Page 39 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

The only question was, where did one goto discreetly masturbate at a wedding rehearsal dinner? I’d seen ashort hallway to the restrooms when we’d entered, but “publicbathroom” didn’t scream privacy to me. Plus, it would be toodistracting. I didn’t exactly find other people peeing and randomsnippets of conversation arousing.

There was always a supply room, Isupposed. Not like we hadn’t done that before.

I tried my best to be inconspicuous asI wandered around outside the dining room. There had to be ajanitor’s closet or something, anything with a lock...

There.

Behind an unlocked utility door thatsaid, “staff only,” I spotted a unisex bathroom. Probably for theemployees. I shouldn’t go back there. What if some poor server onlygot a few seconds between tables to take a pee? I’d been in thatposition way too often in several of my many past jobs. And I couldget in trouble. That might be embarrassing, having to explain whyI’d gone into a restricted area to use the bathroom.

I planned to pretend I wasdrunk and headed through the door like I owned the place. Or, atleast, like I knew the owner. The clatter and chatter of awell-organized service kitchen filled the stark hallway, and I hadto pass an open breakroom, but no one was inside. I knocked on thedoor to the bathroom and it was thankfully unoccupied, as well.Feeling like a criminal, I slipped inside, locked the door, andleaned against it for extra security.

The ventilation fan came onautomatically with the light switch, drowning out the noises fromthe hallway. The isolating thrum reverberated through me and liftedgoose bumps on the back of my neck. I was alone, in a place where Icouldn’t readily justify my presence, and I was going to get myselfoff while people went about their lives and jobs feetaway.

My nipples tightened and I squeezed mythighs together against the ache of excitement that sprang to lifethere.

I caught sight of myself inthe mirror over the sink. The skin of my chest flushed red abovethe neckline of my green wrap dress, and my jerky pulse was visiblein the hollow of my throat. I watched as if in a trance while thewoman in the reflection did things I would certainly never havedone in this same circumstance. She pulled her dress open and herbra down to bare herself. Then, she put a finger in her mouth towet it and circled the hard peak of one nipple, making it shinewith her own saliva.

I stood there toying withmy breasts until the thick, liquid heat in my pussy becameimpossible to ignore. My gaze followed my hand as I bunched up myskirt and slipped my fingers into my panties. I bit back the moanthat bubbled to my lips; my own hand had never felt so good. Icircled my hips against the flicking movement of my middlefinger.

It felt nice, for themoment, but it would feel so much better if I got really dirty withit. I quickly brought that hand to my mouth and sucked three of myfingers, then reached back down and plunged them inside. I heardthe slick pop of my flesh parting wetly and the obscene sound spedme on. I fucked myself hard, reveling in the intimate texture of mybody as I rippled around my wriggling fingers. I played my thumbagainst my clit as well as I could, considering my position. I wasclumsy, reckless, totally abandoned to the wild pleasure of doingsomething I shouldn’t, something filthy, something a good girlnever would.

Emboldened, I stepped awayfrom the door and put one foot on the toilet seat, opening widerfor myself. It was an awkward angle, but it gave me better access;I was able to jam my fingers deeper, deeper, to go so vulgarly faras to add a fourth, until I’d buried my hand nearly to theknuckles. I curled them and pushed up hard, too hard, while Ifrantically rubbed my clit with my other hand. Within seconds, Iwas coming, oh god, I was coming, pounding my fingers against myg-spot until I broke apart with a soundless cry, trembling andbarely able to keep my footing. A burst of wetness splashed myfingers and doused my panties as black spots flashed in my visionand the electric fire of my orgasm clenched every muscle below mywaist.

I kept my fingers busy until the lastshocks had passed, then, my inner thigh muscles quaking, pulled myhand free and set my foot back down.

The woman in the mirrorstared back at me in a crashing moment of post-orgasm clarity.Doing something bad was only fun when you were in the middle of it.In the aftermath, I was a woman who’d violently fucked herself inan employee restroom. My panties were sodden; there was no way Icould wear them out and I had no idea what I should do with them orwhere to put them. Sweat shone on all my visible skin. I let mypanties hit the floor and stepped out of them, then teetered onunsteady legs to the sink. I couldn’t meet my own eyes in myreflection. I was too ashamed.

But why? You didn’t doanything wrong,I reasoned withmyself.Nobody saw. You didn’t hurtanybody. You’re playing a game with a consenting partner. No onewill ever know, except him.

He would know. Oh, he wouldknow. Not only because he’d given me this task, but because he’dseen my glassy eyes and reddened skin in the moments after I’dcome. He would know from the languorous sway to my walk that Iwouldn’t be able to hide, but that no one would noticebecausetheyhadn’t seen it before.Theyhadn’t watched me come. Hadn’t watched me getfucked by another man.

What I’d done? Had nothing to do withme.

It was all for him. Because he’d askedfor it.

Before I turned on the tap, I lockedeyes with myself in the mirror and brought my sticky hand to mylips. With a groan of satisfaction, I sucked each finger clean,swirled my tongue between them, and never looked away.

After I washed my hands and ran a wetpaper towel over my neck and chest, I took my time, carefullylooking over my appearance and making sure everything was in place.Kind of sweaty hair patted back into the deconstructed bun I’dworked so hard on so it would appear effortless, check. Bra anddress readjusted, check. Dried off my thighs, check.

Panties?

What the hell would I do withthose?

I glanced around thedepressingly function-only bathroom. There was no place at all tohide the evidence. Someone would see them in the trash, and Icouldn’t flush them; what if they clogged up the plumbing? Icouldn’t imagine the kind of “critical conversation” that would beneeded in the workplace after a maintenance man found the cause ofthe obstruction.

Pockets! My dress hadpockets! It had been one of the reasons I’d bought the damn thing.I stuffed my panties in one, cleared my throat, held my head high,and walked out of the bathroom and back to the rehearsaldinner.

When I entered, Matt wastalking to another table, flashing them his charming host smile. Heglanced up, and our eyes locked.

That’s right. I did exactlywhat you told me to, like an obedient little plaything.

I passed close by him as I moved towardthe front of the room and warned him with a nudge from my elbow aninstant before I “tripped” and collided with him morefirmly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said,pretending to stumble off my feet. And in the riskiest move of mylife, I whipped the panties from my pocket and pressed them intohis hand when he tried to help me.

His eyes widened and his fingers closedaround the wad of wet fabric, but he played it off like anaccomplished slight-of-hand magician, slipping the panties into hisown pocket while “steadying” me.

“That’s all right,” heassured me. “Long day, tall heels?”

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