Office Party

byAshson©

"Will you be coming to the office Christmas party?" Dianne asked me and I must admit I gave her a rather odd look.

I'd started work with the company at the start of the year, just after I turned eighteen. We weren't what you would call a big company, even though it seemed profitable and paid well. But an office party? When I say we weren't a big company I'm not kidding. Our entire office staff consisted of four people, manager included. The rest of the company employees were scattered around the states, selling and being our reps. Some party, with four people, one of whom is a geriatric office manager.

"Ah, that's right," said Dianne. "You weren't here last year. You do know that our little company is wholly owned by the Phoenix Corporation?"

"Ah, as a matter of fact, no, I didn't know that."

"Well, we are. That's why we're in this building. We get a special deal on rent. The point is that the Phoenix Corporation holds a Christmas party each year for all the minor companies they own. It's held up on the top floor. The idea is it builds inter-company relationships. It also gives the Phoenix big-wigs a chance to do a bit of discrete poaching of employees they want to transfer to their own areas. Not that that need concern you and me. We're small fry."

On consideration it made sense. Why have a lot of little parties interrupting work when you can have one big one. Probably cheaper, too, when you consider the cost of a bunch of small parties. I would, I decided, be delighted to go.

The party was set for a Friday afternoon, two to five, officially. Unofficially, I learnt, it went from two until all the alcohol was consumed and the party goers had staggered off, which could be considerably later than five.

I wasn't going to hang around until all the alcohol was consumed. At five I'd be out of there. If the party was boring I'd be out a lot sooner, after making sure people knew that I was actually there at the start.

Dianne and I went to the party together. That togetherness lasted until she spotted someone she knew and a third person was unwanted. Still, I'm quite sociable and I had a drink so I wandered about getting to know people. I found I already knew some people and they were quite happy to introduce me to others.

I had to watch my drinking though. I noticed as soon as I finished one drink someone would be pressing another on me. After two quick drinks I started carrying around a half full glass. All things being equal I found I was enjoying myself.

In the middle of the afternoon I found myself chatting to Mr Tall Dark and Handsome. He was in his middle thirties, but still quite buff. He had a very smooth line of patter and if he kept it up he'd quite turn my head. I am not, however, an idiot. The man probably chatted up all the talent and was not to be taken seriously. That didn't mean that it didn't give me a lift to know that he considered me worth trying it on with.

I didn't even notice that he'd manoeuvred me over to a corner until he asked me if I'd seen the panoramic view from the windows. We were on the top floor and there was probably a fantastic view and I had to admit that I'd never really had a chance to see it. He reached past me and pushed open a door there and ushered me through.

We were in a small office, one with floor to ceiling windows, and I have to admit that the view was spectacular. Standing at the window I could see half the city laid out, running down towards the shore, with the rest of the scene being the bay. I would love an office like this. My desk looked out a window sure enough and I had an excellent view of a blank wall across the road.

"Enjoying the party so far?" he asked and I had to admit that I was.

"Uh-huh, and do believe in following the Christmas traditions?"

"Generally," I said with a laugh, wondering where this was leading.

"Uh-huh," he said again, smiling. "Mistletoe," he added, pointing up.

Damned if he wasn't right. There was a sprig of mistletoe fastened to the ceiling. I gave him an old fashioned look but I didn't resist when he tilted my head back and bent over me. A kiss I didn't mind and I'd noticed that the office door had automatically swung closed so we were reasonably private.

His lips came down on mine and I'm not sure if it was his charisma, or the alcohol, or just a lot of practice, but boy, the man could kiss. I felt quite giddy when he lifted his head and I was probably smiling like a great loon.

He winked at me, reached up and plucked the mistletoe off the ceiling, and tucked it into my belt.

"A memento?" I asked, still smiling.

"Tradition," he said. "Pretty girls get kissed under the mistletoe."

I'm like, what do you mean? You just did. I didn't catch on until he dropped to his knees, lifted the front of my dressed and started kissing me under the mistletoe.

My jaw dropped. He couldn't possibly be doing that. Yes, he could. I could feel his mouth moving over my panties, his tongue probing against them.

He drew back for a moment and winked at me.

"When you kiss a girl, you want to kiss her, not her clothes."

With that he tugged my panties down and his mouth was back. I'm standing there feeling shattered. What the hell was I supposed to do? I grabbed at his head, meaning to pull it away from me, but found my hands just seemed to be clutching at his thick black hair while he continued.

