Having your wife work for the same company that you do has all kinds of advantages — everything from sharing rides to work to swapping intel on who’s the biggest jerk on the board of directors. There are also some sexual perks, naturally, but when your wife is a self-proclaimed “dominant goddess,” things can get a little dicey from time to time. Especially when the two of you hold fairly responsible positions in the company hierarchy and you have a thing for wearing her panties.

Just the other day, for example, Astrid and I were holed up in our favorite ladies’ room and she was giving me a panty-job.

It’s our favorite restroom because it’s located on the second floor of our building. The second floor is Accounting, and there haven’t been any women working in that department for the better part of a year. About ten or so months ago, Nancy retired and Holly quit to seek out the bright lights of New York City. Meanwhile, Candace went on maternity leave and decided to never return. So our chances of having someone walk in on us while at play are basically slim to none.

As for “panty-job,” that’s our name for a particular diversion we enjoy, in which Astrid sits on the john and I stand before her with my pants around my ankles. A classic scene, right? You’d think so, except instead of a respectable pair of boxers or even tighty-whities, you need to imagine me in a pair of panties that are maybe just the slightest bit too tight — Astrid likes me in sky blue or Lincoln green — with my massively erect dick pushing out the front. The fabric that barely covers my cock is soaking wet with saliva and pre-come because of Astrid’s unrelenting oral teasing. Her attention consists of her mouthing my silk-sheathed dick and warming it for long moments with her hot breath before suddenly inhaling to deliver a shivery jolt of cold. Then, just as the pleasure becomes semi-unbearable, she’ll push it over the top by nibbling on my pantied cock with her teeth.

Like I say, a classic scene — except Astrid is no submissive secretary giving her boss a blowjob. She’s very much the one in control.

Though I gasped and jerked my hips, edging my crotch toward her lips as though pleading with her to suck me, I was careful not to move too much. And then there was the fact that I was wearing panties — and, please remember, they’re Astrid’s panties. I put them on in the morning while dressing and later sat through a meeting with my cock and balls cramped and sweating inside them. I dictated a letter to my secretary while wearing them, knowing (or at least imagining) how shocked the poor thing would be if she knew about my undergarments. After that, it was all I could do to keep myself from running to the men’s room and stroking myself into a jizz-spewing frenzy.

Anyway, while Astrid was doing her thing in the restroom, she also kept up a little commentary under her breath: “Pretty panty-boy. That’s you, huh? You like wearing my prissy panties? For shame. Big strong guy like you. For shame.”

Of course, I didn’t feel at all ashamed, but Astrid’s words enflamed me with a delicious mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

I absolutely love wearing her panties and being her panty-boy. We’ve been playing this game, in one form or another, since we were married five years ago. Of course, I’ve enjoyed wearing women’s underthings for a lot longer than that. Every girlfriend I’ve had since college understood her underwear drawer was subject to periodic raids from yours truly. What’s more, I’m happy to say, they were all OK with it. But Astrid was special. I knew that from our first date.

Tall and willowy, with her hair worn long and cut into severe bangs just over her piercing blue eyes, Astrid is a perfect goddess. Most people sense a certain something in her manner, a coolness, an innate ability to control any situation. Yet she’s always gracious, with a sly sense of humor that belies her ice princess looks. Everyone I’ve introduced her to has fallen in love with her — men and women alike.

But if they knew just how kinky she was, they might be taken aback a bit.

I imagine you can guess how the game in the ladies’ room ended. But we always manage to stretch it out. Astrid can always sense when her teasing is about to make me blow, and instead of easing up, she’ll actually take my excitement to a whole new level. She’ll tickle the underside of my dickhead with one finger while blowing on it, laughing at how her poor panty-boy just can’t control himself. She’ll treat the underside of my dick in its panty prison to a series of smacking kisses, any one of which could easily make me go splat.

Then suddenly her voice will grow hard. “Don’t you come,” she’ll warn me. “Don’t you do it, or I’ll tell everyone what a pervert you are. All our friends. Do you want that? No? So don’t you dare come.”

I hiss between clenched teeth and whimper, willing myself to hold on just a bit longer, but Astrid keeps playing with me, until her panties (both pairs!) are practically dripping. And then it happens; the already darkened patch on my panties is suddenly filled with my load. The air becomes scented with the rich, salty scent of my seed, and Astrid licks her lips, pulling a handful of toilet paper from the dispenser.

“Clean yourself up, panty-boy,” she purrs, thrusting the wad of paper into my hand. “And I hope you have a few drops left, because you are going to fuck me tonight.”

