I hope that the participants of this story will never read it, and even if they read it, only one thing will understand what is being said and about whom.

This happened two years ago when I came to work at the representative office of a foreign design bureau in Moscow.

Friday started very well, instead of sitting in the office and preparing a report on my first independent work, I actively spent the morning on the object, in a short time I decided all the questions with my subordinates, but I did not find the strength to use the plastic similarity of the village outhouse on the construction site . Although mineral water and an uncountable amount of coffee drunk during the last two hours were already aggressively asking outside, I expected to reach the office in half an hour and spend the remaining time in the final preparation for the report, which was to be held in the presence of important customers and my director.

After an hour in the unthinkable and, as always, unexpected traffic jam, I was only halfway to the office. Without end, the cell phone rang was turned off and was lying on the seat - I was oh, if not before that! The constant pushing of the pedals back and forth, the intermittent rhythm of movement was given by the pulsating bursts of pressure in my bladder. With myself, but out loud, at the top of my voice, I cursed the manual gearboxes, motorists, traffic jams and myself for squeamishness. From some masochistic gloating, I imagined writing in underwear, right on the car seat, or in despair doing it in front of everyone, right on the street. I can not say that this was easier, but through the pulling pain in the lower abdomen, I felt a strange excitement and familiar moisture on stormy nights between my legs.

Twenty minutes later, I was approaching the building where our office was located. Having parked the car, I found the strength to enter the building with a quick step (I was already late), but with dignity. Walking, after immobility, brought a slight relief ...

A huge surprise was waiting for me inside - an announcement hung on the door of the female toilet on the first floor that all three ladies' toilets on this riser were closed until evening. For women's needs was assigned one of the men. It was located on my floor, but at the other end of the corridor. Coming out of the elevator, I realized that a large group of women who were tensely chatting at the toilet door killed my last hope of salvation. The fate of my career depended on today's meeting, and with the desperate thought of “come what may!”, I stepped into the meeting room.

Until now, those 15 minutes that I spent waiting for my word, I can not clearly remember. The words of the speakers did not reach my understanding, everything was floating like a fog, I saw only a white spot of a blank sheet of paper. I clenched my knees with all my strength, carefully fidgeting, trying to accept a position in which I would become just a little easier. Perhaps a couple of times they threw a surprised look at me, but I no longer had the strength to lift my eyes from the table. After another urge, it seemed to me that I made a low moan, like a squeak, and I hurried to disguise it with a cough.

It overwhelmed my patience. At that moment, when I prepared to jump up and run away, so that my shame occurred not at the table, but at least in the corridor, through cotton and ringing in my ears, I heard the voice of my director, who asked me to bring some of my materials that he had forgotten on the table.

Is salvation really? His office had a common door with a meeting room, and from there an exit to the saving corridor and the toilet! I was ready to rush, but I did this hundred-kilometer way to the door just a quick step, slammed the door behind me, jumped out into the corridor with one leap, and instantly returned to earth from heaven, seeing the sign on the door handle and the queue at the other end of the corridor.

A new, desperate decision came instantly: in the office, in a niche behind one of the oak panels, disguised as a wall cabinet, there was a small washbasin. I slipped back, grabbed a chair, put it to the cabinet, frantically shook off her high heels, jumped on a chair ...

And met the eyes of entering the office director!

His eyebrows crept up in surprise. One moment we looked at each other, after which I, not remembering myself, screamed, leaned over to kick up my short skirt, but it was too late ...

The last movement made me “open” my “hole”, I relaxed (flowed!) And, lifting my skirt, sat down on a chair, aiming at the washstand. I felt like hot jets strive for freedom through panties and tights, flowing down wet buttocks and thighs. Finally I managed to rip off my pants with tights and, continuing to write, I exhaled loudly. Again, she raised her tearing eyes to the director, expecting to see anger in them and an order for my immediate dismissal. However, the emotion in them was completely different - after a second, he burst out laughing and, realizing in what stupid position we ended up, I laughed too. I laughed embarrassed, looking as they subside, pulsing the last trickles to the beat of my laughter, and he threw a roll of paper towels at me and set up a basket into which I threw wet laundry. A few drops that fell on the dark fabric of the skirt of a business suit were invisible and, after a few seconds, I already gave a report.

The meeting ended with a banquet. And the story had a sequel.

It should be noted here that by that time, in spite of the youth and constant attention of men, I led a fairly strict lifestyle. Then and now with regard to men, I was fairly calm. I love sex, but mostly with myself.

I don’t know what moved me, maybe a couple of glasses of wine, but after the banquet I decided to award my director for understanding. I resolutely entered the office where he was sitting above the papers, turned on the receiver, without removing her shoes, jumped on the table and diligently, with soul, “threw” a striptease to him according to all the rules - children's choreography lessons and frequent lonely exercises in front of the mirror affected.

Until the end of my speech, he didn’t say a word, silently pushed the clothes off to me and said that he highly appreciated my report and work, that my probation period was over, that no one would ever know about today's incident and sleep with him for the sake of Of course, I don’t need this.

So I made a good friend and mentor. And the remaining time that I worked in Russia, we often teased each other, letting go of jokes on a topic known only to us, which made our colleagues perplexed.

And now, retiring in a secluded place or in my own bed, I remember the sensations I experienced in the car, in the middle of a city traffic jam, I instantly get excited and masturbate, repeatedly and intensely ending.