IT Girl

Max had a choice. Feel satisfied and vindicated in the moment, then go to prison for murder, or muster up a little self-control, take the long view, and maybe have things turn out for the best... as hard as it was to believe that was a possibility right then.

Lord, did murder ever sound good, though.

As he sat at his desk, in the three-thousand dollar suit he couldn't actually afford, but had to buy to impress the CEO, he couldn't keep from staring at his boss's office. Specifically, at the two silhouettes beyond the drawn shades at the widow; Frank Beaumont and his wife Emmanuelle. Deciding his fate like gods of Olympus; capriciously and with finality. Truthfully though, he split his time between watching them, and rotating his head about forty-five degrees to stare at another office; one belonging to Melody Singer.

A stupid name for a stupid, stupid woman. He shook his head. She got him though, with her endearing naiveté and big brown eyes, so who was really the stupid one? Max saw her briefly peek at him past her own shades, just glimpsing the dark-blonde hair and tanned skin. He also got an eyeful of the rounded curves of the top of her breasts peeking out from the abnormally-unbuttoned blouse that she always wore. Man, I used to love seeing her when I came in in the morning. I thought...

He thought a lot of things. A lot of things that didn't matter now. Frank's door was opening.

"Max, come in please." Emmanuelle was doing the asking, like she had any official position there besides boss's wife. It was grating now in a way that it'd never been before, back when she and Frank had been welcoming and accommodating. Even friendly. She was her husband's right hand, and Max had to admit that it was clever, having her run the office without drawing a check, thereby saving a salary instead of paying one and ponying up that big chunk to Uncle Sam, but labels mattered and someone who, on paper, had no power over you but still held your life in her hands... it was frustrating.

Max walked in, trying to muster up a smile for Emmanuelle by remembering all the positives. She was gorgeous, that was number one. Her dark skin was like chocolate, and her silky hair bespoke a mixed heritage that bore some very ripe fruit. She was petite; standing at about 5'3'' and weighing no more than rumor, but balancing that slight frame with a pair of generous C-cups. Frank, when she wasn't around, called her his trophy, and not in the usual sense of rich man and pretty wife. He saw her as a prize for doing charitable work overseas; his exotic payment from a grateful little country.

Emmanuelle was kind too... was being the operative word. When Max had started with the company, she was warm and open, and he felt like she ran interference with Frank, who was very often a bastard if he felt that his time spent on you wasn't paying off immediately. Now, though...

"Max, we'll cut to the chase." Frank stayed sitting behind his desk as Emmanuelle closed the door and Max took a seat. His bulk shifted the chair, his massive frame threatening to crack the piece of office furniture from under him. Max wasn't a small man; over six feet and well-muscled from a lifetime of martial arts training, but Frank was a giant. He used his size to intimidate any time he needed to. Like he was doing now by leaning over his desk. Max responded by crossing his leg over his knee and leaning back, unconcerned.

"As you know, Melody has levelled charges against you. Not criminal... yet, but we can't ignore it. Emmanuelle has talked with her and has determined that there is merit to what she's saying."

Max looked at Emmanuelle, who looked away. So that's how it is. "I didn't touch her." It was probably futile, but he wasn't about to just let it go without stating the facts for the record. "We went on a couple of dates, and she had fun. That's it."

That was it, until Melody went to Frank with a story about him cornering her in the copy room and... well, it got fully ridiculous from there. So ridiculous, in fact, that he thought it was a joke. It made no sense, he and Melody weren't even rivals; she worked for H.R. and he was trying to climb the corporate ladder. It wasn't like she had anything to gain from his fall. Sitting in Frank's office, though, some things began to get... clarified.

"We don't want to let you go. You've been an amazing asset for this company, and the boys upstairs think you're salvageable." Frank finally leaned back when he saw that Max wasn't reacting to his looming presence like he'd wanted. "So here's the deal; you take a step down in pay, and get put on a year's probation." He watched Max like a hawk. "You'll stay in this office, at the same desk, doing the same job, and a year from now, things will be back to normal. Take the deal, Max."

