The List Ch. 02

All feedback is welcome.

This is a fun story to write, I hope you enjoy reading it.

Part Deux

Danielle faced her old nemesis again. She'd cornered it into submission. Making absolutely sure she was going to reign victorious over this stupid piece of manmade crap. Danielle slid her access card through the slot. A pleasant ding announced that it would accept her as its passenger. Danielle smiled and let the good vibes flow. That is until the double doors opened and her friend from yesterday stepped inside.

They stood shoulder to shoulder. Neither acknowledging the other for fear of recognition of what he or she had done. Danielle of course remembered the mind-blowing orgasm she'd had at the hands of her elevator companion precisionly well. She'd had two post-orgasms just thinking about it while she painted her toenails last night.

He on the other hand seemed uninterested in her and unfazed that she was riding alongside him, again, to their respective destinies. She, to go prove to her boss that she was in fact not wearing undergarments; he, to go save the world from back taxes or whatever it was he did on the thirty-second floor.

The awkward silence lasted all of ten seconds.

"Unbutton your blouse," he said not even bothering to look at her as he spoke. Danielle felt something quiver deep inside of her. An ovary perhaps.

Her fingers traced the seams of her blouse. They were crisp, freshly ironed and completely ready to be pulled apart to expose what lay beneath. In all of her female wisdom, she decided to do more than the primp and prep. She moisturized everything within hands reach. Shea lotion does wonders or as Marco would call it, "The white woman's cocoa butter." Thinking about the elevator operator inside, outside, and back inside again got Danielle salivating upstairs and down. She was an adult, she made her bed, her coffee, and was starting to make actual meals instead of resorting to Lean Cuisines. If this was wrong, this whatever it was between her, her boss, and the mystery man beside her, then she'd ride it out so to speak as far as the wrong turn took her.

Danielle began unbuttoning, one, two , then three buttons, all the way to her belly button. Her elevator companion didn't blink an eye. Her fingers shivered, trying to explain to the brain that they'd done their job, there was no need to go further. Danielle pushed through this reaction, unbuttoning her blouse till she'd reached the last cream white button. He hadn't reacted yet. Then the elevator stopped. Someone would be joining them in a few seconds. That was not enough time to re-do what she had undone.

The doors slid apart and a lawyer named Dixon Jenkins stepped in. He noticed right away that her blouse was parted, her breasts pressing through like two puppies begging to be petted and her companion's nonchalant expression. Danielle had only time to button the last two at the bottom, the slightest wrong angle from Dixon could give him his morning pick-me-up. Dixon stared momentarily, as if stone cold on where he was originally going.

"It's a titty bit nipply out there isn't it?" Floor thirty-two asked to break the ice.

"Sure is."

Danielle shifted her weight onto the left foot, then the right. No matter how she stood, it was achingly apparent that her two girls were visible to the newest member of the mile high club. Every second that ticked away had him shifting his eyes to her neckline and the crisp button down that flared out to assist in the exposure. Thirty-two hummed a tune behind her and moved his body a hair to the left. Just enough to see down her shirt. Actually, neither of her elevator mates had to worry about staring directly at her chest. All they had to do was look at the mirror tiled ceiling. Dannielle's tit's perked up as if on cue. Ready for their close up.

A pin dropped and everyone heard it. Actually it was a pen.

"Could you pick that up, sweetie."

The Bic rolled in front of her innocently enough. She did as she was taught. Without bending her knees, Danielle hinged at the hips, lowered her chest down, her ass up. The silk lining of her skirt slipped sky high, the pleasant feeling of air in the nether regions sent a lovely tingle down or rather up her spine. She knew that they'd be able to see up her skirt and around the ring around her rosy. By the time she'd fingered the Bic, both boys were clearing their throats and picking their jaws off of the floor.

Dixon was drooling around the left corner of his mouth imagining Danielle taking her lips to his cock. He could practically feel her nipples twisting between his index finger and his thumb. As Danielle straightened out she didn't tug her skirt down, leaving a good portion of her upper thighs still exposed. The head honcho next to him wasn't staring at her ass though. He was staring ahead, not even interested in the amazing view in front of him. Dixon made sure to brush her as he walked out of the elevator. He made absolutely positively sure the back of his arm glided against one of those diamond nipples he'd been fantasizing about for the past minute of his life. Danielle blushed slightly, adding a pink hue to her perfect complexion and watched as Dixon Jenkins strolled out with a noticeable hard-on through his Brooks Brothers wool trousers.

