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Coworkers With Benefits

“I decided I do want to have sex.” he says. Coworker sex.

I started our sexual conversations with defining sex away from PIV. Because in my world that’s only one way to have sex. Coworker sex. And so when he tells me one morning that he does want to have sex, instead of jumping on him and tearing his clothes off: I change the subject. 

I am now afraid he’ll lose interest in me. His words tug at my heart. I feel myself falling for him and am clinging on to the cliff of not being in love like it’ll work. I know that I’ll fall.

Time isn’t linear, that we have already fallen in and out of love, and that the hurt and the joy will always coincide.

I also know, now, from giving him a hand/blowjob the night before just how much pressure he likes and needs. And I know that’s going to be a challenge. I’m not sure if I’m ready to deal with it or getting naked with this man anymore. I would have the first night, but now I know too much. Not once does the fact that it is coworker sex deter me. I trust him.

And then I can’t stop thinking about it. Just completely distracted from everything. I see him fucking me in every possible way, smell it. Hear the sounds of his body smacking against my thighs and ass, hear us moaning, hear our breath sync. I can barely pay attention to what’s going on for a few hours after he announces his decision because all I can think about is hot coworker sex.

We are sitting on the couch holding hands and I tell him.

“Ever since you said you wanted to have sex it’s all I think about.” I say, shyly.

His head lies back on the back part of the couch and he says, in that hot Bulgarian accent:

“My dick in your pussy?”

I swoon at his clarification. 

“Yes.” I pause. Time to tell him.

Coworker Sex

“I’ve had a lot of experiences where men were attracted to me until the moment I took my clothes off, and I’m traumatized by it.” I say, shedding a tear.

He looks angry. Shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t… I mean… not you shouldn’t… you don’t need to feel that way. I’ve been with models that can’t make my dick rise and you do it in two words. It has nothing to do with appearance.” This is the most reassuring thing anyone has ever said to me and completely erases any fears I have.

Awkwardly we go into the next room and get naked. 

“Should we put on a condom?” he asks.

“I’m not ready.” I say. 

But I quickly lose my resolve to let my body get where it needs to be to fuck him, and I regret it later and apolgize to him, because he deserves better.

It’s just that his body feels so good against mine, and I’ve waited so long and patience is not something either of us are good at, and we are naked and energy is looping through us and I feel his need and it sends lightning bolts from my clit to my crown. I grab a condom and he puts it on. 

And he fucks me, hard, fast. Pounding me into the bed. I know I won’t last long like this. Physically it doesn’t feel great. Energetically I’m thrilled. The intensity consumes me. I love how much of him is here with me.

We switch positions a couple times. I have an unsatisfying orgasm around his dick, made so because I’m not that wet and getting sore. I need way more prep than he gave me.

And most women do, and I try not to think about all the women that wince through pain when they’re supposed to be there for pleasure, and what a disservice that norm has done to all men and him in particular.

Eventually he tells me he can’t come in the condom and takes it off. He still wants to come though.

“Come on me.” I ask for it.

We’re still awkward. He admits he isn’t used to talking or communicating during sex at all. Earlier he admitted he’s struggled with porn addiction. I feel so sad for him and all the young men who have been thrown so far off course.

“I think you’ll make me quit porn because the memories with you are content for a thousand hand jobs” he tells me later. It’s music to my ears.

But it isn’t later, it’s now, and he’s giving himself a handjob kneeling between my legs over me. He tries twice and then tells me he isn’t sure he can come.

“I’ll try once more” he says.

He’s savage when he works his own dick. I love looking at it, but I know that it’s going to be a hard compromise physically. He needs so much pressure and needs it so fast. I am clear on the other end of the spectrum.

But we turn each other on. He turns me on constantly. In the words he says, the way he moves, his rhythms, and of course the sheer exoticism of his Bulgarianness. He’s more masculine than anyone I’ve ever met or conceived of. Being Bulgarian definitely helps, but it isn’t all of it. It’s his mind, so powerful he’s concerned it might drive him crazy. He is driven, direct, strong, courageous.

But now his whole, beautiful, proportionate, no bodyfat body is straining over me, every muscle in him tenses and he shoots one of his giant loads all over me from hip crest to the top of my breasts, all the way down my arm to the forearm.

It’s fucking hot as hell.

He jumps up and comes back and wipes me off, missing only a spot on my arm. I love this gesture. My mind flits back to the reason I didn’t let anyone come on me for years, the guy who smugly rubbed his own come into my breasts without asking. Something about the way he did it was such a turn-off it took me 25 years to recover from it. I’ve recovered.

