Cat

This was initially intended to be the first part in a series, but this set-up is so strange and unique, that I never figured out how to write the action in a similarly interesting fashion. My apologies if you want more, but you have my permission to fill in the details.

*****

The morning had been going horribly. Charge, back a day early from two weeks in Europe, was expecting a quiet morning to respond to the hundreds of emails he knew would be a waiting him. Instead he found himself roped into two impromptu meetings. The first from which he was just hustling back was with John McDermott, president of the major subsidiary and Charge's most important customer. John was a son-of-a-bitch manager who distanced himself from those he felt were below him, had no patience for listening, and believed that barking was a motivational tool. Through all the growling and teeth snapping, there had not been a chance to respond so Charge was tasked with responding via email practically immediately. The dog would be expecting it by noon, 25 minutes from now.

Additionally, Charge 's boss, Coleman - a nice but demanding man, had called a meeting for noon, and Charge did not want to be late. As he walked his mind was racing in preparation for the composition before him and the reconciliation that a late entrance before his boss was all but assured. To a passerby he may have looked intense or just out of it - thumbs pressed to temples, and all fingers pointing up like the blinders on a carriage horse or a folded bill on a baseball player's cap.

As Charge entered his windowless office, he closed the door. It made him feel claustrophobic, but would clearly send the "I don't want to be disturbed" message. Additionally, he deliberately left the light off, as he felt the glow from the monitor and his desk lamp cast a softer light and enhanced his focus. As he approached his desk he wondered if the papers scattered upon it looked a little different. He stopped for a moment and then continued. Coming around the desk, he grabbed the back of his chair and began to pull it out to sit. Halfway, he stopped again. For a moment he stood in silence and then reached over the chair and turned on the computer. As it came to life he paced in front of the desk, pensive. "How did life get this complicated" he wondered. He thought back a few years and felt melancholy at the loss of simple pleasures - laugh-filled lunches with co-workers, Friday afternoons at the bar, the pursuit of girls in the office? With that his mind briefly drifted to a memory of a girl he had seen that morning, short, curvy, and very sexy. She was wearing a pastel green mini and French hose - a much-welcomed violation of the corporate dress code.

Shaking it off he returned to work. He pulled out the chair and sat in deeply, accidentally kicking what must have been his briefcase under the desk. The computer spoke its initial greeting and signaled its readiness to work. With a click of the mouse the word processor loaded and Charge stared into space, thinking. His eyes weren't really looking at anything, but his head was pointed in the direction of the bookcase and the door and his briefcase leaning against the wall between them... and his briefcase leaning against the wall between them? Very slowly, he placed both hands on the edge of the desk and pushed away, peering into the darkness below. He was not sure what he had kicked, and when he saw a slight female form he nearly jumped. He knew her; it was Cat, the girl in the green mini skirt, only now the skirt was loose and torn. As his eyes adjusted, he saw what he assumed was the blush of embarrassment. He studied her face. Flushed it was, but rather than fear in her eyes, he sensed devious amusement. She stabilized herself with one hand on the floor and placed the other on the inside of his thigh. She appeared to be trying to stand, but she made no real effort to come out, and he made no effort to make way for her. A moment passed without words, both players assessing the situation before them. Eyes still on her, Charge's hand moved to the telephone. Almost automatically he hit the speed dial button for his bosses' assistant. "Susan," he said eyes still locked on the nymph between his legs "Tell Coleman, I'm going to be a little late to his meeting today. Also, do me a favor and call John McDermott and tell him he'll have to wait until tomorrow for his email"...

Regaining control, Charge offered to help the girl out from under his desk. He took her hand in his while using the other to protect her head from a likely bump on the bottom of the desk. As she stood they both attempted to act like this was nothing out of the ordinary, that it was somehow normal and expected that she should be standing there, penned-in - his seated legs on each side of her and the desk behind. He told himself that there was a justifiable reason why they would be standing like this, with her stomach so close to his mouth that she could feel the push of his breath. He was certain there was a reason why they were sharing this moment in his dimmed office in the middle of the day.

Drawing-out the moment he remembered the rip in her skirt. "I can help you with this," he said looking down at the hem.

"With what?" she questioned teasingly.

"The tear, er, the tear in your skirt," he stammered, reaching behind her, searching for a sewing kit tossed aside after some past trip. As his fingers spanned across the desktop, he registered the flowers of her perfume. He imagined the softness of her knit top against his face and tried in vain not to let it show. Bringing the sewing kit into view, he slowly removed the necessary tools. He carefully - even skillfully - led the thread through the needle and tied a perfect 3-twisted knot. Cat watched all this in anticipation.

Cat leaned back on the desk, lifting her weight slightly off her feet and gently thrusting her pelvis towards Charge's face. As he took the two torn sides of cloth in his hands, he was very aware of the lace topped French-stocking immediately south of his working area. Pulling one side of cloth out, he placed the needle deftly through the ripped seam and pulled. As he worked through the other side, the tightness of the skirt became an impediment. Clearly this is generally done with the skirt off and no distractions. He pressed on. Through one side, a tug, and then through the other. Again, through one side, a tug, and then through the other. As he worked his way down the skirt, the tug got a little harder. On the fifth or so stitch, he inadvertently caught the flesh of her leg. She writhed just once and silently. A small drop of blood appeared. Charge wiped it - rubbed it - slowly with his finger, which he then lifted to his mouth, licked and rubbed again. He looked up, apology implicit in his gaze. Her dark eyes were locked on him, lip lightly bitten. Her back was arched away from him. She was grabbing the desk for support. At that moment she was in control, but he felt that the way she looked she could lose it at any moment.

With the bleeding stopped, he continued down her skirt, stitching. He got to the end, tugged tightly and tied another perfect knot. He folded the hem up toward him exposing the white skin of her thigh and the knot. He moved his face lower, grabbed the lose end in his teeth and tore. His face grazed her leg and he caught the smell of her skin, now centimeters away from his mouth. He paused. The moment was an eternity. It hung for both of them. Eventually the decision was made. He moved his lips toward her thigh and kissed, lightly, tentatively, testingly. He felt the tightly wound spring in her break free as she arched her back, stomach toward him. She let out a soft moan, and grabbed his hair with both her hands. As she pressed his face into her, he kissed deeper and deeper into her thigh. His hands moved underneath the fabric of her skirt as he mapped the first and decidedly most delicious contours of her body.

With his fingertips still inside her skirt, he rose until their faces were within inches of each other. Gone were the concerns of justification. Their eyes met briefly in agreement of very real danger that was about to be ignored. His mouth moved towards hers. Their lips parted as the damn broke...