Julie and the Office Bull

As chat up lines go it was certainly different.
“At least give us your knickers to sniff then.” My colleague suggested with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Stevie Taylor was the IT King at Owen Martins and was known as ‘the Office Bull’ because he had a reputation for bedding a lot of women including several female members of staff… but he was also the sleaziest man in the world. He made my flesh creep and turned me on in equal measures.

“Nooooooooo I will not!” I sighed as I dismissed his request.

This was the Monday of the second week Stevie and I had worked long hours re-programming and updating the company data base and as usual, he was taking every opportunity to introduce sex into the conversation. Although I’d worked for the Company for over 3 years this was the first time I’d ever had to work closely with him and it was a little bit unnerving.

“I bet you wear really sexy knickers,” the pervert continued, “a thong? A tiny G-string? Open crotch? Yes…that’s it!” Stevie chuckled when I glared at him, “I bet you’re wearing cheap, red tacky open-crotch knickers!”

“I am not!” I maintained, “Now let’s get back to work”. I knew I should ignore him but he just kept going on and on like yappy terrier.

Stevie was incorrigible; all he seemed to do whenever I saw him at lunch or whatever was talk about sex; his conquests at the weekend, his potential conquests, magazines that he’d seen, porn on the internet and girls he wanted to have sex with – detailing exactly what he wanted to do to and with them.

I look back now and it was probably ‘sexual harassment in the workplace’, but Stevie was one of those people that oozed charm and charisma meaning that everyone just laughed along with him.

“So what type are you wearing then?” The hairy faced geek continued beating me down.

“I’m not telling you!” I was becoming flustered now but I wondered if it would be simpler just to tell him. This was the third night in a row this week, for us to work together until midnight. Stevie had finished his part of the job so had spent the last hour or so asking me to go into the toilets for a ‘quick shag because his nuts were busting’ and I consistently refused his lecherous request.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to but I couldn’t, could I? I’m Julie; 39 years old, married with 2 teenage sons, a Senior HR Executive and I’ve been told that I look a bit like the red-headed singer Reba McIntyre and I’m bored shitless with my life!

“I’m not even your type.” I muttered as I kept furiously typing so I didn’t have to think about him and what he wanted to do with me.

“So,” the Gremlin grinned, “what is my type, then?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Common, slutty, trampy, easy women that wear too much make-up and not enough clothes…..tarts!” I felt like I’d won a small victory when he finally fell silent for a moment or two.

“I’ve got to admit,” Stevie heaved a sigh as he eased closer to me slowly enunciating every word slowly into my ear, “Actually….I have fucked a lot of women like that…but I like a challenge too and I’ve literally fucked the arse off scores of women just like you!”

He was so close to me now I could smell him. It wasn’t a bad smell but not a pleasant one either…just ‘his smell’. He was quite a bit younger than me – in his mid twenties and had dark shaggy hair. He hardly ever shaved and dressed very casually which made him stand out in our very conservative office. His choice of clothes always looked like someone else did his shopping for him. Nothing ever matched and he did like bright colours which is always unusual in a man. He probably thought he looked a bit like Brad Pitt or that singer in Oasis.

I on the other hand am always immaculately dressed in smart business attire; usually from M& S but sometimes with a few Designer names added for extra effect.

“What do you mean ‘women like me’?” I nervously asked as I typed so fast it looked like I was using a foreign language – thank God for ‘spell check’.

He smiled, guessing that he was making progress. It was an easy-going smile. A confident smile. A predator’s smile. The smile I presume a lion smiles just before it sinks its teeth into a zebra at a water hole.

“Women who are married but bored. Women who have deep dark desires that they want fulfilling; but don’t know how to go about it.” Stevie’s voice had now dropped several octaves and was becoming very husky….which could have been the result of the 40 cigarettes a day he smoked.

That was ‘his smell’! Cigarettes, beer and cheap cologne! Hooray! I’d cracked it!

“They’ve usually got the looks, the career, the clothes, the house, the big flash car, the holidays abroad but….” He paused as I stopped typing, my fingers frozen to the keyboard, “but deep down they need some passion put back into their lives!”


‘My God!!’ I thought…..’He could be a psychiatrist! He’d just described me and my life to a T.

I have my glorious career a 6 bedroom/3 bathroom house, my own BMW 3 series, a handsome husband with his own property business but who works long hours and weekends, we have a nice villa on Majorca but….but…but…something was missing; it was all so hollow and shallow.