Ah, marital bliss.

The first time Astrid gave me a panty-job, we had both just started our respective positions in the company. It happened during the office holiday party, the one time during the year when our normally staid, conservative fellow employees really let their hair down. After we’d both shown our faces and paid our respects, the sight of people we knew getting steadily more tipsy and horny got a little old. The prospect of having some fun on our own was much more appealing. Eventually, Astrid leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get out of here. Are you wearing you-know-what?”

“Yes,” I said, stammering just a little.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Within minutes, we had found the perfect place to enjoy each other. It was a suite of offices that had been set aside as storage space; there had been some downsizing going on, and the whole place was packed with stacks of boxes and old PCs. We could do whatever we wanted, and as long as we didn’t make a lot of noise, we were golden. We stationed ourselves behind one of the stacks and got to work.

“Get those bad boys down,” Astrid commanded, already sliding a hand over the front of my trousers. “I want to see what you’ve got under there.”

Already breathing heavily, I unzipped and dropped my trousers. A moment later, I felt Astrid mumbling at my junk, her tongue licking delicately at the pre-come-flavored silk. 

“Look at this,” she murmured. “Look at these prissy little panties.”

I braced myself with hands against the boxes and prepared for pleasure.

Unfortunately, a complication was about to be thrown into the works. I heard the door to the suite open and a familiar voice calling my name.

“Roger? Roger, I thought I saw you go in here. I know we’re off the clock, but can we talk about that letter you wanted to go out today?”

“Who on Earth is that?” my wife hissed, but she kept her composure. Though my dick had instantly shriveled at the sound of the intruding voice, Astrid handily revived it with a few quick flicks of her talented tongue.

“It’s Carol,” I whispered. Carol was a temp who was serving as my secretary. She was a cute 20-something with curly brown hair and an inquisitive manner — a little too inquisitive, actually. The truth was she was a notorious gossip. I knew if she caught me with my pants down, Astrid and I would immediately be the talk of the company. I didn’t even want to think about what she’d make of my choice in underwear.

But there was a problem. From where I was standing, the top of my head was clearly visible. I could hear Carol stumbling around amid the dimly lit cubicles, apparently a little tipsy. It was only a matter of time before she saw me.

“It’s Carol,” I repeated with a sense of urgency. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

I reached for my fallen pants, but Astrid slapped my hands away with an evil smile on her face. She pressed her mouth against my hard dick and went to work, lapping and sucking and nuzzling my balls. Something about the situation was perversely exciting, and it didn’t take much effort on Astrid’s part to get my dick painfully hard.

“Don’t,” I pleaded, but Carol had already spotted me. Thankfully, she seemed content to keep her distance as she chattered away to me about the all-important letter. I managed to keep my cool — barely — but I’m not used to holding back when it comes to sex. And Astrid was whaling away on my dick like there was no tomorrow. The panties were soaked, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if my cock hadn’t just torn through them and slid into her mouth for some real bliss.

But, of course, the silky material held. It was the most luscious torture imaginable, having to nod and smile at Carol while my poor cock was panty-teased. Every now and then I managed to glance down, and the sight of Astrid’s blonde head bobbing slowly up and down and side to side nearly made me lose it. I knew if she actually made me come, I would gasp or make some other noise that would give us away. It began to look like that was going to happen any second. What’s worse, Carol was starting to move away from her questions about the letter to general chit-chat, nattering senselessly and showing no sign of leaving.

Finally, inspiration struck.

“You, you know Carol … if, if you have that l-letter at your d-desk, I could t-take a quick look at it … ”

“That’s a great idea, Roger!” Carol beamed. A moment later she was scampering back to her office, which was thankfully several floors above us. Relieved, I stared down at my wife, who gave me a naughty smile.

“You’re a very wicked woman,” I told her sternly. Still smiling, Astrid hooked a finger into my panties and pulled them down, letting my wet cock spring free. She gave it the smallest, sweetest kiss imaginable on its swollen head, and that tender, delicate brush of her lips was all it took to set me gushing like a firehose. While I groaned and held on to the boxes, Astrid giggled and lapped up the white clots of seed on her lips like a naughty kitten eating cream.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said with a grin. “But I have a feeling we’re both going to be up a long time tonight. So why don’t we get you cleaned up and get both of us out of here before what’s-her-name gets back?”

It sounded like a good idea to me. But as Astrid ran to the nearest restroom to get some tissues, my mind turned perversely to wondering what Carol would have said had she seen Astrid’s face splotched with my come.

Maybe one day I’ll find out.