The Meeting That Got Out of Hand

 

I am White, six feet tall, slim, with a naturally feminine-looking build. I keep my body shaved smooth, and I have brown hair and brown eyes. Deep down, I have always wished I had been born a biological woman, even though I was born male. I haven't started HRT or undergone any surgeries yet, so for now, the feminine side of me comes through mostly in the way I dress, groom myself, and privately express who I wish I could be.

That day, I showed up to the office dressed in my "Supervisor" uniform--a black polo shirt tucked neatly into black pants, with shiny work shoes completing the professional look. On the outside, I probably looked like any other middle manager heading into another boring meeting: neat, serious, masculine enough that nobody would think twice.

But underneath that ordinary uniform, I was hiding a much softer little secret.

Against my smooth skin, I wore a delicate lacy pink bra and matching panties. Nobody around me could see them beneath my work clothes, and that was part of what made it feel so exciting. Every movement reminded me they were there--the faint pressure of the bra around my chest, the soft lace beneath my pants, the private femininity hidden underneath the professional exterior everyone else saw.

Just knowing what I was wearing against my skin made me shiver with anticipation.

The room looked like an office conference space, complete with a long table, chairs, and quarterly reports scattered around. Five others were waiting -- three men in polos like mine, and two women in skirts and blouses.

I sat down and kept tugging at my shirt, worried my bra straps might show. That's when one of the women leaned over and smirked.

"Chris... is that lace I see under your collar?"

My stomach flipped. I froze, heat rushing to my face. Everyone's eyes snapped to me. The strap had slipped just enough to peek out.

One of the men chuckled, leaning forward. "No way... are you wearing a bra under that uniform?"

My hands fumbled at my collar, trying to hide it. "I... maybe." My voice cracked.

The woman reached over and tugged my shirt down just enough to reveal the delicate strap, then the curve of lace against my chest. Gasps, then laughter, but not cruel -- hungry. Aroused.

"Stand up," another man said. "Show us."

I hesitated only a second before rising to my feet. Heart pounding, I pulled my polo up, exposing the pink bra stretched across my chest. The room went silent, then filled with low groans of approval.

"Fuck, Chrissy," one of them whispered. "Turn around."

I obeyed, bending slightly. My waistband had slipped low enough that the lacy panties showed above my pants. Someone reached out, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of my ass.

The first touch made me gasp -- a hand sliding over the silk, squeezing, then pulling my pants down around my thighs. Now I was standing in front of them in bra and panties, my cock already swelling against the lace.

They closed in. A woman pressed her lips to mine, lipstick smearing as her tongue slid into my mouth. Hands roamed everywhere -- groping my ass, tugging at my nipples through the bra, cupping my cock through the panties.

"Get on the table," the tall man ordered.

I climbed onto the polished surface, lying back as they surrounded me. Someone yanked my panties aside, freeing my cock, already dripping. A hot mouth enveloped me, sucking hard, while another tongue flicked over my nipple, teeth grazing until I cried out.

My legs were spread wide, panties shoved down, and I felt a slick finger pushing into my ass, stretching me open. I moaned around the cock one of the men slid between my lips, gagging as he held my head and thrust deep.

It was a blur of sensation. One man fucking my throat, another pumping into my ass, their bodies grinding against me while the women took turns riding my face and jerking my cock. The table shook with every thrust, papers scattering like a storm.

"Good little slut," someone growled in my ear as they pounded into me from behind, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the office. My cock spurted across my stomach, hot and sticky, but they didn't stop. They used me until I was soaked with cum inside and out, my bra twisted, panties torn, lipstick smeared across my face.

When it was finally over, I lay sprawled on the table, trembling, dripping, utterly used. The others buttoned their shirts, straightened their skirts, laughing softly as though the meeting had gone exactly as planned.

I wiped the mess from my lips, my chest still heaving. "So..." I whispered, voice raw, "should I type up the minutes?"

The room erupted in laughter -- and I knew I'd just passed my first real office initiation.