Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. My phone buzzes, sitting on my desk next to my keyboard, and I pause for a moment while reviewing a customer's bill for the ever-elusive error. I see it's you, and as always my heart skips a beat. You know I'm working. I wait until the end of the call, interminable moments of listening to her bitch about her upgrade fee and the cost of her five-hundred-dollar phone, before checking the message. "Meet me in the mother's lounge." I laugh. This is a private joke. Then I read the next message: "I'm serious." My breathing stops for a moment. I get up from the desk, knees a little wobbly. Too much caffeine, maybe. Or maybe I'm scared you're actually here, waiting for me. How to respond? We can't do this here, now. There are rules, and though we likely stretch the public display of affection to it's limits with you touching me softly in the smoke pit, we've never broken them. It's nearly break time anyway, so I place my computer-controlled coffin into idle a few minutes early and grab my phone. My manager is missing-in-action as usual. He won't even know I was gone. I walk, more like trip and stumble, around the corner, and Tara looks at me, worried. I smile and wink, watching her jaw drop open. She knows me too well. If I've got a shit-eating grin it can only have something to do with you. Then my phone buzzes, signalling the next message: "Where you at, bytch?" This one takes me a little by surprise. You call me that sometimes, but usually joking and this seems a little serious. I walk down the aisle, past cubicles and vending machines to the break room, rows of tables and chairs, expecting to see you sitting at one of them. This is a joke, albeit a cruel one. You're fucking with me. But you're not there. I turn around, looking down the hall behind me, and you're not there either. I see the security guard posted at her station, watching me intently. She grins and nods toward the maternity room, and it clicks into place. You flirt with her sometimes, and you've sweet-talked her into looking the other way. Fuck it. I'll take a chance. My heart is racing, I'm scared as hell of getting caught, of losing my job, but I won't refuse you. I can't. I walk the few steps to the maternity room door and reach for the handle, expecting it to be locked at this time of night. It's not, turning easily in my hand. You're not there. Now I'm confused, until my phone buzzes again. "Close the door and turn out the light." Again I turn around. You have to be here somewhere. Scanning the room more closely I am still unable to find you. Buzz. "Now." I slip into the room and shut the door behind me. Should I lock it? I decide not to, just in case I'm misinterpreting and the guard who saw me enter decides to find out what I'm doing in here. There's a couch and a chair and a table, arranged around the room awkwardly. Guess nursing moms don't get the same feng shui planned out in the rest of the building. I turn out the light and make my way to the couch, banging my knee on the table in the process. I wait for minutes that feel like hours, then, buzz: "Close your eyes and keep them closed. I mean it." Okay, this is way past unusual. I'm getting more than nervous. I'm crossing into excited, feeling a warmth spread through my face and a twinge in my stomach. I close my eyes just in time to hear the door open. I cringe, expecting to hear the security guard's voice telling me I'm in the wrong room, but no voice ever comes. Instead the door closes and I hear the click of the lock. Now I'm waiting to hear you, "Hey, baby," but that never comes either. I don't hear you walk to me, but suddenly there's a hand roughly grabbing my hair. It hurts, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The hand remains, the pain remains, and I hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down directly in front of my face. Am I sure this is you? I am. I can tell by the sound of your breathing, by the smell of you, my senses heightened in the darkness. The hand in my hair yanks my head back but forward, so I'm leaned toward you, sitting on the couch. I feel your already-hard cock against my lips, pushing roughly. My mouth opens by pure reflex and you force yourself inside, driving deep into me until you're touching the back of my throat. I can't breathe for a moment, and try to pull back, but you're holding me tightly in place. I start to panic, until I realize this is a game, and an interesting one at that. I relax, and you pull back slightly before ramming yourself into my mouth deeply once more. I rub my tounge softly under your cock, just like you taught me, three, four times before you pull back again and begin fucking my mouth, in time with your hand twisting harder in my hair. Shallow strokes, then one, two deep into my throat. Normally I would set the speed, the rhythm, but you've made it clear that you're in control. I can feel