"Close encounter," she managed to say before his mouth smashed against hers. His hands groped and came flesh against her didn't-bother-with-undies-today ass. A devilish grin cascaded across his face and the two stripped the rest of whatever was left that hadn't been ripped off. He stood before her as naked as he was yesterday, which was what she'd imagined him to look like pounding behind her. Abs a girl could wash clothes on, chest broad enough to rip corduroy blazers, and a dick that made Mount Everest feel small. It was currently defying gravity and pointing towards its next victim. Danielle licked her lips in anticipation.

He wanted to take her back to his cave and screw her until they both passed out. Savage, rough, jungle sex was the only medicine strong enough to cure his need. Her hair had tumbled all around her shoulders, her back, and almost obstructed the view of her perfectly fine tits. That would need fixing. He cupped her face and threaded his fingers into her thick curls.

She melted against his touch letting his fingers roam and prod, pull and tug. She let his mouth invade her body. Each sweep of his tongue on her lips and nipples caused involuntary moans and jerks of surprised passion, craving more, giving him everything. Her knees knocked beneath her as he reached between them and connected the dots from her clit down her slit. Every flick of his finger made another lightning bolt shoot up from below. Danielle struggled to find the gravity to keep her grounded. She wanted him more than a raise, more than a new car, more than a corner office with a giant window. Danielle clung to Mr. Floor-Thirty-Two like the last tickle-me Elmo, digging her nails into his shoulders and back marking him in her own way. A low growl erupted from the depths of his gut and Danielle knelt down and got to doin' what only four years at a state university could teach. She engulfed his manhood making sure she'd left Miss Prude back at home watching People's Court and eating Special K for the third time that morning.

He groaned and gripped her shoulders, "Like that. Shit! Suck my fucking cock you fucking whore!"

Words only encouraged the eager to learn. Hoovers don't need to be told how to suck.

She felt his Disney prince sized hands against the back of her head, urging her on, pushing her chin against his sac. There was so much juice, he thought. Just the creamy slick feel of her mouth tasting and fucking his cock sent him twitching to his tip. He was jerking back in response, feeling her throat muscles contract around him as she swallowed, sucked, and slobbered as today's blow job was brought to him by the letter S.

Her mouth enveloped him, bringing him up to the brink of an orgasm, and then riding him back down. She knew exactly where his buttons were and how to push them to tease and taunt his dick. Every other second he thought he would lose his control. It slipped through his grasp but she was the one who reigned him back in. By the fourth time she was tugging gently on his balls with a third hand, the other two were gripped around his ass and stroking his cock. The unmistakable urge to come came riding up his shaft and this time he was praying she would let him finish.

Danielle knew he was close and sped up her game by taking swift shallow plunges into the back of her throat. Her tongue traced an outline around the head of him, finding the right tempo and waiting for him to keep up. As the first shot of his release hit, she began to swallow easily. Her tongue lapping back and forth against his sweet spot; closing tightly around the tip, causing Thirty-two to roll his eyes up and out of sight.

"Oh fuck! Sweet fucking. . .," he lost it. Danielle felt him grasping her hair as if it were the last thing holding him to reality. There was absolutely nothing more beautiful than a man writhing through the thick of an orgasm.

By the time he'd zipped up, regained composure, and convinced himself it was all a dream. Danielle had gotten off at her floor. Buttons in place, skirt hem down to mid thigh. Thirty-two smiled as the elevator doors closed. He could count the number of times he'd come like that from a blow job; brought to him today by the number one.

"Do you do weddings and bar mitzvahs? Or is it just business men in elevators?" Marco the floor's receptionist/gossip girl smirked at Danielle as she strutted past. She heard him throw one more taunt at her before she curtailed the corner, "You've still got a bit of cream in the corner of your mouth from your cup-of-joe!"