Not a bit of that made a lick of sense... which told him all he needed to know. Max laced his fingers behind his head and turned to look at Emmanuelle, who shifted her gaze yet again. He looked back at Frank. "That's more than fair. I'll apologize to Melody first thing." He waited for confirmation, and, at Frank's relieved nod, got it.

Smiling to himself, Max left the boss's office and headed over to Melody's.

__________

Sam started at the office three weeks after Max's meeting with Frank. He noted the day because everyone noted the day. Samantha Walker came in like a tropical storm; intense, world-upending, but somehow beautiful in its awful glory. She was the new IT employee, taking everyone by surprise. The rumor around the office was that someone named Sam was going to be telling them to reboot their computers from then on, and they'd just assumed it was another awkward, nerdy dude who could probably get them pirated movies if they played nice with him.

They did not expect the fitness model with the Metallica T-shirt so tight that it showed her six-pack abs, the jet-black ponytail with the fringe of hair framing a face from a lingerie ad, the emerald-green eyes that danced with suppressed mirth, or the taut ass barely contained by her painted-on jeans that practically demanded to be worshipped. Sam wasn't overly tall, and her tits weren't going to win her a wet T-shirt contest, but she exuded a kind of dangerous sexuality right from the get go. A panther had come stalking through the cubicle jungle, and the chimps didn't know whether to run or give it a banana.

Immediately, on her first day, Frank and Emmanuelle brought her into their office to give her their welcome. Max knew just how it was going; assurances that they were all equal, offerings of any help in adjusting, suggestions as to what she could do to ingratiate herself with everyone... all very aboveboard. Right from the playbook.

When she was finally free to move about the cabin, the peacocks were free to spread their plumage. Max watched every swaggering dick with an ounce of feigned confidence set their orbits around her, trying to pull her in. To her credit, Sam was not a ball-buster. She was actually very deft at deflecting them without hurting anyone's pride. Plus, she really could get ahold of a whole library of pirated movies, and passed flash drives of the things out freely. That did a lot to earn her the esteem of the whole office.

Emmanuelle took a shine to her, and they often had lunch together; sometimes with Frank, sometimes alone. Long lunches, very often. Max was sure that the onset of Sam was coinciding with a downturn in productivity on Frank's part, but the company seemed to get by regardless.

For his part, Max didn't interact with Sam very often. Really, just a few morning greetings and a few cordial head nods. It wasn't like he had no interest in her though. He would watch her going about her day, noting just who it was she did seem to interact with the most. He saw Judy, a slightly-pudgy-but-cute receptionist, get very cozy with Sam... eventually. It took weeks of Sam hanging around the front desk, striking up conversations, laughing at anything coming out of the other woman's mouth, before Judy began... reciprocating. The normally dowdy thirty-year-old began paying more attention to her hair and makeup, and increasingly chose blouses and sweaters that accentuated her best feature; her massive, back-pain-inducing tits.

One Monday morning, Max came in early do get some work done he'd put off on the Friday before, and caught them. Coming out of the elevator, his first sight was of Judy leaning back in her nice chair, both feet up on her desk and legs spread. Her sweater was bunched up at her neck and her spectacular tits were freed from their bra, only to now be supported by a pair of hands. A pair of hands attached to a pair of arms. A pair of arms leading down to a torso. A torso that was connected to a black-haired head that was writhing gleefully around Judy's crotch.

Well how about that? Max froze, watching the scene for a good minute. Judy's eyes were squeezed shut and her tongue was licking her lips as she shuddered in the chair. He had no idea how long this had been going on, but it was only seconds before the receptionist's climax caused her to kick a stack of papers off the desk in a full-body convulsion.

Deciding that was his cue to quietly exit the area, Max began softly moving away. Before he got far though, Judy's fun-time friend raised her head and looked right at him. Sam gave one of her cordial nods, then stood up.

"Probably time to get ourselves in order, gorgeous." Sam bent down to plant a light kiss on Judy's moist lips. Judy opened her eyes, trying to focus them, and attempted to fix up her garments with numb fingers. Sam gave her some help, smiling all the while. "Next time, we'll have to go to your place. Don't want to get caught by the boss. I can't lose this job just yet."