But I’m not done. And so I invite him to stay while I play with myself, and he declines! It makes me laugh. 

“I’ve already seen you come.” he says. “That doesn’t interest me.” 

Good on him for knowing what he wants. 

I think about him looking in the mirror as he fucked me. Slowing down so he could see his dick going in and out of me.

“Oh, there’s a mirror.” he says.

“Do you like looking at us fucking?” I say, with a little naughty in my voice. I feel his cock pump inside me at the words.

“Yes.” he smiles.

“We look good” I say. 

And we do.

I come again. 

And then it is time for both of us to go to work. As soon as I sit down across from him in the other room, in our standard position where we can peer over our screens to see each other, he starts pulling away from coworker sex.

“I don’t think we should do that again.” 

I feel kicked in the gut. Tears slide down my face. I try to work. I can still feel some of his come on my arm, that he missed when wiping me down. It’s not even dry by the time he pulls away from me.  

We have a desperate heart talk and go to work. He asks me to lighten up and I do. I realize that he’s not in charge. Neither am I. And that he is afraid.

I’ve seen this before. Scared men.

But he is different. He is vulnerable and courageous and utterly male and bold. And he breaks through it.

We do have sex again. And it’s better.


He teases me and then distracts me.

“Focus on your Asana tasks Zoe.”

“Mmmmm I love it when you tell me what to do.”

After days of being completely distracted by him and doing my work in double to triple the number of hours because of things like him telling me stories at his leisure while being unable to multitask enough to listen to mine, and moreover coming in the room wearing only underwear like I won’t watch that any day over whatever the hell is on my screen.

“Should I work in the other room? Would that be better?” I ask.

“No. I like you here. Close to me.” he answers. My heart melts.


The second time we have coworker sex it starts with him offering his cock instead of his fingers for me to use to play with myself. 

“I think it’s better for you, isn’t it?” he says.

It is, of course. His dick is so hard, rigid. I can’t remember any dick ever being as hard as his.

The air pressure changes. The room fills with the other worlds. I whimper. I know I’m going to make bad choices tonight.

“How can I play with myself when we are so damn close…” I whisper. 

With each stroke from top of my clit to bottom I feel my pussy demand him. Some part of my head knows he’s HPV+ and I have no idea whether I am. That I shouldn’t take the risk. That I’m due for another round of testing. Some part of me knows it’s a bad idea to even be playing with my clit using the tip of his rock hard, uncut, fast getting slippery with each stroke that goes too far cock. Some part of me resents him for keeping his body so still, for giving me so much damn control.

I turn to that part of me with knives for hands and a thirst for blood. It hides.

When I place him at the entrance, kissing him with my pussy, he freezes. He relinquishes all control to me. He is mine for the taking.

I take him. I pull him slowly into me, and only when I remove my hand does he push the last bit. He’s inside of me. Raw. I surrender. 

He surrenders.

We surrender.

We are making love. Long, slow strokes. His cock feels like it was made for me.

I still haven’t had enough preparation for this coworker sex. And it was my fault, again, again he gave me all control and instead of teaching him to make me come and where all the hidden spots are that he could stroke with that perfect dick, I just let the porn scene unfold the way it does when a younger man by 15+ years has had more orgasms under the spell of that narrative than they have had with another human being. 

Of course it’s hot. But it’s not enough anymore. I want Tantra. Want orgasms. I want him to make me come until I’m sopping wet and so ready for that perfect dick in that perfect spot that really has nothing to do with making him come. Want it to last for hours on and off with talking and/or food/drink and/or smoking in between and maybe even days on end where we exhaust every fantasy and all positions and figure out everything that we can do to one another to make each other feel good. I want a bigger laboratory with better equipment.

And then I want him to fuck me until he comes, deep inside me. That’s dessert. I want the entire meal.


The next day he is about to go into a meeting for work. We keep reminding ourselves that we are, indeed, coworkers. Coworkers With Benefits is my creation. He fist bumps me when I share it. CWB.

“I hope nobody notices that I’m happier than usual.” he says.

I laugh out loud. 

For me, it’s okay to fall in love without caring where the relationship will go. For him, it’s uncharted territory. He’s broken his script for me. 

To be continued…


More about my Hot Bulgarian Coworker:

Getting Into Bulgaria:

Balkan (and other) booze:


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