Secret Santa

Glen squinted at the scrolling lines on his monitor, scanning for the model numbers he was certain should have been somewhere in this section of the spec sheet. They were the last remaining items to fill on the order form before he could send it to billing and let the client know his new shipment of rack-mount servers would arrive in three business days. But for some reason the prefix and accompanying string of digits eluded him.

A dull thud on the desk next to his mouse caught his attention. He looked up to find Bryan from the neighboring pod standing beside him, a glass of bourbon held between his fingers for Glen to take.

"Work's done for the day," he announced. "It's party time."

Glen smiled. He straightened up in his chair and took the drink from the younger man. "Thanks," he replied. "I'm just going to finish filling out this purchase order and then...."

Bryan shook his head. "Nope, that can wait for tomorrow. Christmas party supersedes customer service. Company policy."

"Is it," Glen laughed.

"Oh yeah, it's in the handbook. Page 34, paragraph who-gives-a-shit. Come on, Secret Santa waits for no one."

Glen was skeptical of Bryan's logic. But he was the new guy, and Bryan had been there 4 years, so who was he to argue with seniority. He scooped up the glass and rose from the chair, following Bryan out into the lounge.

The culture here was so different from his last job. There he wore a suit and tie and made telephone calls and kept records on paper. Here he wore a half-zip, texted clients and stored everything online. Certainly not the career change he'd planned on making at 50, but car sales weren't quite what they used to be, and after the divorce he figured a clean break might do him some good. That clean break landed him here, selling IT hardware at a trendy, fast growing upstart.

He liked the job. The company was well run, the people were great, and the benefits package dwarfed what he earned at his previous employer. The difficult thing was how young they all were. Many of the reps were fresh out of college and not one was over 40. But they never treated him like the old guy. He was just one of them. With more gray hair.

He followed Bryan out of the Cubes and into the large double-height collaboration space teaming with laughter and flowing with alcohol. In the center of the space stood a long glass conference table with cups and bottles spread out over the near end, and several small packages wrapped in plain brown paper stacked at the other. They drifted toward the table.

"This your first gift exchange?" Bryan shouted above the music. Glen shook his head.

"First Secret Santa though," he replied. "Honestly, I still don't understand how it works here."

Bryan laughed. "Ah, a Secret Santa virgin, huh. Well, instead of everyone being Secret Santa for everyone else, there's only one. Remember that $25 you dropped off at accounting two weeks ago? Everyone else did the same thing. Then, one person gets selected at random and in secret, and he or she takes the money and buys gifts for everyone."

He waived his hand toward the pile of gifts. "At the end of the party, once everyone has opened their presents, everybody writes down who they think the Secret Santa is and we put the list in the vault. At next year's party, this year's Secret Santa is revealed and the person who guessed correctly wins $200."

Glen nodded. "So it's a gift exchange and a whodoneit. Sounds like fun."

"It is! You're at a bit of a disadvantage," Bryan added. "You don't know everyone's preferences or sense of humor yet. But you never know, you might get lucky!"

He led Glen to the far end of the table. Seated there with her legs crossed in a comfortable office chair, was a beautiful buxom blonde in a checkered blue button-down shirt and fuzzy grey knee-length skirt. Her blue velvet heels dangled playfully from her toes, her shoulders swayed gently to the music. As they approached, she looked up, her face gently tanned, eyes blue as the sky, golden curls twisted into a knot behind her head and locked with a pencil. Glen's heartrate ticked up as she smiled at them.

"Hey Glen," Abbie chirped. She was always so bright and cheery. He doubted the company could have found a better person to greet clients and work the front desk. He nodded, acknowledging her. If only he were 20 years younger. Bryan frowned playfully.

"Hey Glen?" he said. "What, I get nothing?"

"You've been roaming around here bugging me all day," she laughed. "This is the first time I've seen Glen. So he gets a hey, and you get nothing." She lifted a tall glass of red wine from the table and polished off the contents, eyeing Glen over the rim.

"Okay fine," Bryan conceded. "We're here for our presents," he declared. "And it's Glen's first Secret Santa party so make sure he gets something good. No lame old man stuff."

Abbie reached for the clip board and pen next to the stack. "I have no control over what he gets," she reminded Bryan, "that's the point of the Secret Santa. However, everybody likes Glen, so I'm sure he has nothing to worry about. You on the other hand...."

