Overtime Ch. 01

I had been working as a service technician at the company for over five years. The company consisted of several segmented areas for the technicians to work, a front counter for walk in business, and an office area for the secretarial staff that handled the phones. It was your typical nine-to-five workweek with a skeleton crew on the weekends. Most of us got the weekends off, but due to the fact that some of the companies we did business with were open on weekends, the newer secretaries had to take turns working alternate Saturdays.

I never worked on the weekend, that was until they hired this one girl named Jamie. She was 22 years old, a petite 5 foot 2, blonde hair, blue eyes and had just about the cutest little feet you ever saw. She would almost always come into work with some type of sandal or easy to slip off shoes. She was not shy about taking her shoes off at her desk and would sit there working barefoot. I started to change my work routine so I would have more excuses to go into the front office, just so I could strike up conversation with her and check out her footwear for that day.

Though I had never worked Saturdays in the past, I would check out the office schedule to see what weekends she worked and made sure that I would need to come in that weekend as well. This plan worked out quite well, since almost no one came to work on Saturdays and those who did left by noon. That gave me almost half the day to sneak some one-on-one time with her. After a couple months we had developed a good working friendship.

Overtime: Chapter 1

By: SoleMann

It happened one fateful Saturday. There was only about a half hour left before we closed for the day, so I went into the front office to spend that time chatting with Jamie like I had been doing for months now. I had noticed earlier she was wearing her flat, thin-soled, strappy sandals that really showed off her perfect feet. When I got there, instead of sitting at her desk as usual, she was checking out the other cubicles as if searching for something.

"What's up?" I asked her.

She said " I have to update the board for next week, but someone has moved the crate I usually stand on so I can reach it."

The office was a rectangular room with cubicles along three walls. The fourth wall had the doorway, a copy machine, a fax machine, the main operator's desk, and a short bookshelf with a dry erase board above it, high enough for the girls to see from their cubicles. The board contained various info the girls needed that could change weekly or daily and had to be updated frequently.

"Let's see if we can find it together," I said.

We looked for about 5 minutes to no avail, and I could tell she was starting to get a little ticked.

I probably should have thought before I asked her. "You sure you can't reach the board without it?"

She gave me the evil eye and stormed over to the board. "See for yourself. I can reach the bottom section, but I can't get the upper half."

"Want me to give you a hand with it then?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, "that would be great."

I then joined her over at the board. She reached for the eraser, but before she could hand it to me, I did something I never believed I would do. I got down on one knee, leaving my left knee up parallel with the front of the board.

"Now you should be able to reach it."

She gave me a funny look, hesitated for a second, and then stepped right up on my knee/leg. I was in heaven. For months now, I had been dreaming about this girl and her cute little feet, and now here she was using me as her stepping stool.

Our conversation lessened as she concentrated on updating some of the info, which was a good thing because all my attention was fixed on her feet. I could feel every little shift of her weight as she moved around trying to keep her balance and to reach different areas of the board. Her movement wasn't the only thing I could feel; I could feel my manhood growing in my pants. Luckily I had jeans on, so it wasn't too obvious, and it seemed to naturally just find its way into the fold at the front of my pants.

As she was finishing up, she had to reach the far-left side of the board. She put all her weight on her left foot and started leaning over. As she did, her right foot started working its way up my chest to help her keep her balance. Her foot stopped just short of my neck. I was mesmerized; never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever get this close to her perfect feet. I breathed in deeply through my nose trying to catch her foot's sweet scent. I licked my lips, fighting the urge to lean down and plant a kiss on her foot.

Then in the silence, a shot of reality hit me and I started getting paranoid. I hoped she didn't hear me breathing hard through my nose, I hoped she hadn't caught me staring at her feet. I sheepishly looked up at her and saw that she seemed to be still diligently working away.

"Almost done," she said.

As she started writing lower on the board, her foot slowly slid down my chest. I started to get disappointed; I didn't want it to end so soon.

Still fearing that she might catch me staring at her feet, I tried to concentrate on just watching her finish up. Thoughts were still racing through my head about what had happened and how it couldn't have been much better, but I was wrong. Suddenly, I felt pressure on the tip of my manhood. She had slid her foot all the way down my chest and without realizing it, she was now about to stand on my fully erect member.

As the pressure increased, my concentration was broken and I looked down at her feet. Her right foot, which had just been by my face moments ago, had now worked its way back down the front of me. Luckily the heel of her foot had landed on my leg, but the ball of her foot was now pushing down on the tip of my manhood.

She set the marker down on the top of the bookshelf and said "Okay, I just have to check if I got everything correct before I'm done." She gave the board a once over, checking it against the paper she had in her hand. "This just won't do. It's been too long since someone washed down this side of the board and you can hardly read it. I'll have to actually wash the board down and redo this side. This is going to take a little more time. You holding out ok down there?"

Realizing that she was talking to me directly, I looked back up at her and my eyes met hers. Despite the pressure on my manhood, when I looked up and saw her smiling face, all I could do was utter a strained "Yep."

"Great, could you hand me the Windex and paper towels off the bottom shelf?" Jamie asked.

I didn't say a word; I just grabbed them off the shelf and handed them to her. My hands were shaking like a leaf from both the excitement of the moment and the pain in my manhood. She took the items and started cleaning off the board.

While she carelessly did her work, I suffered beneath her. I could feel her trying to keep her balance by the way the pressure would increase and decrease on my manhood. As she would lean forward, the pressure would increase, crushing my tip. I could also feel the base of my manhood straining to support the extra weight she would put on it. I was in heaven and hell at the same time.

This went on for at least ten minutes and as I watched her feet, I could see them tense up every time she leaned forward. Those perfect little feet I longed for were now doing a number on my manhood. At least she was wearing those cute strappy sandals and not something with a rough thick sole, I thought to myself.

Wait a minute, I couldn't believe with as thin as those soles were that she couldn't feel what she was standing on and what she was doing to me. Couldn't she tell that it suddenly got easier for her to balance?

With those thoughts in mind, I heard a smack as she put the pen down on the shelf top. I looked up to see she was already looking down at me.

"All done," she said. "Now just to put the cleaning supplies away."

At last! Although part of me didn't want it to end, I wasn't sure how much longer I could have endured it. She grabbed the supplies with her right hand and I waited for her to hand them to me. Then with a devilish grin on her face, she grabbed the top of the shelf with her left hand and suddenly squatted down on me. She looked me right in the eyes as she leaned down to put them away. The pressure on my manhood became almost unbearable. My tip was being crushed much harder than before and it felt like my base would be torn from my body. There was no way she could have missed the expression on my face caused by what she was doing.

Once she was done, she stood right back up and looked down at me. "Thanks for ALL your help." She accentuated the "ALL" by pressing down with her foot on my manhood.

Was it just coincidence or had she known what was going on?

As she finally stepped off me, I stammered out a "no problem, any time."

"Really?" she asked. "Cool, looks like I've got a new stepping stool."