Mackenzie Arrives (female solo, masturbation, toys, exhibition, recorded)

“You know, you don’t have to get me my coffee anymore, Mackenzie.” Johnathan, her boss, let her know with a confident, charming smile. He was just that, always. From the day they met a well put together man in a suit with a nice watch and a hundred-dollar haircut. He always smelled of sandalwood or an Irish spring, some sort of men’s fragrance and she was sure he had a better skincare routine than her. . . that was Johnathan, he’d smile, order an Americano, he’d always tell her to keep the change, more than the order by dozens.

It was her first day and she’d left early just to be sure she could bring him his order with her own Dolce Cinamon latte. She’d spent the weekend rebranding her wardrobe from the granola sort of style she was used to wearing under her smock at the café to a more business approachable collection of tasteful skirts and blouses, a smart blazer or two and some cardigans she wasn’t sure she’d wear or not, a couple pairs of pumps and heels that made her ass look great.

John had given a job description, she was to be a personal assistant of sorts. . . with one wrinkle, one wrinkle that was more than just that, more than just a simple red flag. If John’s firm offer got her out of steaming milk and sweating, suffering for a measly buck, she was in. Wage slavery was not a life she could accept, not forever. She’d missed the boat on leveraging her education, she’d resigned herself to the Café, John’s out was a tidy offer while initially a shock.
The building was gorgeous, tall, glass, an ostentatious lobby with security and shops all around the first floor. It was in the banking district of her city and shared offices with too many other businesses to really parse, she lost count by the time she found his name in the directory, a reminder of the floor she would be working on. Office 16D, a private investment brokerage. She took the elevator to the sixteenth floor and then rounded a corner. A frosted glass door separated her from the rest of her life and a smiling man greeted her.
Some time passed after she was settled into her desk. There was a computer and a phone, a desk filled with stationery and files, it seemed someone else had-had this position before her and didn’t bother to clean out their things before leaving. Mackenzie tried not to obsess about that red flag, but the day was boring and there was little else for her to do. Little else for her to do until an instant message came through the team’s interface on her computer screen. She’d nearly forgotten it existed, but the ping brought her back to reality from her daze.

Johnathan: I’d like you to start touching yourself for the Camera, Mackenzie. Like we talked about in your interview.
The wrinkle. A call started and Mackenzie felt something in the pit of her stomach. She grimaced then took a breath, smiled, she didn’t want to seem anything less than grateful when he saw her! –but the camera displayed on the call, when answered, was not her face.

The Camera’s view was under her desk, up her skirt. While initially it was an unfocused grainy shot, she spread her legs – this was not instinct, quite the opposite, she nearly had to pry them open. . . what if someone saw? -what if someone walked in, if the phone rang, if. . . any number of nightmare scenarios played through her mind, they were not the first time she’d thought of them though, she’d considered them for hours the night before and days before that. . . since her interview, since she understood the scope of the position.
Mackenzie nodded and lifted her skirt, the shadow it cast over her cute, lacey, red panties gone. She’d worn a pair she’d had from before, but skirts and a blazer weren’t all her new boss suggested she wear.

There was an anxious moment, a moment where she almost couldn’t fathom doing it, doing what she’d been hired to. . . then her fingers set to work. First, sinking down into the mound that was her covered cooz, her sweetness, she hissed gently, the soft silky material pressed and grinding into her. . . it felt nice.

Johnathan: I’d like you to pull your panties aside, let me see you.
A notification instructed.

While heat was welling, she needed more time to feel comfortable, more time to ease into such a thing. . . and yet, she complied dutifully, she pulled aside her red panties and adjusted on the seat – her eyes flicking to the frosted glass door over her desk. . . nobody had come in, a quick correction in her seating and nobody would be the wiser, she thought.

gulp.

Mackenzie pulled her tongue over her lip and dragged her teeth with it, nervousness didn’t cover her concern for the moment; still, her panties were not in the way and while she was quite familiar with her own body by touch and at certain angles? –there was something quite different about seeing herself, seeing her soft, pink, and indeed, glistening labia under two fingertips. Her digits glided over her hood and pulled it back a slight, just enough her clit started to pull out from beneath. Mack gasped as she prodded the pearl, a bundle of nerves she couldn’t resist for long.

Each flourish of her fingers was a new height, a new pleasure, she started tepid at best but over time she felt it hot, bubbling up her throat, little moans and mewls that rippled through the room, through his microphone.

