Incest For women -Immersive sex story

[Naruto411]

The cab pulls up to the office, and as you step out, you feel the fresh wave of eyes on you. The morning sun glints off the glass doors of the building, but your attention catches on the watchman standing by the gate. His posture stiffens when he sees you, his eyes tracking you a little too closely as you walk toward the entrance.

The slut in your mind chuckles knowingly. "Look at him," she whispers. "Practically drooling. Bet he wishes he could stop you right here, press you up against the wall, and take just one taste. Poor guy doesn’t even bother to hide it."

You glance at him briefly, offering a polite nod, and his face flushes. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to focus on something else, but you don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. The slut hums. "You have that effect on them. Always have."

Inside the building, the air is cool, a relief from the warmth outside. The elevator doors slide open, and you step in with a group of people, the space quickly filling up until it’s packed shoulder to shoulder. You press the button for your floor, and just as the doors close, someone squeezes in at the last second, ending up directly behind you.

The press of bodies is unavoidable, the proximity making every movement feel amplified. The faint scent of cologne tickles your senses, sharp and musky, and you realize it’s coming from the man behind you. He’s close—too close—but there’s no room to step away.

The slut in your mind perks up instantly, her voice a low, teasing murmur. "Feel that? The heat of him against your back? Bet he’s trying not to move too much, but you can feel it anyway. The brush of his chest, the way his breath tickles the back of your neck."

You shift slightly, the motion causing your body to graze against his. It’s subtle, almost accidental, but you feel the tension in the air spike. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but you can sense it—how he’s holding himself still, his body taut like a wire about to snap.

The slut laughs softly. "What if you moved just a little more? Just enough to let him know you feel it too. Would he press closer? Would he try to stop himself, or would he give in?"

The elevator hums as it ascends, each floor ticking by slower than the last. You glance at the mirrored walls, catching a glimpse of his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes focused somewhere above your head, like he’s trying not to look down. But his hands, resting by his sides, clench into fists briefly before relaxing again.

The slut smirks. "He’s imagining it, you know. How you’d feel under his hands, how your body would arch if he pressed against you fully. What would you do if he leaned in, whispered something filthy in your ear, right here in front of everyone?"

You bite your lip, your cheeks warming as the elevator slows to a stop. The doors slide open, and you step out quickly, leaving the tension behind as you make your way to your desk. But the memory lingers—the heat, the closeness, and the wicked little voice in your mind that never lets you forget just how much power you hold.