4 comments/ 12195 views/ 2 favorites HiTech Hijinx Ch. 01 By: fafhrd09 "Idle hands are the Devil's Workshop" has never been so true as last week at work. Working in the Information Technology department of a Fortune 500 company is kind of like being in the military - there is a lot of "hurry up and wait". Projects and tickets need to be addressed swiftly and efficiently - but if you do that too efficiently, you lose the war, and your employer will figure that they don't need three people to handle the workload of four, since you can all stay ahead of the game. When they figure that out, they'll axe one of your headcount the moment they have a budgetary excuse. Too much efficiency can easily lead to one of your team on the unemployment line while the others work like dogs to only stay slightly behind. When I went to work for my company, everything was broken, from file-sharing to printing. Backup and recovery procedures were this theoretical desired state, and hadn't been addressed in months. Sales and Marketing were spending a fortune driving to Kinkos to produce their slick slide handouts and so forth because it was quicker - and probably cheaper - than trying to make the Tektronics printer in the corner actually do something. Fortunately, the place was in such bad shape, that I sought and gained approval for two more people for my team, pretty much without any argument; I'd learned long ago that the best way to get what I need from Finance is to present them not with what it might cost, but what it would cost the company to not do it my way. In any case, within 90 days we had the IT spending under control (I saved the equivalent of my staff's salary on cutting out the waste on parts alone; we were hiring two - three people a month, and I cut an average of $650 per person by establishing standard builds and getting custom quotes from the right vendors. The LAN was fixed, and regularly backed up, and printing was just as effortless as the HP commercials claimed it could be. We rotated helpdesk duties among the team, made sure that our resource queue was clean, and had a reserve of parts and systems so that we could react with maximum flexibility when the company had to move swiftly on a project or new hire. In short, we each had about 30 hours a week of work, and had enough time to web browse, do personal technical projects, and take long lunches (so long as we kept coverage). However, we made sure to keep up the illusion of chaos and nose-to-the-grindstone work - I didn't want to lose my team because we'd made an impossible job easy! Of course, it did give us plenty of time for surfing. Ordinarily, surfing Internet sites for naughty pictures is a stupid thing at work; proxy servers could block sites, and certainly keep track of what sites are visited, and by whom. Not that we had to worry - we were the ones who did the audit of our proxy servers... And so - I was bored, and doing my civic duty to vote - I was browsing through a site featuring the breasts of amateur models, and giving those lovely ladies (and the not-s0-lovely ladies - who, one must imagine, have more courage than the knockouts. The model-wannabees always get rave reviews by the HNG - Horny Net Geek - contingent; it takes no courage to stand and receive complement after complement. Now, the real women - those who won't be appearing in Playboy anytime soon - have real courage, putting themselves out there for not only the complements, but the inevitable jerk comments made by smart-ass sixteen year olds who don't yet understand that a warm smile is worth 20 firm, unreal, surgery-induced bustlines). Honestly, I was passing out "10" scores indiscriminately - why not make them feel good about themselves, and honoring the courage as well as the beauty? In any case... I voted, and the site automagically brought up the next image. One of the nicest set of breasts I'd yet seen came to life in front of my eyes. Breasts that were nicely-sized. Breasts that had large, puckered nipples that seemed to beg for my lips and teeth. Smooth, clear alabaster skin. An adorable little mole above the left nipple - that some philistine would have undoubtedly airbrushed out of a professional photo shoot, but whose presence made the woman less of an icon and more real, more personable, and ultimately more desirable. And then I saw the face. I knew that face. I'd seen it speak up a hundred times in the management meetings, always with cogent, intelligent comments. She was a consummate professional in the Marketing field. She was, if not a friend, then certainly someone with who I was friendly. Her name was Giana, and she was the woman at work upon whom I'd had a secret crush. Part of me wondered what I should do, while most of me screamed "Do nothing!". The spike of my desire was tempered with a sense of shame - that I shouldn't be looking. Of course, that was ridiculous - she hadn't put her picture up on that site to be ignored, after all. On one level or another, she