There was a certain amount of pairing off happening. Annie, the secretary, was rumoured to be in the stationery cupboard with the securities clerk. I was interested in where people might have gone because I wanted Maria.
I'd wanted her all day; she'd come to work, as often, in a barely acceptable outfit of short fitted black skirt, thick black tights and a thin woollen turtle necked jumper. By the time the party started she'd swapped the woollen tights for fishnet stockings that I'd bought for her at a small shop in Kensington Church Street. Her flat loafers had gone to be replaced by black stiletto heeled pointy toed shoes that she'd found on Camden Market one Sunday morning. She called it her post punk look; according to her 1978 was the year punk died and 1979 would see more glamorous women like her making a comeback. I didn't care as long as she made her comeback with me. When she dressed like that she radiated sexiness to me; desire was the only word in my vocabulary to describe how I felt about her..
But the stationery cupboard, much fabled centre of Christmas party liaisons, was locked. Perhaps it was true about Annie.
Paul, the standing orders clerk, was being sick in the men's toilet, and the women's toilet was a temporary conversation venue as the record player in the staff room was turned up too loud for the taste of some.
I wasn't that easily put off. I had plenty of incentives. Maria was quite eager for some privacy too. She didn't protest, or even blush, when I ushered her into the manager's office. The vertical blinds were turned to block the window, the door into the banking hall closed. There was just enough light filtering through the blinds to make it possible to see each other as we started to kiss. She was, in my opinion then, the best kisser ever. Tentative, gentle, her mouth only gradually opening to admit my tongue, her arms tightening around me as she did so. Then the more intense kissing, my hand under her sweater at her waist, resting on warm skin, her groin pushing back at me as I tried to use my pelvis to make clear how hard she made me.
It didn't take long for her to allow me to push her back against the desk, then lift her slightly so that her bottom was resting on the edge of the desk. Once she was there it was easy to stand between her legs, to persuade her skirt to rise up to allow me access to her pussy. Easy too to pull her panties aside, to stroke her clit with my finger, even to plant a kiss there in defiance of her embarrassment. We'd talked about it, her shyness at being licked compared to her willingness to take me in her mouth. I thought it was a kind of alternative contraception on her part, keeping me away from her pussy and temptation. She said she just enjoyed it...
Bending over her on the desk, kissing her, feeling her groin rise up to meet mine, I realised with joy that was all the more delightful for being unexpected that this was a night when sex was more than just a blowjob. I had condoms with me; what wise 19 year old didn't? The process of getting her panties off and a condom on seemed to be one long fumble on my part, but it happened, and suddenly I was nudging my rubber clad erection against her pussy. I had to put my hands under her buttocks and lift her up slightly to get myself into her, shushing her as she moaned at the pressure from me. I waited before thrusting too hard; I remembered only too well that she'd complained previously at my being too urgent. So I waited; I pushed her jumper up, and freed her breasts from the cotton and lace cups of her bra. I'd been fascinated by her nipples the first time I'd seen them, brown thimbles that responded to every touch of finger or tongue. Now I made a meal of them, nibbling and pulling at them, amazed still at how the skin of her breast stretched with them until she groaned and dragged my head back down to her ribs again..
It was while I was bent forward, head at her breast, making exploratory movements of my groin to rock my erection inside her, that he came into the room. The branch manager, Mr Lavender. Not a man given to shows of emotion; he cultivated a fair but distant approach to young staff; you might not speak to him from one three monthly appraisal to the next. But he was standing there, his back to his office door, watching me make love to my girlfriend on his desk.
Shit.
Maria had her eyes closed, She did that, when we made love. She'd close her eyes, and wrap herself all the more tightly around me with her legs and arms. She was doing it now, and I could feel my cock forcing its way into her pussy as she gripped me with her thighs. And all the time my eyes were locked on Mr Lavender's. He in turn was looking from me to Maria. I'd tried to disengage when I first saw him, and had left her breasts on show. I was expecting him to be angry, but he was staring at her breasts, then at her thighs, then at her breasts again. He didn't move, but he seemed with the intensity of his gaze to be urging me to carry on, so, tentatively, I did.
I was embarassed. No surprise in that. I was scared too. Scared of what Mr Lavender would say, initially, then scared of what Maria would say if she found out I'd let him watch. Once Mr Lavender started to rub himself, his hand hovering over his groin, I knew we had not a lot to fear there.
