Work is always hectic around Christmas time, but at least I get offered overtime more now. It's 7PM and I'm still sitting here at my desk, going over spreadsheets. I had a nightmare the day before about getting lost in Excel...I need to get out of this job. But, Christmas is looming like a gigantic demonic Santa intent on stealing the souls of little kids and stuffing them into his bag of pain, laughing and spouting fire as he makes his unholy rounds around the world. Yeah, I don't like Christmas, but I need the money for gifts.
Lemme tell you about where I work: it's a single story office in a large complex, attached to the company warehouse. I share an office up at the front with another guy- it's tiny, windowless and with a door, a plant and a picture on the wall of some inspirational message like: "Teamwork". The florescent lights are pretty bright and tend to burn your eyes after a while, if the computer screen doesn't ruin them first. The cool thing is that this part of the building is "insulated" and separate from the warehouse part...110 degrees in the summer, and 50 degrees in the winter.
One of the benefits of working in that little hovel is being co-located with the 100% female admin department. The fact that I'm a sweet, intelligent guy doesn't hurt either and I get lots of stimulating flirtatious conversations throughout the day. They don't go anywhere...most of the women are married, or have boyfriends, and only a few are what I would really consider "hot", but there is one...Sandra.... she's just an absolute sex pot. Five feet and six inches of absolute sweetness, with shoulder-length straight black hair, surprisingly pale skin hailing from her mostly Persian ancestry, and a ready smile that you can see if you manage to make her laugh- no small feat. The sexiest think about her though is that she also happens to be bloody brilliant...Sandra is a woman who reads Hawking for pleasure and a passionate chaos theory devotee...what can I say, the woman likes an ordered universe. Sexy, and despite being fully Americanized, strangely exotic. It's a damn shame she's in school in the mornings, and only works a few nights a week...
I'm sitting at my desk, manipulating data again, trying to track down some damn serial number or another when I feel a change in the air of the room, like I'm being watched. I don't care much...it could be my boss, afterall. I stop staring at the screen and rub my eyes a bit, hunched over in my chair. Again, I feel an increase in pressure and the faint scent of some flower or other. Before I can even turn my head, I hear her voice from the doorway.
"Late night, Bri?" She asks, holding a can of coca-cola, leaning her shoulder on the door jam. She never bothers with very sexy clothing- she doesn't have to- and besides, a tight polo shirt and slacks just looks good on her. I try to cover the fact that I'm ogling her by rubbing my eyes some more, hoping she wont notice that I'm taking her body in, like a vision of divine inspiration. I swivel my chair around to face her, sitting up straight and trying to sound as un-whiny as possible.
"Hey Sandy," I say, as lame as possible. You just can't form coherent sentences around this woman. She's won more than one debate just because I can't stand to argue with her. "Yeah, tis the season, you know?"
"I hear you on that one," She says, coming in and sitting on my co-workers desk, long deserted. Lucky bastard got to go home hours ago. "Wanna coke? I think you need it more than I do." She says, popping the can and handing it to me. I decline and she shrugs, tilting her head back to sip. She's not very graceful and a small dribble makes it's way down her chin and neck, causing her to laugh, sending a bit of spry my direction. I wince as the droplets hit me, trying not to laugh as she stops the drip with her hand.
"I'm sorry!" she says laughing, noticing how I'm annoyed by the cola bath I just took. It wasn't that bad, really, but I ham it up anyway.
"Don't sweat it," I say, wiping my face and shirt, "happens to the best of us." I turn around to reach for some tissue off my desk and start to wipe myself down again. I jump a little bit when I feel hands on my shoulders.
"I am sorry, Brian," She says, deeper. "I didn't mean to add drama to your day."
"No, dear, you just added excitement, is all. Thanks...it's been a stressful one."
"I can tell," She says, starting dig her fingers deep into my neck and shoulders. I don't tell many people this, but that's one sure fire ticket to getting me all hot and bothered, is a rough, painful even neck massage. Normally, I try to refrain from indulging- to better avoid arousal, after all,- but I don't care tonight. It's well after dark and the office is deserted. My boss is the only manager left in the building and probably off in the warehouse somewhere. Who cares if I get a hard on?
I lean forward to hid it, just incase. I can feel myself getting stiff in my pants and I don't want her to notice, freak out, and stop what she's doing. I lower my head down, touching my chin to my chest to take full advantage of her surprisingly skilled hands. I start to breath deeply, and moan a little- I cant help it, I'm a moaner- as she uses her position of power over me to move her hands lower down my back, along the sides of my spine pressing as she does so.
"oooooohhhhhhh.......thank you." I sigh, feeling the air leave my lungs.
"Always here for a friend, dear," She says, somewhat distracted, sounding a million miles away, like she's thinking of something else. "Besides, the phones are dead and you've got so many knots in you I'd think you were a sail boat."
If I'm a sucker for one thing, it's corny humor like that.
"Well, it's these damn chairs." I say.
Sandra hits my lower back and I flinch. That's a "yes-yes" spot for me...if anyone even brushes that, it drives me wild. She seems to understand and starts kneading her way back up again until she's once again digging into my neck. I let out a long hiss and shake my head as she keeps squeezing, down my shoulders and onto my arms.
"Thank you Sandy," I say.
"Don't mention it, Sweets," She says, still distracted. "We all need to de-stress sometimes..."
I turn to her and smile, grateful that my erection is semi-controlled in my pants.
"Yeah, that's true. I guess we all do need it, huh?"