"Whatever you want, Sam." Judy, now mostly recovered, straightened her red hair out and started picking up papers. "Whenever. Just... tell me."

Max shook his head in wonder. He was positive that Judy was not a lesbian. She was a friend, and they talked often. He guessed that maybe there was something there, buried, but he'd never seen it. What was that saying? All women are two drinks away from a girl-on-girl adventure?

Two drinks... or one Sam gulp, apparently. Max laughed at his own lame joke and sat at his desk.

__________

The next month was more of the same. Max kept watching the goings on, paying particular interest in Sam's escapades. She kept having lunches with Frank and Emmanuelle, and, despite her cautious words on that fateful morning, he spied her pulling Judy into shadowy nooks more than a few times.

Things came to a boil though, when a coworker, Brent, filed a complaint against her. Apparently, according to him, Sam had come to his office to fix his computer and made a pass at him. Brent, being a good family man, took umbrage and was having none of it. He went to H.R. hoping to find a kindred spirit in Melody, and did the paperwork.

From his vantage point near both offices, Max got to watch the drama. Sam was called in to meet with Melody. Melody went to Frank with a burned DVD of camera footage of... something. Frank pawned it off on Emmanuelle to put out the fire. It was like a TV show, but with the sound muted. Luckily for Max, he had the unmute button.

Coming in early again, Max used a copy he'd made of Frank's office key, of one he'd actually been given in happier times by Emmanuelle so he could cut out the middle man and get a jump on work if he wanted to, and invaded Frank's space. He found the DVD pretty quickly; the boss was not one for imagining that anyone around him would take the risk to fuck with his stuff, so he left it just sitting out.

Back at his desk, Max booted it up and watched what all the hubbub was about. The camera view was of Brent's desk. Company policy was that there were cameras in all the offices that automatically came on when the door closed. It was intrusive, but all the execs signed off on it; a sign of the times.

Sure enough, Sam was there, leaning over Brent to get to his computer, her ponytail brushing his cheek while the thin material of her T-shirt rubbed against his arm. It looked suggestive, but not over the top, until Sam slipped and fell into Brent's lap... then began struggling to get up. After that, Brent shot out of the chair, and the rest was history.

Max, after putting the DVD back, went to the warehouse to finally switch out his old, beat up desk chair for a new one. All spectators want to be comfortable when they watch the show, after all.

__________

The first act was with Melody. Sam spent a loooot of time in her office, having meetings about what happened. He heard noises, raised voices, and even something being thrown once. A few times, he saw Melody scurry out of there, her face read and her eyes flashing thunder. Sam, it seemed, was not going down without a fight.

The second act, after Melody, was Emmanuelle. Melody, for some reason, hadn't just pulled the trigger and fired Sam, so Emmanuelle, as the de-facto office manager, took the ball and ran with it. Their meetings were often and long, but completely Frank-less. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with the fetching new employee once the stink of scandal was on her. The two women met in the conference room, in the lobby, in the parking lot... to no avail. Sam kept her job, and Brent was told to stuff it. Max would have been pissed at the hypocrisy if he wasn't so thoroughly entertained.

It was a week after the seeming end of the shenanigans that Samantha Walker finally gave him more than a nod hello. She gave him a flash drive; setting it on his desk nonchalantly one day as she walked by.

He brought it home with him that night, eager to watch the movies she'd found for him.

__________

The video files weren't of expensive Hollywood movies that were high on action and low on plot. If anything, they were a tour de force of intrigue and engagement. Golden Globe worthy, at the very least, in Max's opinion.

The first clip was in Melody's office, during one of her and Sam's later meetings. Melody sat at her desk and played with a pen, gripping it between her teeth periodically as she talked to Sam. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, and kept messing with the buttons on her blouse. Once or twice, she even licked her lips. It was almost comical.

"Sam... this sucks." Melody tried to laugh to show how dumb she thought everything was. "I like you. Everyone likes you... so why did you... with Brent? He's so straight-laced, he probably sleeps with his shoes on." She shook her head. "That video, it's pretty unambiguous. It's... it's out of my hands now. You'll have to be dismissed."

