|Silvered Glass Globe
by Paul Bamenda ©
At the office, on my desk, I keep a silvered glass globe, somewhat like a Christmas tree bauble. It reflects, like a fish-eye lens, all that is around it in startling detail. Yet to try to see what it is itself is impossible, for all it does is reflect. Get close to look at it and all you will see is your own eye, the black of the pupil deep and shiny. And there is nothing more to the globe -- it is all surface -- and on the inside, like the Christmas tree ornament, it is empty.
I stared at the globe. There was something about working in the office on Saturday mornings that made me horny. Perhaps it was the drudgery of sitting at my computer crunching numbers or tapping out reports for the month-end deadline. Perhaps it was resentment for the boss, Fedder, bubbling under the surface and sublimating into something else. Or perhaps it was just the dank, motionless air, the darkness of the empty offices and the languid shadows that stirred my stony loneliness. But inevitably, by mid-morning, the emotional lump in my heart, that pit of desire, had throbbed outward to my skin and warmed it, turned it lustful and desirous, even as I continued to hammer away at my work.
Fedder, the boss, was rarely there on Saturday -- a relief. He was exacting, overbearing, intimidating and -- hugely successful. In Fedderland, there was only one way to do things -- his way. And there were no boundaries, for everything was his: He might read your mail before you got it, and mark it up with his directions; he might ask why you kept a separate file of your work in your desk; or where you were on your lunch hour. He probed everywhere, and where he probed he questioned, and corrected and set straight. There was no privacy from the probe and, frankly, if we all had not been paid so well, none of us would have worked there. But paid like princes we were, and we marched to Fedder's tune.
He had only one blind spot - computers, and was totally illiterate where they were concerned. This was a matter of great glee to the rest of us, who regularly exchanged emails deriding him, and tittered at how the spell-check regularly wanted to change his name from Fedder to Fodder. He delegated all computer matters to Shirley, a matronly secretary who was only partially computer literate herself.
Mid-morning, last Saturday, that point was almost upon me when the desire between my legs would overtake the discipline of my mind, when I heard some steps and rustling in the hallway. Folks usually don't come in on the weekends, so I knew to be a bit careful. I got up from my desk and peeked out my door. There, down the hall, at a secretary's desk outside Fedder's corner office, a young, red-haired woman was looking through a file folder. The light streamed in from the window behind her, and I could see her young, lithe body outlined beneath a flimsy shift.
She had perky breasts and a round behind, skin white as milk with a spray of pinkish freckles across her nose. She moved with the jerky aplomb of a young woman who thinks she's just learned about everything, as she put the folder down on the desk and turned to the cabinet to take out another. I realized quickly that she was looking a personnel files - Shirley, the secretary - had left early on Friday and apparently had failed to lock the cabinet.
The young woman took out another file and placed it on the desk before her, then sat down. So intent on her reading was she that she was oblivious to my stealthily slipping down the hall.
She began to do something that I'd never seen before, something unbelievable. She first raised her left hand to her right breast, and began caressing the nipple. I could see it harden beneath the thin fabric, and as it did, she squeezed it between her index finger and thumb. Then she pinched it a bit, rubbed the breast with her entire hand, and pinched again, hard, twisting the nipple a bit. I imagined the tip of it getting harder and redder as she worked it, and the downy hairs on her breasts standing up while the backs of her legs turned to goose bumps. In the meantime, her other hand slipped between her legs. I watched as her fingers pulled back the dress, and the hand worked in a circular motion between her legs.
Already my cock had gotten thick in my jeans, and I was stroking the tip of it through them. It was throbbing and straining, and I could feel a small drop of wetness at its tip. As she worked one hand on her breast and the other on her crotch, I increased the pace of the strokes on my dick, which was pushing mercilessly against my underwear. I imagined slipping it between those white thighs, up that skirt and into the wet recesses of her pussy.
But of course I couldn't do that.
I had a better idea. I slipped my hand into my jeans and pushed my dick down to where it wouldn't be obvious.
Then I stepped out of the office and purposefully strode down the hall toward her. I cleared my throat loudly. The young woman immediately dropped her hands, closed the folder and gasped. Then she stood up, as she turned and saw me. Her face turned red.
"What do you think you're doing here?" I demanded in a strict voice.
"Oh! You must be Mr. Fedder," she said pertly. "I'm Jennifer. I'm a friend of Shirley's, the secretary? You know she had to leave early yesterday, and she asked me to bring her home some files to work on so they'd be ready Monday."
Why, she thought I was Fedder I'll never know. But it gave me a plausible opening and I decided to play the role. "Let me see that file," I demanded. She handed it over demurely. It was a personnel file for Stacy, a slutty tramp who worked in Receivables. There were some rumors that Stacy was into cybersex and that Shirley had tipped off Fedder, who was going to lower the boom, soon. I glanced in the file she'd been reading. Then I understood. My next move was obvious.
"I can just gather up the files Shirley needed and get out of here. She wanted to make sure you had everything for Monday," she said. Her initial perkiness was gone. I could see that she was getting nervous. Her face was fully flushed, and both of her nipples were standing out prominently.