She adjusted her glasses. Scanning the spreadsheet, she scratched out two lines and scanned the numbers scribbled on the plain brown paper wrappers. She plucked two of the flatter packages from the dwindling pile.

"Number 16 for Bryan," she said, extending the packages, "and lucky number 7 for Glen."

Glen turned the box over in his hand, feeling the weight, shaking it a little. "You don't have to guess man, "Bryan laughed, "just open it."

He peeled the tape from the paper, carefully unwrapping first one end, then the other. By the time he got the wrapping off Bryan had already snapped the fitness tracker he pulled from his box around his wrist and was examining the readout.

Glen held up a finely sanded rectangular poplar box with a glossy white label, wrapped in a printed gold foil band. His face twisted into a bewildered smile. "Well," Bryan wondered, "what is it?"

"Cigars," Glen replied, slipping the box from the foil and flipping open the lid. "Montecristo Whites. Three of them."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't," he shrugged. "Except for the occasional cigar. Which...I don't think I told anyone."

"Ha!" Bryan laughed, "Secret Santa strikes again! Nailing the perfect gift. Told ya you'd love it!"

Glen nodded. "You were right." He looked up to a beaming Abbie. "Thank you."

She shook her head. "Don't thank me, thank Secret Santa. And don't forget to write down your guess for next year's prize."

"Come on," Bryan waved, refilling Glen's glass from a bottle at the other end of the table, "let's go see what everyone else got."

Glen replaced the band around the box and eased it into his back pocket. With a smile to Abbie he took the drink from Bryan and followed him to mingle with the others.

....

For the next hour or so he enjoyed the party, examining the other gifts, laughing at stories of problem clients, and losing a spirited game of table tennis to Leslie in accounting. But something kept pricking the back of his mind. Something about the gift. He never smoked at work. Or with any of the guys after work. Who would know? Let alone get his brand right.

Following a group toast to the success of the closing year, Glen slipped out of the bustle of the main space and into the quieter lobby between their suite and the adjoining tenant. Leaning casually against the wall he pulled the box from his pocket and opened it again. He plucked one out and balanced it between his fingers. Lifted it to his nose, inhaling the sweet bready aroma. He nodded to himself.

"I have a lighter in my desk if you want to give one a try."

He turned to see Abbie approaching, her heels clicking softly on the tile, hips with a gentle sway. He smiled.

"Thanks, but I think I'll hang onto them for bit. It's been a while since I've had one. But I should wait for a special occasion."

She sidled up beside him, mimicking his pose. "Well, New Year's is a couple weeks away. Is that special enough?"

"Should be," he laughed. He closed the box and tucked it back into his pocket. She smelled faintly of lavender and peppermint. He took a deep breath. "What did you get?"

"I got a mug-sized thermos with a USB-powered heater, which is pretty cool because I hate lukewarm coffee."

Glen chuckled. "Sounds like Secret Santa is pretty good around here." He shook his head. "I still can't figure out how they knew about the cigars."

Abbie shrugged. "Santa knows everything. It's part of the job description."

Glen nodded. "I suppose that's true." He looked over at her, his eyes drifting down to the canyon of cleavage cut off by an overworked third button, before snapping back up to meet hers. "I should probably just go with it, huh. Who cares, just enjoy it, right?"

Abbie smiled. "I know what you need," she offered, pushing away from the wall.

"More bourbon?"

She laughed. Crossing in front of him she took several strides toward a hallway he thought led out to the courtyard. "Come on," she waved, "I'll show you."

He watched her disappear around the corner. Rubbing his eyes, he eased off the wall. The bourbon was starting to kick in. He took a moment to steady himself, then headed after her.

Two steps into the dim-lit corridor a pair of hands flashed out and grabbed hold of his arms, pulling him in. Surprised he stumbled forward, Abbie's perfume filling his head, slamming her into a bathroom door with a thud amplified by the empty hallway. She smashed her lips against his, her hands wrapping his head, holding him close. He felt her breasts bulging against his ribs, her pelvis grinding into his groin. A bolt of electricity shot down his spine, awakening his cock.

