A Late Report

"Sandra, where's that report? It has to be on the Manager's desk first thing tomorrow. I thought you'd have it ready by now."

"Ah, what report?" asked Sandra, confused. This was the first she'd heard of any report being required.

"The report I asked for on the sales figures across regions. I requested it yesterday. All the data was in the folder. All you had to do was collate it and prepare the report. How could you forget it?"

"Ah, I wasn't here yesterday, Mrs Landers. I was at the dentist, remember. You didn't ask me for the report."

Mrs Landers gave her a killing look. Then a memory tapped her.

"Oh. You're right. I gave it to Andrea. She was supposed to pass it on to you first thing this morning. Don't tell me she forgot."

"Um, I don't know if she forgot or not but she hasn't turned up for work today. She rang in sick."

"Stupid girl. Why couldn't she get sick after passing on the request? You'll have to check her desk and find the folder. That report has to be available first thing in the morning or the whole department will look slack. Get it done."

Sandra sighed. "But, Mrs Landers, if that's similar to the report I prepared last month it will take several hours to put it together. There's no time."

"Yes there is. You'll have to stay back and work on it. In this instance I will authorise over-time. We need that report."

Sandra groaned, silently. Still, it wasn't as if she'd had something planned for that night. Just tea and TV. The over-time money would be useful, as well. She headed over to Andrea's desk to find the folder with the required information. Why couldn't the regions enter the data on a spreadsheet and send it in? Then all she'd have to do would be to consolidate the spreadsheet. She was so going to push for that change to procedure. She'd even design the relevant spreadsheet.

She'd been correct about the amount of time it would take to prepare the report. Hours. Mrs Landers had stopped past on her way home to encourage her.

"I had the manager on the phone asking where the hell his report is. I guaranteed him that it would be on his desk when he arrived in the morning. There won't be anyone here to check it when you're finished so you'd better be sure it's right. When it's done, run up and put it on his desk where he can't miss it."

Yes, Ma'am, no Ma'am, three bags full, Ma'am. It wouldn't kill you to stay back and check it, Sandra thought. She got on with working on the report.

The cleaners had been and gone by the time Sandra had finished. The building was dark, everyone gone apart from security, and everyone knew that the guard never budged from his desk. He'd just sit there, playing cards and keeping one eye on the monitors. At least, he knew she was there.

Report finally finished and checked Sandra headed to the lift and up to the top floor. She was surprised to see that the light was on in the Manager's office. Someone was careless. She walked in, crossed to the desk, slapped the report down in the middle of the desk.

"Done," she said. "Remind me to tell you about the joys of Excel, Word, and Email, sometime."

"Thank you," said a deep voice. "I'll make a note to talk to you on those subjects. It seems that you have something on your mind you want to discuss."

Sandra had been in the act of turning towards the door and freedom as the Manager spoke. She gave a startled squeak and tried to turn towards him at the same time. Her feet got tangled, her right foot catching on her left ankle and she found herself sprawling at the Manager's feet.

"Oh, please," came that deep voice. "There's no need to genuflect. A simple curtsey would have sufficed."

Blushing and embarrassed Sandra would have been even more embarrassed if she'd realised that her short skirt had ridden up and she was flashing her panties. That embarrassment quickly came along.

"I'm happy to see that you can put on a smiling face," laughed the Manager, at the same time stroking that smiling face. The problem, from Sandra's point of view, was the fact that the smiling face was the standard yellow pictogram, a large circle with smile. There again, it wasn't the pictogram that was the problem, but where it was. In this case, printed on her panties. There were a number of them there but the one that the Manager was stroking was in the crotch, with the result it wasn't just her panties being stoked.

Sandra also found that she seemed to be wedged between the desk and the manager. One of them would have to move before she could get to her feet.

"Do you mind?" she demanded acerbically.

"Not at all," was the calm reply. "If you feel I need to know a bit more about modern tools I'm always prepared to listen. Am I to assume that the lack of modern tools was the reason for the delay to the report?"

Sandra was torn between the desire to protect her person and the knowledge that she was supposed to be polite to upper management.