"This won't do," I said. "These are confidential personnel files. There is no way they can leave this office. You're obviously up to something. Come into my office," I directed.
I stepped into Fedder's corner office, and motioned her to sit on his black leather sofa. Then standing in front of her, I handed her the file she had had and told her to open it.
"Is this what you were reading?" I demanded.
She hesitated. "I guess so." she said, lamely.
"And what is it?"
"It's some kind of email printout, I guess."
"And it's to an employee of this company, isn't it?"
"I guess so. I really don't know about these things." She was acting much more innocent than she was.
"Well, Jennifer, I think you know more than you let on. Shirley knows not to take personnel files out of here, so you must be up to something else. But we'll get to that later. Now is this what you were reading at her desk?"
"I guess so," she said quietly. She was breathing quickly and shallowly, clearly afraid.
"Let's find out. Why don't you read it to me aloud?"
"You mean?" Her voice trailed off and her eyes welled with tears.
"It's good enough to read to yourself, isn't it?" I growled. She just looked at me. "Then it's good enough to read aloud. And if you don't want to get in trouble for breaking and entering and trespassing, you'll read it."
"I guess so," she said. And then she started to read:
"Sex is the most intimate form of communication that two people can have, and something that I've always strongly believed in. When I learned that I was an exhibitionist, it just strengthened this belief. Let me tell you about an example.
"As you know, I prefer to travel alone because a companion would inhibit my exhibitionistic adventures. Last year, in Paris, I decided to attend the ballet, which performs at the old Opera Garnier - the old magnificent opera house that in recent times is most famous for the Phantom but that has a distinguished and renowned history as the home of the Paris opera company (which has since moved on to new quarters) and is now the home of the ballet. Unlike modern theaters, when the house is full, it has seats that fold down into the aisles, so that once the performance starts, there is simply no way for anyone to leave until the intermission.
"I dressed up in a sheer silk blouse with, of course, no bra and a very short leather skirt that rode up my thighs when I sat down. I had an orchestra seat, midway back in the theatre, with a very handsome man to my left and an older woman on my right. The man to my left, who appeared to be with his wife, had noticed me when I sat down, and as the curtain rose and the lights went down, I could see him eyeing my primly crossed legs. The house was packed, and the folding seats went down, with the last of the audience sitting in them.
"As the ballet started, I shifted shift back and forth in my seat. Each time I did so, my skirt rode further up my thighs; the man to my left watched closely as the hemline rose, bit by bit. The ballet proceeded, and midway through the first act, I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse, so that the man to my left had a generous view of my breasts. He glanced over, and his eyes fixed on my nipples. I knew I had established a connection, an intimate connection with a complete stranger, someone who perhaps did not even speak my own language. Yet there was a thread between us of the most primal kind, a teather through which was signaled our most basic urges. Just knowing this was like having ice pressed to my breasts, and my nipples responded, becoming erect and pressing against the raw silk of my blouse. I turned my head slightly in his direction and caught his eye; I let the corners of my mouth turn up in a slight smile. He blushed and looked away, back at the performance. I raised my right hand to my left breast and touched the nipple, then squeezed it; then I rubbed the entire breast, then squeezed and twisted the nipple once again. I could see the man was watching me out of the corner of his eye. A lump had appeared in his pants, and he adjusted his coat and program so that his wife would not see.
"I reached into my bag and took out a small, white vibrator. I first made sure the man to my left saw it, and then, holding it in my left hand, I placed it between my legs and inched it up my inner thighs. The tip of the vibrator was warm and gently but silently humming. My skirt slipped up further, and I could just touch my clitoris with the tip of the vibrator. I placed it lightly on the top of my clit, and then drew it down slowly between my labia, then back up again, ever so slowly. Then back down again, and up. Each time it reached the top, I would slowly circle my clit with the warm tip. I was very wet, and my juices flooded between my legs.
"The man to my left had grown a huge hard-on in his suit pants, and he had built a kind of little tent with his ballet program and coat to conceal it from his wife. With his right hand he was stroking his dick through his pants with the same rhythm that I was stroking my clitoris. And it was all in time to the music of the orchestra! There we were, two strangers, dancing a ballet of closest intimacy amid a crowd of strangers. I slipped down further in the seat, so that he could see the lips of my pussy and the little dildo working up and down my crack, and around and around my clit, which was now huge and engorged. I spread my legs a bit more, and slid the tip of the dildo inside me, then pulled it out. Then I raised it again, caressing the pink, swollen lips of my crack, and then pressing the humming pecker down hard on my hungry clit. Once again I took the tip down and pushed it inside me, this time a bit further than the last, like a hot cock pushed in up to the rim.
"The man to my left was now gripping his cock firmly in his fist through his pants, rhythmically jerking on it as I slid the vibrator in and out. His eyes were averted in my direction, so that every stroke he took mimicked mine; I could read his mind and heart, I knew that he was with me, fucking me in his fantasy, and I knew that he was reading my mind, knowing that I was fucking him, consuming his swollen cock inside my hungry pussy, pressing my hot clitoris against his pelvis.