She shoved his head back, still holding on, reading the shock on his face, but something else in his eyes. She pulled him in again, kissing him hard, this time working her tongue into his mouth, wrestling with his. His hands gripped her waist, one working its way behind her back and down between the soft warm fabric of her skirt and the smooth cool slab of the door.

She pushed him back again. This time her hands flew to her chest, fingers poking buttons through eyelets. Glen looked down to a red lace bra straining to contain its heaving contents. She hooked a finger under his chin and lifted it.

"I've seen the way you look at me," she whispered, breathing heavy. "At my desk. In the meetings. I know you want this."

Glen stammered, his forearms flexing. "I...we probably...shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not," she countered. "You're not my boss."

"I'm old enough to be your father," he replied. Abbie cocked her head, a mischievous smile curling her lips. Her hands slipped off her tits, disappearing from his line of sight. A moment later he felt one cup the crotch of his pants. He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on hers.

"Does that turn you on," she cooed.

Glen kept quiet, a sharp, shallow breath his only response.

"It turns me on," she growled, giving his balls a gentle squeeze. His cock thickened against her palm. His hand curled under the curve of her ass. He heard the latch click and caught the door drift open in the corner of his eye. She eased up on her toes, brushing her lips against his ear. "Fuck me daddy," she whispered. "I've been a bad girl."

He backed her into the bathroom, lips sealed to hers, tasting the wine on her breath. The light switched on giving him a glimpse of her shape in the mirror. She worked her hands between them, popping the remaining buttons and flipping her bra up over her tits. They fell against his chest, nipples poking him as they kissed.

His hands found their way to them. He squeezed them gently, the smooth, soft flesh bulging between his fingers. A moan escaped her throat. She grabbed desperately at the tent in his pants. He broke off their kiss and smiled at her. She bit her lip and whispered something in his ear. Nodding slowly, he turned and shut the door behind them, twisting the lock between his knuckles.

He turned back to find her skirt hiked up over her waist and red lace panties rolled down over her thighs. He grabbed her by the hips and shoved her shoulders forward, bending her over the vanity. The gooseneck faucet spout settled snuggly between her pendulous breasts, as if it were about to enjoy what was coming as much as he was.

Wedging a foot between hers he nudged them apart, exposing her meaty lips to his hungry gaze. He attacked his waistband, popping the button through and wrenching apart the zipper, revealing a cock struggling to escape its underwear prison. Two fingers appeared between her legs, gliding along the crease of her folds and leaving a glistening trail of gooey wetness behind them.

He eased a hand over her buttocks. The muscle was firm, the skin supple and tight. The glossy glory of youth quivering beneath his touch. If this was the closest he would get to being young again, he was going to make the most of it.

He whipped his erection free of its fabric restraint. The scent of her desperate pussy intoxicated him. He staggered back a step, taking a good long look at the totality of the package before stepping up close and swiping the head of his cock along the trail of cream she left moments earlier. A twinge tweaked his groin. The heat beckoned him. Stifling a groan, he plunged deep into her vagina.

Her thighs flattened against the cabinet, her belly against the countertop. Her arms stretched out straight, bracing against the wall. Her canal was slick and cozy, a velveteen glove for his eager hardon. Motionless, he savored it, soaking up the warmth. He reached out and plucked the pencil from the knot in her hair. The curls fell out, cascading over her shoulders and back. Cock flexing, he started to thrust.

She was so wet their coupling was frictionless, lasting only a few strokes before he slipped out and speared the crack of her ass. He reset, plunging in again, this time stronger and straighter. Her pussy squelched and squeaked, noisily welcoming his penetration before a slight dip in her back popped his dick out once more.

He looked down at his straining member, slathered in grool and glistening in the soft glow of the overhead light. Planting a hand firmly in the small of her back he adjusted his stance. "Third time's a charm," he thought to himself, lining her up for another run. But as he leaned in, she sank a little lower. Reaching back with both hands Abbie curled her fingers around her cheeks. Digging her nails into the soft flesh, she pried them apart.

The dark pink rosebud of her asshole winked at him. Daring him. Demanding. Pinching the base of his shaft he leveled his erection, placing the tip firmly in the dip of the orifice. She offered no resistance - only a wiggle. An invitation. He was a good salesman. He recognized a quality offer when one was presented. Steading himself he leaned into it, popping the head inside.