Danielle was a very important member of the elite corporation known as Generex. It's mighty hand had its fingers in almost every market money jar with the exception of the housing market. That's how they were able to afford Marco. Well-organized and snarky bitches don't come cheap. Floor thirty was home to Danielle and a labyrinth of cubicles which could make pac man sprout a little pac boner. The ghosts to avoid were Trisha, Reagan and Laurie. This pack of bitches ate young freshman secretaries for breakfast. Unlike Marco whose purpose was to engage and dismantle good moods, TRL tainted coffee pots, ripped hosiery, and sprinkled their sweet sugar in your gas tank.

Reagan loved chocolate, Trisha loved coffee cake, and Laurie was smitten for an intern named JR Ivy. Junior was son of C.E.O. and company badass Vince Ivy. She who could sleep with Junior was one step closer to MTV Cribs. JR was handsome, well-liked and definitely not gay as Marco could point out. Boss hated him. Therefore, Danielle wanted him. As she approached the pristine block of wood between her and he-who-shall-not-be-named, Danielle caught Junior's glance across the way. He was sifting through mail, tie out-of-wack and bed head tousled to perfection. Junior winked. Apparently he had just come from doing exactly what she had except on the receiving end. They gave each other complimentary chin nods, and Danielle knocked on the door.

The grunt behind the door was legendary. It meant, "Come in, but don't speak until I tell you to."

Danielle stepped into her boss's lair, closing the door behind her, and trying not to think about Mr. Thirty-two and his cock. If a single image of his exploding member came to her, the Boss would know. He always knew. Boss shoved some papers out of the way. His tit hardening stare beckoned her forward.

"No bra?" He asked, leaning back.

Danielle began unbuttoning her blouse for the second time today. This time without the hesitation or the break line from her inner mother hen. She spread it open to reveal soft, supple, aroused breasts that the Boss fought the urge to sample.

"No tan lines?" Danielle nodded, as Boss thumbed his chin. "Where's the receipt?"

Receipt. What's a receipt? Had she known she was supposed to keep a paper trail she would have asked the orange oompa loompa behind the counter for one.

"I need proof that you're complying, Danielle," his Excellency commanded.

What? He couldn't smell the putrid coconut lotion imbedded in her skin? Even better, she got one of those stickers that looked like a playboy bunny. Not one for rascally rabbits, she'd go for the palm tree next time. Danielle dug through her purse wondering if there was some slip of paper, a coupon, a sample packet of tanning lotion, something that would prove it. What if she couldn't? Would she be fired? But then he wouldn't be chuckling behind his desk now would he?

"I'm actually glad that you don't have one, now we can go on to part two."

Oh boy. The plot thickens.

"I have a job for you, Danielle." Mentally, Boss was rolling up his sleeves.

Danielle started to button up while she waited. Boss held up his hand to have her stop one above her belly button. Was that where she was supposed keep it the rest of the day? One false move; a pass off of a file to another secretary or bending over to dig through the break room refrigerator for the Slimfast she left there a week ago would have her flashing like an infomercial for Girls Gone Wild.

Boss stood up to emphasize. He sauntered across to her, drawing a Swiss pocket knife. She cringed. Was she going to have to swear something in blood? Paper cuts were bad enough, if they were going to do blood oaths he'd have to cut her on the arm. He grabbed both lapels of her shirt and drew her closer. She could smell his cologne and wanted to take a bath in him. His hands slipped down on either side, crossing paths with her breasts and their nipples. The soft feathery brush of knuckles against sensitive flesh made Danielle shake with delight. Boss took the blade and cut off the buttons to her shirt. As each one popped off it hit the floor with a little ping. Danielle forced herself to stare only at him and not at her deteriorating blouse.

"What do you think about JR Ivy?"

Danielle opened her mouth to have an opinion, but that was apparently a rhetorical question.

"He's a little shit. He thinks he can screw the system and work his way from mail boy to VIP in a year because he's the C.E.O.'s son."

She got that he we would be pissed off about that. But Boss wasn't looking at Junior through the eyes of a single woman who spent week nights fantasizing about being Kim Kardashian. Maybe he just needed to get an apple martini after work. Boss stepped back from his chop-shop. Danielle's blouse was parted perfectly in a wide V down. Her breasts stayed behind their curtains, about to peak around to see if an audience was waiting.

"I want to put him in his place. We're going to fuck him."

Danielle raised the Bic she'd found earlier on the floor of the elevator, "Would that be literally or figuratively?"