Chapter 21: 21. She’s Touching Herself With A Plastic?! (That’s Honestly Sad And Pathetic)**

The air in the management office was thick with the scent of old paper, vanilla perfume, and the heavy, muskier aroma of rising arousal. Mike stood in the shadows of the hallway, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his tanned, muscular forearm as he stabilized the camera.

Through the gap of the door, the view was perfect.

Petricia was a vision of uninhibited desperation. Her blonde hair, usually pinned up in a professional ponytail, was a chaotic mess of golden strands clinging to her damp neck.

Her blouse was unbuttoned halfway, straining against the swell of her heavy, pale breasts. One hand was buried deep in her skirt, her fingers working with a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm that spoke of a woman who had been holding it in far too long.

"Ahh... nnn... please..." she whimpered, her voice a broken song of desire.

Her head was thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut in a trance of self-pleasure. Every time her fingers moved, her hips bucked upward, a sharp, rhythmic jolt that made her bust heave violently.

Mike watched through the lens, his eyes tracking the way her skin flushed a deep pink under the warm lamp light. He could see the tension in her thighs, the way they trembled with every desperate stroke. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

She was completely oblivious to the world outside that door, lost in the friction and the mounting frustration of her own touch. She wasn’t just masturbating, but she was fighting a losing battle against her own desire, her moans turning from soft sighs into ragged, breathless gasps.

"Oh god... yes... right there..." she choked out, her back arching so sharply that her spine curved like a bow.

The sound of her wet, frantic movements was audible even from the hallway, a rhythmic, squelching soundtrack to her undoing.

Squelch... Squelch... Squelch...

Mike felt a surge of predatory satisfaction. She was vulnerable, exposed, and utterly consumed by a hunger she thought she was hiding.

He adjusted the zoom, capturing the way her chest heaved and the sheer, raw desperation in her facial expressions. She was a mess of blonde hair and heavy curves, a beautiful, frustrated creature ripe for the taking.

’This is fucking perfect... I really did some damage to her.’

"It’s already too late to turn back now; I have something ready just in case she hesitates."

He didn’t just want to watch, but he wanted to shatter that composure. He wanted to turn that solo frustration into a total, overwhelming surrender.

[DESIRE LEVEL: PETRICIA SCHNEIDER — 65/100 (RISING RAPIDLY)]

[STATUS: ON THE BRINK. SHE IS COMPLETELY UNWARE OF THE LENS CAPTURING HER MOST PRIVATE MOMENT.]

[YOUR MOVE, HAWK. DO YOU STEP IN AND INTERRUPT HER, OR DO YOU LET HER REACH THE PEAK BEFORE YOU MAKE YOUR PRESENCE KNOWN?]

Petricia’s breathing became a series of jagged, desperate hitches. Her fingers worked with a feverish intensity, her hips jerking upward in a frantic attempt to find that elusive, shattering peak, but the frustration was becoming a physical ache.

"Ahhhnnn... hahhhhh... god... I want to cum fast now before... he comes home..."

Every time she felt herself getting close, the tension would snap just short, leaving her shivering and unfulfilled. A frustrated sob escaped her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated longing.

"But why... why can’t I cum now...?" Petrica looked at her fingers. "Maybe... I need to use that..."

"Ugh... only this once, then I’m going to throw that away."

She jumped up, unable to bear the suffocating heat of the office any longer, her skirt rumpled and her blouse slipping dangerously off her shoulders. She staggered towards the back of the office, where a small private living area and bedroom were attached, a sanctuary she thought she had to herself.

’Where the fuck is she going now...?’

Mike was like a shadow. He didn’t say anything, his muscular frame moving down the dim hallway with the grace of a hunter. He held the phone still, the lens recording the sway of her hips as she hurried into the bedroom.

Petricia didn’t bother to turn on the lights as she crossed the threshold. She worked in the low amber of the setting sun, frantic as she stripped off her clothes. She threw off her blouse and then her skirt until she stood naked in the middle of the room.

She was breathtaking. Her skin was flushed a deep, heated rose, and her massive, heavy breasts swayed with every heavy breath she took, the nipples pink and swollen from her own touch. Her ass was wide and firm, a perfect landscape of soft, pale curves that seemed to glow in the twilight.

With a groan of pure desperation, she reached under the edge of her bed, pulling out a small, velvet-lined wooden box from her secret stash. She flipped it open, her eyes glazed with lust, and pulled out a silicone dildo.

’A fucking dildo...? Are we serious right now?’ Mike thought. ’Who even uses that anymore!’

’The dildo size is so fucking small too... poor girl.’

As she held it up, her eyes widened in a moment of self-deprecating realization. The toy, which had seemed substantial in the dark of her nightstand, looked laughably small, almost pathetic, in the light of her frustration.

She stared at the small, limp thing, a fresh wave of longing washing over her. Her mind, clouded by arousal, drifted to the memory of Mike. She had seen him in the hallway, seen the way his muscles strained against his clothes, and seen the sheer, masculine power he radiated.

