The Workplace Secret

An angry rain was falling in sheets, relentlessly banging on the glass skylight that Jason was mindlessly staring out of. Streaks of water were skimming across its pane as the wind howled. Spring had arrived, but just barely. It was cold outside. April in Minnesota. A shiver went through him.

Jason purposefully situated his desk under the opening in the ceiling so he could escape the monotony of boring taupe walls, grey cubicles, and the constant humming and bustling that made up the floor he worked on — humming printers, ringing phones and pecks of keystrokes. The skylight, however small, was a wonderful mental respite for him — something that allowed his mind to escape from time to time.

Jason's floor was home to his organization's marketing and communications team. Forty people in all — mostly 30-something women who wore skirts and dresses like in the show Mad Men, but without the modesty. Together they executed the communication, crisis response and marketing efforts for one of the state's largest educational institutions. And specifically, as the sharp end of the stick when it came to crisis management, the people on the team also knew most of the dirty secrets in the organization, and they had an affinity for talking about it. It was a perfect marriage of work and gossip, and those who worked there were predisposed to enjoy such drama.

So in that regard, the office and this curtain of rain-soaked light also provided an escape from the people and their gossip. Men and women — they all participated. Who was dating whom? Why was Jason's office door closed? Who's the new woman downstairs in accounting? Did Sandra get a boob-job? Is Stacy fucking her boss? Is Mike fucking his secretary?

"If they only knew," he often thought to himself, snapping a glance at the closed blinds that kept prying eyes of the sometimes-chaotic outside work space from peering into his office. A smile crossed his lips. Jason liked the gossip, too.

The pecking order at the office was simple. Jason, a vice president, is in charge of communications. Think press releases, newsletters, and photography and video — that was his domain. Katie, his uptight colleague, is also a vice president — she leads the marketing team. Brochures and pamphlets and events at campus buildings were her happy-place. Jack, meanwhile, is the executive director of it all. The rest of the team is made tacticians and secretaries — the worker bees who did the tasks Jason and the others dreamed up. Forty staff. Ten men. Beautiful women. Endless daydreaming.

The fourth floor, it turns out, is the penthouse of the office building. Jason, Katie and Jack each have fancy corner offices. And while there are plenty of windows lining the walls, Jason preferred watching the world pass by from that skylight on the roof. Comfortably leaned back in his office chair, his spine melting into the fabric of its back, his feet propped up on a side table — daydreaming to his heart's contentment.

Today, it turns out, in spite of the downpour outside, Jason wasn't thinking about the weather. He was fantasizing about Chelsea and her sheer, black thigh-highs. The ones he caught a glimpse of in the elevator earlier in the morning. Her black pencil skirt was riding a little higher than she realized as she thumbed through the stack files in her arm. To his delight, he could make out the seductive, lacy top of her stockings and the garter clip fixed to the top.

It was just the two of them in the sterile, steel elevator. It smelled like grease, and it was a bit humid inside thanks to the deluge outside. He barely noticed all of that, though. A flash in his mind's eye of her skirt hiked up over her hips while she stood in front of him tore into his thoughts. He could almost feel his stiff cock easily sliding into her tight, wet pussy, as his mind created the image. Jason gently shook his head, erotic cobwebs falling away, as he came back to reality.

Chelsea's white, button-up blouse wasn't intentionally revealing, but as Jason slyly looked up and down the length of her body, he spied a tantalizing amount of cleavage as her C-cup breasts were spilling out of a light blue, lace bra, just visible because the top two buttons of her blouse were undone.

He quietly took in a deep, cleansing breath as his cock stirred in his black dress pants. He wanted to make conversation, but choked on the words.

As Chelsea continued to sift through 20-or-so manila folders in her arm, her curvy five-foot-eight body stood atop a pair of black, open-toed, four-inch high heels. Her stocking-clad toenails peeking out the front. Chelsea's sandy blonde hair was up in a cute ponytail, but a strand had fallen out near the top and was now draped lightly across her face. She was pretty, with just enough eyeshadow to make her hazel eyes pop.