had an exhibitionist streak (although - and probably smartly so - that was probably a wise choice on her part. See? She was smart!), and - like anyone - wanted positive feedback. The only thing I wasn't sure about was whether or not she wanted it from someone she knew, however superficially. Knowing that every day she'd see me, and that I'd seen her naked body. Or at least her naked upper body - the picture was cut off at the waist. In fact, the head was cut off, too. I began to mingle my jealously that someone else had gotten to play photographer - and what else, perhaps? - with her, and had cut her head off. He should have included the top of her head, adjusted the gamma a bit in Photoshop, and... bah. I was nitpicking. What I wanted was for him to have made it a full-body shot, with her wearing some sexy panties, showing off her legs and ass. Or maybe her pubis... I shut the door to my office, which everyone knows is a rare event, and only done when I was focusing on some problem, not to be disturbed unless really necessary... and in this instance, the problem was that I was having trouble focusing on anything other than the erection she'd caused, and the fantasies which began to leak out of my head like a garden hose under far too much pressure... and like a garden hose, my cock wanted to explode. The site didn't allow downloads, but that only stops amateurs - I quickly shot the screen, opened Photoshop, loaded the buffer, and there she was. I tweaked the lighting, blew it up, sharpened the detail.... and it was like she was sitting there in front of me. My slacks hit the floor without ceremony, and I started rubbing myself through my silk boxers. Every male should wear silk boxers - its the best material for teasing, and in the event that one actually gets lucky, one can use the material all over your partner's body. As it was, the black silk made the fingers gliding over my thick shaft send wave after wave of pleasure... I didn't really have to take the slacks off with silk boxers, like when I'd rubbed against Gina's ass over in Quality Assurance. She was married, but her husband encouraged her to flirt - and causally tease - other men she found attractive. I'd been one of those fortunate enough to catch her eye, and during one long night she'd backed up her jeans-clad ass against my cock, and given me a standing lapdance that ended in both our pants needing a good cleaning. We had a great relationship - she was one hell of a cocktease, and I loved being teased! I stared at those breasts on the screen, imagining what it would be like to touch them, to feel those hardened nipples against my palm as I kissed that neck, those pouty lips... I wanted to kiss down her neck to her collar bone, and from there to the swell of her chest, my fingers running lightly over her skin, making little trails of fire... I wonder how sensitive her nipples are, and how hard I could bite them... and how much fun it would be doing the calibration work, finding the point just under where it becomes painful - at least, painful in the non-enjoyable way. I imagined pushing those breasts together, and rubbing my cock in the channel... how good that mouth would look around my cock, her eyes meeting mine with that devilish grin... is she the type who swallowed? Or would she want me to pull my cock away as I came, my hot spunk hitting the skin of her breasts and neck, splattering her with the penultimate evidence of her desirability... ...and I came, imagining what her breasts would look like, covered in my cum... ...and a few minutes later, I came a second time. Not a frequent occurrence for me - its probably only happened four or five times over my sexual career, and only when I'm extremely excited. Like now. As I came down from my cum-high, and my breathing assumed something resembling normal, I reached into my gym bag - I work out before coming to work - and cleaned myself with my towel, still damp from my morning swim. I dressed, and opened the door - back to business as usual, at least upon superficial examination. All the while, I was thinking... should I say anything? Should I just enjoy her in anonymity? Ultimately, I remembered my earlier thought about how she had made the decision to post that where anyone could see her, and appreciate her sexiness... and if she didn't know that men where going to use her picture as fantasy material, while stroking their cocks and imagining her, then I'd have been very surprised. But someone from work? Work is one of those "forbidden" places, and anything personal - and this was extremely personal - at work had blackmail potential. I determined my course of action, and executed it, sending her email letting her know what I'd done: Giana, In the course of my duties, I have added the site (site name deleted) to the blocked list. The content of that site is inappropriate for the workplace, and some of the content particularly inappropriate, however deeply appealing. Regards, Seth HiTech Hijinx