You are pouring yourself a coffee; you sense someone behind you but you don't turn around but wait expectantly; closing your eyes and unbuttoning your blouse by the two top buttons, making your collar loose and revealing a little of the flesh of your shoulder. A set of lips softly touch the exposed left shoulder, two hands embrace you and cup your breasts and begin to rub the sides slowly back and forth along their outlines through the fabric; you can feel a hard pressure against the crack of your ass, you push slightly back to feel it even more. The lips move to the middle of your shoulder, then to the soft spot between your shoulder blade and your neck. You feel the warm spongy texture of a tongue tracing the outline of your neck up to your ear lobe. You try to reach behind to feel the firmness with your hand but it's pressed into you. You can't but help give a shudder as you feel the hardness start to slowly move side to side, rubbing its mass across the denim, seemingly desperate to wipe the fabric that's keeping it away from its goal away.
The hands move from your breasts and down your sides to your waist, slowly pulling your blouse out of its trappings of the jean captor. The warm of the flesh slowly traces from your earlobe to the nape of your neck, along the outline of your neck and then to the base of your neck and blade. You feel two hands moving the bottom of the back of your blouse up past your mid back to your bra strap. The pressure of two lips distract you from the gently fingertips tracing the outline of your bra and then another on the edge of your shoulder.
The pressure on your ass disappears but you aren't disappointed; through the thin fabric of your blouse you can feel hot breath moving down to your exposed skin of your back. You shiver slightly when you feel the initial touch of the moist warm of the tongue on your right side just below your strap; you take a sharp intake of breath as you feel the two hands reaching around and the friction of the fingertips sliding up and down your inner thighs, each pass moving deeper, closer to the zipper of your jeans.
The combination of the hot breath and the moistness of spongy flesh sliding along your and then down the middle of your back, inching slowly closer to the top of jeans makes you give an involuntary spasm of your quickly awakening pussy lips. There is a kiss on the left waist, a kiss on the right side of your waist and a long kiss in the small of your back -- with a quick flick of the tongue into the barely exposed crack.
You can no longer resist, you open your eyes and turn around and see nothing, you no longer feel nothing except for the wetness that's slowly seeping through the front of your jeans....
"Hey! What cha doing? Doesn't look like you're doing invoices?"
I heard your voice boom out from directly behind me, taking me out of my lazily typing fantasy, I hadn't even heard you enter the damn office, let alone come and stand right behind me. As my eyes shot up at your smiling face I gathered that you had been there long enough to read my little slip of concentration.
It was five in the afternoon on a almost spring-like Christmas Eve; once again we were the only ones working still -- the advantage of being single in the boss's eyes -- we didn't have family expectations to balance with what had to be out on the twenty sixth, so no morally sound reason for us to not have it done. One would have expected us to be friends or at least on friendly terms in our similar situations, but we weren't. The reality was that we were both junior assistant managers waiting for the boss to name who would get the empty vice presidental position that had opened up two weeks earlier. Overtime wasn't a cooperative effort, it was a competitive one, one that I planned to win and then rub your face in it as I sent you for coffee; which I knew you would do to me if you got it instead of me.
I had slacked off for the past two days on purpose just so I could take advantage of working late that night, otherwise I'd have to contend with the neighbors asking me over for a festive drink and another introduction to one of the quickly slimming line up of available women in town. Not that anyone would be interested in me any way, I was considered a distant emotionally unavailable egotist who cared more about the bottom line than human relations -- and that was my mother's nice opinion of me, my acquaintences just called me an asshole without the expansion of reasoning.
I didn't know why you were working though, I would have figured the Queen of the heartless bitches would have been out stealing Christmas presents from the orphanage or at least setting fire to the Salvation Army Santa's beard, but here you were, deciding that you were going to be my own personal lump of coal. Lucky me.
"Actually," I said, "This is private code for more bracing angles to that sweet little thing in the warehouse."
You snorted, "ya, like that would happen -- unless she's into necrophelia."
I growled. So I hadn't had a date for a while, neither had you -- I pointed that out and you bent over closer and with sweetly dipped words of dagger keeness whispered, "True, but when I'm called a dickless wonder it's not because of a genetic short-sightedness -- it's a choice."
I could feel my cheeks reddening slightly; not from you reading what I had written, or the slur against my manhood but more from the pleasant sensation that the smell of your body caused to run from my nostrils to my brain: red licorice and mocha coffee -- what the hell was going on in my head? You were dressed in that non-descript grey blouse that hid your breasts to the point of non existence and knee length skirt that revealed not even a slightest of hints that you were even a woman; hell you even had your hair cut short and almost spiked to give you an androgynous look just in case the boss thought the position in the higher offices were 'men's work'. You wore almost no make up, though with your rounded baby-ish looking face, make up would have made you look like a nine year old hooker. I must have been over worked to let me even consider you as anything but a man eating shark and I quickly dismissed the notion in my head that I wanted to be the man you were eating. I hated when just the spirit of a season made me think that I was missing something and would settle for anything, especially something as repugnant as some slitless wonder like you.
I closed the word program that left only the invoice excel sheet exposed on the screen. "What do you want, anyway? Trying to sabatoge the numbers?"
"Hardly," was the answer, "You do that quite handily all on your lonesome. I just figured since you aren't quick on the draw and I'm going to be here a while longer making sure you don't change my work..."
"Like I would do that," I choked out through bared teeth, "I can count past ten."
You rolled your eyes and gave my shoulder a soft reassuring pat, "And one day I hope your dreams will come true...but what I came in for was to see if you wanted a hoist of eggnog to this..." You looked around my office dramatically, "Magical season of togetherness and harmony....and because if it doesn't get drunk the smell of that shit will keep us out of here for a week."
I didn't want to but as you swayed a bottle of rum around my face, I decided that I couldn't see the harm in one drink. I followed you out into the main receptionists area and saw that you had already had the carton of eggnog out and two long stemmed crystal wine goblets out on the desk.
"Pretty classy," I popped out with, "Considering the company."
You gave a shrug as you poured a little rum into each goblet. You then poured the eggnog and finally said, "Well, it is the season for illusions. Here you go." You handed me a goblet and and as we clinked our goblets together you added, "Eat my shit and die."
"I would but the smell would remind me too much of you," I returned and we both drunk the filled goblets down quickly, neither of us taking the eye off the other.