Suddenly the elevator bucked to stop and Chelsea looked up, almost startled. They were both lost in their own thoughts. But when the elevator lurchsed, their eyes met. Jason suddenly felt as though he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He was undressing her with his mind, after all, and he felt like she knew it. She sheepishly bit her bottom lip, looked down, and with her free hand, tugged her skirt back down a couple inches, hiding the lace.

As she looked back up, Chelsea flashed a smile, which Jason returned. She then glided out of the elevator. Jason watched. The red bottoms of her heels flashed with each step, her skirt clinging to her legs as she walked — its slit, which ran down its center-back offering a better glimpse of her long, sexy legs with each stride.

Jason was hard as a Goddamned rock.

Just as the heavy metal doors were closing, Chelsea turned on a dime to face the elevator, her pony tail whipping as she spun. Her eyes again met Jason's. This time she flashed him a wink as the doors closed. Just like that, she was gone.

"Holy fuck," Jason mumbled to himself, now alone in the elevator, feeling utterly dumbstruck. Thigh high stockings — they were his thing, his instant turn-on, like they are for plenty of men. Chelsea's high-waisted pencil skirt — the way it hugged her hips and accentuated her curves — was also his thing. The white blouse, light blue lace bra, open-toed, black heels — it's like she knew the exact outfit that would fill every nook and cranny in his mind's eye of sexual fantasy. Her outfit — it wasn't inappropriate or slutty. And that's what made it so hot, he thought.

And the wink? "What the hell was that about?" Jason thought to himself as the elevator again lurched to a halt and opened at his floor. He shook his head in disbelief. His stiff cock still pressing against his dress pants. "Jesus Christ," he thought to himself as he walked to his office.

---

As the elevator doors slid shut, Chelsea let out a deep breath. She felt as though she had been holding it in since she saw Jason in the elevator. She had more or less been thinking of that kind of moment for the past few weeks. A lust-filled moment in time. A smile crossed her face, and she turned away from the elevator and headed back toward her work area.

As she did, she passed Vicki, the grey-haired department secretary. Vicki was sitting on a stool, not a desk chair, and her cubicle had a half-wall she sat behind. On top of the half-wall was a six-inch wide shelf with business cards, a few brochures, and a service bell. A large sign that read "Accounting" hung from the shelf. The stool allowed Vicki to sit higher so she could watch everyone coming out of the elevator, and, importantly, to judge people as they came to her to be whisked away to appointments or meetings within the department. She was the queen gossip hound.

As Chelsea approached, Vicki was giving her the kind of side-eye and resting bitch face combo people only read about.

"Got a button undone there, darlin'," Vicki said, bobbing her head in the general direction of Chelsea's chest, clearly pointing out what she deemed to be its inappropriateness. Vicki's lips were smacking with each chomp of the massive piece of gum in her mouth.

Chelsea looked down, took note of her shirt buttons, and shrugged. "Well look at that," she said, looking back up to Vicki. "Cleavage. Can't have that, now, can we?" She flashed a fake smile and walked past.

"Nut-job," Cheslea said under her breath when out of earshot. She entered a wide hallway between cubicles, and after passing three, turned left into her space. It was a painfully boring grey cube, which was buttressed on one side by an even more boring taupe wall. She slid into her chair, feathered her skirt under her as she did, and crossed her legs. She loved the feeling of her silky, stocking-clad legs rubbing together. She was never one to wear pantyhose, much less stockings, so the texture and visual of it made her feel sexy. Extremely sexy, actually, which was the goal, after all — to feel sexy and look sexy, too.

Chelsea sighed and a wave rushed over her as the excitement of the elevator began to wear off. She stared into her computer screen, more or less looking through it, and revisited the past 10 minutes in her mind.

She had deliberately arrived to work earlier than normal, went up to her third floor work area and grabbed a few files, then went down to the first floor to wait. There was a small station for filing and stapling, and from that vantage point, which was near a set of windows that overlooked the attached parking garage, she could see when people were about to enter the building.

She was waiting for Jason.

When he began walking up, her heart fluttered. This was the moment. Jason was tall, something Chelsea had always found sexy. He's six-foot-nine with an average body — muscular with a little padding. Like a teddy bear. Many of the women in the office find him funny and attractive. He has sandy blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, full lips and a perpetually scruffy two-day beard. He hated to shave, he told her once.