Her opposite hand slid over her body and soon it too was in the mix, pulling the skin over her pussy taught to provide more ease of access to her clit and hood, she brushed them eagerly, the heated starbursts of lust and otherwise pinging about in her mind and body both. “Hsssth!” She hissed out loud as she felt the first signs of impending climax, a tightening stomach, and heat that poured out her cheeks – even through her foundation she was clearly blushing brightly.

“Ff-ffsssth,” another hiss, she nearly cursed too! Mackenzie’s orgasm was welling up just under her fingertips and she knew with a little focus she would not need much more. She pressed down and strummed for all she was worth no longer pulling at the skin over her crotch but rather groping her chest feverously, clawing at her blouse, breathing deep her own flowery perfume even, any sensory indulgence to cling to till finally. . .

. . . she arrived, “Oauh. . . ha, hnnnngph.” Mackenzie’s hand climbing from her top to her throat then up to her mouth she bit on her nail and adjusted herself again, smoothed her shirt and only when she was told by the screen she’d done a good job, did she pull her panties back in place and clear her throat. Good job. . . It felt good, Mackenzie felt good.

Sweat beaded on the side of her face just behind her ear, running down her nape she considered for a moment the box she’d opened, a box she couldn’t close, a piece of herself she could never change. Her overbearing mother, the one who loved to tell her what to do with her body and money, with her mind and soul. . . she’d tell her she gave something up, a piece of her soul, she’d somehow tarnished her virtue, Mack didn’t feel tarnished, she didn’t feel less than, quite the opposite: Mack felt Elevated, a new high trickling down her spine as well as the inside of her thigh, sweat and lust combining in her nostrils.

The camera flicked off and the message closed leaving her with sticky fingers and a hitch in her breath. . . she couldn’t recover the rest of the day, feeling on edge at every little sound or change in the air, she felt guilty, she felt strained, she felt a thrilling amount of freedom she had no idea where to put! She was excited, even still, even after the deed was long done. Admittedly, she wasn’t sure she could do this and yet, such a large part of her needed to see this through, to catch this high again.
Days and weeks bled by and nearly each of them was filled with a certain amount of the same, nothing ever seems to happen up on the sixteenth floor. There was one regular visitor, a tall woman often wearing a blazer or powerful looking dress of some variety. She must be some other sort of business banker type, she considered for all of two seconds then moved to obsessing if her and John had other arrangements. She was certainly pretty enough.

The woman, like Mackenzie was blonde and leggy, though her breasts were noticeably larger, and her facial structure was sharp, hauntingly symmetric, she was beyond pretty, that didn’t do her justice. The blonde businesswoman was older than Mackenzie and looked every bit the woman she hoped to grow into. Baroque suits, handbags in the thousands of dollars, more than a pay cheque on each finger this woman oozed money and class both.

His wife?
Johnathan: There’s a gift in your desk, I’d like you to use it today.
Her musings on the mysterious woman were stolen from her, replaced by excitement and wonder. While she considered asking a question, the reality was she rarely said a thing to her boss in the chat windows, he directed her and she did what she was told, there was no need to muddy it up with questions or confirmations. –but she wanted to thank him or exclaim gratitude somehow, a gift.

Her desk shifted open drawer by drawer till she found the bottom emptied out except a small box wrapped tastefully, professionally. The paper’s folds were crisp, and the bow tied too perfectly not to be gift wrapped. She lifted the lid and inside was a small inlay with toy, a vibrator specifically. The small, silver handheld surprised her. It was expensive looking, exceptionally crafted, she didn’t know much about sex toys herself, but she knew it looked far nicer than any she owned past or present.

Mackenzie lifted the small silvery tool out of the box and held it in her hand for a moment, feeling the weight and crafting for herself. The device flicked on with a nearly silent buzz and she murmured, impressed. It was a soft sound but as she ran it over her thumb, she knew it would be something else, knew she’d need to lower the intensity. She did just that, a low, gentle setting to begin go figure he’d advise just as she selected it.

Johnathan: You may start on low.
She was grateful but also sort of shocked, he always took a little control, but this felt more involved.

While instincts told her to look over her shoulder, to lock doors and hide under a thick downy blanket; that was not the job, on instinct (as it was becoming just that) she spread her legs and lifted her skirt, she’d quickly replaced all slacks and pants with skirts and dresses – the idea of trying to pull her pants up with someone coming through that door was not in her itinerary.

Mackenzie furrowed her brow and let the toy disappear under her skirt, biting down on her tongue absently, more holding it between her lips and teeth as she guided the toy toward her “Oh!” –that felt nice, a vibration that rippled from her hood out her back and up through her spine, a vibration that she felt throughout her entire lower half. Mackenzie’s toes curled just a little, she felt sweat between them, sapped by her socks, she felt pang of arousal throughout her, it was only growing.