"Partly," she said. "The girl who was supposed to be working on the report was sick and no-one told Mrs Landers. She only found out when she went to get the report. I was a last minute fill in as I did the report last month. And if the staff in the field would enter their data in a spreadsheet it would be a lot easier for everyone. Um, do you mind taking your hand off my panties?"

"You have a point. Prepare a presentation giving the advantages of doing the report via spreadsheets. You can present it to me next Monday."

The Manager was also polite enough to consider her request regarding her panties and his hand and act on it. His hand slid over her bottom, took hold of her panties, and pulled then down. His hand then returned to where he'd been rubbing, this time without panties in the way.

"Quite right," he murmured. "This is better."

Sandra wriggled about under his touch, trying to pull away from it and not having much success.

"Will you stop doing that?" she pleaded.

"Ah, no, I don't think so. Not just yet."

"What do you mean, no? I want you to stop."

"Do you? How interesting. What do you think about me doing something like this?"

A pair of fingers slipped between her lips, exploring deeper. Sandra gasped.

"Just stop," she told him.

"But my cock is really, really, erect right now. If I was to stop doing this it would be so I could replace my fingers with my erection. Do you want me to do that?"

"No!"

"Ah. I thought you might prefer this for a little longer." His fingers kept up their steady tantalising teasing.

"What? I didn't say I prefer this. Just leave me alone. I want to go home."

"And so you shall. So you shall. Don't fret. I'll desist soon enough."

"I'd rather you desisted right now."

Sandra was having a little trouble catching her breath. He was doing strange things to her and her body was reacting. Well, not that strange. She knew damn well what he was doing. She wasn't a virgin. The real problem wasn't what he was doing right now but what he might be doing in the near future.

Then it was no longer the near future but the here and now. His hands were easing her lips apart and he was pressing between them.

"No," she insisted. "Don't you dare."

The gentle pressure of his cock leaning against her was all the answer she got. She could feel her lips parting enough to let him past, closing around him and holding him, almost lovingly in the way they seemed to embrace him.

"You stop that," she gasped, feeling him moving deeper, sliding smoothly down her passage while her poor body put up zero resistance.

"Oh, you rotten swine," she gasped, feeling his groin rubbing firmly against hers.

"Really, is that any way to talk to the boss," he asked, laughing.

"It is if I say it is," she retorted. "Are you going to take that out?"

"Of course I am. Eventually. Until I do might I suggest you just move along with me?"

With that Sandra found him withdrawing and then plunging back in, filling her up again with a forceful stroke. Then he was pulling back to do it all over again. Thinking nasty thoughts she started moving with him. Why not? She had nothing to lose because he was already in her, giving his all. She had to admit that his all seemed to be considerable, plunging deep into her.

Nature would have its way, despite her personal preferences, Sandra found. He had got her wet and aroused before he drove home. Now the incessant sliding of his hot hardness against her softness was exciting her, each thrust adding its little thrill to what had gone before. She was almost biting her tongue in an attempt to hide the pleasure she was feeling, knowing that nothing she did could hide the way she was physically responding, her body betraying her, her bottom rising and pushing towards him every time he thrust forward.

The pleasure kept on building at a steady pace. He seemed committed to what he was doing, putting everything he had into each thrust, her body jolting with the shock each time he hit home. It fairly quickly reached a point where Sandra had no thought for anything but the next thrust, anticipating it, eagerly awaiting it each time she felt him draw back.

It was a relief to her when she found him starting to move faster, harder, preparing to finish. She was ready to finish. Oh, so ready.

One stroke too many and Sandra lost it, feeling him having his climax even though it was nearly lost while she experienced her own.

"If you've been here working on that report then you probably haven't had any dinner yet. Why don't you tidy yourself up and I'll take you out to dinner. I know I'm hungry. I can drop you at home after dinner."

"What? Do you expect me to have dinner with you after that?"

"Well, yes. You have to eat and I know some excellent restaurants. Run along and tidy up while I finish off what I was doing. You can even use my personal bathroom. Through that door. Just think, you can tell me about your theories on Word, Excel, and email, while we're at lunch. Maybe convert me even before I see your presentation."

Sandra found herself being shepherded through that door. She wanted to kick herself. He had to be kidding. Have dinner with him? Still, she had to eat and dinner was the very least he owed her.