The Numbers Aren't Right

Mike felt his pulse quicken when he heard the sound of the elevator door opening in the distance. The door to his shadowy office was closed and his hand touched his crotch. Mike felt the outline of his hardening cock inside his dress slacks.

Footsteps outside the door caused his hand to calmly return to the arm of the black leather executive chair. The door swung open and closed quickly behind her as the woman entered the office.

This evening she wore a thin white top that tied together above her breasts. It was obvious she was braless. Her wraparound skirt stopped several inches above the knees of her long shapely legs. Without comment or facial expression, she threw her purse on the table next to the couch and faced Mike, the smell of her perfume finally reaching him.

He examined her from her short blonde hair to the black ankle straps of her high heels. When their eyes met, she untied her top.

# # #

Sarah Campbell slouched in her chair and gazed at her computer screen, half asleep. Numbers flew past at a dizzying pace. She wasn’t interested in the numbers. She was interested in the results of the numbers.

Her problem—along with the other six members of the programming department responsible for setting up the new data warehouse—was that the results they were getting didn’t make sense. And the data warehouse was no good if the numbers weren’t properly “cleansed” first, a term she was quickly learning to hate.

At 28, Sarah was one of the youngest members of MBR Insurance’s programming department, and the only female. Perhaps that was why she was currently waiting for the mind-numbing scroll of figures to stop on her computer screen while the other members of the department undoubtedly worked on more interesting aspects of the project.

Sarah wasn’t bitter, just bored to tears. Once the data warehouse was functional she would pray for more challenging work.

She hated to beg. She would rather use her womanly charms, but she wasn’t sure she had any. Yes, she was blonde. Yes, her figure was…well, acceptable. But she’d never be on a magazine cover. She’d have to beg.

Finally, her computer monitor displayed a stationary row of figures and Sarah frowned. A notepad next to her contained one set of numbers. The monitor contained another…just as it had earlier in the day.

“The numbers aren’t right,” she said out loud, tapping her pen against her freckled nose.

“Numbers can lie.” A voice behind her made Sarah jump and she turned her head to see who was there.

“Oh, hi Steve,” she said to the tall, thin programmer. “This is so frustrating.”

“Are you still working on the disability numbers?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said with aggravation. “I’m going to have to print the whole damn thing out to figure it out. I’ll be up all night.”

“Nah. You’re pretty sharp. You’ll get it. If you need help, ask Jim,” Steve said, referring to their supervisor.

“Thanks. But I hate to do that without trying some things first. Maybe by tomorrow at this time I’ll think otherwise.”

“Good luck.”

Steve disappeared behind Sarah’s cubicle and she stared at the screen some more.

“Oh, well.” She punched in some commands and heard the laser printer come to life.

That night, the young woman sat on a couch in an old football jersey, her bare legs pulled up under her and a glass of wine on the table. She held a stack of papers containing rows and columns of numbers, headings, subheadings, subtotals and totals. Next to her were copies of accounting ledgers. She was getting dizzy moving her eyes from one to the other.

Unfortunately, this was an all too common evening for Sarah Campbell. Alone, with work to do and no chance that anybody besides a telemarketer would call her. Her last date was more than a month ago. But at least she’d gotten sex out of it, which was never guaranteed any more.

When she was twenty she said she’d wait until she was thirty to get married. It took the pressure off. Now she was within two years of the target date with no prospects in sight.

She looked at the legs sticking out from under the jersey. They weren’t bad, she thought to herself. She had been told many times that she had a nice ass, but who could believe any man about to thrust his hard cock into you for the first time. And her upturned breasts with the little nipples would never be confused with Pamela Anderson’s.

All in all, she was average…with an above average desire to figure out why the company’s disability insurance numbers weren’t right.

She stared some more at the printouts from her computer. Unconsciously, her right hand slid along her exposed thigh and around to her ass. When it returned to the front of her leg it continued until meeting the opposite thigh. Then it moved up and she felt the thin strip of fine hair above her clit.

Now she knew what she was doing. Sarah’s little hand moved down to her clit and rubbed it once, twice. She closed her eyes for a moment.

