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Recently, I’d discovered a picture of one of my co-workers, a lady named Giana, online.
I know. Big Deal. People post pictures of themselves, family, the dog (not that dogs aren’t part of the family – they are in mine)… but this picture was a bit different.
It was a picture of her, looking at the camera, her shirt off for all to see. She had a magnificent chest, and she’d decided to show it off. And while surfing around, I’d discovered it.
And been fascinated.
I’d tried to be good – but my cock, as usual had other ideas – and it had talked my hand into co-operating with its nefarious deeds (the scalliwag!). I’d shut the door to my office, and “taken matters in hand”.
And then I’d done something potentially stupid.
I’d sent her what passed for a subtle fan letter in email:
In the course of my duties, I have added the site www.ratemyrack.com to the blocked list. The content of that site is inappropriate for the workplace, and some of the content particularly inappropriate, however deeply appealing.
I’d hit the send key… and then mumbled “what the hell did I just do?”.
I could have been smart, and kept my mouth shut. I could have just enjoyed my single jpg of her breasts. I could have surreptitiously glanced at her chest whenever we were in meetings together (well, unless I was presenting – I was not about to stand in front of a Director-level group of people with a raging erection in my trousers, after all…).
But no. Smart-ass me had to let her know that I knew – that there was at least one person inside her company who had discovered her secret. Now, granted – there was no possible way that she could get into any kind of official trouble, since what she did on her off-time was her own business, and out of the company jurisdiction. On the other hand, the company gossip train would have departed the station with a full load… the proverbial hostile work environment.
Granted, I really HAD added the site to the blocking list… at least if anyone else found out, they’d have to be doing it from home…
What had I been thinking?
And more to the point… what was she thinking?
Fortunately – well, OK, very unfortunately, but still – there were enough tactical emergencies with a router failure and an DDOS attack (thats Distributed Denial Of Service attack, for the acronym-impaired) so that I didn’t have a lot of time to give it a lot of thought. Well, the router had merely been mis-configured in a subtle way, and the DDOS attack was – relatively – easily defeated, with the log files and so forth sent to the Feds for evaluation (DDOS attacks almost always cross state lines, and usually mean that the unwitting hosts have been hacked as well – and while I’d be interested in following up, the Federal efforts at cyber-crime-busting Marmaris Escort are well-funded) before I got back to my desk to check email.
And Lo! I had a response from Giana.
I opened it with not a little nervousness, and read the one-word reply.
I quickly sent back a response, equally eloquent…
And again, a waiting game. This time, my schedule was painfully, agonizingly free. I didn’t even have the ticking of an analog clock to keep me company – all the chronomation for the offices were entirely digital. It was like some cheap carnival trick to stretch time, where the magician kicks you in the balls and asks “Notice how every second seems like an eternity?”
After about three hundred eternities – give or take a geological epoch – I got her invitation.
“Shall we go over to BB at 3pm?”
BB was the company-wide initials for Bean Bandit, a small cafe located kitty-corner from the office, across the street. Coffee breaks often started at our front door and ended on a tour of their facility, usually with some sort of caffeinated beverage being purchased and consumed. They did all kinds of other snacky-things, and even had a small deli counter – they were the only real snack shack without driving a short distance, and hardware/software jocks are not renowned for their patience.
I left early, at 2.45pm. I ordered a double-size Cafe Mocha (non-fat milk, no whip cream for the truly interested), and settled back into the corner table, my back to the wall.
Kind of a good metaphor for how I was feeling, mind you…
She arrived a trifle late. She saw me, smiled, and immediately turned away to the counter. More suspense. Apparently she was a Chai fan, and gave no thought to eating a blueberry muffin right in front of me. Nerves of steel, that woman.
She carried drink and snack to my table, and joined me.
“Sorry I’m a little late” she began.
“No problem” I mumbled.
“I went over to see if you were in your office so we could walk over together” she explained, somehow making my prior departure an act of cowardice.
Which, of course, it had been – but how dare she tell me so!
“I wanted to make sure that I had a chance to barricade myself in, and use this… ” I said, indicating my mocha ” …to screw up my courage.” I grinned as I said it, making a joke of reality. My shyness was very real, but as I’d been over-compensating for it since the age of twelve, embarrassment and nervousness and I were a familiar threesome. I’d often found that being forthright, even – no, especially – about embarrassing things was both the quickest way through my swamp of self-mortification, and the best way to disarm people with the humor therein.
Surprisingly, it worked all the time.
“I got your email” she began, somewhat Marmaris Escort Bayan unnecessarily. “Thank you for adding the site to your blocking doohickey”. I smiled at her technical assessment; although she was sharp as a tack, a deep technical expertise beyond “Can you make this work for me?” wasn’t a part of Giana’s toolkit.
