NaMaMo: Day 28


Today’s optional prompt: Getting sexy on the job? Do you ever masturbate at work? Wish you could? Are glad you can’t? Or maybe you have a co-worker who’s so loud with her own play that she turns everyone’s heads?

Makes me glad that I work from home, truly… although there’s something about desks and typewriters that always turns me on…

*

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About Shanna Germain

Writer. Editor. Leximaven. Geek.
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2 Responses to NaMaMo: Day 28

  1. Mat Twassel says:

    It’s been quite a while since my office days. Sometimes, when things were slow, I wrote stories such as this one.

    Office Break

    Melissa is either going over the cut list or thinking about the doorknob, about the exact way it might nudge her cunt.

    Our offices are dark now, all but mine and hers, this last day, these last hours before Christmas break. I’ve been enjoying the unusual peace of these quiet offices as I prepare for next week’s reviews. Mostly I’ve been thinking about Melissa, about her slim long legs squeezing together rhythmically as she stares at her PC screen saver.

    We’re on the seventh floor of central division headquarters. The corporation wants our space eliminated; they want us down-sized drastically. Melissa was brought in from the outside to do the job.

    It’s been a long day for Melissa. She’s had to interview everybody. She’s tired. She has her legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles under her desk, and she leans back in her chair, puts her hands behind her head and arches her back. She can feel it most especially just below her ribs, her slim tummy, but also the tips of her breasts pressing the soft cups of her silky little bra. And this is when she squeezes her legs together, those muscles of her inner thighs, and an instant later she clenches her cunt, and then her asshole, a little rock and roll between them, so that her pelvis lifts almost imperceptibly.

    It’s not clear that she can come this way, or that she even wants to. Her PC screen-saver shows white gulls swooping across a slow sunset over the shimmery sea. Now and then a fish jumps–you only see the ripples really, hear the little splash–and sometimes a swooping gull seizes the jumping fish, pinches it firmly in its beak, then swallows as it soars away. It is these jumping fish that get to Melissa– she associates them with the twitching of her clit. It wouldn’t be fair to move her hand there, would it? Sometimes two fish jump, one right after the other, and plop plop they fall back into screen-saver sea. That’s especially sexy, that little plop plop. “Oh,” she wishes with a sigh, “Someone to suck my little clit just so.” She doesn’t use those words, of course. It’s all in the internal flow of the screen saver.

    When everything goes black, the moon comes up. It goes through a complete cycle in one slow curve across the screen, crescent at the edge, full at the apex, final crescent just before going off the end. During the lunar journey, night clouds cross the screen, sometimes covering the moon, and black waves lap slender silver light. Screen- saver sunset requires almost eleven minutes. Night is over in three. Sand glistens in the dawn sun. The tide is out, and two children, a boy and a girl, stroll the dunes holding hands. They play tag. They spread suntan lotion over each other. As the sun follows the moon, as sandpipers twitter and peck, the children age into teens, their bodies fill gently, slightly, and in the in-house edition these young sweethearts gracefully remove each other’s swimsuits before splashing thigh-high into the surf. My private version of the in-house edition goes one step further: With luscious shades of pink and purple spreading across the sky, the boy and the girl share a tender kiss. That’s not quite all: Just as the sea engulfs the last of the sun–at that last instant, with the slimmest band of bright gold light lining the horizon, the girl slides her face slowly down the boy’s body. That’s what I do with my spare time–enhance these mildly erotic screen savers.

    Melissa has her numbers, her targets, but it’s not clear she has my screen saver. Maybe she has my office mate’s–those fat penguins riding antique bicycles on ice. One penguin at first, then more and more. Lots of narrowly missed collisions. Occasionally a bike spills, and the penguin slides across the screen, off the edge. When enough penguins get on the screen, the ice begins to crack. It tips up, big blue-white sheets of ice, and the penguins and bicycles slide swiftly into the sea. That’s been a big seller this year–penguins on bikes. I gave Craig the idea, but Craig got most of the credit.