They've known each other professionally for two years, and they've chatted casually hundreds of times. About her dog, her interest in hockey, her annual trips to Mexico with girlfriends. She talked about herself a lot, she suddenly realized. But they talked, too, about his love of Caribbean beaches, basketball, and of course, his height. Everyone always wanted to talk about how tall he is. He's also a great hugger. One time, for her birthday, he'd given her a card and a hug. And in her judgement, Jason is a fantastic hugger, not one of those limp-armed huggers. She liked that. And the way he smelled.

Jason pulled the heavy glass door and strode through it into the building. From his angle, he couldn't really see Chelsea, so he didn't notice her. He hit the up button on the panel next to the door and it began to glow. Chelsea grabbed her files in one arm, and with the other, she shimmied her skirt up an inch or so, just barely exposing the tops of her thigh-highs. A devilish smile cracked the corner of her mouth, and she walked toward the elevator. Go time.

As it opened, Jason strode through, and then Chelsea followed. She played it cool, and never looked up from her files. She was trying to act busy. She hit the button for the third floor, then Jason hit the button for the fourth.

The elevator moved.

Chelsea, with her head down, glanced up to Jason, and noticed him studying her. He was too lost in what was pouring into his eyes visually to make any conversation. She looked back down to her files before he noticed her peeking at him. Frankly, Chelsea loved the feeling of his eyes undressing her. It made her feel wanted and desired. She yearned for that, especially from him. Suddenly, she realized a dampness between her legs. Her nipples hardened with excitement. She blushed.

As the elevator came to a stop, Chelsea looked up to him. Their gaze met. She smiled, and deliberately bit the bottom of her lip. "Men liked that, right?" she thought to herself. She then glanced down, as if realizing she was giving a show, and shimmied her skirt back down an inch. Suddenly self-conscious, Chelsea desperately hoped he had liked what he'd seen. She looked back up, and strode out of the elevator. The look on Jason's face was exactly what she had been hoping for: dumbstruck teenage boy.

Three steps out, she spun and met Jason's eyes as the door was closing. She winked at him as the doors closed, his hard cock clearly visible pressed against the fabric of his black pants.

Suddenly Chelsea came to. That was just a few minutes ago. As the daydream passed, she sat up a bit straighter at her desk.

"A wink? Really?" she thought to herself. "That was lame." She began pecking at her keyboard.

---

Some two hours later, his door closed, Jason was peering up at the skylight, looking at the rainstorm, thinking about Chelsea, the 30-something accountant who worked on the floor below. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Suddenly, there was a knock on his office door. First he was annoyed, and then realized he was gripping his still-hard cock over the top of his pants with his right hand. It was throbbing.

Jason readjusted in his seat and tugged at the bottom of his blue button-down shirt to straighten it. "Come in," he said, as friendly as he could.

The wooden door opened, creaking under its weight, and Chelsea walked in. "Fuck," Jason screamed in his head, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. He was shocked to see her.

Blushing, he sat up straight and slid under his desk a bit further so he could hide his raging hard-on — the hard-on he had for her.

As Chelsea crossed the threshold of his office, Jason could swear she was puffing out her chest slightly to accentuate her tits. The middle button on her blouse was straining to hold. She was, of course. But he couldn't know that. She drifted into the office, and shut the heavy door behind her.

Jason gulped. "What. The. Hell?" he thought to himself in a state of disbelief. "Why is she here?"

Without a word, Chelsea turned to her left and inspected the set of windows that faced the inside of the office area. The blinds were closed. Nobody could see in. Rarely did Jason have them open. The gossip hounds didn't need further discussion topics.

Chelsea faced Jason. Their eyes met. She walked toward him, and without looking away, took the chair in front of his desk and sat down. She then crossed her legs, and smiled.

The stockings, heels, skirt, blouse, pony tail — this woman was exquisite, Jason thought.

She was thinking the same thing about him. His two-day scruff, his blue shirt making his eyes pop, combined with the secret only she knew — this man was incredible, Chelsea thought. She lusted for him.

"What can I do for you?" Jason asked, trying to play it cool. Suddenly a pang of anxiety hit him — he was genuinely confused as to why she was in his office.

"I hope you liked the show earlier," she said. She smiled and began playfully toying with the hem of her skirt with her fingers.

