MacLean came through the scratched glass front door of the loan assistance office, a dark, demonic silhouette against the glare of the Australian summer behind him. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. His slow, steady footfalls seemed to echo as they brought him unerringly toward her station behind the spacious welcome desk. She smiled nervously. Knowing his propensity for mischief, she had asked him not to come, but his curiosity about her new job had been so insistent that she hadn't wanted to disappoint him.
Angela thought again in a flash of panic about all the trouble she could get into with MacLean here. She could not afford to tarnish the good reputation she had earned here the last year. Her colleagues knew her as a serious worker, committed to helping needy applicants and bringing cheer and dignity to the office. Their faith in her helped her rise quickly in the ranks, and that trust she held dear. She shivered as she thought of the things she had done all too eagerly with no more provocation than a single request from this man, and knew that could not happen in this place. Yet, despite herself, she felt flutters of excitement that he'd come.
His arrival, as it happened, was well-timed. The room was empty but for the two clandestine lovers, good weather and a surge in local tourism keeping hard times at bay for the nonce. He stopped directly in front of the desk, his tall form blotting out the bright sun through the glass. A welcome respite. She blinked. He stared.
"So, this is where I work," she said, smiling, her voice a tremulous thread just above a whisper.
He grinned, nodded, and made a cursory show of looking around the room. His eyes returned to hers, relaxed, hungry, insistent.
She patted the desk in front of her. "This is where they come first." She picked up a paperclip and twirled it between her fingers as she looked up at him and explained her routine. She enjoyed letting him in on the operations of the organization. It was like sharing a secret. As she delved into ever more behind-the-scenes workings, she leaned forward conspiratorially. Her soft voice held his attention fast, though she could not decide if the sound of it was soothing his appetite for her or inflaming it. He placed strong hands down near where her elbows rested and leaned slightly over the desk to hear, filling her field of vision. The wood groaned.
A door opening and voices from the back offices snapped her awareness back to the room. She dropped the paperclip, which skittered to some hidden place with inaudible metallic sounds. The two straightened.
"Hi, Ange," came the friendly call of Fran from behind. The briskly approaching footsteps from her heavy, heeled clogs made Angela clear her throat anxiously. "How you doing up here? Quiet day today. Get any reading done?"
Angela eyed her open paperback face down near the computer monitor. "Yeah, some," she lied, as her superior made her way around to the front to stand near the visitor. MacLean regarded the intruder patiently. Why did Angela feel so guilty?
"Good. I heard talking up here. I was excited that we might have some customers! Oh, well."
"Yeah, nobody but us. I reckon it's the nice weather. Cold's over, not that hot yet, nobody needs help with heating or cooling bills, plus have you seen all the tourists? I never seen so many."
"Oh, somebody will turn up, I'm sure. Probably a whole crowd right when we're closing. Never fails. Bloody nice dress, by the way, Ange. New one, ain't it? Pick that up in Adelaide, did ya?"
"Yeah, thanks. Bit cooler than the usual slacks. Getting to be too hot for that."
"Know what you mean. Right, just popped in to say hi. I'll leave you to it." Fran clopped off and the door opened and closed again, returning the two to their false privacy.
MacLean gave Angela a look. "Yeah, that's Fran," she murmured, smiling crookedly, "always checking up. Nah, she's a good one, though. Super nice. I can always go to her with anything."
MacLean nodded without interest, and then, with a start, came around the desk and peered intently underneath at the floor near Angela's boots. She gasped a little at the boldness of it, but then she remembered the paperclip. "Oh, it's 'kay. Just leave it," she said, but his expression of concentration only deepened. He crouched and began to look in earnest.
"Okay, MacLean, I'll get it." She doubled over in her chair and swept fingertips across the floor. Her face warmed at the closeness of their bodies as he refused to relinquish the search to her. Unsuccessful, he pushed his way further into the recesses below her, still looking.
Angela began to be embarrassed. She stood. "Forget it, man. It's not important. Come on out of there." But he ignored her. Angry now, worried Fran would return and see this, she began to grab and slap at him. "Cut it out!" she hissed. "Do you want me to get fired? It's just a fucking paperclip!" But he would not emerge. If anything, the more he searched, the more he seemed to be disappearing into the deep shadow underneath the desk.
The door opened again. Angela pounced into her chair, heart pounding, and wheeled her knees forward to push against the obdurate troublemaker below, who had somehow turned around to face her. Fran's familiar clopping gait seemed to emanate from her own stomach. Chancing a downward glance, she saw his eyes looking up at her, curled evilly by his smile. One brow arched up slowly. She knew she should hate him, but God, how she loved that look of his, as though he happily existed for her pleasure, had no other purpose or plan than to appreciate her and make her feel wanted.
