Chapter5
After two weeks of working for Bradley Holt, Jessica was certain she could do the actual tasks demanded of her, but she wasn’t sure she could do the actual job. She’d managed to learn everything she needed to learn about managing Holt’s affairs and daily obligations within a couple of days of working with him, but in spite of the fact that his changing daily schedule--and piles of commitments--kept her busy all day long, she found her mind wandering. So much of what she had to do was comprised of things she didn’t have to really think about.
That was the trouble: if she didn’t have something occupying her mind constantly, the cravings would hit. And the cravings that had started out manageable, over two weeks, became harder and harder to ignore. She’d gone to a couple of meetings after work--the women’s only meeting at a church on 45th Avenue, just off of Hancock Street--and she’d listened to the other women talking about triggers, and about staying “sober” as it affected them.
Sex Addicts Anonymous didn’t preach complete abstinence, but Jessica had gone through the exercise of creating her “three circles,” yet again: the inner circle with the behaviors she knew were fueled by her addiction, the middle circle with the thoughts and things she did that might lead to her acting out, and the outer circle with its list of healthy sexual behaviors that would help her maintain her recovery.
But it was getting more and more difficult, and Jessica wasn’t sure what she could do. At least twice a day, sitting at her desk, knowing that Holt was in the next room, she’d get the tension deep down between her hips; not just arousal, but like a kind of hunger that came from below her stomach, gnawing its way through her body. Images--not detailed enough to be fantasies, precisely--flitted through her head: sucking Holt’s cock, having him bend her over his desk and fuck her senseless.
Then, when she would try and push those images out to focus on something else, her mind would wander down the alley of old habits: when she hadn’t been able to get the guy she wanted in the past, Jessica had gotten the urge to have sex with anyone, almost spitefully, as if to show the person who had either rejected her or who hadn’t proactively shown interest in her, or who hadn’t propositioned her, that she didn’t even want them anyway, that she could get laid by whoever she picked out of a lineup if she wanted to.
So instead of the fantasies of Holt, Jessica’s mind--stressed out--had darted down that dark metaphorical alley, and she’d found herself tarrying in the mail room a few floors down, or spending a little longer at the dry cleaner’s, thinking about how she could convince the weathered-looking man running things back behind the counter to meet her back behind the building and let her go down on him. Stop. Stop. She had managed to avoid actually acting on any of the impulses, but found herself in her car, soaked through her panties, squirming a bit from how much she wanted gratification.
She hadn’t been sure whether to consider masturbation a “middle circle” or an “outer circle” behavior and had held off in her SAA work on even addressing it. Even in her counseling, when she’d been in residence, the counselors had been vague about masturbation. “There’s healthy masturbation, and there’s addict-masturbation,” they’d said. And Jessica could see where they were coming from; just the act of getting one’s self off wasn’t harmful or else the majority of teenagers would be addicts.
It was like everything else in the strange addiction she’d fallen prey to: contextual. No one was allowed to masturbate during the month they were in intensive in-patient treatment, and it was “frowned upon” for them to masturbate in the intensive outpatient program; that could, the rehab counselors pointed out, become nothing more than a new trigger, nothing more than a new addiction--replacing old bad habits with new bad habits.
Jessica sat at her desk, finishing up one of the memos that Holt had assigned her. She glanced at the clock on the lower-right corner of her screen. She was supposed to meet with him in forty-five minutes to go over the memo. She nearly had it done. You could just go into the bathroom and take care of the physical aspect of it, so you can be clear-headed in the meeting itself, she thought.
There was no reason for Holt to know or care how often she went to the bathroom as long as her work got done, and as long as no one was left hanging out in the atrium in front of his office. There wouldn’t be anyone coming in for at least two and a half hours, after her meeting ended with Holt; she could duck in, get herself off, and revise the memo before she had to go into her boss’ office easily.
Jessica bit her bottom lip until sharp pain cut through her thoughts. Was she entertaining this idea for the right reasons? Or was it just an excuse to indulge her addictive tendency? She took a slow, deep breath, resisting even the urge to squirm and wiggle her hips in her seat--every time she did, her slick labia rubbed against each other, putting just a little bit of friction up against her clit.
Her gaze moved around the desk, and out of habit, her brain catalogued the things she could safely insert in her dripping pussy: a thick marker, the handle of her brush that stuck up just a bit from the top of her purse in the bin at her feet. She could put her phone on vibrate and use it; she could, of course, just go into the bathroom, pull up her skirt and rub herself through her panties--or underneath them.
Are you thinking about this for the right reasons? Just the thought of going into the bathroom and getting herself off was making Jessica almost unbearably aroused, and with that arousal came a trickle of not-quite-fantasies, of all the things she could do if only: going down to report a “janitorial” issue and convincing one of the maintenance staff to take a “gratuity” from her body, or going into the copy room downstairs and, after making sure no one would come in, rubbing herself against the blunt edge of the copier while it made endless copies of some irrelevant page, buzzing all the while.
Whatever the case, you need to take care of this or you’re going to do something you really regret--like propositioning your boss. You can’t afford to lose this job. Jessica took a slow, deep breath and glanced at the memo she’d been working on. It had all of two sentences left to complete it, and she had another thirty minutes before Holt expected her to let herself into his office; she could get herself off in fifteen, finish the memo, and go into her meeting with him satisfied enough to think clearly.
Jessica glanced around, already feeling naughty and just faintly dirty, even. An office bathroom--even one as clean as the one on her floor, only used by her, was hardly a great place to masturbate from a purely hygienic standpoint, but the thought of the forbidden pleasure sent a tingle through her. She stood and stretched, feeling the dampness of her panties against her vulva, and locked down her computer, flipping up the sign that said she would be back shortly, just in case--it was good to maintain good professional habits.
