group. My first week was the typical new job loneliness but it passed quickly as I was invited to join a few of my co-workers that very next week. Less than a mile from the building was an upscale Italian place. We had a few too many drinks with our meal and prepared ourselves for the afternoon push. When you shared meals with people daily, you got close. It was human nature.
I didn’t meet my work wife, Tiffany, at these lunches. That happy day came inside one of the many elevators on a muggy August morning. She’d worn a very form-fitting pants suit. `Her shirt matched perfectly, the dark blue and black covering a creamy caramel body. She was beautiful. Could easily be a model but carried herself in a way that told you she’d never do it. She didn’t have the aura of arrogance that some beautiful women had from years of being pampered and fawned over.
I was immediately intrigued. When you come across something rare you can feel it. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. It had been easy to talk to her in that brief time in the elevator. She’d come to interview and even though she said she was nervous it didn’t seem like it. I wished her luck and gave a silent prayer to the office gods to get her hired. Whether the prayers worked or not she was in the office next week and happened to be right on my floor.
My work wife didn’t come and have lunch with a group as I did. The floors to our office were big so you could go an entire day without seeing anyone that worked on the other sides of the floor. But I ran into her a few times. The first was just the usual coffee or vending machine run-in that took 2 minutes or less. Maybe the occasional break room couch talks when you didn’t feel like going all the way to your car. We didn’t get close until I realized one day that she had begun to look for me during the day. I might have been the one doing the looking, but she didn’t seem to mind and, in many ways, seemed to welcome the attention.
Many people would consider what I’m calling the work wife relationship is just called being friends. But friendships even with the opposite sex are very different. I’d been smoking a joint or two with the woman at the security desk after work almost since the day I started. That meeting is another story, but we clearly just considered each other friends. Maybe not even that but just smoking buddies and you kept it cordial. Again, I wasn’t even aware I was in the work wife relationship until I was told about it at one of our lunches.
“Everyone has had a work-wife. Even Evan has Tiffany from hallway C.”
“Wait. What?” I asked. I didn’t even know how the topic came up. I’d been focused on Sports Center playing on the bar TV for the last 10 minutes.
“Your work wife. Tiffany. The one who finds her way to your cubicle a few times a day and I’m sure your breaks or going to ask someone a question really are just ways of saying you’re going to hers.”
“We’re just friends,” I said.
“No, that’s your work wife. The six people at this table are friends. The smiles and giggles between y’all are a little more than friendly.”
I told Miranda to shut up half-heartedly.
“Don’t be mad. Shoot, I wish I had me a work husband.”
“Ain’t you married?”
“Yeah, but maybe my real husband will see me come home a little bit happier and take a few hints.”
“You a mess,” I said, shaking my head while the whole table laughed.
A Little While Later
Tiffany and I were sitting very close in the cubicle. She’d brought her chair over and as usual, smelled great. I’m sure it was from some bath and body works store. Or maybe Pier 21. It really didn’t matter.
I could hardly keep my eyes off her. Dark hair, nice and thick as a southern man could hope for. And she knew what she was doing; there’s nothing more attractive than a smart woman.
I didn’t need the help, though. She knew it, I knew it. We just liked talking. We always made each other laugh. I was beginning to understand what Miranda had meant at lunch. You never know ahead of time who your work wife was going to be; people kind of just found each other and chemistry did the rest. There was no proposal, just an unspoken bond between what the outside world would call “friends”.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, caught me staring too. “I got something on my face?”
She scrunched up her nose. I liked that. It was cute when she did it in a way, I knew would annoy me from anyone else. “No, nothing on your face. You’re just pretty.”
She smiled and I could imagine a blush under her caramel skin. I wanted to touch her. That seemed like a rule you shouldn’t break. It would be very unprofessional, but we seemed past that. Almost past that enough to risk the harassment suit if I was wrong. She looked at me in my eyes and I was scared to breathe and ruin the moment.
I didn’t have to make the first move. In fact, I didn’t move at all. It’s was like I told her what I wanted without speaking. She leaned in and kissed me. Softly. Tenderly. Every adjective that could be used in what made a great kiss. Her hands touched my arm with as much care making the kiss deeper, more meaningful. There was tongue.
“Thank you.” was all she said after and I wanted more. Needed more.
“No, thank you.” I laughed that shy, awkward laugh that men do.
She looked at me again in my eyes and a level of lust I’d never experienced came over me. I could taste my desire. She seemed to notice. I could sense more than I could see her blushing. She left nothing to guess as she pressed her body a little closer to mine in the cubicle. I wanted to rub my hands over her, feel her ass beneath the pants she’d worn. The risk of someone noticing was high and it made me want to do it more.
“I have to get back to work,” she said and started to walk away.