Ch. 02 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: "Giana, 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. Regards, Seth" 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 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. "Coffee?". I quickly sent back a response, equally eloquent... "Sure" 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 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 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. HiTech Hijinx Ch. 03 I sat behind my office desk, undecided. In my desk drawer were a pair of lacy, emerald-green panties. From Giana. Or at least, I assumed they were from Giana - after all, after we'd talked about how much her pictures had excited me, and how hard talking with her had gotten me, she'd risen from her chair, excused herself to the ladies' restroom, and returned to give those to me before she'd gone back to her office. They were in my desk drawer for two reasons. First, I couldn't very well leave them on top of the desk while I pondered what to do next; while I was pretty sure they didn't have her name in them, or something, I was pretty sure that I didn't want to explain to anyone - whether part of my IT cadre or not - precisely WHY I had a pair of panties on my desk. Granted, my IT cadre was quite familiar with my myriad official and unofficial hijinx over the years, and I'd certainly covered for their idiosyncrasies over the years - how many other bosses did you know who accepted "I didn't get to recover my body from the Plane of Hate until 4AM this morning" as a valid excuse for an employee being four hours late to work? But this was something a little more significant, and not only did I not want to answer any questions, I didn't want to answer why I didn't want to answer. They'd seen my girlfriends before, and were aware that I had about as many inhibitions as a wolf in season, but I'd never given them any details, especially about someone who worked at the same company they did - in short, aside from being a "gentlemen who doesn't tell", I didn't even want to be a gentlemen who refused to answer the question! The second reason was that my desk-drawer was lockable. I may be paranoid about security, but even paranoids have enemies... In any case, I was pondering the decision - not whether or not I was going to soon close my door and stroke my cock until the pleasure became too much, and my semen came forth like a geyser (well, a really small geyser...), that was a given, but in what way to best use her gift while I masturbated. You see, right now, the panties were damp. Giana had obviously enjoyed our talk as much as I had, and while she was blushing, she was also quite taken with the idea of being the object of my lustful fantasies... When she'd left the panties with me, I'd taken them into the men's bathroom and - in the relative privacy of a locked stall - examined them, holding them against my face, letting the scent of her arousal inflame my senses for a moment before returning to my office, and its lockable door. The silk of the material was soft, and they were full-cut, not the thongs so fashionable these days, with the lacy front panel forming a V-shape at the front.. The material which once pressed against her delectable ass would feel like heaven against the soft skin of my cock, and I could imagine the sensation if I were to run it up and down my shaft, swirling it over my purple cock-head. Or I could use three fingertips to stroke the shaft while I nuzzled the panties with my other hand, letting the scent - and eventually, the lingering taste - of her pussy drive me into a frenzy. If I used the panties on my shaft, I'd end up mixing my cum with her pussy honey, which was a delightful thought. If I ran them across my face while stroking, I'd likely not cum on them, and be able to preserve the condition. How long would they remain fragrant? How many fantasies of kneeling between her thighs and gently licking and sucking her to orgasm would I be able to indulge with her actual scent and taste? Eventually, I'd need to wash them, and return them - even if she told me to keep them thereafter. It wasn't so much implied that I needed to actually give them back, but it was much more courteous and considerate to consider them a loan, rather than a permanent grant. Of course, the odds were overwhelming that she wouldn't expect them back - but that just made the return of them more appropriate. Most people are no better than they are required to be, and I prided myself on being more courteous and considerate than was required. I rose from my desk, and crossed over to my open door. I leaned out, and announced "Take a message if anyone comes around, will you?" to my crew; they had long-standing orders that if someone came around when my door was closed to take a message, and if it was important to tell the person that they'd page me - but still not let them through the door. The door was sacrosanct. The door closed, and