She had caught glimpses of his physique, and her mind had involuntarily wandered to the sheer scale of him, imagining the massive, heavy weight of a real man compared to this plastic toy. The thought of his size, of a cock that could actually fill the void she felt, made her knees buckle.

She stood there, naked and trembling, clutching the tiny toy while her mind raced with the image of Mike’s overwhelming masculinity, her body aching for a real, heavy impact that the dildo could never provide.

"I’m sorry, Gerald... but I’m doing this so that I can stay faithful for this marriage..."

Petricia sank slowly to the floor, her back against the side of the bed, her legs spreading wide in a desperate, open invitation to the small toy in her hand.

She let out a shaky breath, her heavy breasts bouncing with each ragged inhalation. With a frustrated groan, she guided the dildo against herself, her fingers trembling as she tried to find the spot that would set her off.

’This is what happens when you make your wife feel frustrated, folks,’ Mike thought. ’Pathethic, honestly.’

She began to move it in short, frantic bursts, her head lolling back against the mattress, eyes half-closed in a haze of need. But the toy was so small that it barely touched the surface of her hunger.

Each stroke was a hollow promise, a tease that only served to drive her frustration higher. She moaned, a deep, guttural sound of a woman who was tired of pretending that this was enough.

"Ahhhnnn... Aahh! Aahh! Hnnuuu! Haaaa!" She keeps moaning without having to care to tone her voice down.

From the doorway, Mike watched her, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. He didn’t move and didn’t make a sound. He simply stood there, savoring the sight of her unraveling.

The "evil" glint in his eyes wasn’t one of malice but of triumph. He could see the tension in her thighs, the way her toes curled into the carpet, and the sheer desperation on her face.

He knew exactly what she was feeling, and he knew exactly why.

Gerald wasn’t here. And even when he was, Mike could tell by the way Petricia carried herself, by the hidden yearning in her eyes, that the man provided nothing but a hollow routine. Gerald was a ghost in her life, a man who had forgotten how to make her feel alive.

Mike’s smile deepened. He could see her struggling, fighting a battle against her own body that she was destined to lose.

She wanted something real, something heavy and powerful that could fill her and shatter her. She wanted a man who didn’t just go through the motions but who claimed her.

"I can’t cum when I’m with you for the first time... maybe that’s why you don’t want to have sex with me again, so all this time... I always use this dildo that can make me cummm...!"

Mike bites his lips, trying to hold a laugh. ’What the fuck...?! HAHAHAHAHA!’

As Petricia let out a frustrated cry, the dildo slipping from her fingers and rolling across the floor, Mike felt the surge of his own desire.

He wasn’t just watching a woman masturbate, but he was watching a woman realize she was starving, and he was the only feast in sight. He leaned against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossing over his chest, his gaze fixed on her flushed, heaving form, waiting for the perfect moment to step out of the shadows and show her exactly what she was missing.

’Now’s the right fucking time to break her...’

Petricia’s breath hitched, a sob of pure, unadulterated frustration catching in her throat. She stared down at the small dildo lying uselessly on the floor, her body trembling with a hunger that felt almost violent.

It was a strange, hollow sensation—to be so close to the edge yet feel as though she were standing on the shore of an ocean, never able to actually dive in. Her clitoris was swollen and sensitive, aching for a pressure that the silicone toy simply couldn’t provide.

"Why... why can’t I?" she whispered to the empty, dim room, her voice cracking. Tears of arousal and irritation pricked at the corners of her eyes. "It’s not enough... this is... the first time I didn’t cum with the dildo..."

She slumped back, her heavy breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath. A sudden, sharp pang of guilt pierced through her lust.

She thought of Gerald. She thought of their quiet, predictable life and the way he always seemed to finish just as she was beginning to feel the heat.

"I’m so sorry, Gerald..." she murmured, her eyes closing tight as she squeezed them shut, as if the apology could shield her from the sin of her own desire. "Please forgive me... it’s just... it’s so much... and you’re not here..."

But the apology felt hollow, a mere formality to quiet her conscience. As soon as the words left her lips, her mind betrayed her.

The guilt didn’t dampen the fire, but it only acted as fuel, making the taboo of her thoughts feel even more electric.

Her imagination, fueled by the loneliness of the Friday evening and the sheer intensity of her physical ache, began to wander. And it didn’t wander to her husband.

It drifted, almost magnetically, to the man she had seen in the hallway earlier.

Mike.

The name echoed in her mind like a heartbeat. She pictured his tanned, muscular arms, the way the light had caught the definition of his shoulders.

She thought about the sheer, raw masculinity he radiated—a stark contrast to the soft, predictable comfort of Gerald.

"Oh god..." she gasped, her hand moving back down to her wet, swollen center, her fingers searching for the friction she so desperately craved. "Mike... no, why..."

"What am I thinking...?"