"The show?" Jason asked. He's no dummy, but this situation seemed too good to be true, he thought, so he was playing coy.

"The elevator." She grinned. Chelsea could tell he was playing dumb. He knew what she meant.

"Look, I'm here because I wanted to talk to you about something." She had a warm smile. "Don't look so worried. It's not a bad thing."

A strange wave of relief washed over Jason, but he wasn't sure why. He realized at that moment his heart was racing. His dick was swollen and he couldn't do anything about it. This woman was quite suddenly a walking fantasy for him, he thought. His fingers tingled.

Jason realized he had never really thought of her like this before. How was that possible? Chelsea was gorgeous, and while that may have had something to do with how she looked in this setting, for the first time, he realized her natural beauty. She was erotic and beautiful.

Chelsea studied Jason for a moment. She was nervous, but confident. She had thought about having this conversation since she had made her discovery, and desperately wanted it to play out right.

"I'll get to the point." She adjusted in her seat. The wetness between her legs was profound and she suddenly worried she would leave a wet spot on his chair.

"So, I know your secret," Chelsea said after a long pause. "That sounds weird. But you know what I mean." She studied him again.

Jason was dumbstruck. "What?" he blurted out. "A secret? I don't know what you mean." He was serious.

Chelsea adjusted in her seat, still nervous. "Get to the point, Chels," she thought to herself.

"So, I like to read. I'm a reader. We've talked about that. I mean, I read lots of things," she said. As she said it, her fingers again fiddled with the hem of her skirt. She tugged at it, clearly nervous now. Jason felt the anxiety, too.

She inched her skirt up just slightly. Fuck, he thought.

"And some of the things I read get pretty ... risqué."

"Okay," Jason said slowly, a lump forming in his throat. Jason, you see, he did have a secret. An interesting one, too. He's a writer, after all. Outside of his day job, he writes life-based erotica. From sexual conquests he's had, to the sexual fantasies and scenarios he'd like to experience, to kinky taboo shit that would freak normal people out — Jason writes about it. He enjoys it. It's his dirty little secret. He likes the anonymous attention he gets, and the fantasies he gets to play out with vivid detail in his mind. Plus, it's relatively innocent and safe. Until now.

Another pause. Jason wasn't going to fill it with his words.

"So, I think we enjoy the same ... sites. The same stories," Chelsea said hesitantly. "We have some things in common, and I wanted you to know that. Thought we could talk about it."

At first, Jason just blinked at her. But after a moment, a wave of arousal hit him. His cock twitched in his pants, adrenaline spurting through his veins. His heart raced and he was excited. Like a bell, there was clarity. Chelsea must have wore her outfit because it's the same outfit he described in a three-year-old sexual fantasy he penned and posted to the web. She was dressed exactly like the woman in that story, a story that happened to be about a racy office fling. Same skirt, same bra, same everything.

Life-based erotica. "No fucking way," he thought.

Jason suddenly became much more confident. He stood up, and walked to the door. Adrenaline was coursing through him.

And he was right. Chelsea had indeed picked this particular outfit based on that story, one she figured he'd described because he liked it.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" Jason asked. As he reached the door, he locked it. "Like, why do you think we enjoy the same ... sites, as you put it?"

"Well, about a month ago, I was reading this short story about a man and his secretary at work. It was quite hot, really. Anyway, the office that was described in the story — if it wasn't this building, right down to the buttons on the copy machine they fucked on — well I'd be shocked," she said.

Jason flashed a smile.

"So I read another story. Same author. Same office — I like the office stories, you know. It was quite descriptive. Educational office. Communications. The floor the story took place on. The office locations. It was this building. Finally I checked out the author profile," Chelsea said, then giggled as some of the tension was leaving the room.

"The username was your initials. And was the same as a Twitter handle — a profile based in Minnesota, if such a thing can be trusted," she said. "It's a little weak for court, but I'm going with my gut here. It's you."

"Fuck if she hadn't caught me," Jason thought to himself. He walked back toward his desk, never breaking eye contact with Chelsea. As he passed her, he was certain she was as wet as he was hard, and the delicate scent of her wetness was wafting out of her skirt. He sat back down in his desk chair and leaned back. A long pause as they both looked at each other, studying.