I barely registered the double-click of the door latch and the second lock engaging as I retreated to my chair. A key flashed in the darkness, catching the light of the monitor as I unlocked the door, and took out her panties. My trousers unbuckled - seemingly by themselves - and hit the floor. I had been wearing black satin boxers, and I reclined, my cock still within their confines. I closed my eyes, the better to visualize Giana as she'd been at the cafe - her white blouse, her gray slacks... with my left hand I started stroking my cock shaft through the boxers, and with my right I brought her panties to my cheek, enjoying the silken sensation. I imagined her getting dressed in the morning, selecting her lingerie with care - fantasy Giana had a matching bra, of course - and dressing slowly, a strip-tease in reverse while her husband watched. I imagined him coming up behind her out of bed, pressing his cock against her ass while his hands pulled at her nipples through the bra, and her smilingly shooing him away as she continued to get dressed. My hand guided my cock out of the front slot of the boxers as I brought the panel of the panties closer to my nose. Fingers hit bare, erect flesh as I breathed in the scent of her arousal... I imagined her in the cafe restroom, slipping off her pants and running her palm against her silk-covered mound, making sure that her cream was well-represented. I imagined her fingers pulling the panties down and off her ankles, and her pausing a second to touch herself intimately, her own eyes clothed as she imagined what I'd do with them... and then dressing again. My cock twitched with pleasure as I lingered on this image, her scent sending a string of wildfire up and down my spine. I imagined her down at her office, the material of her gray pants against her naked ass... did she shave down there? Was the material of her pants directly against her pussy? Was she still wet, thinking of me up here, knowing to what use I'd be putting her gift? I could feel the sap of my body begin to build towards explosion, fueled by the scent of her pussy in my nostrils... and added a little more fuel my lightly touching the damp fabric with my tongue. My cock twitched almost angrily at being denied the sensation granted my tongue, and I savored the light taste of her... pleasantly musky, and a little sweet, like a thick honey. Instead of downstairs in her office, I imagined her sitting on the other side of my office, watching me stroke myself. This first time, I suspected she'd be too shy to join in, but I imagined the shallowness of her breath, and the erectness of her nipples (God bless the picture, I knew precisely what to imagine, those perfect, soft globes and the darker nipples...), and her lips slightly parted as she watched. She'd be torn between touching herself, and being too shy - and that dichotomy increased the appeal of having her watch. Did I mention I thoroughly enjoy teasing? I wasn't sure if it came from my passion for oral sex, or if my love of oral sex came from my passion for teasing, for driving my lovers insane with pleasure, with bringing them almost to the peak and backing off slightly, holding them there, until they were likely to kill me with the force of their final, eventual orgasm... but I didn't put much thought into it - who knows, if I over-analyzed it, it might diminish... As I came closer and closer to my own orgasm, I imagined telling her how close I was... I imagined her leaning forward to watch, and me telling her that I wasn't going to cum until she unbuttoned her blouse and showed me her lingerie-clad breasts....she unbuttoned her blouse slowly, tantalizingly, pulling the material part to form a V-shape, moving the shirt to the outside of her bra so that they framed her breasts perfectly... in my fantasy, she cupped them with her hands, tweaking her nipples underneath the fabric, commanding me to cum... ...and fantasy and reality merged as both of me came at the same time... not one of those quick cums, but one of those nice, drawn-out orgasms, my fingers gently encouraging the spasms and contractions of my body. Of course, the fantasy me was better off - he didn't have to clean up afterwards... Much of the rest of the day at Findem! passed in something of a post-orgasmic haze, and it was pleasant that nothing pressing required me to snap out of it. I mean, I would have... but it was nice that I didn't have to. Much of the rest of the day at Findem! passed in something of a post-orgasmic haze, and it was pleasant that nothing pressing required me to snap out of it. I mean, I would have... but it was nice that I didn't have to. As the day came to a close, I was checking my personal email - like most of the geek community, I have three or four accounts I used for various things - and notices a message from "SabrinaWitch" from a yahoo account, with the title line of "Thanks For The Memory". I sighed. The annoying part of spam - which this obviously