A smile and a wink, that's all it was. The smile was nothing new; Anna had flashed the same smile as she'd passed my desk every day for almost a year. It was part of our daily routine; a smile, an exchange of "hello," and so the day would progress in its usual fashion. No, it was the wink that was new, something out of the ordinary, something that set this morning apart from all the rest.
Was there more to the wink? I wondered, if so, what? Had there been a hint of mischief in it, or had it just been a wink? My phone went, the day began, and all thoughts of Anna, smiles and winks were quickly dispelled as work took over.
The day passed, as days always do; phone calls, emails, meetings, cups of coffee. In this age of electronic communication, I rarely had reason to visit the mail room; occasionally, however, there was the occasional letter that needed my "wet" signature, the occasional missive that couldn't be entrusted to those ever-so-useful little electrons that so much of my daily communication depended on. Today, such a piece of paper landed on my desk.
The mail room was up two flights of stairs. I took them two at a time and, as I rounded the corner at the top, I had to side-step quickly to avoid running head first into Anna, who was chatting to one of her colleagues in the corridor. A mumbled apology, a smile and I was on my way. Was that a giggle I heard as I rounded the corner towards the mail room door?
At the door there was the usual fumble in my pocket for my security fob, the beep as I pressed the fob to the receptor and finally the click as the lock disengaged to let me in. Unlike the constant hustle and bustle of my office with its perpetual cacophony of human voices and telephones; so constant that they faded into the background, becoming almost inaudible in their familiarity, the mail room was, at this time of day at least, when the sorting staff had left for the day, silent; a haven of peace and quiet away from the hubbub of daily office life.
Then began the hunt for the right envelope; boxes pulled off shelves and checked, before being returned to their place on the shelf. Eventually the correct stationery was found, my form placed carefully inside, the envelope safely sealed and I was ready to do battle with my nemesis, the franking machine.
It was while I was engaged in my struggle with the temperamental piece of machinery that I became suddenly aware that I was no longer alone. A finger traced its way down my spine and a voice I recognised as Anna's whispered in my ear, "I've locked the door from the inside, no-one can disturb us." Her hands slipped around my waist and slowly began to stroke their way up my chest.
"Anna... I... Uh..." I started to protest, but she cut me off.
"I want this," she said, "I've wanted you since the first day I saw you, and now I'm going to have you."
I turned around. Raising herself on tip-toes, she placed her lips on mine. The kiss was gentle but quickly became more urgent. Anna's hands began tugging my shirt from my trousers, her fingers quickly undoing the buttons before slipping under the material to explore my chest. "Fuck me!" she exclaimed, breaking away momentarily from the kiss, "You really are a hairy bastard aren't you?" Before I could reply, her lips were on mine again, her tongue probing my mouth.
Anna's hand strayed to my crotch. I gasped as she stroked my growing erection through my trousers. With a deft flick of her fingers, she undid my belt. Seconds later I was unbuttoned and unzipped. "Fuck!" I groaned with as much eloquence as I could muster as her fingers slipped inside my boxer shorts and began to stroke my cock.
"That is going to feel so fucking good inside me," Anna purred as she worked he fingers up and down my shaft, "My cunt is already wet thinking about you fucking me."
Without a further word Anna knelt down in front of me, freeing my straining cock from the confines of my boxer shorts. She looked up at me and licked her lips. "It looks as good as it feels," she said then winked.
There it as again; the wink. It was the same wink that she'd flashed at me earlier, only this time there was no mistaking her intent; Anna quite clearly had mischief in mind.
I shuddered as she placed a gentle kiss on the tip of my cock. Her lips were moist and warm. I moaned as she kissed and licked all over my shaft. Anna looked up at me, and almost hesitantly asked, "Would you like me to suck your cock? I really want to suck your cock." I nodded my assent and she smiled.
She pressed her lips against the tip of my cock. They parted slowly as she gently moved her head forward, slipping me into her mouth one agonising millimetre at a time. Slowly, steadily; she slid her lips along my shaft for what seemed like an eternity until she had me in fully, her nose pressed against my abdomen, the swollen head of my cock lodged in the back of her throat.
With a leisurely slowness, Anna began to move her lips back and forth along my length. "Fuck Anna!" I gasped as she cupped my balls in one hand and swirled her tongue around my engorged crown. Her slow teasing was driving me mad. It was all I could do to resist the urge to grab her head and begin fucking her mouth.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Anna began to increase her pace. Her head rocked up and down and from side to side as she worked her lips back and forth along my cock. I could tell she was enjoying herself as much as I was enjoying her attentions.
It's fair to say that I'd fantasised about Anna before. I'll be honest and admit that I regularly fantasise about any number of my female colleagues. The actuality, however, of Anna sucking my cock went far beyond any fantasy. Whether it was the unexpected nature of our encounter, or the fact that just feet away, on the other side of a partition wall, our colleagues were going about their jobs unaware of what was going on practically under their noses, it made no difference to me, Anna's mouth around my cock and the expert way in which she sucked it was electrifying.
It was perhaps inevitable that, just as I was revelling in what an amazing cocksucker Anna was, she chose that moment to stop. Standing up, she braced herself against the counter and said with aplomb, "My turn."