Slowly, she reached for her wine glass and took a long drink. Her hair brushed along the back of her pale neck as she tilted her head. Placing the glass back on the table, she leaned forward and pulled open the drawer.

When you live alone, you can keep just about anything in any drawer. Sarah kept toys in hers…for nights like tonight. Dark, quiet, lonely nights.

The thick, flesh colored dildo felt natural in her hand. Not because of how it was manufactured, but because of the frequency with which Sarah held it. She ran her fingers over the ridges encircling the object. Her mouth was already starting to get dry from anticipation. She would wait for more wine.

Right now, she wanted to play.

Sarah settled back down onto the couch. It was a true 1990’s model with overstuffed cushions attached to the back and armrests that were the size of tree trunks. It engulfed her.

She adjusted the pillow under her head and reached for the bottom of her jersey. Lifting her ass slightly off the couch, she pulled the shirt above her hips. She continued raising the jersey once she was again firmly planted on the couch. This time she didn’t stop until her breasts were exposed.

Sarah looked down at the mounds rising from her chest and the pink nipples growing on the ends. She could feel the tension already flowing through her body towards her pussy. One hand lightly slid across her breast and nipple as the hand holding the dildo made its way toward her clit.

The young woman loved these times. The room was quiet. Nobody was asking her to do anything or give them anything. Her body anticipated what was to come, evidenced by the growing wetness between her legs. She was free of financial worries, concerns about her career, and questions about her love life.

Right now her love life was in her hand, just making contact with her clit. The dildo moved lower, between the folds of skin under her clit and into the opening to her pussy. She only let the tip enter her, allowing it to capture some of the moisture there.

Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. She wouldn’t return to regular breathing for several minutes.

The dildo touched her clit again. This time it easily slid over the area and Sarah pressed harder. She could feel the smoothness of the tip and the roughness of the ridges.

“Oh, God,” she sighed softly. Long ago she had learned that little vocal expressions during lovemaking greatly enhanced the sensations she felt. And none of her partners seemed to care. Tonight she only had herself to worry about…and she knew what she liked.

The toy worked between her legs while her free hand massaged her breast. First she placed her entire hand over her breast and pushed down. Then she concentrated on the nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. Before long her hips were gently rising and falling in rhythm with the dildo.

Sarah felt the first indication of an orgasm build up deep inside her body. This was her clue to move the dildo and prolong the ecstasy she was feeling. She spread her legs farther apart and moved the toy to her pussy’s entrance.

The tip slid in until the first ridge on the dildo made contact.

“Mmmm, yeah,” Sarah moaned. “Now fuck me.”

She rarely had a tangible image in her mind when she masturbated. Normally, as was the case tonight, she simply dreamed of a featureless young man lowering himself upon her. His cock was large and thick, of course. The man could be gentle or rough…sometimes both in a matter of seconds.

Sarah inserted the dildo farther, almost half way. Its rough exterior grabbed at every corner of her pussy. She needed more. An instant later it disappeared inside her.

It slid in and out of her in a steady, slow rhythm. Combined with the hand on her nipple, she felt the urge to cum increase inside her. She pushed the dildo in all the way and held it there when she was on the very edge.

A few seconds later she was able to continue. This time a little faster. A little harder.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Sarah urged.

Now her hand was frantically inserting the dildo and pulling it out. The imaginary man was throwing himself down on her body over and over. Sarah spread her legs wider, pulling her knees slightly towards her.

“Oh, yes. Yesss.”

The word trailed off to become simply a sound. A signal of the beginning of her orgasm. Sarah’s ass lifted off the couch and her pussy reached upward to meet her hand. Soon her entire body rocked up and down as she came. The man was pouring his cum inside her and Sarah could feel the warm liquid.

Her hand moved from her nipple to her clit and this extended the orgasm another thirty seconds. Time had stood still for Sarah, however. With her head bouncing back and forth on the pillow, all she knew was she was coming and didn’t want to stop.

She found herself lying motionless on the couch, her hands at her side. The dildo rested in her pussy, fully inserted. She squeezed it with her muscles and felt it being pushed out.

Sarah smiled. When she did this with a man it always got a response. Tonight all she got was the pleasant sensation of the ridged dildo sliding along the inside of her pussy.