Sam, who hadn't taken a seat, took a small step around Melody's desk. "Why Brent? He was the perfect choice. I absolutely knew that he'd come running to you, and now we get to have all these meetings." She sat her firm ass down on the corner of the desk.

Melody looked up, her face paling. "What? What do you me—"

She couldn't get the words out before Sam grabbed the back of her head and wrenched it back by her hair, causing woman's mouth to open in surprise. Sam pounced then, mashing her lips to Melody's and thrusting in her tongue, while her free hand snaked into her target's perpetually-vented blouse, straight for one of those full breasts. Sam got the hand right under the bra, and she began working it; massaging the goose-pimpled flesh and tweaking the stiffened nipple with expert movements. All the while, she kept up her assault on the H.R. rep, moving from the deep kiss to running her tongue up and down the blonde's neck, then nibbling on her earlobe before finally pulling back to look her in the eye.

Melody, breathing like she'd run a marathon, finally gathered herself enough to pull back, lurching away from Sam. Her tits were hanging out of her smart little outfit at that point, but she didn't seem to notice as she jumped out of her seat and put her chair between herself and Sam.

"Wha... what the hell was... was that?" Melody wheezed, keeping her chair in before her like a shield.

"That was you getting a little taste of something you really don't deserve." Sam smile wickedly. "But that I'll give you anyway." She tilted her head at the other woman. "Don't tell me you didn't like it. That you don't... swing that way. I know for a fact, that's not true."

Melody's eyes widened in alarm. "It's not true! Who told you... where did you get that idea..."

Sam grabbed the chair in her strong grip, her wiry arms flexing as she easily wrenched it out of Melody's hands and tossed it away, where it crashed against the desk. Free of that impediment, Sam lunged forward, pinning Melody against the wall by both shoulders, then dived in again, tasting the woman's flesh like it was ambrosia. Melody squirmed, trying to get away, but when Sam's hand tugged her skirt completely off, then plunged into her lacy panties, the blonde let out all her breath at once and stopped fighting.

Sam's fingers played a concerto in Melody's cunt, and the blonde sang an aria. Her hands went from feebly trying to beat Sam back, to gripping her shoulders to hang on for dear life. After practically no time, she started undulating her hips to Sam's rhythm, propping one foot up on the nearby desktop to both give herself some leverage, and spread herself wider for her impromptu sex partner. She groaned out the words; fuck me with those fucking fingers, before biting her lip in embarrassment.

After about five minutes, Melody buried her face in the crook of Sam's neck so her orgasmic scream wouldn't be trumpeted to the entire office, and the shudders of her climax brought her down to her knees.

"God... oh my god..." Melody panted on the floor. She tried looking up at Sam through her disheveled yellow tresses. "How... how did you do that to me?"

"Wrong question." Sam knelt and swirled her finger around one of Melody's still-exposed nipples, ringing her like a bell with the shudder that ran though her entire body. "Your question is; what can I do to feel that again, Sam?"

Melody swallowed, looking once at the door beyond Sam, then back at the raven-haired woman looming over her. "Wha... what do I... I mean, can you... I..."

"Close enough." Sam quickly divested herself of her tight jeans, then straddled Melody's face, shoving her cunt right over the woman's mouth while shifting the crotch of her red thong to the side. "Show me you appreciate it, and I'll show you that you're making the right decision."

Melody wasted no time. She began eating Sam out like a lifelong lesbian, with total abandon. Sam's face attested to the skill with which she was being serviced, and she closed her eyes as she rocked her hips over the prone woman's face. After Melody had proven herself enough, Sam rewarded her by leaning over and attacking her pussy with her tongue.

Credit where credit's due, Sam had Melody squirming on the floor in a fraction of the time that it took Sam to get excited herself, but the two women did seem very simpatico nonetheless. They were both cresting their peaks only minutes into their sixty-nine, and they finally climaxed within seconds of each other, barely keeping their voices low enough to not be heard outside the office.

Their backs arched and their bodies convulsed, and then they collapsed next to each other, panting and flushed. Melody just stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath, while Sam idly massaged the woman's shapely breasts like she owned them.

"What is your next step?" Sam asked once before tonguing Melody's ear.

"What? My next step?" Melody frowned as she shivered. "My next step should be to call the police."