Her radiant smile was, apparently. I lacked immunity.
“Hopefully you gave me a good vote…” she commented, breaking eye contact shyly.
“Duh. Of course I did. Heck, I forced an IP-change on my system so that I could vote several times.” I had, actually – when you control your external IP block on a class C address, you could vote quite a few times. And I had.
She blushed. “Thank you.”
She looked away. “Not that I’m ashamed or embarrassed about the picture, you understand, but I don’t think I’ll be posting any more there – you’ve pretty much demonstrated how things like that can come home to roost.”
“Well, probably not, actually…” I added. “I mean, whoever did take that picture – lucky bastard – was pretty good about cropping your face out of it.”
“Then how did you know it was me?” she asked.
Well, if that didn’t teach me to keep my big mouth shut, I don’t know what will – and probably nothing will, come to think of it. I stalled for time. “Do you want the glib, funny, evasive answer or the honest one?”
She looked taken aback. Why is it that people always act surprised when you remind them that glib, funny, evasive answers are more the rule in life than honesty?
“The honest one, I suppose” she replied.
“Well, you’re an exceptionally pretty lady” I began, watching her blush begin to show. “Although the picture helped, that wasn’t precisely the first time I’d fantasized about you.”
She was turning a nice shade of cherry red, and seemed a bit flustered.
“I bet now you wish you’d asked for the funny evasive answer…” I quipped, and was rewarded with her laughter.
“I’m sorry, I’m not used to complements” she said.
“More shame to the local male population, then.” I stated, and watched the color return to her cheeks. She’d worn grey slacks and a button-up white blouse with little cleavage, and I was forced to wonder how far down the blush went.
Which made me think of the picture. Which made me almost instantly, uncomfortably erect, yet again. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the picture” she said, her voice still on the “meek and shy” side.
“You have no idea how much…” I grinned. I felt much more comfortable making her embarrassed than I did telling her how beautiful her breasts were, about how I was curious – almost insanely curious – about what lingerie she was wearing under her conservative clothes, about how I’d wished the picture had been a full-body shot.
“I’m not sure I want to know Escort Marmaris how much…” she said, a teasing element in her voice.
“Well, lets just say that its a good thing I have a private office where nobody can see in” I said. Her words had said she might not have wanted to know, but her tone – and her dancing, mischievous eyes – told a different story.
“Oh really?” she answered, arching her eyebrows.
I merely nodded in response. I could tell that she wanted me to elaborate, but if I was going to I was going to make her ask me to tell her.
“…how much?” she asked. I think her flush was taking on a different significance, not just embarrassed. Her voice was dropping into a more hushed tone, and gaining a sensual huskiness.
“I’m not sure I want to say” I dodged, coyly. “Lets just say that I’m also glad my office is pretty sound-proof. I get noisy when I cum.”
I wanted to ask her if she wanted more details. I wanted to ask her if her pussy had gotten wet when she’d taken the picture. I wanted to ask her if there were any more. I wanted to ask her if there were any more pictures. I wanted to ask her if I could see them. I wanted to ask her if she wanted to see the effect such pictures would have on me… if she’d like to watch while I masturbated, looking at her pictures.
I didn’t have to ask her if she was married. She had the usual kind of rock on the usual kind of finger. So the other questions went unasked.
“Well, thank you for your discretion” she finally said. She could see that I had unanswered questions, but since I wasn’t asking, she could hardly be expected to read my mind.
“My pleasure” I said, wagging my eyebrows, and making her chuckle. “And please, if you decide to post more of them, send me the URL – but to my personal address…”
Again she blushed. “What makes you think there are more of them?” she said.
“Absolutely nothing, but hope springs eternal”.
“Thats probably not all that springs eternal” she commented.
“To be sure. In fact, even thinking about it has me… sprung” I admitted.
“What, right now?” she asked.
“Yep. So I’ll be taking my time over my coffee…” I paused, letting the implications sink in.
She leaned over the table, and gazed at my slacks… and their prominent passenger. “I guess so. How cool!”
“I’m glad you enjoy it.” While she was still looking, I quickly ran my fingers across my bulge, and watched her eyes go wide.
She looked back up, and with a wide grin said “You’re so bad!”
“Only because you’re so good” I replied. The open question was which was more profound, my excitement or my embarrassment.
“I’ll be right back” she said, and trotted off to the rest room. She returned almost immediately, and reached towards me with her balled fist. “Here. Something to help with that”. She pressed something soft into my hand, grabbed her chai and muffin, and went back to the office, not pausing to see my reaction to her gift.
I went to the restroom myself before opening my hand, watching the balled fabric expand to fill my palm.
She’d left me her damp, beautifully-scented panties.
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