I let her. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to finish my shift. She looked back as she made her way. I liked that. I’d begun to look at my screen, but I wasn’t going to get any work done. My brain had shut off and my dick was providing all the thoughts currently running through my mind. I felt it pressing against my thigh in protest of my slacks. I must have sat there for ten minutes staring at my screen when a message pop up broke the spell.
“Meet me at the elevators.” it read.
I got up. I didn’t even put my computer to sleep. Whatever I was thinking had been erased to follow the instructions completely. T wanted to run to the elevators but the little sense I had left prevented that foolishness. But I walked fast. It probably looked like I really had to go to the bathroom. Tiffany was at the elevators waiting for me.
“Can you take a break?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, unsure why I felt out of breath.
We got in the elevator a pressed the button for the ground floor. No sooner had my finger come off the button than was she kissing me again. My hands didn’t hesitate this time. I savored her curves and soft places of her body. She moaned and squirmed as my hands went across her ass. Never has a sexier sound been made anywhere. I was close to ripping her clothes from her body when we felt the elevator coming to a stop and we had to keep up appearances.
She walked out first, and I followed her like a disciple. We walked at the appropriate workplace distance towards the exit. Suddenly she stopped and got close enough to me for a whisper.
“I don’t want to wait until we get to the truck,” she said.
She didn’t wait for me to respond and I continued to follow. We passed the reception area and the entrance to the company gym. There were women coming from their workouts, not in work clothes and I’m sure many of them were attractive, but my focus was on the 5’5 mulatto woman in front of me. I was more interested in what kind of underwear she had on.
We came to a part of the building I didn’t go to often. I don’t think I’d been there at all. We’d stopped in front of a women’s bathroom and she walked in. I waited. She poked her head out the door ‘after a minute and asked, “You comin’?” with a smile.
I checked the hall for eyes and walked in. She had lust in her eyes now and kept those eyes on me as she backed into a stall. I followed still, noticing that the women’s bathroom was much nicer than the men’s and the stalls were bigger. I didn’t ask for permission when the stall door closed. My hands went to unbuttoning her shirt. I knew she wanted me to go faster but I took my time enjoying watching her squirm.
When her shift was fully unbuttoned, I took a moment to appreciate my view. I wanted to touch her, but there were so many pleasing choices. She made the choice for me to bring my hands to her hips. We kissed again with smiles. I loved how she felt; how close we were in this little space. Her hand went into my pants, finding me already hard and ready. She stroked him as we kissed.
At some point, my belt was off and she pushed me against the stall’s door. Her mouth around my dick with no hesitation. My legs weren’t prepared for the sensation and I braced myself against the walls. I looked down to see her looking up at me. I groaned at the sight. She knew what she was doing and seemed to really enjoy it. I could have exploded the moment she cupped my balls going as far to my base as she could. Some sense of wanting to perform kept it from happening.
I reached to pull her to her feet and in the same motion pulled her pants down. The underwear question was answered simply. She wasn’t wearing any. Her ass was unbelievable. An example of perfect size and shape. I pressed her face-first into the wall, moving her hair to the side to have room to suck on her neck as I entered her from behind. She said a soft “fuck” as I pressed into her. She was already soaking.
I kept up a steady slow stoke, loving how she moaned one swear after another on every inward thrust. “I like how you talking to me,” I told her still thrusting. I felt her get wetter when I said it. I moved faster, feeling her grip my dick like her body didn’t want to let it go. I took a deeper thrust and felt her tremble. That excited me.
I turned her around and commanded her to remove her pants completely. I took pleasure in watching her slip them under her heels. When they were off, I lifted her up and her legs wrapped around me out of sexual instinct. My hands cupped her ass, helping her move up and down on my dick in the air. I was deep. I could feel myself touching her innermost places. Her squirms and how hard she was breathing told me she was coming. I felt wave after wave of her cum on me, her nails digging into my back through my shirt.
I could tell she was keeping herself from screaming. We were still at work after all. It was all I could do to keep from being loud myself. Her orgasm was driving me wild. The trusts came slower, but deeper and more intense. “Oh my God.” I heard her half breathe, half shout. Her voice was my tipping point. My hands gripped her ass so tightly, I was sure there’d be marks. I came like a fountain still thrusting and pulling her as far as possible onto me.
When my convulsions stopped, I continued holding her on my dick. Her back pressed against the wall, and I pressed into her. Her hands still clutched my back but not as hard as we enjoyed the sexual afterglow. She’d only just kissed me again when we heard the bathroom door open and two female voices enter.
“Girl, my husband probably got a few bitches I don’t know about ain’t nothing wrong with me having one.” I recognized Miranda’s voice. “Damn girl, why it smells like sex in here!?”