was - was that it was constantly finding ways around spam-filters. Not that this was a particularly tricky thing to do, since whitelists and blacklists are only as effective as they are current. I opened the email, glancing at the message as I sought the header... and stopped. Either this spammer was the most highly-targeting marketer in the world, or this was - contrary to my first impression - directed personally at me. It read: Thank you for the coffee meeting today - I appreciated your feelings, and hope my little "gift" will come in useful later tonight. -Sabrina The Witch (sabinawitch on Yahoo IM) Apparently Giana had learned something from our meeting about traceability - short of invading Yahoo, there was no way to trace this back to her. Good for her! I felt inordinately proud, especially considering I'd done nothing more that raise her awareness of the issue. I quickly added her yahoo address to my Trillian list; Trillain was convenient for dealing with all of the major IM networks with one app, and more to the point - the sessions were encrypted. Maybe I go overboard with security, but as the saying goes - "Even Paranoids Have Enemies!" The address lit up right away, showing that she was active. I sent the first message. "Thank you fro the email. The gift has already been useful. My office locks - I have valuable assets here, after all!" A moment passed, and she replied. "Shame I missed it. I bet you have all kinds of things locked away in there". I smiled She continued "I wish mine did, just thinking about you using it has kept me squirming in my chair all day. Shame I missed it." I sat there, staring at the screen, marveling at her boldness, thanking the anonymous Ghods of the Internet for the phenomena that makes people who are normally shy and reticent more out-spoken through email and instant messaging. "Oh? Maybe next time... after all, my office does lock..." I typed, grinning. The odds of her calling my bluff were virtually nil, but that didn't mean I couldn't tease her with the idea. "When is the next time? I'd love to watch, as long as we understand 'No Touching' " she replied. I liked this woman. She had a way of defying my expectations and making my jaw hit the floor. I sat there for a few minutes, trying to think this out, and how to reply. I knew that my wife wouldn't mind - in fact, she'd encourage me to move forward. She was a regular minx, and our relationship had long since passed the point where either of us were harmfully jealous (envy that someone else had gotten to play, yes - but not jealous). I knew Giana was married, but I didn't know what kind of a relationship she had with her husband - but then again, that wasn't really any of my business. Really, her watching me was in essence no different than her watching a stripper, or one of those interactive model DVDs on the market - except that I was in person. Did I want to put on a show for her? My cock had already voted - it was as hard as Chinese algebra, and ready to go. While I was thinking all of this through, another text message arrived. "Chicken?" OK. Now we all know that, past the third grade, that taunt shouldn't work. Anyone over the age of eight or so can see that ploy for what it so obviously is. "No", I replied. "Just making arrangements to work late. You DID want to see it tonight, didn't you?" Worst of all is when you know better, but that ploy still works. Now it was my turn to suffer an interminable wait. Giana was smart, and no doubt running through the same mental gymnastics I had - I just hope she stuck the landing. "Tonight would be nice. What time?" she finally replied. "7pm" I replied immediately. Usually everyone was gone by 6pm, and even the stragglers who could were long gone. "Perfect. I'll come up there then" she replied, and signed off. It was currently 4.30 in the afternoon. No longer was I in a languid, satisfied mood; now I was effectively brain-dead, with anticipation and nervousness twin horses in a neck-and-neck race. At 5.00 pm I shut my office door, and pretended to work. At 6.58 pm there was a knock at my door. I opened the door, and Giana entered my office. My office has two comfortable chairs in front of the desk, and she dragged one to the far corner, to give herself a good view. "Take off your clothes for me, Seth" she said in a deep, seductive voice. It sent a shiver down my spine in anticipation. She had turned sideways on the couch to face me, and was running her hand through her hair. Her legs remained demurely crossed, and she laid her other hand on her thigh. Her foot bobbed up and down slowly, the only indication that she was not completely relaxed and confident about what she was doing. I then faced my second decision of the evening. I felt kind of silly standing there, about to strip down. Also, I didn't know how sexy I could make it. Should I act like a Chippendale's dancer or something? I've never given much thought to the way I take off my clothes. I could have just asked