the warmth spreading down into my stomach and further, a familiar tingling between my legs. I love sucking you. It thrills me and empowers me, but with your force behind it I am powerless, lending even more relevance to the adrenaline surging through me. You withdraw from my mouth quickly, the hand in my hair pulling up, forcing me to stand. Again I wince in pain, unable to stifle the groan this time. You slap my face once, not too hard, indicating that I am indeed to remain silent. It stuns me for a moment, and I am unsure whether I will cry. You don't give me a chance to finish my thought before turning me roughly around to face the couch and pushing hard on my head so I am now kneeling, then the hand in my hair forces me to bend over the couch, ass out toward you. I don't move, but you finally untangle your hand from my head and I feel both hands at my waist, undoing the button on my jeans. Once unbuttoned and unzipped, you pull my pants, along with my panties, roughly down to my knees. I am exposed, and if anyone comes knocking now we're both in deep shit. I'm excited and already wet from your manhandling, but I get the feeling that even if I wasn't you wouldn't stop. No time for gentleness. I feel you kneel behind me, and then your hand is again grabbing at my hair. I feel my head yanked back sharply, and again a cry escapes me. Smack! Okay, that one stung a little. I feel your cock at my opening, only for a half a second, before you plunge deep into me, almost painfully. You stay for a moment only, then begin fucking me so roughly that I have to bite the couch's edge to keep from wailing. I feel every inch of you inside me, pounding, and already I'm close to the edge of climax. You've never been this rough with me before, and it's pushing all the right buttons. A wave of pleasure begins to build within me, and you force me into orgasm within the next three thrusts. It's electricity running through my veins, and I come harder than I have in a long time. My hands are balled into fists. I can't even fuck you back, so strong are your movements, so I stay down, biting my tongue to avoid moaning. I'm coming down, dizzy from the pleasure, when I feel you draw completely out of me. I know you haven't come, and again I'm confused, but only for a moment. I feel your hand slide between my legs, sliding your fingers into me to gather my wetness and then slipping out and upward, toward my ass. I know what's coming next, and fear grips me. You've always been gentle with this, but with the way tonight has gone I'm not sure you will be this time. Your hand slides down again, gathering more of my slickness and again sliding upward. This time you press one finger into my ass, not gently at all, but not painfully either. You slip it in and out, three or four times, before I feel you pressing your cock against me and firmly, but not quite roughly sliding in. It's not comfortable, I haven't had a chance to grow accustomed to your girth there, but it still is not painful. Until you yank me against you by my hair and begin fucking me roughly again, this time penetrating me so hard I almost cry out again. I stifle it, afraid of a harder blow to my cheek. You're pushing so hard against me I can feel the couch give and slide a few centimeters at a time. At least it's carpet, so there's no sound. You pound at my ass until I can hear your breathing quicken to gasps, silent, which is truly unusual for you. I feel you stroke inside me a dozen more times, feel the throb of your dick, and I am pleased. You release your grip on my head and grab my shoulders, pulling me back to a kneeling position, your cock still deep inside me. I feel your lips on my neck, then your teeth, biting, hard. An instant adrenaline surge takes me, and I whimper softly, expecting another blow. It never comes. You slide out of me with a soft "pop," and release my shoulders. I feel you stand behind me and hear your zipper sliding closed. I am in shock at the rawness of this encounter, and I make no move to stand or cover myself. Saying nothing, you turn and leave, closing the door softly behind you. After a few minutes I am again able to move, and I pull up my panties and jeans, fastening them with shaking hands. I stand, wobbling slightly, sore and still melting from the afterglow. I leave the room, looking to the security station. The guard is there, and she smiles a knowing smile. I blush and turn quickly away. My break is past over. I stumble, jello-kneed and pulse racing, back down the corridor to my desk. The whole thing has taken about twenty minutes. My boss shoots me an ugly look. I tell him I had business to attend to and brush past, glad to be able to sit, though not quite comfortably, rather than wobble unsteadily some more. I pick up my headset and press the auto-in button on my telecom system. "Thank you for calling..." Buzz. "Hope you have a great rest of the night. I love you, chelle."