You haven't left your desk all morning. You've barely looked up from it, let alone stepped away. Stacks of papers, a dozen files open on your computer screen, phone ringing. It's that week. 

Post holidays, so everything that's been on hold during the break is waiting. And a half dozen ongoing open files that just... won't... die. Plus a few people sick on the team, a grumpy colleague who snapped at you when they left the office yesterday and, to make matters worse, it's cold as fuck when you finally leave to drive home each day.

You're trying to get the words in your brain to match the words coming out of your fingers, and not having much luck, when your mobile phone buzzes.

Text message: it's me. 

A welcome break, if you had time for it. You leave it, and carry on working. Later, you think.

A moment later, your desk phone rings. Caller ID indicates 'Front Desk'. Great. Could be anything or anyone.

"This is John," you snap, a little grumpier than necessary.

"Your 11 a.m. appointment is here?" says the voice on the other end.

You glance at your calendar. No meetings at 11. Nothing at 11. Goddamn it, you have shit to do, and someone just shows up unannounced? What the hell.

"I don't have anything scheduled for 11," you say.

"One moment," the voice on the other end says, obviously covering up the receiver to talk to whoever is there. "Sorry, Mr. Baker, she says she definitely had an appointment to see you at 11? To discuss a file? She says you'll remember when you see her."

"Fine. I'm coming down," you say, putting the phone back down in its cradle.

You stand up, and leave your office, heading to the front desk. You feel prickly, pissed off. Irritated at yourself for forgetting something, or irritated at whoever is here for foisting themselves onto your busy day.

You come down in the elevator, annoyed by its glacier-like speed. When the door opens onto the lobby, and you can make out the front desk, your irritation dissipates instantly and your heart rate goes into overdrive.

"Holy shit," you whisper, unable to not say it out loud.

It's me. You've never seen me dressed like this. Pert little black jacket, pipe-stove type skirt, snug all the way down to the knees, mary-jane strappy heels that look like velvet. Dark stockings. Cranberry-coloured silky blouse, with a deep round neckline, under the jacket. Hair down, smooth, simple, straight as a pin. Glasses on the end of my nose, reading a newspaper in the waiting area. Leather soft-sided carry case at my feet, resting against the chair, presumably full of the "files" we need to work on together.

You walk over.

"Hi. I'm afraid I totally forgot you were coming today. I'm so sorry for the... delay," you say, trying not to grin at me - and also trying not to pop an erection so huge that your pants rip open.

I look up at you, smile.

"No problem," I say.

I stand. In my heels, I'm several inches taller than normal, nearly nose to nose with you, in fact.

You stare at me. Frozen.

"Well? Shall we?" I ask.

You shake your head in the affirmative, having a hard time making the words come out of your mouth.

"Yes, yeah, of course," and you point your hand in the direction of the elevator, indicating I should go ahead of you.

I do, knowing that you are watching every step... my heels clicking on the floor, my hips moving under the snug skirt, hair swaying to the middle of my back.

Fuck. What am I wearing under this outfit, you suddenly wonder.

We get into the elevator, door closes, and your hand moves towards my rear end.

"Cameras," I say quietly.

Right. Surveilance cameras. You pull back, and we travel up to your floor in silence.

The door opens and you step ahead of me, knowing that I won't know where to go. You walk, fast, to your office and let me walk past you into the room. I grin and wink as I do, and you follow in behind me, closing the door after you.

"Holy fuck, you're here," you say, the breath exploding out of you, the words fast like it's all one word not four separate ones.

"I'm here."

You stare. This is surreal. Unexpected. Sure we'd talked about it but... today? You weren't expecting this today. Your big fantasy of getting me naked in your office is going to actually happen?

I watch you as you look me over, silent, somewhere between excited and baffled.

Finally, I say, as though to break the spell: "Well, what are you going to do with me then, John?"

Everything freezes for a moment, like a lineup of runners waiting on the starting gun - desperate long silence, then everything happening at once.

You're in front of me in seconds, the space between us disappears, and you put your hands to my head, kissing hard, tongue slick and hot and hard into my mouth. I start moaning instantly, my hips pushing forward towards you. You step towards me, and we're already so tight that I have no option but to back up to give you room. I back up and back up until I hit your desk, the edge of it up against my rear. You push back on my shoulders, still kissing me, till I have to sit on the edge of the desk.

You lean over, grab either side of the skirt and, grateful to discover it has some stretch to it, you push it straight up my hips.

Holy mother of god.

Stockings, attached to a garter. And nothing else.

You look at me, kiss me again, whispering against my lips: “Fuck baby, oh fuck. Oh god, you look so good. I need you.”

I keep kissing you back but answer, letting my lips move over yours: “Then have me. If you need me, have me, John. Now.”

You bend over again, and put your hands on my inner thighs, pushing wide. I lean back on your desk, my hands supporting me from behind.

Your mouth clamps onto my pussy, tongue pushing in between the hot warm folds of my pussy lips, the wet erotic taste and smell of me filling your nostrils and your mouth.

You lick me hard, using your hands to spread me, tongue lapping and rubbing. I'm moaning, very quietly; you know I'm biting my tongue to keep from doing anything too loud.

