Your voice came through the phone at me and touched me like a lover. “I’ve left something special for you in your desk drawer – a little gift.”

I never intended to have an affair. It was never my intention at all. But here I was, a married woman, being unfaithful to my husband in spirit, at least. I couldn’t help it. Even being in the same room with you started a throbbing I could feel low in my body, a kind of pulsating ache that made me want to squirm and blush and… You’d always had this effect on me, but even more so in the past few months. And when you began to take notice of the things you do to me, you started responding. God. You started calling me at odd hours during the work day, murmuring dangerously sexy things in my ear, telling me just how many ways there were to touch a woman, and how many of them you imagined doing with me… There were days when I would soak my panties through just talking with you at work.

We hadn’t touched. Not yet. I didn’t know if I could handle the guilt. However, I was starting to wonder if I could handle the hot, wet feeling between my thighs for much longer, either.

And now this morning, this phone call. A gift, for me.

Laughing huskily, you told me to open the gift. “I’ll talk to you later, after you’ve had a chance to try out your present.”

Hands trembling in anticipation, I hung up the phone and reached for my desk drawer, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking into my cubicle.

A small white box with a tiny red bow sat in the center of the drawer. Leaning against the box was a note. I pulled the note from the drawer and began to read.

“I want you. You want me. In theory, nothing could be simpler. But you have a husband and I don’t want to force you into something that you – or your conscience – isn’t ready for.

I want to be able to touch you, to lick and suck in places that daylight rarely sees. I want you shaking and screaming my name as I slide inside you. But I can’t do those things, not until you’ve decided whether you’re ready. For now, I’ve got a solution.

Take what’s in the box. Put it on. Wear it for me for the rest of the day. You’ll see it comes with a remote control. I have it, tucked away safely in my pants pocket. Let me touch you silently, in secret, watching you come apart as though it were my lips, my tongue sliding against you. Let me touch you in the only way I can, for now.”

I was barely breathing by the time I finished your note. I lifted the lid on the small white box to find a pair of panties – sort of. They were really more like a thong, and they had a small, soft foam rubber attachment that was designed to fit over a woman’s clit. A small black box was attached to the back of the waistband – the receiver, I supposed. And sure enough, the remote control was missing, in the hands of the man my body cried out for.

Was I actually going to do it? Put this contraption on and then resume my normal working day, not knowing when I’d be at the mercy of your imagination and your little remote control? My mind went wild at the possibilities. Could I really go through with it? How far would you take it?

I nearly raced to the ladies’ room, the thong in my pocket.

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