The young woman hissed and whined, throwing her head back, carried away by the intense vibrations even on this lower setting she could feel herself marvelously close to something more, something climactic, something of a premature orgasm, she felt the first of what she hoped to be many small orgasmic jolts, or large – she certainly wouldn’t complain.

Johnathan: I’d like to turn it to the medium setting.

She choked, it already felt great so she imagined it would only improve. Mackenzie tugged her skirt and folded it up on itself, she was wearing a nice tasteful blouse though the cleavage low and ample enough one might say otherwise. Skirt hiked and breasts glistening with sweat she proceeded, the low buzz intensifying in sound and feel both, climbing, like her heart in her chest – the pleasure of the moment grew. She breathed a ragged inward breath and slowly lulled her wrist about, rolling it such that the wonderful device in hand worked her over.

In a matter of moments, she was practically oozing from her insides out, not just the tangy lust between her legs but the sounds of enjoyment from her lips! It’s almost too much to take in stride but her fingers are soon sinking into her top to assuage the need for more, she’s seeking out a turgid nipple to pinch, trying to quell the urgency that her mind requests she put up her leg, really gain a good angle.
The vibrator sinks down when she feels overwhelmed, tingling and teasing her petals as she gives her clit a break from the intensity of ‘MED.’ Small coos and whimpers began to take hold of her breath, while she tried to just. . . breathe, her chest betrayed her and volume snuck into every single one, if she wasn’t careful – someone would hear her. Surely, he could hear her between the microphone and the desk, but maybe even through his thick wood door and the frosted glass window. The thought set her off, and deeper toward depravity, closer toward yet another pleasing pang. She took the time to grind out yet another orgasm, this one larger than the previous, it made her quiver visibly, made her leg tense and shake.

She removed the toy and for a moment thought she was done – but something of a sadistic streak ran in her boss occasionally, something of a demand for her to take herself to new levels, or just the urge to overwhelm Mackenzie. -whatever it was, four letters spurred the toy back to her oversensitive clit.

Johnathan: More.

After some hesitation, some reluctance and second thought – she murmured then moaned. Moaned as the toy returned to her throbbing clit for another pass, for a circular grinding. “Uhff, hff, nnngg. . .” She whimpered and carried on, once again pinching her nipple to sober mind, to return to a state of being where she didn’t feel like her entire crotch was going to explode with something more, more than an orgasm, she felt over stimulated, like one giant raw nerve.

Johnathan: Turn to high.

The buzzing intensified and with it her whining, her murmurs growing to cries of weakness, of vulnerability, of overwhelmed insecurity and a vibrating, undulating, never-ending starburst of heat battering her hood and clit into submission. She felt pins and needles across the bottoms of her feet, each of her pads cramping in her heels she’d been arching them so fervently.

Mackenzie’s insides churned and shuddered and without warning she cried out with enough volume she was sure to have disturbed another office down the hall. -The poor thing bit the inside of her cheek when she clamped up, hard enough she tasted it, hard enough it gave a sobering sting. In that moment she was entirely unaware of the soaking mess she’d made of her backside, the state of her panties and skirt.

Her eyes were rolling into her skull by the time another bing chiming from her computer told her she could remove the toy.

A moment passed and the office felt humid and sticky, she’d made it that way. Mackenzie’s breath was deep, long, each catching in her throat as she removed her hand from her shirt and the other from under her skirt, realizing just how damp the articles were between her sweat and countless orgasms. She was soaked!

Johnathan: Great work.
The chat closed and she was left to deal with the repercussions alone.

Her eyes skirted down to the wet spot on her lap, and she croaked, though thanked herself up and down for remembering to leave a longer coat behind for just such an occasion. It was an unseasonably warm autumn day but better to look overdressed than like she’d spilled or had an unfortunate accident.

After some uncomfortable time waiting for the clock in a soggy seat the young woman found herself confronted. “Afternoon,” it was her.

“Good afternoon,” Mackenzie chimed back from her seated position, her face burning brightly between her freckles, between the speckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones, rouge.
“I’ll let myself in,” she chuckled gently, her nostrils flaring. Did she know? Mackenzie had to wonder, had to. Her nostrils flared too; the room was practically dripping with the scent of sex – just like her bunched-up panties.

Frig, frig, frig!