Giana to put a blindfold , but that was just silly... and I was starting to get into the situation. I wanted to look sexy for her. So sexy, in fact, that she would strip down for me too, and we'd enjoy each other's bodies. By way of showing her my decision, I stepped out of my shoes and kicked them aside as I looked in her eyes. Giana smiled, knowing that I had decided to go along with the game. I tugged slowly on my shirt until it came untucked from my pants. As I slipped it up my torso, I stroked my stomach and sides with my hands. As a tease, I let it slide back down and cover me before lifting it again. I continued stroking my stomach and chest with my fingertips as I lifted the shirt, finally pulling it over my head and off. I stood for a moment posing, arms dangling at my side. I placed my left hand on my pants buckle then, just letting it sit there. With my right hand, I started at my thigh and slowly moved it up towards the buckle. Sliding it along my inner thigh, I cupped my balls in my hand through the denim of my jeans. Giana's eyes were intently watching my right hand, and she let out a small sigh and smiled as I squeezed my balls. When I didn't make any further move to unbuckle my pants for a moment, she looked up at me. "Tease," she said. "No, a tease doesn't put out. You won't have that problem with me." I slowly then moved my right hand up the length of my zipper, sliding over my hardening cock. I couldn't tell whether Giana could see the outline of it through my jeans; it was only half-hard. But I slowly squeezed my cock through the fabric and slid my hand up and down a couple of times. Then I moved up and unsnapped my pants. I slid the fingers of my right hand down and under the waistband of my underwear, and started to squeeze and stroke my cock for her. By that time, her eyes were absolutely blazing as she watched, enraptured. She was squeezing her thigh with her hand, but had still made no move to undress or to touch herself. However, I thought she was weakening. "You're pretty good at this. Have you been practicing in front of your mirror at home?" she said, smiling. I slowly unzipped my pants. By now she could see the whiteness of my briefs, and, I was sure, the outline of my cock. It still wasn't all that hard. I was putting so much concentration into the stripping that I'd stopped thinking about her naked. I turned sideways to her, and slowly began to take the pants off, sliding them down my legs. As I slid the jeans off my legs, I pulled the socks off as well. Then I turned to face her again. "Are you ready for the grand unveiling?" "Yes, I want to see." Holding up the right side of my briefs, I began to slide the left side down, exposing my inner thigh and just a hint of my light blonde pubic hair. As I was about to expose part of my cock and balls, I stopped and slid them back up. I repeated the same motions with the other side, again stopping just short of exposing anything other than the sparse hair. Then I slid my left hand into my shorts, reaching down the length of my cock to stroke my balls. I turned around, so that now my ass was facing her. Looking back over my shoulder, I began to slip the underwear down the length of my body, exposing my ass to her hungry gaze. I held my legs slightly apart as I bent at the waist and slid the shorts down to my ankles. When I got to the bottom, I turned to look at her. I wondered if she could see my swollen balls hanging down between my legs from that angle. They felt large and full, ready to burst, although my cock was still only partially hard. I allowed her the full view of my ass from that position for a few seconds before lifting one foot and then the other and removing the shorts. On a lark I then went down on my knees, still facing away from her. I spread my legs wide apart and lay my shoulders down to the carpet. My ass was then sticking up in the air, exposed to her, and I knew then that she could see my balls hanging low and full. My cock was exposed at that angle as well, hanging down as it still was, as was my brown puckered hole. I found the idea of it very exciting, and I lay there under her gaze in that way for a few moments. "Let me see your cock, Seth." I stood up slowly, back still turned to her. I ran my hands around to my ass and kneaded the cheeks. I then gave my left cheek a hard slap that made a loud flesh-on-flesh sound that seemed to echo through the empty house. Slowly, then, finally, I turned to face her and let her see all of me. As I looked at her, I noticed her eyes were closed to mere slits, and she was looking at my cock. "Ooh, you're cock is soft. I like that. Will you make it hard for me?" "I know I'd get hard if you'd take your clothes off, too." "It doesn't look like you need my help," she said, staring down at my crotch. Then her eyes met mine, and she smiled her knowing smile again. Sure enough, even though I had yet to touch myself after the strip tease, my cock was already half erect. She was getting