Turk Louis is the name. I'm a burly guy, late thirties. Married once, no kids, thank the Lord. I'm a computer programmer at Long & Therus, a major seller worldwide. Make enough to spend some bucks. Dress well, look good. Drive a flash sports car. Have a great pad.
I'm lucky enough to have my glass-walled office near the ladies washroom, seventh floor. I like watching the data processors and secretaries walkin' by. Sometimes, as door swings slowly closed, I catch a glimpse of a big babe with big tits hanging over the sink, touching up her lips with Ruby Red lipstick.
The data manager, Grace, is an uptight, straight-laced broad. A set of full breasts straining under a prim blouse; loose, round ass harnessed by a well-cut skirt. Great legs and she knows it. She likes to brush her teeth after lunch. Sometimes I get a good look at the foam on her lips. I like to imagine her on her knees, servicing me, blonde hair clenched in my hands.
But she's as cold as ice. Never even glances in my direction, if ya get me.
This one night, I was working late. I was messing with a problem and I don't like to leave work til I've got it figured out. I was all alone on the floor, most of the lights were out. It had been a long day and I was ready for some relaxation, and old Mr. Jack was nodding, prodding, straining to be freed from my wool pin-stripe slacks.
"Go to sleep, you bugger," I said as I peered at my monitor.
"What's that?"
I turned around. She was a tall, well-built filly. Dressed in the pale grey uniform of the cleaning staff. She had a pale, long face. Her auburn hair was tied up underneath a scarf and she was wearing rubber gloves. She had to be about 25 or so.
"Hi," I said. "You must be new."
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Jasmine," she said, stretching her arms over her head. I couldn't help it. My eyes were drawn to her firm breasts. The top buttons of her uniform were open and I could see a slight sheen of sweat resting between the round orbs. She was a little heavyset, but man she was sexy. Mr. Jack was now at half mast. I pulled my chair closer to my desk.
"Got much left to do?" I said, wanting to hear more of her husky voice.
"Yours is my last office on this floor," she said. "Then I'm off."
"Go ahead," I said, "do whatever you need to do."
I tried to go back to work but my eyes kept drifting. She was wiping the windows. Each time she reached up, the uniform fabric tightened around the round cheeks of her ass. She slowly moved around the room. Her movements were fluid and strong. Like a dancer.