A New Office Exhibit

There were two desks in the office cubicle. He sat at one, his desk against the wall, with a whiteboard in front of him and the dull blue head-height partition on his left. He had his back to door and had to rotate on his chair to see who had entered the floor.

She had turned her desk around so that she sat facing the door. This meant he had a complete profile view of her seated if he turned his head. She faced one way, he faced the other.

"You should turn your desk around too," she'd said, "so we can have our own little fort!"

She'd giggled when she'd said this. He'd laughed with her and managed to stop himself from rotating his desk as soon as she'd said it. They were the only two in the ad-hoc, end-of-floor cubicle, partway between the exit to the stairwell and some lower manager's office. They were exposed, but secluded.

#

Alicia and Jason had worked at the same workplace together for over ten years. Alicia was originally paired with him as he was the more experienced -- though barely older -- employee when she'd started. They shared that first office space for two years, seemingly forgotten about by management. He'd spent two years near her, smelled her perfume, become far too drunk on Friday afternoons with her after work and lost himself too many times in her exotic eastern eyes before going home.

"You're my bitch," she'd laughed after the first few months - he'd become a little aroused when she'd said it, "you're my desk-husband. We're practically fuckin' married."

He loved her wide, smiling, inappropriately filthy mouth.

He'd become bolder with her by then and said, "If I'm your office-bitch-work-husband, then you must be my -- what -- office-slut-work-wife?"

She stared at him...

"Crap," he'd thought, "I've gone too far."

...and then she'd laughed out loud and put her hand over her mouth. Other heads bobbed up over the low partitions like meerkats but they'd soon disappeared. Nothing to see -- just two co-workers swearing at each other.

"Fuck you, cunt!" She'd said, a wide innocent smile on her lips and a punch for his arm.

Their flirtations continued, as did their too long Friday afternoon drinking sessions -- and sometimes Monday lunchtime sessions, too. A couple of hours here and there where inevitably they'd end up sitting together without office furnishings between them, a little drunk, her with her ex-gymnast thigh next to his, almost burning a hole through his clothes, and him trying to remember (or forget?) his wife. Nothing ever came of it, apart from Jason having a vivid vision if his wife refused his advances later at home -- also the same vision if his wife occasionally relented, too: a vision of Alicia with her long, straight, black hair; in that bikini, like in the photo she once showed him of her on holidays, with her small breasts and curvy hips and flat stomach - he imagined sliding her bikini top over her head and upstretched arms and seeing her perfectly formed little tits fall out - small pink nipples - imagined hooking his index fingers over the bikini-brief at her hips, one on each side, imagined the supple but firm feel of her skin and flesh, of sliding the bottoms down, letting them fall to her ankles. In his mind, she had a soft tuft of bush between her legs, wisps of black hair perfectly complimenting her flawless oriental skin, but with those maddening European curves.

#

The inevitable office moves came -- sideways, diagonal shifts, restructures, moves to different areas, they saw less of each other, and inevitably, they had to grow up too -- the workplace became a little more professional, with a lot less drinking and, well, they became older: he went to her wedding and her blinding housewarming party; she gave him long consoling hugs - during which she'd let him rest his hand on her butt every now and again - when his marriage finally collapsed and he was left with the kids when his wife ran off with her boss.

She'd chosen him to look after her accounts when she went on maternity leave, so he moved into her old desk -- then, when she'd returned, they simply found another desk and some partitions, fitted them together, and they'd been that way ever since.

"Well, looks like you're my office bitch again," she'd said, "cunt."

"I guess I am, slut," he'd replied.

#

The fact that the first word out of Alicia's mouth might be "fuck", and the last word might be "cunt", possibly with "bitch" and "slut" in between made her even hotter, according to Jason.

She was married now and Jason was not -- but throughout the years they'd always, somehow, just, managed to stay on the safe side of the work-relationship line.

#

It was a bright and sunny day. It was hot. It was summer. It was morning. It was another day that the office air-conditioning couldn't keep up. Cold in winter. Hot in summer -- the building maintenance guys had everything set exactly wrong.

Jason heard the door open and the sound of soft footsteps on the carpet tiles. He didn't need to look -- he knew who it was from the rhythm and sound of each step.