me hard just by looking at me and talking. "Come on, Seth, touch yourself. Get yourself hard for me." I was momentarily embarrassed by her unashamed and hungry stare, and very aware that I was standing in front of her totally naked while she sat there fully clothed and in control of the situation. My first instinct was to cover up. But then I realized that she wanted to watch me, and that she was going to be turned on by it. I wondered if she was getting wet as I stood in front of her only a few feet away. The thought made my cock jump a little and get harder, and a low moan escaped from her lips. I dropped my inhibitions and started to go with the flow. HiTech Hijinx Ch. 04 One of the strange things about having been a professional thug is the habits that you ingrain, which pretty much stay with you for the rest of your life. For example, when you're part of a tactical protection team, you do what they call a three-unit rotation. One of your team is leading the way, one is with the principal, and the last person is lagging about ten feet behind. All members of the unit are relaxed but watching for movements, analyzing the flow of the foot traffic. Looking for someone in a hurry crossing vectors, someone trying too hard not to look at your principal and his oh-so-obvious guard. When you go through a door, the first person opens it and checks the scene, and the other two units accelerates, the client man moving through the door and into the lead position while the rear man takes his place at the client's side. The former lead man, who held the door, is now the rear guard. Watching people, watching traffic, identifying exits when you enter a room, identifying anyone who might potentially be a threat - someone who suddenly looks away, for example - becomes a lifetime habit. Every Wednesday I took advantage of my position to call an IT staff meeting - at the Chili's restaurant three blocks away, within range of our floor radios in case something comes up. Its not mandatory, and everything said is off the record, which is why we rarely invite outsiders; they might be the person we roast in today's casual conversation. We're a snide bunch, the IT/NetOps guys... we had our usual table of eight, which the restaurant knew to have set for us. Wednesdays at 1pm. Granted, it went against the former lifetime to have a set place and time, but you make some allowance for the fact that you no longer need to carry a Glock 21 in a paddle-holster above your butt, nor wear Class III body armor. But the other thing - the situational awareness - stays with you. You learn to take the "Boy are YOU paranoid" comments in stride, because the fact of the matter is that those habits only have to save your ass once in a lifetime - and once they do, everything else is gravy. And thats how I saw you. I took my usual seat - perpendicular to the windows, and facing the front door - pretending not to have noticed you. I'm successful to the degree that nobody can see my developing erection. Thank Ghod for opaque tables. I wonder how long you've been sitting there, and how you managed to talk the staff into seating you in that little alcove, where pretty much only I can see you. Did you bribe the manager? Did you arrive before the lunch crowd, and specifically request that table? You obviously dressed for a client meeting today - you're wearing an exquisite, attractive version of the proverbial "little black dress", more appropriate to a dinner party than a client meeting. I'd found out that you were out of the office and working from home today - so either you had a client meeting for which you somewhat over-dressed, or you planned it with deliberation. For me. The dress hugs your curvy shape, and reveals things - but only to the dedicated observer. Your lips glisten red with newly applied lipstick. Your fingernails are painted the same red, and look long enough to not only look sexy, but to potentially inflict a little pain. Which I like. "Hell, even your toenails are red" I think as I catch a little glimpse of these in your open-toed sandals. All the while I'm doing this - similar to doing a threat assessment on an identified threat vector - you're sitting there with a little grin on your face. A smug, sexy, "I have you right where I want you" grin. I watch as you take a sip of your drink, licking off the trickle with my tongue. I watch as you dip your finger into your drink and bring it to your mouth, and my pulse beats a little faster as your cheeks hollow as you suck the moisture away. I watch as you take your finger out of your mouth and run it down from your throat to my cleavage, and then across the bare top of your breasts. The dress gives the illusion that if you were to take too deep of a breath your breasts would be bared for me. I can't tell as to whether or not your nipples are stuff underneath the dress, but I'd bet someone else's life on it. I may be excited, but I'm not totally nuts. Yet. The waiter comes to take your order, and