Gwen's background is in accounting, and it shows. In her understanding of the financial intricacies of the company. In her exacting approach to expense reports and budgets. In her navy business suits and wide silver-framed glasses.
Me, I'm a tech writer, and we're a much more laid-back group. I wore a suit to my interview. I may have even worn it on the first day, I don't recall.
The engineers and managers often travel. I don't, so I've never had a reason to submit an expense account - and get on Gwen's bad side. So she's always struck me as being pleasant, if reserved, where the engineers think she hides her horns and tail somehow in her conservative attire.
So when she shows up in my doorway, I wonder what I've done wrong.
"Phil," she says, leaning on my office door. "I just talked to Angie. She said you may have some time to help me."
"She's the boss," I reply, "if she says I'm free, I'm free. What do you need?"
"Some grunt work, I'm afraid. I'm trying to put some old paperwork in order, and I need to get some boxes down from the top shelf in the storage room. It's fine if you don't want to do it, I can get the shipping guys to help tomorrow."
"No, that's okay," I say. Perhaps she's an ogre to others; to me she's an attractive young woman in a business suit, and I can think of worse ways to spend the afternoon than being cooped up in a small room with her.
We work in the narrow room, going through boxes, some from high shelves, others from behind an old copier left to gather dust in the room. The machine makes passage difficult; the room is only few feet wide, and we can only pass the copier one at a time. Gwen spends part of the time hunkered down over boxes, scanning papers for arcane symbols only an accountant would understand, and part sorting other papers in boxes stacked on top of the copier. There is a small set of steps she uses to get some of the boxes, but most of them, and all of the high ones, I take down for her.
After we've been working for an hour or so, she takes off her scarf and jacket, hanging them on the doorknob. Her thin white blouse reveals her figure more clearly than the suit, especially when she tucks it tightly into her skirt and stretches. The dark-colored bra beneath tells me that she hadn't intended to be seen without her coat. Apart from drawing attention to its contents, it is decidedly in contrast with her conservative dress.
"Are you married, Phil?" We've exhausted business talk by now.
"No such trouble. You?"
She holds up her ringless left hand.
"That doesn't mean much, you know," I say.
"Yeah, well, me, it does. Here, put this back" She passes me a box.
A little while later she runs a hand through her hair. "I've done as much as I can take," she says. "Let's get these boxes back."
I've put a couple of boxes away when Gwen climbs the steps with what looks like one of the heavier boxes. "Let me get that," I say, holding out my hands.
"It's okay, I've got it," she says, setting the box down on the shelf.
She pushes it back, hard, and the small steps tilt and collapse under her. Wrapping my arms around her, I catch her, but though I arrest her fall, I stumble too, staggering back a step into the shelves.
Trying to recover my footing, it takes a moment for realization to sink in. My right hand is grasping something pliant, something encased in lacy material beneath the thin cloth. I almost drop her, but I recover, untangle myself and help her to her feet.
Gwen's face is bright red as she straightens her glasses, and I feel mine burning.
"God," I say, "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she says, though she puts her hand to her breast and winces as she rearranges her clothing. Then she smiles weakly. "Thanks for catching me."
I return her grin. "You're welcome. You'd better straighten yourself up before you leave, though."
She looks puzzled.
"Your... hair," I said. "And..." I point at her blouse.
She looks down. "Oh, no." Her blouse is open at one button, but more than that, there is a dark, well-defined handprint on her left breast, where my hand, filthy with dust, grabbed her. She colors again.
Trying to fasten her blouse, she groans as she realizes the button was torn off.
Looking down, I see Gwen's button on the floor. I pick it up and hand it to her. Her palm is warm and dry against my fingers. "Look on the bright side," I say. "At least you don't have a husband to explain that..." I wave my hand towards her breast "... to".
"True," she says.
The missing button gives me an intriguing view into her dark red demi-cup bra. I try hard not to look.