Jessica crossed the little atrium and unlocked the bathroom, almost trembling with anticipation. It was the nicest office bathroom she’d encountered in her career: marble and porcelain and real wood, a glorified spot for such an ignominious purpose. Jessica made sure the door was locked behind her and moved to the sink and vanity, licking her lips and almost quivering with the intensity of her need, her desire.
She pulled up her skirt and half-sat on the counter, spreading her legs and sliding her hand down over her slightly rumpled clothes, past her panty-clad pussy, to her inner thighs. She closed her eyes and pictured a make-believe man kneeling in front of her, teasing her with his hands, looking up at her with delicious anticipation and excitement.
In Jessica’s mind, she tried to create a complete stranger, but she was so wrapped up in her own desire that she didn’t realize as the convenient random man’s features began to warp and change while her hand moved up along her inner thigh to brush against the thin, soaking-wet fabric of her panties, just at the seam of her vulva. Her breaths came short and fast as she teased herself as long as she could stand to, barely touching the sensitive skin through her clothes, and then she couldn’t take it anymore--she had to get real contact.
She pulled her panties aside and slipped her fingers along her drenched folds, finding her clit by touch, and began to rub and stroke herself, imagining her pretend-man--who had, more or less, fully become Holt--not fingering her but instead using his mouth, licking her eagerly, flicking the tip of his tongue against the little bead of nerves.
The fantasy played out in her mind as she became more and more aggressive, rubbing and stroking herself and then sliding one--and then two--fingers deep inside her dripping pussy, wriggling them against her inner walls. She opened her eyes long enough to look around the tiny room for something she could maybe use to penetrate herself, and gasped as her fingertips found the little spongy spot along her inner walls, sending a jolt of sensation through her.
“Fuck,” she murmured, almost painfully turned on and at the same time not quite satisfied with what she was accomplishing with just her fingers. “Should have grabbed my brush.”
Her questing gaze fell on a lint-roller, left hanging on the wall as a courtesy for visitors, and Jessica moaned. It had a nice, thick handle, and even though she knew it was probably not the cleanest thing to use, it would definitely do. She pulled her fingers out and stood up just enough to be able to reach for the lint-roller. She pulled the roll of sticky material off of it and set it aside, before resuming her position up against the countertop, legs spread.
Jessica imagined her pretend-partner pulling her shirt open, lifting her breasts out of her bra and pinching her nipples almost too hard, making her moan. “God, you’re such a greedy little slut,” her fantasy-partner told her. “You’d let me do whatever I wanted to you, as long as you got my cock, wouldn’t you?” Jessica nodded to the imaginary question, and pulled her panties more fully away from her labia, giving herself more than enough space for what she needed to do.
The handle of the lint-roller slid into her easily, she was so wet, and as Jessica pushed it deeper and deeper, she could feel her own tightness, the way her muscles clamped around the intrusion. She imagined the man in her mind turning her around, bending her over in front of the mirror so she could see herself, tits hanging down into the sink, hips pushed back.
And then--and then--he would shove his hard, hot cock into her from behind, and Jessica imagined watching herself being relentlessly fucked, her dream-partner’s hips slamming up against the curve of her ass, pounding her hard and fast. She worked the handle of the lint-roller inside of herself, trying to get as close as possible to simulating what she imagined, and used her other hand to find her clitoris and begin stroking herself at the same time.
The tension between her hips mounted and mounted, until Jessica was almost afraid that she wouldn’t come after all, that she would just become more and more turned on with no relief. She thought that she might actually die if she didn’t get off, panting and gasping, almost shaking from need.
Then, all at once, the rubber band-like tension just snapped, and wave after wave of sensation coursed through her nerves. Jessica clenched her teeth and pressed her lips together to keep from moaning out and announcing herself, continuing to work her pussy with the lint-roller as electric jolts of pleasure crackled along her nerves.
She kept it up for what felt like five minutes straight, before the orgasm began to ebb, and then Jessica slowed down and finally stopped pushing and pulling the plastic handle in and out of herself, panting slightly still from the exertions. She took it out once and for all, and set it in the sink as she reeled from the sheer relief that flowed through her body.
It had been ages since she’d last gotten herself off, and it felt so good--so very, very good--to have that itch scratched. Why had she given it up altogether? She’d been afraid that she might fall into bad habits, but all that while, hadn’t she been incredibly tense, all the time?
And now, she felt as relaxed as she had ever felt in her entire life. You did the right thing, she told herself, feeling satisfied with her solution to the problem of her boss’ attractiveness and the way it tempted her into bad behavior. She could wash the lint-roller handle and her hands, straighten her clothes, and get back to work. No one would ever be the wiser. And as long as she didn’t do that too much, it shouldn’t be a problem--should it?
Jessica abruptly decided that that was a question for a different day, and got down to business, getting rid of the evidence of her lapse. She could feel the slight ache inside of her from the inappropriate implement she’d shoved into her body so hard, but that wasn’t anything that Jessica hadn’t experienced before; she could easily tune it out, as she had before.
As she cleaned up the lint-roller and her hands, she thought that it might be worthwhile to visit one of the sex shops she’d seen on her way home, and maybe pick one or two things up: something for home, and something that could live in her purse safely, that would be better for taking care of business while she was at work--or at least more hygienic. It was something to think about later. Now that she’d taken care of the immediate problem, she would get back to work.