Suddenly, her eyes flew open. Sarah thought for an instant.

“That’s it! That’s fucking it!”

She yanked the dildo out of her pussy and threw it into the desk drawer as she hurled her legs off the couch. Reaching down for the stack of papers on the floor, she placed one set on her knees and another on the couch.

In the dim light she searched for the row of numbers her mind had just seen. Then she rummaged through the other stack and found another set of figures.

“Yes,” she cried out loud, this time not in the erotic sense. “But why?” Sarah stared at the numbers trying to force an answer out of them. All she knew was this was part of the solution.

By the next morning she thought she had put the entire story together. Testing her theory was going to be tricky, though. She was hesitant about bringing it to the attention of her boss and coworkers because the consequences—if she was wrong—were severe. Especially in terms of her career with this company.

So Sarah decided to take the first step on her own and kind of feel her way through it. She purposely dressed in a low-cut, tight sweater normally reserved for nights out, combined with a short, black skirt. If her guess about the numbers was right, the outfit would be a needed prop. If she was wrong…well, she didn’t want to think about that.

“Andrew, good morning,” Sarah said sweetly into the phone. “This is Sarah. Do you have a minute to see me?”

Andrew Ross was a thirty-five year old accountant who was best known for a wife who tended to get a little too drunk at the Christmas party…and the summer picnic…and the company night at the baseball game. This wasn’t disgusting only because Andrew’s wife was a former airline hostess who could, to this day, pose for any porn magazine without embarrassment.

Sarah had heard all the comments about her by the guys at work that she cared to hear. Yes, part of it might have been jealousy. But enough already about Kimberly Ross. Sarah doubted that a single guy in her office had a shot at her, but what did she know.

At the moment, it was husband Andrew she was interested in and, as she entered his little office in her little outfit, she was a little nervous.

“Hi, Sarah. Come on in.”

“Can I close the door?” Sarah asked with a big smile.

“Of course,” Andrew answered.

Sarah turned away from him to close the door, allowing him an extended opportunity to check out her little ass pressing against the back of her skirt. She slowly made her way to a chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs as she sat.

She held some papers to her chest, bringing them to her lap once she was settled into the chair. She waited for his eyes to return to hers before speaking.

“Andrew, I’ve been going over the figures for the disability program as part of the data warehouse project.”

Sarah let the words linger.

“I know,” Andrew finally said. “How’s it going so far?”

“A little slow, actually. I got bogged down recently on a couple of things.”

Andrew was still smiling. “Can I help?”

“Possibly.” Sarah knew she was going to have to convert from her innocent girl approach to the woman in charge quickly. Whether she could do it seamlessly might determine the success of her whole exercise. “Let me explain.”

She leaned forward, laying three sheets of paper on Andrew’s desk along with most of her breasts. When the show was over, she leaned back in her chair. Andrew eventually got around to looking at the papers.

“For three days now we’ve been off by a certain amount,” Sarah said in a strong, steady voice. “That same amount shows up as a credit on last month’s disability balance sheet to an account number that is out of sequence.”

“A data entry error could account for the sequencing problem,” Andrew said. He stared back at Sarah.

“What do we know about this account?” Sarah asked.

“What do you mean ‘What do we know?’”

“What do we know? Who does it belong to?” the girl asked again.

“We have thousands of customers, Sarah. I’m afraid even I don’t have them all memorized,” Andrew said. The smile was gone.

“Can you pull it up for me?”

“Sarah. That information is…”

“OK. I’ll have Joe do it.” She began to reach for the papers on the desk.

“No. Wait. Here.” Andrew swiveled in his chair and opened the disability files on his PC. A few seconds later the account flashed on the screen.

Sarah looked across the top of the screen and read the account name and address: Robert Zimmerman, P.O. Box 56332 followed by the city, state and zip. She copied the information onto her notepad.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Sarah asked calmly.

“Nope. Never heard of him,” Andrew replied, still staring at the screen.

“Of course not. He doesn’t exist,” the girl said. “But you do each time you go to the post office to pick up the check.”

The man slowly wheeled his chair back around to face her. That was the only sound in the room. But his eyes were screaming at her.

“That is a very serious thing to say, Sarah.”