No, I try hard not to let her see me look.
Taking her jacket from the door, I hand it to her. "Thanks," she says, slipping it on and obscuring my view. "Maybe you'd help me finish up tomorrow?"
"Sure," I say.
"And maybe you could check the hallway, make sure the route to the ladies' room is clear? I need to straighten myself up."
It's mid-afternoon, and she hasn't returned. I figure she's finished the work herself, or gotten the shipping guys to help. And I'm disappointed. Maybe the embarrassment is too much. If so, I hope she gets over it. I'd hate to think she'll cut herself off from me completely.
But no, there she is in the doorway, hair arranged perfectly, suit neatly buttoned, knee-length skirt over dark hose. "Shall we?"
"Sure," I say, and follow her to the storage room.
We work as yesterday; I move boxes, she makes notes. Though, when we need to pass, she doesn't wait for me to get out of the way, she excuses herself and squeezes by me. Each time I catch a trace of her scent. I take to waiting beside the copier when I'm not doing anything, so that when she passes me, her body brushes against mine. And I wonder if she really needs to pass so often, or if she's enjoying the contact as much as I.
When she finishes her paperwork, I'm putting the last few boxes from the floor onto the shelves.
All that are left are the two boxes on the copier. I'm not sure what she wants to do with them, so I stand across the narrow aisle and look at her.
Gwen joins me in the cramped space beside the old machine. I thought that she wanted to pass again, but she stops, perching herself on the edge of the copier, close enough that her light scent fills my senses.
"So, Mister Harrison," she says, "you're not planning on taking any more liberties with my body?"
"Not today," I reply, automatically.
"Damn," she says, with a small grin.
"Not unless you throw yourself into my arms again."
Sarcastially, she says, "Oh, is that what I did?"
"And I just instinctively caught you."
"Instinct, was it? I don't think instinct was catching me, I think instinct was where you caught me."
"You may be right," I say.
She slides sideways until she is directly across from me, her knees almost touching mine in the narrow gap. I think about what had yesterday been beneath my hand, even if I hadn't realized it immediately, the edge of her bra pressing into my palm, the firmness within... Her closeness is turning me on, and I'm getting hard inside my pants.
Holding my eyes with hers, she takes the silk scarf she's wearing, unknots it, and slowly draws it from her neck, setting it down on the copier. "What does instinct do now?" she asks, her eyes still challenging. I feel her fingernail drawing lines on my thigh. Then she stands straighter, her face inches from mine. "Do you know what I'd like for you to do now?"
I shake my head. Her finger drifts inside my thigh, and up to a fraction of an inch from my balls.
"What I'd like for you to do... is pick up the boxes behind me."
She steps away from me, and I breathe deeply. And with disappointment. I grin ruefully, and pick up one of the boxes.
"And set them against the door."
My heart races as she twists my assumptions, for the second time in five seconds. I put the box down, and move the other one onto it.
Moving back to our intimate space, I stand as she wedges herself between me and the copier. Gwen takes her glasses off and sets them on the copier. Slowly, holding my eyes, she unfastens the top button of her jacket, then the next. With each deliberate movement, she makes me want her more.
She lets the jacket hang slightly open. "Now," she breathes, "I want you to catch me, all over again."
I take her waist between my hands. She frowns at me, then takes my wrists in hers, and moves my hands inside her jacket to her breasts. "Catch me instinctively is what I meant," she says, then she pushes herself forwards, pressing herself against me, pushing the lace of her bra against my hands, and I respond to her nearing lips by parting my own, sighing as we connect.
Her breasts yield to my grip, but soon even the thin blouse is more than I want under my hands. I tease it from her skirt and grip her bare waist. Then, sliding my hands up to her chest, I seek the open top of her bra, stroking her skin, running my fingers over the lace, squeezing. Another moment, and I slide my hands under her bra strap, then forwards, over her breasts. Hands trapped against her by the bra, I knead her firm flesh, then pry the bra up, over her breasts, freeing them. She sighs into my open mouth as I pinch her hardening nipples.