Stevie was now sitting so close to me as he whispered into my ear I could feel the heat from his body. His fingers were soon inside my blouse and caressing the soft flesh of my boob. He was so gentle I could hardly feel his touch but it also felt like a thousand watts of electricity surging through my skin as he tried to peel my bra back.


I suddenly jumped up pushed him away and announced, “Enough! I need a cup of coffee!” Then I fled out of the office to the tea room. My hands were shaking as I filled the kettle with water.

I sensed that he was standing behind me in the doorway as I stared out of the window into the twinkling darkness of our city.

My mouth was as dry as a digestive biscuit but I managed to utter; “Why do you want my….you know….knickers?”

Stevie quietly chuckled.

“So I can sniff them and wrap them around my stiffy and wank into them while I think about you bending over your desk with your skirt up over your bare arse and your legs wide apart…begging me to fuck you. Come on Jools…my balls are bursting….you can’t leave me like this.”

I whispered. “You’re disgusting….you know that, don’t you?”

“I can be as disgusting as you want me to be.” The laugh in his voice getting louder, “Every perversion can be catered for!”

I was trembling as I slowly turned my head towards him. He’d finally worn me down after 3 full days of pestering and sexy talk.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone….would you?” My voice was barely audible now as I considered his proposition.

“Fuck no!” He chortled. “It’ll be our little secret…..I bet you’ve got lots of little secrets.”


“When would you….you know….actually do it?” My heart was thumping and I actually felt sick as I uttered the words.

“As soon as I get home!” He was now grinning like a fool and rubbing the bulge in his baggy cords.

Actually I did want to watch him masturbate….desperately so. As a teenager I’d sometimes hidden behind the bedroom door to watch my brothers masturbate then rush back to my own room and play with myself. Only one boyfriend had ever done it for me and my husband has always claimed that it’s something that he’s never done.

“I don’t know…..” My words tailed off as I poured the boiling water into my cup. Still not looking him in the eye I checked my watch. It was nearly 11pm and we were nearly finished for the night. I was trembling as I sipped my coffee. Stevie stared silently at me continuously rubbing his erection – which did look rather large!


“Wait there then.” My mouth was so dry my voice was hardly audible.
I shivered as I brushed passed him on my way to the ladies room.

I was struggling to breathe as I lifted my skirt and eased my peach satin thong down my thighs. My brain felt like a huge marshmallow as I tried to decide if I was doing the right thing. It was probably 20 years since I’d last done anything that could be considered ‘naughty’ and even then it was nothing like this. Could I really give a horny work colleague my knickers to masturbate into?

It was strangely liberating as I walked along the corridor back to the kitchen…..knickerless.

Stevie was looking apprehensive when I opened the door.

“Here, but I want them back.” I said as I dropped my panties onto the table, without thinking about the consequences.

“You little minx!” Stevie laughed as he picked my small thong up and examined them, running his finger along the warm damp crotch. I tried to look blank as he put them to his face and inhaled deeply but my nipples suddenly popped out like a pair of thimbles.

I didn’t move an inch as Stevie kept my panties pressed to his face and held his hand out and tickled my erect nipples for a few seconds.

“We should go home now.” I nonchalantly told him as I turned away and poured the full cup of coffee down the sink.

We didn’t speak another word as Stevie did a security check and I packed my laptop away. As he finally turned the key in the lock he looked at me and winked. I smiled a knowing smile.

“Goodnight.” We said in unison; then he turned to walk home and I crossed the car park.

My stomach was turning somersaults as I lifted my skirt to keep checking that my pulsating pussy was really uncovered as I drove home. I arrived home at 11.45 to find my two sons bickering in the kitchen as two different types of music blared out of their respective bedrooms and Greg my husband was already fast asleep in bed, no doubt aided by half a bottle of malt whisky.

I struggled to get to sleep as I contemplated what I’d done. My fingers kept wandering between my legs to touch my sticky vagina but I couldn’t find the courage to masturbate and relieve my sexual tension as I lay next to my drunken husband.

The following day I arrived at my desk to find a post-it note on my chair. ‘There’s a present for you in the top drawer’.

I tentatively opened it to find yesterday’s knickers scrunched up into a ball. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone who looked like they were going to visit me so I took them out and examined them.

I was nearly overcome by the smell of sex as I unfolded my soiled thong.