“Theft is a very serious crime, Andrew.” Her emphasis on his name was drilled home by her leaning forward.

It’s possible that Andrew’s internal anxiety about his activities had been building up to the point where the mere mention of the word theft immobilized him. It was a long time before he spoke again.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

“Am I warm?”

The accountant just nodded.

“We can make it go away,” Sarah said softly. “Well, I should say YOU can make it go away.”

Andrew was listening, his mouth clenched firmly shut.

Sarah questioned herself on whether the timing was right. She concluded it was, and rose from her chair. She strode around the corner of Andrew’s desk and moved next to his chair.

Sarah put her hands on his knees and rotated him and the chair until they faced her squarely. Then she spread his legs just wide enough for her to stand between them. She picked up his hands with hers and placed them on the back of her thighs, inside the bottom of her short skirt.

“Higher, Andrew.”

The hands slid up the back of her legs and stopped halfway to her ass.

“Higher.”

His fingers hit the bottom of her ass, then continued until most of his hands were at least touching her soft, round cheeks. With her briefest thong on, it was possible that he believed she was naked under the skirt.

“Andrew, we can make these numbers right, can’t we?”

“Yes, Sarah. We can.” His voice was steadier than he thought it would sound. He fought the temptation to squeeze the precious flesh he held in his hands, not wanting to upset the girl.

“And we can do it without me having to tell anyone. Is that correct?”

“We can do that, yes.”

Sarah reached down and ran her fingers across his crotch. She could not yet feel the outline of a hardened cock. “I don’t think we should tell anyone. Do you?”

“Nope,” was his simple response.

“Feel me, Andrew.”

The man gratefully began to massage the girl’s ass, rolling the skin between his fingers and in his palm. She felt him cover every inch of her bottom, including the strap of her thong. He pulled it away from her slightly and let it snap back into place with a quiet slap.

Sarah reached again for his crotch and this time clearly felt Andrew’s semi-rigid cock. She rubbed it and felt it stretch against the fabric.

“For me not to tell anyone, Andrew, I think we need to make some arrangements.” Sarah’s continual stroking of the man’s cock succeeded in producing a full erection in less than a minute. His own hands kneaded her ass cheeks until she felt the heat in them.

“I’m listening,” he said.

Sarah nearly laughed, but was intent on keeping the pressure on him. “I’m coming back at five. Call your lovely wife and tell her you’ll be late. We have unfinished business.”

The girl gave Andrew’s cock one last, good squeeze before backing away from his chair. She smiled at the imprint it left in his pants. Straightening her skirt, she walked around the desk, picked up all the papers she had brought and quietly left the office.

The rest of the day seemed to drag by for Sarah. Although she realized Andrew might not be a willing participant in the next phase of her plan, she suspected he would be. He had never struck her as the aggressive type and his response to her in their morning meeting indicated she was in command.

Five o’clock came much too fast for Andrew. He couldn’t eat lunch after the bomb Sarah had dropped on him earlier. And he didn’t have nearly enough time to think of a Plan B. He was going to have to listen to the little programmer’s demands and settle it the best he could.

At ten minutes past five, when virtually all the offices on his floor were dark, Sarah appeared at Andrew’s door. She entered and pushed the door closed behind her. A flick of the light switch put the room in semi-darkness.

“I’m so glad you could stay late tonight, Andrew,” Sarah said softly.

The man leaned back in his chair, but said nothing.

“Now get undressed,” she said.

“Sarah, I think we…”

“Get the fuck undressed,” the girl demanded.

The accountant stood between his chair and his desk. He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Sarah stood calmly in the middle of the office, her hands at her sides. She watched as he removed the shirt and placed it over the arm of his chair. He was not a fat man, but looked as though he’d never done a sit-up or lifted a weight in his life.

Andrew took off his shoes and socks before reaching for his belt. A moment later, his pants were on the chair’s arm and Andrew stood in his boxers.

“Come here,” Sarah said.

Andrew walked around his desk and stood in front of her. The girl looked toward the man’s boxers and gave a quick nod of her head.

He slid them down his legs and stepped out, dragging them to the side with his foot. Sarah stared at the man’s limp, yet ample cock. She was impressed, but would never let him know it.