"I caught the man's eye, and smiled at him. The intensity of the vibrator was overcoming me, as beads of sweat broke out on my brow. My clit was hard as a rock, and I could stand it no longer. I thrust the dildo into me, up to the hilt, while with the other hand I rubbed my clit furiously. I clenched my teeth together to keep from screaming as I came, fucking myself furiously. Suddenly my whole body shuddered as the climax passed through me. The man to my left was in a spasm, as the orchestra crashed down with a thunderous finale to the first act. And then, as the lights came up, he turned to me and smiled."
She stopped, closed the file folder and looked up at me from Fedder's couch. Her nipples were hard and pointing out; her legs were slightly spread. Here blue eyes riveted themselves on mine, and her lips parted slightly. The tip of her tongue, barely visible, ran along her lower lip. I unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my jeans and underwear, revealing my hardened cock. I stepped forward to her, and she took it in her hand. Then she looked upward at me and placed the underside of it, just beneath the head, on her lips, and nibbled at it gently with her teeth. Her mouth then ran down the shaft to my balls and back up again. She took the head in her mouth and ran her tongue around the rim, then took it out again, sliding down the back side of the shaft with the tip of her tongue. Reaching the base, she bent down and forward, and sucked my balls all the way in to her hot, wet mouth. I was ready to come at that moment, ready to shoot my wad all over her pretty face and copper colored hair, but I restrained myself, and placed my hand on her head. Gently I pushed her back on the couch.
Instinctively, she lay all the way back and lifted her legs high into the air, exposing her reddish bush to me. Her clitoris was already hard and exposed and her labia were engorged and red. I got on my knees and brought my face close to her; then with my fingers I spread the lips to expose the pearl of her clit, and blew lightly on and around it. Then I took the very tip of my tongue and teased it gently, daring it to grow bigger and harder. I flicked my tongue quickly back and forth across the uppermost part of it, then drew back and blew again on it.
I spread her lips wider, opening her crack all the way, and drew my tongue down from the clitoris slowly to the warm crevice of her vagina; then I went back up and back down again. At the bottom, I stuck my tongue into her gently and slowly fucked her hole with my tongue. She struggled and moaned; then I raised up and went back to her clit. Now I took it all the way into my hot mouth, with as much of her inner labia as I could, and flicked my tongue back and forth over the hot little button.
She cried out and thrust her legs out as she came; and came; and came. Then she pulled me up to her by my hair, grabbed my ass and thrust my hard cock into her wet, warm pussy. I pounded her with my pelvis as our mouths met and our tongues explored each others throats. I came almost immediately, flooding her young body with my hot seed. She felt my spasm and pulled me closer, jamming my knob into her as far as it would go. And then it was quiet. We held each other, drenched with sweat, panting in unison, the room smelling of sex. Perhaps we dozed a bit, perhaps we dreamed; it seemed a long time passed.
Then I got up, as did she. We dressed quickly and in silence. My mind was spinning with what I should say. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to have this experience again but I was, of course, Fedder, as far as she was concerned. I decided I would come clean and tell her who I was. Surely she was as pleased as I.
Then she surprised me. She picked up the file folder from the floor and retrieved the email message. She tore it into tiny pieces, which she then dropped into her purse. And then she said, "Mr. Fedder, I don't think you want to make any trouble for my friend Shelly with her emails, now do you? They tell me sexual harassment is a big hassle. You don't want to find out, do you? So maybe you can just put her folder back in the cabinet. You'll forget about that investigation of her for sending dirty emails on the company's computer, and I'll forget about what just happened. Deal?"
I was stunned. Before I could respond, she had dropped the folder in front of me, turned and disappeared. I picked it up, ambled out into the hall, put it back in the file cabinet and then locked it. I walked down the hall to my office.
Then I shuddered a bit. If Fedder was in fact investigating Shelly, the probe would go on, my tryst with Jennifer would be exposed, and...well, it got too complicated to think about.
It took me another hour or so to finish up my work, and in the meantime, I stopped by Fedder's office to make sure there were no telltale signs of bodily fluids on his couch or the lingering smell of sex. Then, as I was just packing up to leave, I heard footsteps in the hallway. At first, I thought perhaps Jennifer was back. But then I noticed they had a familiar ring, and in a moment, Fedder's familiar, unpleasant face appeared in my doorway.
"Paul, I'm glad you're here," he said. "You know, I want you to do something. I'm not terribly good at this computer stuff -- I know you guys send emails about Fedder and Fodder -- and Shirley was telling me that some of the employees have been using the company computer for improper purposes. But she found something yesterday that apparently was so gross she had to leave early. You know Shirley, she's rather straightlaced." I imagined, briefly, matronly Shirley running home and jerking herself off!
Fedder paused, and lifted my silvered glass globe to his eyes. I could see the reflection, distorted as though he were in a fun house, turning his face into a mask. He continued, "In any event, I was wondering if you could look into it - I'll make sure you get access to everyone's passwords so you can read their email - and then give me a full report. I don't want any hanky panky around this place! You have my support, Paul - go in there and probe away, and tell me what's happening and what we should do!"
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