I was going, "Uh, uh, uh," and his mouth was wreaking havoc. His tongue actually probed into my slit, exploring me inside, going places that no tongue should go. Or anything else without my express permission. It was a case of, oh god. I could feel his teeth grazing my lips, and the feeling was indescribable.

He finally pulled his head back and indicated the mistletoe.

"You know that tradition says there is one kiss for each berry on the spray. We have three but we've only used two. It would be a shame to waste the third, wouldn't it?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His head was pressed between my legs again and I was going, "Uh, uh, uh," again as he repeated his earlier efforts.

When he finished this latest kiss I was feeling all hot and bothered. I had no idea what to say. I was also stuck in this office for the next few minutes. No way I was going back into the party until I'd calmed down a little.

"Did you know we get our mistletoe from Europe?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Well we do. Someone grabs some and brings it back on one of the company planes. Normally we get it from England but this time someone got it from France."

"Oh," I said, feeling confused. What did matter where the mistletoe came from?

"It seems that the French have a slightly different tradition where mistletoe is concerned. Should we follow it?"

"Ah, I think I've had enough kissing," I said quickly.

"I think we should follow it," he said, "and kissing is optional."

His hand slipped under my dress and he was rubbing my pussy, his fingers tracing the path that his tongue had marked. My panties, I dumbly realised, were still down.

So was his zip, while his cock was most definitely up.

"The French are a nation of lovers. They believe in sex. You can see where the French tradition goes with Mistletoe."

It must have been the alcohol slowing my reactions. Before I could say yay, nay, or 'are you out of your ever-loving mind' his hand was on me, my lips were being parted, and his cock was saying hullo.

My initial reaction was to scream but then I thought of the party. It was just the other side of that door. One scream and the door would open and a hundred people would see me propped up against a desk with a cock stuck in me. I strangled the scream before it even started.

Before I could gather my thoughts to come up with a coherent plan of defence it was too late. Woefully late. His cock had slipped into me with no delay and his groin was now firmly against mine, the entire length of him buried in me. That was just the start of it. Without any delay he was pulling back and then thrusting in again.

The only option I had left was to ride with him. I simply pushed to meet him as he drove in, and was promptly irritated that he seemed to accept that as normal. What, any woman he jumps just goes along with it?

However he got his experience he definitely had it in spades and he was demonstrating that he knew how to wield a cock with great skill. If we had been serious lovers I'd have been ecstatic, as it was I found myself becoming insanely enchanted by the whole affair. He knew just what to do and he had a hand down there as well, managing to touch me here and there as he plundered me.

I quickly determined he wasn't there for the long haul, just wanting to get everything over with in a great rush, but he was equally determined that I was going to climax in short order. Even with his attention undoubtedly being on his cock driving into me he also found time to stroke me in the area of my clitoris. At the same time he seemed to know exactly where my g-spot was, his cock rubbing against it in both directions.

I was aroused to the nth degree in very short order, a mess of taut nerves, feeling the explosion coming at any moment. I'd have told him to hurry up and finish it but all I could do was gasp, while he kept on pounding away. He gave a groan and started jerking against me and I knew he had a climax, but where was mine?

On the tips of his fingers, it turned out. His hand did something indescribable and I just lost it. His free hand was over my mouth, which was fortunate, as I couldn't have stopped the scream by myself. I shuddered with the force of my climax, wondering how on hell this had happened.

What I found as suspicious as hell was the fact that he walked around the desk, pulled out a drawer and produced a pack of moisturised tissues and a hand towel. He wiped himself down and tossed the tissues over to me so I could tidy up a bit. Talk about being prepared.

Clothes tidied up we slipped back into the main room. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed where we'd been but it didn't look like it. I turned to speak to him but he was gone, vanished into the crowd. All I knew was that his first name was Rob. Time, I thought, to go home.

I was manoeuvring through the crowd when I ran into Dianne.

"Having fun?" she asked.

"It's been something," I said, "but I think I might split now."

"OK. Oh, I meant to warn you to steer away from the corner office but if you're leaving it doesn't matter."

"Why? What's with the corner office?"

"The executives like to ease some gullible type in there and point to the mistletoe. They say that it's French mistletoe and convince the idiots to have a quick fuck under it."

"Ah, I suppose it isn't French mistletoe."

"No way. Bringing plants in from overseas? Customs hate that. They just buy the stuff from the florist down the road. Still, they'll try anything if they think a girl is gullible. You've been warned."

How nice. I've been warned. Isn't it lucky that I'm a mature young lady and not a gullible idiot?

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