Even the tops of her ears burned with embarrassment, she chided herself for not going to the bathroom to at least try to clean up a little more than a tinkle and washing her hands – she just. . . she didn’t want to be seen red as a beet and, friiiig! Her mind beating her up with every embarrassed stick it could find. She croaked, only to be interrupted by a message after the door clicked behind her.

Johnathan: You may go for the weekend,
Enjoy your time off.
She collected her bag and the unseasonably warm jacket for the unseasonably warm afternoon, wearing the shame of her lust the whole way home, the slight discomfort of a soggy undergarment riding up her behind haunted her every step and while she felt shame, she also felt free.

She was a Exhibitionist, there was no doubt in her mind. . . love it or lump it, she’d arrived.

The following Monday, she arrived yet again, arrived at her desk with the knowing thought in the back of her head that had captured most of her weekend. She wondered if there would be another present waiting for her, another surprise, another layer.
Mack’s heart skipped a beat when she found it. A small, nondescript, silver package with a tasteful bow, the same as the one before but several inches larger in all dimensions. . . her teeth chattered with delight, with possibilities a plenty.
There were only so many, only so many things it could be – the box, she imagined each of them in detail her tongue tapping the inside of her cheek. . . she wanted to reach into the cookie jar, but to be caught, the idea of being caught in that act was almost worse than the idea of being caught in the other – worse than the idea of someone other than the woman, finding her with her fingers deep in her own cookie jar.
The morning was agonizing, painful. She almost wondered – wondered if maybe today, the day was not, if she’d spend the night agonizing too, if he’d never direct her to open that special, silver box.

Looking out at a plate window she huffed her way out of a daydream to find it waiting for her – she’d nearly missed the moment, her screen ticking toward sleep.

Johnathan: There’s a gift in your desk, I’d like you to use it today.
He repeated the same message from the other afternoon. Her heart once again thudded, her cheeks flushing, she blushed so hard she could feel it on the tops of her ears, feel it burning on her collar. . . she couldn’t resist but to nearly fall over herself reaching into her desk, clawing at the box unceremoniously she nearly tore the beautiful wrapping paper and bow just to get at its contents.

. . . and what contents they were.
Beneath the lid what she found made her gasp, made her heart jump, made her glower. . . a phallic object, a fleshy tool a lifelike dildo, mostly pink with dark, angry veins.
She shivered, it was large, the dildo, long and thick. She was already feeling herself work up a sweat at the nape of her neck, work up something entirely different between her legs, no small amount of need, no small amount of heat. The camera shone on her thighs, and she spread them for it, she knew what she was meant to do and before the window told her specifically what to do, she found herself in motion.

Mackenzie tugged up her skirt and hiked it into itself, sliding into the hollow of the desk, so much so the camera was forced to adjust to the darkness, expensive enough it had the lenses to do so. –a feature she never noticed. Blind to the act except for the camera recording every detail, she guided (with its help) her bulbous dildo toward her body, toward her crotch.

With panties still in place she prodded herself, the mint-colored lace starting to grow dark and cling to her body, anticipation welling in her loins. “Hff, ssssth,” the chat box grew a flashing ellipsis, and she knew directions were coming, in preparation she pulled aside the lace and her lush pussy lips prickled with the chill of outside air against their dampness. She hissed and the typing ceased. Two for two.

The toy would not get far without aid or discomfort, these were her options though she did not consider them long. Spitting in her hand she stroked and massaged the dildo, lubricating it for entry all in view of her boss, all in view of the camera, of her generous spectator.

--after all, this was just as much for him as it was for her, she often forgot. It was easy to lose herself to the fantasy the longer she danced around inside of it. Gulp. The dildo found her, starting at her hood she brushed it from the base, a small amount of play to the length it flopped about. “Hnng,” low moans rumbling her throat, swelling under her chin before finding purpose in the air-conditioned office space, escaping with volume, the hallway be damned.

In time prodding teases were just that, she needed more.

Johnathan: I’d like you to insert your gift, now.
The words surprised her, she hadn’t even seen him type them out, but they stood in stark contrast to the rest of the screen, she focused on them only as she slid the tip of her new toy to her entrance. Teasing herself, oozing with excitement, primed, Mackenzie began. Slowly she pressed against herself by the end of the phallus, she felt it buckle slightly then “Uhngh!” It righted itself, gliding past the resistance with a little effort. With no real urgency she began to work the toy inside herself slowly, inch by sure, inch.

Her face twisted with vulnerability, and she was especially grateful it wasn’t in the shot, she knew she must look all sorts of silly with her eyes bulging and crossing, she didn’t often take anything more than a finger or two personally or romantically, her bedfellows also often preferring outercourse, the fairer sex. She had solemnly brought a boy home in her adult life, maybe two or three times if that. Not in recent memory either.