"Hi, Jason," she said as she walked past his desk.

"Hi, Alicia," he replied.

He looked - and then he wished he'd looked as soon as he'd heard the door open. Alicia was wearing her short summer dress, dark purple and white florals and thin material. He wasn't sure if it was classed as a mini - the length brought it to halfway down her thigh, but with legs as toned and tanned as hers it didn't matter -- any sight of those thighs was a blessing. The material was light, breezy and moved in ways that material shouldn't move at work.

She sat down and slipped off her shoes, then set about readying her workspace: unpacked her handbag and lunch and logged onto her computer. He grabbed one more look at the rest of her outfit as she sat posture-perfect. The square neckline was not obscenely low and her breasts were perfectly captured in the gossamer material. It was obvious she wore a sports bra but she'd (as always) left the house dressed impeccably -- not hint of her underwear was visible. The short sleeves of the dress meant the hours she'd spent working out were now on show: surprisingly muscular, toned arms that weren't brutal and bulging, but like the rest of her body (at least what he'd seen) tantalisingly shaped. She sometimes reminded him of a Hawaiian dancer from some old Elvis movie -- not text-book virginal, not muscle-bound champion, but hot, tanned, and exotic.

He snapped back to his screen as she wheeled her chair over to him, then turned around to face her.

"Hey," she said, "I'm going to the gym for a couple of hours at lunch -- will you cover for me?"

She was seated facing him, barely a metre away, fanning the hem of her dress in the heat. He made a point of looking at her face as she spoke, but his peripheral vision getting a workout. She was casually lifting and flapping the dress, showing off most of her upper thighs as she spoke.

"Yeah, of course," he said.

Alicia started speaking about the usual minutiae of life -- Jason was good at listening to her, and he always let her speak for as long as she wished. He enjoyed the sound of her voice, and though sometimes he didn't keep up with all she was saying, he enjoyed being the person she spoke to about more personal issues -- about the small things, the silly things, the slightly sad things.

Alicia moved forward on her seat and swayed her legs side to side to increase airflow as she spoke - her bare feet up on their toes, her knees moving in lazy arcs wide apart and back together. She was too hot, this was true - but fanning the flames wasn't going to help. Jason kept his eyes on her mouth, the lowest he could drop his gaze without staring directly at her legs, but he could see enough: the mahogany tan of her thighs, the slightly lighter shade of smooth skin in between; the almost imperceptible pinpricks of sweat sparkling in the fluorescent light.

He made a mental note to pay the building maintenance team a visit and thank them for the superlative job they'd done so far. The air conditioning was perfect as far as he was concerned.

With each flap of her dress and swing of her legs he wished - he begged, he prayed -- that a stray beam of light would reflect at some impossible angle from her panties so that a glimpse of what she had hidden would enter his eyes and sear his brain. He imagined they were white - cotton and cool, simple and functional.

They were good friends, and had been for many years. He would never jeopardise that by making a ham-fisted move -- but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate her beauty, or wish to see everything she had to show.

Jason had enjoyed everything she'd showed him up until that moment.

But then her legs stopped moving mid-swing.

She'd stopped talking.

Shit.

"Jason!"

He'd forgotten what he was doing, lost between her legs - he'd dropped his gaze and had been staring at her legs for God knows how long as he'd tried to look up her dress. He looked straight back up at her face, embarrassed. He felt himself go red.

She wasn't smiling. There was no playful punch on the arm to laugh it off. A strange, nasty, angry look, her eyes little more than long-lashed slits that burrowed into his, her mouth pursed into a raspberry, her legs still frozen mid-swing.

She pulled her dress up to her waist and held it there, her legs still spread apart at the knees and together at the feet so she made a diamond shape. He looked down. Her panties were a black lace triangle covered her pussy with no obvious lining - her trim black pubes poked through the holes in the intricate pattern; two thin straps reached up and around her hips. The chair creaked as she leaned as far back as she could and he saw the third thin strap that disappeared between her cheeks. The shape of her cunt lips had become perceptible through the devastatingly airy material.

