"Maybe this week isn't a wash after all."
It was a strange thought considering the situation: The cute blond bent over the women's bathroom counter, skirt pushed up around her hips and lacy black thong pushed to the side, moaning and calling my name as my dick pistoned in and out of her.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
I'm a photographer for a book publisher. I took the job several years ago after moving to New York following my divorce, which was thankfully amicable. Things just didn't work out and we parted as friends.
The job keeps things interesting: Shooting covers for various books in the on-site studio and traveling the country to do authors' portraits and stock photography for book illustrations.
But the most enjoyable aspect of the job would be my coworkers. Mostly women in their twenties and thirties, all cute and enjoyed flirting. It was all innocent, of course. Just something to make the work day a little more fun. I was your typical "nice guy" in his early thirties, so I enjoyed the attention but thought nothing of it.
Until that Friday with Emily.
I was working a little past five in the room that everyone called "The Cave." It's a long room we used for doing our digital pre-press work and where kept the servers. We kept it dark to reduce the glare and cool for the servers, hence the name.
I had just arrived back in town earlier that afternoon from an assignment and wwas retouching a portrait of a decrepit author who was writing a tome detailing the history of molecular biology (riveting stuff, no doubt). I thought I would be able to work without interruptions when the door opened.
"Great," I sighed. "Someone wanting a last minute photo pulled from the database. There goes my night." I didn't even look up.
"Hey, stranger!" I heard a voice that was as attractive as its owner. "I didn't think you'd be back until this weekend."
I looked up to be graced by Emily's beaming face. To say she was cute was the understatement of all time. She embodied the All American image: About 5'1, short blond hair that came to just above her shoulders, perfectly proportioned curves, amazing green eyes and a smile that made you melt. The crowning touch, though, was that she was the sweetest, most genuine person you could ever meet. We got along wonderfully and I had the world's biggest crush on her.
The problem with that was Lance, her husband. He was the male embodiment of Emily: Good looking, great personality. You wanted to hate the guy for that alone, but the fact that he had Emily just gave you that much more ammunition. The only problem was that he was just as likable as his amazing wife. Always stopping by to say hello when he came by the office talking sports and all of the other "guy" things.
"Yeah, I wanted to get back early to get the work done," I said. "And I had to get a way from Dr. Dorkenstein. They guy talked about God knows what the entire time. He was a great guy, but I have no idea what in the hell he said."
"Poor baby," she giggled, cocking her head to the side. "Better than being stuck in the office." God she drove me crazy.
"So what's up?" I inquired.
Suddenly her demeanor changed to an unusual nervousness. "Oh, um," she stammered. "I was going to leave you a note but, um, since you're here.....I have... a possible favor to ask."
I was interested in what could have this kind of effect on her normally unflappable demeanor. Hiding a body? Blackmail? Doing her taxes? All she had to do was flash that smile and I was the man for the job.
"I was wondering if you could do a little Photoshop work for me. Um, some, like......personal stuff?"
The way she slowly dragged out the two words set off bells in my head and immediately peaked my interest.
"Sure, shouldn't be a problem. What do you have?" I answered, all too happy to get involved.
She produced a flash drive and I pulled my laptop from my backpack, careful not to do any personal work on the company's computers. I slid it in to the USB slot and she touched my wrist, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