you're forced to break eye contact - and its a damn good thing for me. I take this moment to regroup and reorder my thoughts, occasionally glancing your way. You won't meet my eyes again - yet - and I engage my brain into the IT table conversation. Our table orders - thank Ghod we eat here every Wednesday, so I'm passing familiar with the menu - and when I look back you've taken out a book. I am both relieved and disheartened; on the up side, you're giving me the small mercy of allowing to actually think about what I'm saying as we begin the meeting. The down side is obvious, and my cock relaxes somewhat, coming to rest at half-mast. I've barely gotten to the point in my meetings where people are giving me project reports; telling me what I already know so that the rest of the team can come up to speed. You're reading some sort of lurid romance, and I think you've just hit one of the hot scenes; your fingertip is tracing a line in whorls over your breast as you read, and my tongue wants to join it on its merry journey. I pretty much ignore my staff - as management, one gets a decent amount of practice at nodding at every full pause and saying "Does anyone have any questions" as appropriate. You've tugged open the little slit in the skirt of the dress, and it falls away open. I can see some distance up your skirt, and I watch as your finger plays with your black stocking and garters. You lean back a little, and your skirt drops open a little more. You're still reading, but you've got all my spare attention. I watch as you glance up, and blush. Instead of deterring you, it seems to spur you on. You spread your legs a little more, and I can see that you're wearing purple panties today... the lilac color seems to darken as your fingers reach it, pushing the soft material against your mound. Still careful not to look at me, you pull the panel of the panties aside, stroking softly. I watch, pretending I'm interested in Findem! business as I watch you caress yourself, running your finger over your opening, dipping in between your labia and bringing forth lubrication. You circle your clit with your finger and bear down, beginning a subtle rocking motion with your hips. Soon you arch your back, and I'm pretty sure that you've had at least a little orgasm, which is one more than me... and the distance between zero and one can be an infinity. I watch enviously as you bring your finger to your lips, and suck on it You look up, and catch my eye, and blow me a kiss. I excuse myself from the table, and walk past you to the restrooms, my cock feeling like its going to explode. As I near where you sit I casually run my fingers across the bulge, scant feet from your face. Ahh, the restroom. I don't know why they call it there; its not like I actually get any rest. Some cold water to reduce the swelling, and I restore my equanimity. The danger of wearing silk boxers is that every movement on an erection is a sensual delight, and if I'd had to watch much longer, I'd have cum in my pants - which would have been quite an embarrassing situation, requiring me to spill my water glass on myself somehow. Back at the table, I sit down, and glance your way as the side conversations quieten and everyone begins to focus again. Everyone but me, that is - you ordered a shrimp cocktail appetizer. Yes, the shrimp. The oldest tease in the book, even filmed as part of an erotic sequence in the movie Flashdance. I hate it when old tricks still work... and this one is. I watch as you lick the cocktail sauce off, and bring it to your mouth. I keep watching, while actually running my staff meeting. Again, you're merciful - you don't start up again until the end of my meeting, and dessert. You've ordered chocolate-covered strawberries, and I watch as you pretend they're miniature cocks, sucking the brown icing away to leave the red, succulent flesh of the fruit... You gently bite the flesh away, and I can almost imagine how your lips and teeth would feel on my cock. I watch as you raise your skirt again... and this time, you put the last strawberry, cleansed of chocolate, against your pussy. No, I'm wrong... gently you put it in your pussy, and pull your panties back into place. Your skirt falls back into place, and you get up to pay your check, sashaying out of the restaurant. Some of the guys at the table admire your ass after you pass... but they don't recognize you from the back, which I suppose is just as well. You've finished. We finish our lunch, and by the time we leave my erection has faded again - good thing, or I'd start to pass out from the loss of blood. I'm still highly excited, and I speak slowly and deliberately to hide it. I pay for the meal on my expense plastic, and we return to the office. I make a few comments and excuse myself, wanting some "alone time" to replay the lunchtime encounter in my mind while my fingers softly stroke my cock On my chair is a napkin. And in the center of the napkin is a single, bright red strawberry.