He stared, silent, for ten seconds - or ten years, Jason had no idea and didn't care - the details of her dark thick lips and black trim pussy through the fabric imprinted on his eyes. Her arse cheeks squeezed together and dimpled, raising her slightly from the chair and pushing her pussy further forward. He heard door open and he span around, startled: just another plebe walking in to start work. When he looked back at Alicia she'd returned to desk, tapping away at her keyboard, leaning towards her screen. She looked over at him and gave her wide innocent smile, deep brown eyes open and friendly again.

Jason felt light headed. He was hard as a rock but didn't think to cover his lap because he was unable to think: he literally couldn't form a coherent thought. From the initial deep-red blush of embarrassment, he was now pale-white with shock. He changed his mental vision of her, now he'd seen her trim little bush and thick pussy lips - it was forever stamped into his memory.

"So, Jason - I don't have any meetings, just cover for me if anyone is looking for me while I'm at the gym. Thanks, buddy," she said.

"Um...what...yes? Yeah...yes, of course, no worries - you know I will."

She looked at him for a few moments longer and...did she give the slightest of winks?

"Thanks," she said again.

#

When she returned from her workout she'd changed outfits - she was wearing sensible trousers and an androgynous white business shirt -- form-fitting, but opaque and completely appropriate. Nothing was said of the morning's events and, over the next few weeks, Jason questioned whether it had happened at all.

#

"Hi, Jason. I'm going to be a little longer at the gym today-- because I'm so punctual otherwise," she said with a little laugh. "It's an intense cardio session. I don't have much on after mid-day anyway. Cover for me again, please? You know, just like last time..."

Jason's heart started pounding as soon as he heard just like last time -- he thought he was going to faint because he was pumping so much blood to his groin. He forced himself to look up -- she had already changed into her active-wear in the showers: skin-tight black leggings and tight, full length grey tank-top with shoulder straps and a low back, exposing her bear arms and shoulders. He wanted to look down to see if he could detect panties, but looked straight at her face. Her eyes were open, her mouth wide in her usual big friendly smile. He didn't realise that he'd been holding his breath. He breathed out quietly, but he was unsure if it was in relief or disappointment.

#

It was after three o'clock when he heard the door open.

Jason rotated in his chair and looked. Alicia was still in her gym gear, sweat visible on her tight tank top.

"I didn't have time to change -- you don't mind if I sit here for the afternoon in my stinky gym gear, do you? I'd better get straight onto doing some work instead of dicking around getting undressed and changed in the shower." She dumped her bag and sat down.

Jason could see the dampness on her neck and arms. Her long hair was in a tight pony-tail and strands of hair were matted on her neck. He followed the trail of sweat down to her arms, dark patches showing where her body was hot -- he looked at her shoulders, followed the curve of the material around with his eyes. Her shoulders were red and there was obviously sweat on her upper torso.

"You're staring," she said. "I knew it would be a problem -- I'm stinking the place out like a dirty cunt."

He looked at her and made a show of breathing in deeply. She did smell, but it was a mix of a mute deodorant and her earthy body-odour. Her sweat smelled like beach and sand, it smelled like the pavement in the city after the rain. It smelled like an animal in a cage. It hit low notes that stirred something deep, a dawn-of-man memory. She smelled, all right -- she smelled good and bad -- very good and very, very bad.

"Yeah, you smell, bitch - but it's not that bad. You can stay," he said while still looking at her.

She turned in her seat and faced him, he could see that the top had become slightly translucent with her sheen of sweat. He imagined he could make out the outline of her nipples.

She wheeled herself closer.

"What about now?" She said.

"It's ok," he said, "I really don't mind."

She pushed his legs under his desk with her knees as she wheeled her chair closer. Her knees were pressed into his thigh. He looked at her face -- her mouth was pursed together and her eyes were narrow. The smell was stronger, more noticeable: a human smell, it was a smell that everyone tried to hide but hell - from her it smelled like filth and sex -- not soft romantic sex, but a hard dirty fuck that left you out of breath and soaked from cunt and come and sweat. The smell on your face after it had been buried between a woman's legs for ten minutes, the smell of body and juice.

His dick had become so rigid it felt like it was bursting.