    Or maybe Melissa is just looking at names and numbers. She sighs. Maybe she’s looking at my name now, my numbers. She links her fingers and presses her clasped hands down her trim tummy, smoothing the upper lap of her trousers to just above her mons veneris. She really could come now–the pressure is too delicious, so she takes her hands away, takes a deep breath.

    I should be packing up, getting ready to leave. I look at my watch, the second hand climbing up. Melissa might be ready to call it a day. She uses her left toe to pry off her right shoe. Feels then for the ridge somewhere down there.

    Melissa thinks about the shower she’ll take at the hotel. The firm spray of fine warm water on the verge of too hot. Afterwards, according to my vision, she bends gracefully forward to dry her legs but accidentally brushes the bathroom doorknob with her lovely bare bottom.

    In her office, getting ready to go, Melissa thinks about the doorknob–how remarkable that it is at the perfect height to touch her so intimately. What if I turned around? she wonders. Where, exactly, would it come to? And could I lift my leg? Could I stand on my tippy-toes just a little, and graze myself against the top, against the fluted little curl of grip? And how would that feel? And what would it look like in the mirror, the partially steamed up mirror?

    Melissa sits up in her chair as she asks herself these questions, and as the questions flow she squeezes her cunt more rapidly. She knows if she touched herself, even the littlest bit, she’d come.

    Instead Melissa reaches down to put on her shoes, then she stands up, grabs her coat, gathers her purse and satchel and heads for the elevators.

    I get my stuff together.

    “Oh, hi,” she says as we wait for the elevator to come up. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

    “Long day, huh?” I say.

    She nods, smiles sweetly.

    “Do you usually turn everything off?” she asks.

    “What do you mean?” I say.

    “When you go? Do you shut off your PCs? I wasn’t sure. Yesterday I left it on.”

    “That’s ok,” I say. “We’re in the screen saver business after all.”

    “Oh right,” she smiles as she steps ahead of me into the elevator.

    “I don’t know if I should tell you this,” I say, “But I’ve been thinking about you.”

    “Oh,” she says. “What have you been thinking?” She jabs the button for lower level one.

    “I’ve been thinking about your thoughts,” I say.

    “My thoughts?”

    “And about the doorknob in your bathroom.”

    “That’s funny,” Melissa says. “I’m not sure my bathroom has a doorknob.”

    “Doors usually have doorknobs, don’t they? There must be a doorknob on the door.”

    “I guess so,” she says. “But not all doors. These elevator doors, for example.”

    This wasn’t going quite the way I’d planned. Maybe because I hadn’t really planned. “I was imagining you thinking about brushing against it after your shower.”

    The elevator door has opened. The lobby is before us, but Melissa has made no move to leave.

    “Brushing against what?” Melissa asks.

    “The doorknob,” I say. “With your….” I don’t know what word to use.

    Melissa waits.

    “Bottom,” I say.

    “I’m not sure what you mean,” Melissa says.

    “Not enough to hurt,” I say, “Just nudging it, accidentally at first, and then more deliberately… caressing yourself against the surface of it.”

    “I see,” Melissa says. “So you’re talking about some kind of masturbation?” Still she makes no move to leave the elevator.

    “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this.”

    “No,” Melissa says. “I’m glad you told me.” She moves very close to me. I know she’s going to kiss me. I know what’s going to happen: she’ll hoist herself on the waist-high hand-holds and wrap her legs around me. Through the wide open doors, anyone passing by could see us, but we won’t notice, we won’t care, we’ll be too busy examining the glistening little knob of her clit as it wobbles back and forth.

    She’s looking deep in my eyes. Wondrous desire. She takes a deep breath. Her perfume is pure sex.

    “I need to tell you something, too,” she says. Her eyes gleam, a deep greedy pleasure.

    “What do you have to tell me?” I say.

    “The lay-off list,” she says, “You’re on it.”

  2. Mat Twassel says:

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