An angry rain was falling in sheets, rattling the glass skylight that Eric was mindlessly staring out of. Streaks of water were skimming across the pane as the wind howled. Spring had arrived, but just barely. It was cold outside. April in Minnesota. A shiver went through him.
Eric purposefully situated his desk under the opening in the ceiling so he could escape the monotony of boring taupe walls, grey cubicles, and the constant noise that made up the floor he worked on. The small window was a wonderful mental respite — something that allowed him to escape when needed.
Luckily, Eric had an office. "Perks of being a boss," he mused, when he moved in about a year ago. It was a place to escape the humming printers, the ringing phones, the pecks of keystrokes, and the chatter of his co-workers who took pride in their gossip. And boy, did they love their gossip. Who was dating whom? Why was Eric's office door closed? Who's the new lady downstairs in accounting? Did Sandra get a boob job?
Eric's floor was home to his organization's marketing and communications team. Forty people — mostly 30-something women who wore skirts and dresses — executed the communication and marketing efforts for one of the state's largest school districts. It also meant the people on the team knew most of the dirty secrets in the organization. It was a perfect marriage of work and gossip for the information vultures that made up the office. He kind of loved it.
"If they only knew," he often thought to himself, snapping a glance at the closed blinds that kept prying eyes from peering into his office from the sometimes-chaotic outside work space.
The pecking order was simple. Eric, a vice president, is in charge of communications. Things like press releases, and newsletters, and photography and video — those were more his domain. Katy, his uptight colleague is also a vice president — she leads the marketing team. Brochures and pamphlets and events at the schools were her happy-place. Jim is executive director of it all. The rest of the team is made tacticians — the worker bees who did the tasks Eric and the others dreamed up — and secretaries. Forty staff. Five men. Endless daydreaming.
The fourth floor is the penthouse of the office building. Eric, Katy and Jim each have corner offices. And while there are plenty of windows lining the walls, Eric preferred watching the world from that skylight in the roof. He likes to lean back in his office chair, his spine melting into the fabric of its back, and daydream.
Today, in spite of the downpour outside, he wasn't thinking about the weather. He was fantasizing about Veronica's sheer, black thigh-highs. The ones he caught a glimpse of in the elevator this morning. Her black pencil skirt was riding a little higher than she realized, he figured, as she thumbed through the files that were in her arm. To his delight, he could make out the top of the stockings and the garter clip holding them up.
It was just the two of them in the sterile, steel elevator. It smelled like grease, and it was a bit humid inside thanks to the deluge outside. He barely noticed all of that, though. A flash in his mind's eye of her skirt hiked up and bent over in front of him tore into his thoughts. He could almost feel his stiff cock easily sliding into her tight, wet pussy. Eric gently shook his head, cobwebs falling away, coming back to reality.
Veronica's white, button-up blouse wasn't intentionally revealing, but as Eric slyly looked up and down the length of her body, he spied a tantalizing amount of cleavage as her C-cup breasts were spilling out of her black, lace bra, just visible because top two buttons of her blouse were undone.
He took a deep, but quiet breath as his cock stirred in his black dress pants. He wanted to make conversation, but choked on the words.
As Veronica continued to sift through 20-or-so manila folders in her arm, her curvy five-foot-eight body stood atop a pair of black, open-toed four-inch high heels. Her stocking-clad toenails peeking out the front. Her blonde hair was up in a cute pony tail, but a strand had fallen out near the top and was now draped lightly across her face. She was pretty, with just enough eye shadow to make her blue eyes pop.
Suddenly the elevator lurched to halt and Veronica looked up, half startled. Eric was too, and their eyes met. He suddenly felt like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was undressing her with his mind, after all, and he felt like she knew it. She sheepishly bit her bottom lip, looked down, and with her free hand, tugged her skirt down an inch or two.
As she looked back up, Veronica flashed a smile, Eric did the same, and she glided out of the elevator. Eric watched. The red bottoms of her heels flashed with each step, her skirt clinging to her legs as she walked, its slit, which ran down its center-back offering a better glimpse of her long, sexy legs as she walked.
Eric was hard as a Goddamned rock.
Just as the heavy metal doors were closing, Veronica turned on a dime to face the elevator, her pony tail whipping as she rotated. Her eyes again met Eric's. This time she flashed him a wink as the doors closed.
"Holy fuck," he mumbled to himself, now alone in the elevator. Thigh high stockings — they were Eric's thing. His instant turn-on. Like they are for plenty of men. Veronica's skirt — the way it hugged her hips and accentuated her curves — was also his thing. The black lace bra, open-toed, black heels — it's like Veronica knew the exact outfit that would cater to every nook and cranny of his array of perverse sexual fantasies. It wasn't inappropriate or slutty, her outfit. It's what made it so hot, he thought.
And the wink? "What the hell was that about?" Eric thought to himself as the elevator again lurched to a halt and opened to his floor, his stiff cock pressing against is dress pants. "Fucking hot," he thought to himself.
---
As the elevator doors slid shut, Veronica let out a deep breath. She felt as though she had been holding it since she saw Eric in the elevator. She had more or less been thinking of that kind of moment for the past few weeks. A smile crossed her face, and she turned away from the elevator and headed back toward her work station.
As she did, she passed Vicki, the grey-haired department secretary. Vicki was sitting on a stool, not a desk chair, and her cubicle had a half-wall she sat behind. On top of the half-wall was a six-inch wide shelf with business cards, a few brochures, and a service bell. A large sign that read "Accounting" hung from the shelf. The stool allowed Vicki to sit higher so she could watch everyone coming out of the elevator, and judge people as they came to her to be whisked away to appointments or meetings within the department.
As Veronica approached, Vicki was giving her the kind of resting bitch face people only read about in glossy magazines.
"Got a button there," Vicki said, bobbing her head in the general direction of Veronica's chest, clearly pointing out what she deemed to be its inappropriateness. Her lips were smacking with each chomp of the massive piece of gum in her mouth.
Veronica looked down, took note of her shirt buttons, and shrugged.
"Well look at that," she said, looking back up to Vicki. "What would I do without you?" She flashed a fake smile and walked past.
"Psycho," Veronica said under her breath when out of earshot.
She entered a wide hallway between cubicles, and after passing three, turned left into her space. It was a painfully boring grey cube, which was buttressed on one side by an even more boring taupe wall. She slid into her chair and crossed her legs. She loved the feeling of her silky stocking-clad legs rubbing together. She was never one to wear pantyhose, much less stockings, so the texture made her feel sexy. Which was the goal, after all — to feel sexy and look sexy.
Veronica sighed and a wave rushed over her as the excitement of the elevator began to wear off. She stared into her computer screen, more or less looking through it, and revisited the past 10 minutes in her mind.
She had deliberately arrived to work earlier than normal, went up to her third floor work area and grabbed a few files, then went down to the first floor to wait. There was a small station for filing and stapling, and from that vantage point, which was near a set of windows that overlooked the attached parking garage, she could see when people were about to enter the building.
She was waiting for Eric.
When he began walking up, her heart fluttered. Eric was tall, something Veronica had always found sexy. He's six-foot-nine with an average body — muscular with a little padding. Many of the women in the office find him funny and attractive. He has sandy blonde hair, piercing blue-grey eyes, full lips and a scruffy two-day beard. He hated to shave, he told her once.
They've been known each other professionally for two years, and they've chatted casually hundreds of times. About her dog, her interest in hockey, her annual trips to Mexico with girlfriends. She talked about herself a lot, she suddenly realized. But they talked, too, about his love of Caribbean beaches, basketball, and of course, his height.