She didn’t do this, not specifically. . . dildos. . . but for her boss, for the fantasy, for the exhibitionist not so deep under her heated surface? There was no question in the matter. That thought kept the toy rigid, kept her urging it further and further still.

When she felt resistance, she’d pull back a slight, stir herself and the toy inside, ease it in circular motions such that it stretched her enough for a second pass, a new attempt, another inch toward “Uhfffk-fuh-fuah. . .” toward curse words and whimpers, toward moans and groans, another inch toward her cervix, toward bottoming out in her body and her wrist and hand reaching her crotch, the toy buried inside to the faux nut sack.

Her eyes crossed and her mind burned, melting with the friction of the toy penetrating her, the friction of it gliding along her velvet walls not just felt below but above, felt all over. . . she felt it curling her toes and making her free hand splay then gnarl like the dying branches of an ancient tree, rigid, grasping for something, anything to grip. – her chair’s arm would not do the trick and thus she reached for her mouth, an attempt to staunch the flow of volume from her lips, the never-ending moans and developing cries that followed them.

While typically she felt herself required to focus on the ebb and flow of fingers ministrations or the lapping of hot, wet slip, being penetrated as such was entirely different, it was raw, it was powerful. . . it felt, entirely different and in many ways entirely debilitating! She couldn’t get over it or enough of it, she could hardly push through, sweat starting to bead about her face, on the side, down her neck and even soaking her cleavage with its salty, sweet brine.

Johnathan: Faster, play with your breasts as well.

His request did not go unanswered, neither did. First a perky tit pulled from her bra then she finally did it, pulling her leg up to her desk for more access, more purchase, she pumped her wrist and the toy in hand, a wet slippery sound of squelching echoing through the microphone, her nectar collecting in gooey lots, lubricating the toy as much as was necessary to ensure she could thrust with speed and ease both. -and thrust she did.

It wasn’t enough to bite her finger, the inside of her cheek or even her lip. There was no silencing the pleasure she felt and the man behind the screen had little intention of cautioning her on it either. She tempered her pitch every so often, gasping for breath only to feel the fear of being caught bubble up and contend with the supreme pleasure that was her vaginal coring, was the self-administered fuck of a lifetime.

She’d never masturbated with a toy like this, never inflicted such guilty pleasures upon herself. . . she felt changed, not just by the hollow between pumps or the fullness on the backswing, not just between the friction or spread.

She felt changed because she wasn’t sure she could ever go back after this, as she marched closer and closer to the climactic, wet finish that would likely ruin her outfit, soak her with sweat and more, gnaw a hole in her finger to stifle the shrieks. She wasn’t sure anything could stand in the way of her orgasm now, never mind the volume or deluge behind it.

“Oaaaauh-ho-hoooauh!” She came, Mackenzie came loud and hard. Biting down on her lip as her insides wrung and clamped down upon her gift. It wasn’t like a finger, wasn’t forced out of her but rather a turgid obstruction there was no play, no give, no squirming out of her, whether by force of her hand, will or the strength of silicone.

Her teeth clenched and her spinal cord buckled, she felt her insides roiling with dazed delight, with jolting spasms of pleasure from tailbone to the base of her skull! She felt it all. . . felt a new height, then, felt the air in the room shift.

The screen as always wished her a job well done but her attentions shot elsewhere, as quickly as she could manage, she shuffled her tit back in her shirt, pulled her skirt out of its hiked-up state but before she could even hope to remove the toy.

“Good afternoon,” there she was. The woman.

The door swung open and in a bespoke, navy power suit a tall, beyond beautiful woman entered the office. Mackenzie looked to her stunned, her face tingling, she was gob smacked, struggling to cover her shame, her guilt, her post orgasm glow!

The younger woman sunk into her chair and nodded kindly, “Good afternoon,” squeezing her thighs around her gift heaven forbid it roll off the edge of the chair. Her voice was uneven, a slight panic and pitch both, she knew. . . the woman. She had to!

She stood there looking confident, like she could never be out of place anywhere, like she belonged, as if a woman like her could look out of place in any scene – she was more than just a sight for the sore, she was so hot it hurt.

“Ahm. O-one moment please,” before she could advise her boss, ask if the woman, the same woman was expected, or so much as press her ‘page’ button, the window opened and all she needed to know began with an ellipsis flashing across her screen, Johnathan’s next task sure to populate soon after.

Johnathan: . . .