The business floor was in darkness, except for two partitioned offices at opposite ends.
At his desk in his own partition, Greg leaned back in his chair as his monitor finally showed the upgrade was complete. He hadn't needed his light on, the screen providing all the illumination he needed. At last, he could relax and go home, so he begun shut down.
As he put his jacket on, there was a soft ping from the computer. As system admin, he had to monitor all emails. This one had automatically been cc-ed to him as spam. The shutdown went on hold, requesting authorisation before continuing. Greg clicked on the legend 'h.q@officeone. com' and scanned the contents. His eyes widened as he took them in. The spam filter had noted several 'adult' words and potential 'porn', but it wasn't a general email that got through the firewall... it was direct and personal from a lover to 'h.q'. That was Helen. Policy was not to allow personal emails, especially this intimate, but as it seemed to be the first he'd just issue a verbal warning. He scribbed 'PLEASE SEE ME ASAP' on some memo paper, switched the monitor off, picked up his case and left his partition.
Helen's office was at the far end, and as Greg neared it he could see the light was on. She was a diligent girl, always willing to work late to clear stuff. His watch said 9.30pm, and it was dark outside. If her lover was missing her because she was doing the necessaries here, then his warning could be more lenient, provided it didn't happen again. He smiled as he recalled the contents. It left little to the imagination, and Helen seemed so reserved. Not shy but private. Still, they say the quiet ones have the most secrets...
Just outside her office, still out of sight, he heard a buzzing sound. He looked round, wondering if a fax machine was whirring away but it came from Helen's partition. Maybe it was hers. He levelled with the first window and peered in, expecting to see her, eyes glued to monitor or head down writing away.
His eyes widened for the second time that evening.
She had her head tilted back, eyes closed and hair down. Reclined in her big office chair, one stockinged foot up on the seat by her parted thighs. Greg could see they were stockings, sheer and black as the night outside, as her skirt was hitched up, almost to her...
He swallowed, because he could see that too, her skimpy lacy undies pulled to one side as she eased a slender tube into the pink glistening wetness of herself. It was this that buzzed. A vibrator. She let out a low moan as she moved it around, teasing her clit and labia with it.
Helen swung her chair round a bit and looked at her monitor again. Unseen still, Greg couldn't be sure but she was probably reading the email. He tried to recall the quickly glimpsed details, and was reasonably sure what had seemed like suggestions of intimacy when together were being played out, solo. She unbuttoned her purple blouse a bit, and slipped a slender hand inside, caressing a nipple. Then she lay her head back on the chair rest and continued guiding the vibrator in and around. More low moaning, the whispered suggestion of a name...
Greg wasn't sure what to do. He felt he should leave her to it but he was aware he was growing hard at the sight. Sure he'd seen pics and vids of girls masturbating in mags and online, but here was someone he knew and, if he were honest, thought very fanciable. Fuckable, in fact. Someone who, if inclined, he could reach out and touch. His boxers became unbearably tight from his increased size, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.
A floorboard creaked under him.
Greg stepped back from the window instinctively, still cloaked enough in darkness for Helen not to see him as she heard it too. Suddenly sitting upright, her foot slipped from the seat as one slender hand tugged the skirt hem back down to her knees, while the other dropped the now-silent vibrator in a desk drawer so quickly, it seemed like a conjuror's vanishing trick. Now you see it...
Now was the right time.
Greg counted to three and held the note, as if reading it, and pretended he was in mid-stride as he walked past the window and into the office. Helen was adjusting her hair, slightly breathless. Only a blush to her cheeks betrayed any previous illicit activity.
"Ah, Helen... " His voice seemed unnaturally croaky as it broke the silence, "Still here I see." He hoped he wasn't blushing as much as she. He dropped the note on her desk, aware of the vague scent of arousal women had from her. "Server picked up a personal email with... um... some risque content. You know the policy. Please don't let it happen again."
Helen smiled meekly, "Sorry, Greg. It was my boyfriend. He's away at the moment, and it was a... " She paused, searching for a correct if metaphorical explanation. "a... rather pressing matter. I'll tell him not to in future. He can text me."
Pressing matter, Greg thought. He had visions of Helen pushing the vibrator in herself, the low sensual moans... Yes, 'pressing' was one way of putting it. He knew what he'd like to press into her too.
Damn.
He realised that, if he'd wanted, he could have let the matter drop. By warning Helen he had now stopped a way of finding out what excited her. He had the original one, just sent, sure. But he could have found out more. In his boxers, his cock twitched painfully.
There was a sudden low, muffled buzz from the desk.
Helen started with an equally muffled cry of embarrassment. Eyed the drawer desperately.
Oh dear, Greg thought. "What was that?" he asked, knowing full well what it was.