Hands around my neck, she holds my face to hers as I fondle her breasts and take her lips between my own. We kiss urgently, hungrily.
Gwen moves her hands from my neck, squeezing my shoulders, then down to my waist. A moment later I feel her brush her hand over the front of my pants, gently at first, then firmly rubbing my shaft through the cloth. She tugs at my waistband, then parts my pants and opens my fly. My cock presses hard against my underwear, and her fingers circle it, then slip inside my clothing and pull it free.
She grips my shaft at the base, then pulls her hand along, to the head, still holding me. As she releases me, she takes the base in her other hand, and alternates this smooth motion between hands. Now I sigh as her movements stretch my cock, strengthening and lengthening my erection.
Excited beyond belief by the speed this is happening, I squeeze her nipples as I feel her wriggle. She steps out of her shoes and pulls her hose and panties down. I release her breasts, sliding my hands down her skirt, then lifting it to stroke her bare ass. I pull her close, and as I lift her skirt again, allowing my cock to stroke her pussy, she bites my tongue.
Then she releases me and turns around, nestling her butt against my thighs. I hold her waist as I pry my shoes off, then my hands drift up to her breasts, caressing and squeezing.
Lifting her skirt, she wriggles against me until my cock nestles in her bush. Then she stands on tiptoe, grabbing my shaft in one hand. Supporting herself against the copier with the other, she leans forward and maneuvers me into her. She gasps a little as I push inside her, and from the tension around my cock I realize we've gone too fast, she isn't quite wet enough, but she doesn't seem to care, lifting her butt and pressing backwards to force me inside.
Releasing her breasts, I slide my hands over her stomach as she rocks against me, then I grip her hips for purchase, drawing myself more firmly against her. As we move, my cock slides easily within her now wet sex.
Keeping my hands against her thighs for leverage, I let my fingers slip between her legs, stroking her pussy, then squeezing her against my erection.
"Ohh!" she calls out, as she tightens instantly around me. She wriggles more, and leans further over the copier as I drive into her. She starts to make a soft, whimpering sound, her breath ragged.
I press against her clit, and she shudders. "Do that again," she gasps, and I press my fingers against her and rub.
"Oh!" she cries. She's so tight now that I seem to feel every ridge, every tension inside her rubbing on my cock, and I know I'm going to come. I grab her breasts again with my left hand, rubbing it over both nipples, squeezing both supple mounds, while I press my right between her legs.
I can't hold off any longer. My cock spasms painfully, then bursts with overload, and I groan as I come inside her. Gwen is moaning now, ramming herself against me, my release seeming to push her further. I haul against her pussy and her breasts, dragging her against me, and as she cries out I feel her body quivering around my sensitive, still pulsing cock.
She lifts her head, turning her face back to mine, and our lips move wetly against each other as we communicate our passion.
We keep rocking against each other, and Gwen's eyes grow wide. She breaks our kiss and turns away, gasping for breath, until she moans again, and I feel the delightful twitching around my shaft.
After that, my erection has waned too far, and I reluctantly pull away from her. She turns around and leans against the copier. I hold her waist and we kiss again, weary but contented. Then I lift her blouse and touch my lips to her breasts, seeing them for the first time. They look as good as they feel.
When I release her, she pulls her bra back into place and retrieves her underwear. I fasten my pants back together as she dresses.
"Next time," she says, "perhaps we can try taking our clothes off."
"Next time? That sounds good."
"Doesn't it. What are you doing after work?"
"Whatever you're doing, I hope," I said. I checked my watch. "And since it's already after work, we could start right now."
"No, we can start as soon as we get to my place," she said.
Later, I pull the sheet down and look at her.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Just thinking," I say. "You look good in a business suit. But you look much better in your birthday suit."
She smiles and moves towards me.