"Cum baby, cum for me," you say. I can feel the rumble of your voice against my pussy, and the feeling of it, of your chin, your lips, the tenor of your words, and instantly I start orgasming, closing my legs around your head.

You don't let me rest at all. Your fingers slide inside me, and you stand up, fucking me steadily with one hand while the other unbuttons the two buttons on my jacket. You pull the blouse out of the waist band, and pushing it up over my tits, find a jewel-pink bra with black lace. You tug the cups down to get my nipples out, and squeeze one and then the other.

I'm dripping on your hand, wet all over. Again, you demand: “Cum for me, C. Cum!”

I can't resist when you tell me to, and another orgasm rips through me. When I open my eyes again, I see you unzipping your pants, and I let myself slide off the desk and onto my knees, opening my mouth below you.

"Baby," I say. "Let me?"

I love your cock, the taste of it, the feel of it in my hand or on my tongue, the soft silky skin of the shaft, the sensitivity of the head.

I open my mouth and you slide your cock in, your hands sliding up to grip at my head. I look up at you, my eyes full of lust and need and heat. You can't help needing to fuck my mouth harder then, thrusting in, feeling the head of your cock bounce against the back of my throat. You can feel my fast breath through my nose all along the skin where your cock meets your abdomen, and the tickle of it shivers through you. God, you could cum instantly like this, watching me suck you.

But you don't want to cum yet.

You pull your cock out, lean over and kiss my puffy fucked mouth.

"Stand up, turn around," you say, sternly, quietly, insistently.

I do.

"Bend over the desk," you say.

I do, leaning at the waist so that the fronts of my hips are touching the edge of the desk, my head flat turned to the side, resting on one cheek. There's still papers here, my breasts are pushing down on them, my hair spread out over them.

"Hold on," you say.

I grip the far side of the desk with both of my hands and as soon as I do, you thrust into me so hard I shout.

"Oh!"

You know you don't need to tell me to be quiet. I close my mouth, and look back at you over my shoulder as though to say, "I'm all right now, go now, start, fuck me, fuck now!"

Which is exactly what I'm thinking in my head, as your hands grip onto my hips and your cock starts pounding me.

"John, oh jesus... fuck," I moan so quietly you can barely hear it. Still, the sound of your own name coming out of my mouth while you pump your cock deep into my cunt is so astoundingly erotic that you don't know how you haven't cum yet.

You risk the noise of a smack and slap my ass cheek once, twice. You need to again, so you risk it again, a third time, a fourth time. You can see the pinkness of your hand mark on my bare skin, partially hidden only by where the garter sits across my hip, and where the strap comes down to meet my stocking.

You're fucking me hard, so hard, and I look back at you again, and whisper: harder, harder, harder.

Fuck. You don't have to be told twice. You let yourself go, the front of your hips smacking hard and loud into my ass cheeks.

I start to clench inside, and orgasm building.

"I'm going to cum, John. Cum with me... Cum..."

You look down at me, the skirt bunched over my waist, bare assed, lace topped stockings now coming undone from the straps from the manhandling, my skin flushed and pink. So close. You're so close.

Your eyes travel further up, to where my hands are white knuckled, gripping the desk to hold still under your pounding, and then back to my face.

And that's when you cum. When you see me, mouth open, eyes rolling back, panting, utterly undone.

"Take it," you say, quietly. "Fuck baby, take it. I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, now! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I feel it, feel you tighten, your balls contracting even more. Your cock thickens, swells, stretches me even more, and I start to fall into my orgasm - bucking, gasping, pushing hard back against you.

You finish with several more strokes, and lay over me, breathing hard.

"This is the best meeting I've ever had," you say, laughing.

"Oh wait till our next one," I say, grinning at you. "Productivity and staff morale will be at an all-time high, I'm sure of it."

You laugh, move enough so that you come out of me, and help me up to standing.

"Come here," you say, pulling me in and kissing me slow and lazy and deep. "God, I missed you. I’ve been stuck at my desk all week it seems like."

I kiss you back, my hands on either side of your face, then stand on high-heeled tiptoes to kiss between your eyes.

"I know. I missed you too, baby. Now... I think you have some work to do... After you tidy."

You look at your desk - papers everywhere.

"Sorry," I say laughing.

"You could have put them all through a paper shredder and it would still be worth it."

"Good."

I pull down my skirt, adjust my stockings enough to be sure they're above the hemline, run my hand over my hair and tuck the front of the blouse back in. Unbelievably, except for the colour in my face, I look exactly as I did 15 minutes ago when I walked in.

"I can let myself out," I say, and walk to the door.

When I open it, I see there's a handful of people nearby - no one milling about, or looking at your office suspiciously, just standing near by chance.

I say, loud enough for everyone to hear: "Thanks so much, John! Really appreciated your time. I'd like to discuss it some more - next week? I'll email you."

I raise my hand in a wave, turn, and head back the way we came in.

You sit down behind your desk, every inch of your body still zinging, your heart still racing.

Paperwork. Right. Shit. And you start sorting out that mess.

More by Carson March:

After the Party
The First Meeting
Holiday Romp
Meeting Annie
The Not-So-Stranger
Poker Night
Secret in the Woods
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