EXPOSED
At first, I only meant to use the insert cream for a quick clean-up in the early hours of the morning. But the moment it slid inside, it felt unexpectedly good—it had been a while since I’d felt anything filling me. The rhythm made me moan, quietly, desperately and I drifted back to sleep with a lingering throb between my thighs.
Later that day, after my bath, I thought the feeling would fade, but it didn’t. Instead, a subtle tingling kept teasing me, urging me to touch myself again. I gave in. I set up a mirror, switched on the lights, and admired the view of my own body—my swollen, needy lips glistening with anticipation. A sudden thought struck me: maybe I should play a scene, something with just the right sounds to heighten the moment.
I pressed play, letting the moans and sighs fill the room, and used the applicator again. Watching it glide in and out of me was intoxicating, wet, creamy and insatiable. With pillows lifting my hips, one hand tugged at my nipples while the other explored lower, and I began to move slowly.
The tiny applicator wasn’t enough—I needed more. I brought my fingers to my lips, tasting and wetting them with slow, deliberate licks before letting them wander down between my thighs. Slipping one finger inside, I gasped at the sudden fullness, then teased myself further as a second finger followed, stretching me in the sweetest way. My lips parted around a soft moan, the heat and slickness clinging to my touch. When I finally drew them back out, the creamy sheen glistened on my skin, making me shiver with a mix of desire and shy delight.
I massaged my clit, circling slowly at first, then pressing deeper until I found that sweet spot that made my body tense and melt all at once. Pleasure rolled through me in warm pulses, leaving me breathless. Even later, as I bent down to wash, the ache stirred again, and I couldn’t help but grind against the movement—finding just the right angle that sent little sparks racing through me.
And then, in one careless tap, the entire confession had slipped from me and straight into his inbox
“Oh my…” I muttered, heart sinking as I realized the mistake. Panic surged, and I deleted everything.
“I am so, so sorry, Sir,” I typed frantically. “That wasn’t meant for you.”
“Wow.” His reply finally came through after a long pause. “So… you send things like this? To who exactly?”
My stomach dropped. He wasn’t supposed to see any of that—he was my boss, for God’s sake. I know we've had our moments together but anyone could see this
“I’m so sorry,” I typed quickly, fingers trembling. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to send that to you.”
“I’m surprised, honestly. I never thought you’d be the type to write something like this.”
I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my face. “It’s not what it looks like. It’s just… something I wrote for myself. Notes I keep.”
“Notes?” he echoed. “So you’re telling me you write things like this… and keep them?”
“Yes,” I admitted quietly, though my hands shook. “Just private memories. For me. I didn’t mean for anyone to see them—especially you.”
“And this—this is one of those ‘memories’?”
“Yes. And I said I’m sorry. Please… there’s nothing more to it.”
There was no response. Twenty minutes dragged by. Then an hour. Then three. The silence was worse than any scolding.
By nightfall, I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove to his house, desperate to explain myself face-to-face.
I knocked—no answer. The door gave way under my hand, and I stepped into a living room filled with a heavy, familiar scent I couldn’t place. My chest tightened. Still no sign of him.
And then I heard it—low, muffled sounds drifting through the silence. Moans. I froze in the doorway, unsure if I should move closer…