"Hey," she said in a low voice, "remember that time, ages and ages ago, we were talking -- it might have been at the pub one afternoon when we were drunk, we talked about the little things that turned us on?" She raised her hand and ran it over her slick, pulled back pony-tailed hair. "I remember," she said, "I remember you telling me how you snuck into your old neighbour's shed when you were a kid, ten years old or something, and you were looking around and you found his stash of dirty magazines, really old black-and-white mags and post-cards, and all those naughty women had bushes on their cunts and hair on their arm-pits, and how you still get turned on by it. You kept sneaking in to his shed to see the dirty women. The dirty old fucker had dirty old French post-cards, corrupted your dirty little mind. Didn't it -- Jason? Turned you into a filthy...little...prick?"

Her eyes were slits, she was practically spitting the words out to him in between rigid lips. Her hand was on the back of her head, her elbow up high -- she was so close to Jason now he only breathed in air filtered through her sweat and breath. He felt the heat from her moist skin. He looked at the arm-pit she'd splayed wide. She hadn't shaved, she mustn't have shaved them for weeks, there was a tuft of black hairs, matted and curled with sweat, the pungent odour entering his nose and adding to the raging hard-on in his trousers. He reached out to touch but she pushed his hand down.

"Wait," she said. The snarling amazon was gone and his old friend was in her place. "I'm not sure how far...don't touch, okay? Just look, don't..."

She looked at the door to the manager's office.

"He's gone home early", Jason said, somehow uttering an intelligible sentence.

She looked back at him raised her arm again, and let him look at her sweaty unshaved pits. She kept that pose and with her other hand she lifted her tank top, pulling hard to overcome the tight elastic of the compression material. She strained to pull it over her breasts until they burst free, a slight jiggle as they settled, firm despite their larger than expected size. Her tits were fuller than he'd imagined, the wide tan areola crowned by sturdy, thick nipple -- they must have been a centimetre in diameter, he'd never imagined she would have such unique tits, their unexpected girth made him more excited. Now that her breasts were released from the confines of the warm sweaty top, her wet nipples were in direct contact with the too-cold air, and they became firmer and harder as Jason watched. He saw the sheen of sweat over her body, her flat stomach, her tits, matting her armpit hair into curls that stuck against her skin. He looked down to see if he could make out her cunt lips through the fabric of her leggings.

"Hey, bitch -- eyes up -- my tits are up here. That's it, Jason - have a good look...dirty fucker..."

He was frozen. Alicia's top stayed up on its own, the strong elastic material gathered around her collar. She dropped the hand that had been holding it up and slowly ran it down over her long thick nipple, pushing it down and letting it spring up as she strummed it with each finger of her hand, then returning her hand upwards, strumming the nipple again in the opposite direction.

Jason stared at her, at her hand strumming and squeezing her gorgeous fat teat and at the curls of hair under her arm. He could see goose-bumps rising and falling with the faulty air-conditioner's gusts from above, could see and hear her heavy breathing. He felt as rude and naughty as he had all those years ago in his neighbour's, seeing what was most forbidden in those black and white photos, looking at things he wasn't supposed to be looking at, and loving it.

"Ok," she said, "that's it for today's show. I don't want to get caught by anyone else." She pulled her top back down and lowered her arm. "I've had a bit of an effect, huh?" She said, looking at the bulge in his pants. "I might actually call it an afternoon and go home, it looks like nobody is here anyway. You should go home and take care of yourself, get a load off -- a big load - and maybe get out and meet some women -- you're a good guy, Jason, a girl would actually be lucky to get something together with you, even if it was just for a short time."

"What about you with you, Alicia? We've always been friends..."

"Don't be fuckin' stupid, we'd kill each other in the first five minutes. No. Things aren't great at home, but they could be worse. We don't ask each other a lot of questions and that works for us. Besides, you're my work-husband, not my home-husband. I'm giving you an eyeful because I love you so much and I want you to get revved up again. Plus, I realised this that first time few months ago, which was sort of by accident -- I kinda enjoy showing off, and I know I'm safe with you. More or less..."

She winked at him grabbed her bag.

"Jason, you've been divorced for how many years now, I haven't seen you with anyone...at least your office-slut-work-wife can give you some live memories to jerk off over. Now go out and get something."