"Nnnnnngaaahhh," she groaned, her asshole swallowing his cock. He pushed until his pelvis smushed her ass and his balls flattened against her labia. She gripped his dick like a vice, clamping him in place while she acclimated to the girth. Her breath came in short deep gasps, knees buckling into the doors of the vanity. She clutched at the edges of the counter, her tunnel beginning to relax as her fingers flexed against the surface.

Glen pulled back slowly, his penis gliding smoothly with the lubrication of her cream. He stopped just short of freeing himself, then drove back in, hilting one more time. Her legs trembled, but she didn't tense up, allowing him to transit without interruption. He smiled to himself, moving his hands from her back to her hips, giving himself sturdy handholds as he kicked off his ride.

The first strokes were slow and deep, feeling her out, measuring her body's response to the intruder. Her back curved up and her head drooped, covering her face with her hair. She moaned softly through pursed lips, the duration of the sound matching the depth of his penetration. He squeezed her waist a little tighter, thrust his cock a little faster.

He worked up to a comfortable pace, thankful for all the bourbon he'd consumed earlier that evening. Under normal circumstances he doubted he could last very long in an ass this tight. But the alcohol changed things, dulling the sensation just enough. He pumped harder, her cheeks rippling, the flesh clapping each time he made contact.

Abbie's back dipped as her moans grew louder. She rocked up onto her toes, changing the angle and taking him deeper. Allan curled over her back, reaching beneath her and filling his palms with her breasts. He kneaded them in his fingers, twisting and plucking at her nipples as he plowed through her cavern. His weight shoved her clit against the counter, grinding it back and forth in a smear of her cum.

Her moans turned quickly to grunts, her shivers to shakes. She threw her hands against the wall in front of her and straightened her arms, impaling herself on his cock. A squeal escaped her throat, tightening Glen's balls and quickening his pulse. He clamped a hand over her mouth, hoping the sounds of the party would cover whatever he couldn't. Pressing the other against her hip he held her still just long enough to adjust his stroke, pulling out when she slumped against the vanity, crashing forward when she threw her ass back at him.

She screamed into his palm, his balls slapping her pussy. Her juices streamed down the inside of her thighs, soaking into her panties now stretched tightly between spread knees. He hammered away, matching his enthusiasm to her desperation, fucking her ass with a passion and power he'd never experienced with any woman before.

Abbie's body began to shake, like she no longer had control of her limbs. Her arms and legs gave out, folding her over the vanity, flattening her belly to the counter, her tits pooling in the sink. Glen held on as she convulsed beneath him, her asshole a warm vice around his dick. She struggled to regain her footing, twisting and flexing him inside her. The familiar twinge crept through his groin. The bourbon wouldn't hold him forever.

When her thrashing subsided, he stroked her again. Long and smooth. Just fast enough to keep her cooing, too slow to boil him over. He savored the heat of her rectum, the feeling the friction of her constriction generated along his shaft.

He skimmed a hand over her quivering rump, the goosebumps prickling his palm. He gave it a smack, drawing a flinch and a squeak before a giggle. He smiled, watching his now throbbing cock disappear between her cheeks. The ride was coming to an end. But before it did, he wanted a different view.

Glen eased his cock from her grasping asshole, leaving her with a modest gape upon exit. She straightened up, buttocks and thighs trembling. She reached for his cock as she turned to face him. He smacked her hand away, smiling when she looked up at him. Placing hands on her shoulders he gently pushed her to her knees. Again, she did not resist.

He raked his fingers through her curls and clutched a fistful, tilting her head back until she faced him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He stepped forward, pressing his legs into her tits. Pinching the base of his cock, he smacked it against her face, splattering a textured mixture of sweat and juices over her cheeks and lips.

Abbie giggled, rolling her face to the side, smearing a little on her ear. He straightened her head and leaned in, lowering his sac onto her lips. She opened wider and sucked in a testicle, tracing thoroughly with her tongue before releasing it and slurping in the other. Her moan vibrated his pelvis, flexing the underside of his dick against her nose. Fuck she was naughty.

He lifted his balls from her mouth and pushed her head back against the vanity. She looked up at him, her jaw dropped, panting, that eagerness still in her eyes. Glen rocked forward and shoved his tart slimy cock into her gaping mouth.