Office Tales by Byron

I’d been working in the book distributor for about seven months, and was finally trusted enough to be left working late trying to nail down some contracts with Australian publishers who were proving slippery. The overhead lights were off, and at my desk around the corner from the front of the office, only the glow of the monitors illuminated the deserted office. I rang off another semi successful call with the UNSW historical imprint, and leaned back. We’re a small company, 8 of us in the office and 5 in the adjacent warehouse. Everyone else was long since gone for the day, so I was surprised and a little alarmed when I heard a key in the glass front door to the office. I stood up and stepped around the corner, only to see Mrs Rubislaw, the owner and manager, stabbing her key drunkenly to the lock. I switched on the front desk light and opened the door, through which she spilled, reeking of booze. “oh hello! Steven, what on earth are you still doing here?” she slurred out as I helped her up. “I was making calls to the Australians, Mrs Rubislaw, I have better luck catching them when they are actually awake” I said quickly, eager to explain my presence as innocently as I could (because, well, I WAS innocent). She leaned back against the front desk, pushing the bright light of the desk lamp away from her face. She was dressed nicely, as if for a function, and her features, striking for a woman in her 50’s, were accentuated with carefully applied makeup. “I’m... coming back from a little drink.” She said, smiling “but wanted to check on something in my office, and the damned VPN has been so... shi” she stopped herself swearing, continuing imperiously “...so effing flakey lately, I thought I best save myself the bother and just come on in.” I nodded, flipping on the rest of the office lights, and starting to head back to my desk. “Well I should be here for another half hour, I need to at least ping two other people down under” I said, settling back into my chair and starting to type up the call notes. Mrs Rubislaw’s office was reached by walking down the aisle of cubes in which my space was. She walked past, with an air of deliberately stepping carefully to avoid stumbling. Her hand trailed along the side of my desk, giving me a view of her strong fingers and lustrous, candy-apple perfect nail polish. She uttered something, pausing, and I turned to catch it, but she was already moving on. I put it down to having a little too much to drink. The lights at the front of the office were on a EM switch, and after 10 minutes of no warm bodies, started to turn off. The scene was again lit only by the glow of my monitors, and the galaxy of twinkling LEDs that adorned all the other slumbering electronic equipment across everyone’s desk. Stretching to look behind me, I saw the thin band of light under Mrs Rubislaw’s office door, and could just make out the tickety tack of her nails hitting the keyboard with rapid precision. Suddenly my IM window flashed, and Mrs Rubislaw’s smiling company picture portrait appeared next to a simple note: MissBoss: ‘Steven, please come in here a moment’ OfficeSteve: ‘yes of course, Boss’ She was sitting in her large leather wingback chair (the Throne, others had come to call it) and still typing furiously, face turned sideways, small gold earrings buoyed by the motion of her flying fingers. “Here, come and read this, tell me what you think” I sat in the short chair in front of the solid wooden desk. The rest of the office had switched out to minimalistic IKEA style crap the year before, but Mrs Rubislaw had avoided all but the slightest appeasements to modernity. Her chair was studded green leather, and the desk looked like it was part of the building itself, thick dark mahogany antique with intricate carved details. The ‘front’ of the desk extended all the way to the carpet, adding to the imposing nature. I leaned forward over the expanse of wood, straining to get closer to the screen. Her hand went up to turn the monitor, then stopped. “Come round this side instead” she said quickly, and I stood up, complying. The view from this side of the desk was new, but not surprising. She shuffled in a little, and I bent over to the monitor to read the document. It was barely modified boilerplate legalese, and I started scanning through it quickly. Out of habit, my right hand reached to scroll though with a mousewheel, but instead met the warm hand of Mrs Rubislaw. I pulled my hand back, but she was laughing a little. “well hello!” she said, voice close behind me “here’s the mouse Steven, sorry for molesting you” I rolled my eyes, smiling, and sank to my knees for comfort as I continued to read. At the end of the document, the font changed, and it read “If you’re as fond of the idea as I am, please proceed under the desk and await further instruction” I read it a few times, and the silence in the room took on an electrical charge. The heavy ticking of the antique clock on the wall opposite had never seemed louder and more epic in nature. The cubbyhole in the desk was pitch black, I ducked my head down and crawled into the gloom. “Good boy steven” she clucked, pulling her knees together and pulling her chair into my confined place. Her nylon-clad knees were right in front of my face, but I was at a loss as to what to do. “Kiss me, Steven. Kiss me down there” I placed my lips to her knee, and her legs parted just a little “ohh yes, good boy” I continued to place kisses along the length of revealed inner thigh as she slipped down in the chair, her dark panties now in front of my face. I blew on her mound, feeling her react, then kissed slowly in the opposite direction, moving back on the other leg “yesssss” She hissed, pushing her hips towards my face. Her hands snuck down beneath the desk, gripping the back of my head securely, gathering my hair tight in her fist “Cmere boy!” She growled, pulling my head into her crotch, other hand slipping her panties to the side as she rode my face. She gyrated, directing my tongue to her favourite and most needed spots, legs crossing around behind my neck, forming a tight link that I didn’t ever care to be set free from. Her fingers were inside her, and I licked them too, lapping at the heat and juices. Sooner than I’d hoped, her legs started tightening slowly, and her hand quickened. My entire face was pressed hard into her sex, and my breathing was very almost cut off as she exploded into the wave of an intense climax, the desk rocking a little with her exaltations.