"Ange?"
Startled a second time, Angela looked up at Fran. There was no time to regain composure. "Hmmm?" she managed, as her boss gave her a sidelong look.
"Are you okay? You seem nervous about something. Did someone come in? I keep hearing you up here."
The warm, moist kiss she felt on her leg opened her eyes wide. A sound escaped her. This couldn't be happening! She forced a laugh to cover her surprised arousal. "Yeah, this book is really good. It's like you're there; she really draws you in. Very well written." She picked up the book with one hand while she tried surreptitiously to push his head away with the other, but the effort was half-hearted. He knew she was going to be a willing participant, and she knew he knew. The brassy tone in her lie would have made it plain to anyone who knew her as well as MacLean. The kisses continued unabated. She shivered and began to sweat.
Fran nodded in understanding, and gave Angela a smile. "I know. I remember when I read it the first time. Couldn't get over how good it was. Are you at the part where …" Angela watched as Fran moved about the reception area, tidying stacks of self-help pamphlets as she cheerfully spoiled the plot of the novel. Seething at this, Angela felt her rebelliousness rise. It was at this moment that she decided to play this game and keep her job at the same time. It was unfair of the world to make her choose, she thought angrily. She slouched down, thrusting her hips forward in her chair. As her colleague nattered on, she felt him slowly lift the hem of her dress up to her hips. She made a show of trying to hold the fabric in place but gave up with a muffled grunt. She hid her reddened face behind the paperback and pretended to agree with her boss, presently lacking the will to argue with either assailant.
With the conversation finally stalled by Angela's interposed book, Fran turned her back on her covertly excited subordinate to gaze out the front door at the warm afternoon outside. Angela looked down lovingly at her hiding paramour, all pretense of resistance over. As in a dream, all she could see through her haze of desire was the eyes, lidded yet glowing. She felt a tug on her underwear and lifted her bottom cooperatively. The panties slid down and were off her boots with a yank. She took them and stuffed them hurriedly into a drawer. As she felt his mouth cover what should never have been exposed, she felt a wave of relaxation sweep over her. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Maybe this was the perfect place for her and MacLean to be at this moment. She felt herself get drunk on the power and exhilaration that came from forcing down her fear and stuffing their rules up their backside. Her eyes watered with the effort of remaining silent. Everything glowed in the slanting, crystalline light. She wanted to laugh and come.
The front door opened, but it was only the clogs stepping outside to watch people passing by. Emboldened by her absence, Angela began to sigh loudly, as though starting a journey through the rarefied atmosphere of her highest passions. She climbed, making good time. And suddenly she could see the peaks and they were underwater and the waves started from mountain ranges grating together, a great rumbling epicenter below her pelvis carried to her furthest extents involuntarily. The salt water in her eyes temporarily blinded her and she jerked awkwardly, gripping the chair and kicking the desk with her boots. Alarmed anew, she blinked away the tsunami in time to see Fran coming through the front door, looking concerned and a little annoyed.
"What was that noise? Was that you?" she asked, coming up to the desk.
Angela squirmed in her dampened chair and arranged herself as she concocted another lie. "Oh, I — I saw a lizard! There was a big lizard under my desk. I — tried to stomp it and — kick it, but — " Fran hurried around the desk to see. Angela's volume rose sharply. "No, I think I got it, it's —"
"Where did it go? I don't see anything." Fran squatted down.
"It must have run off. I guess I missed it after all." Angela quivered.
Fran continued to look for the imaginary lizard for a few seconds, and then stood. "Well, I don't see any critters, but it obviously scared the daylights out of you. Let me get you some tea. If you see it again, I'll bring some help. Bloody wildlife, eh? Can't escape it this time of year. Oh, well, be right back with your tea." She smiled a little too sympathetically and clopped noisily into the back offices.
As Angela stood and stretched with relief, the ocean receded and a trickle of salty sweat ran down the small of her back and between her buttocks. After checking the time, she knelt down to retrieve the object she had dropped earlier. She found the pocket vibe behind one stout leg of the desk. She dusted it off and stowed it safely in her bag. After a moment, she remembered her panties and retrieved those too. She sat again gingerly. She smiled. Nothing had changed. She wondered if she felt like having another go. She listened for the briefest of seconds and slid her hand down, down, into the protective shadow cast on her lap by the desk, the darkness between her thighs, down into the bottomless abyss of her desire where MacLean's hungry eyes lurked, staring up into hers.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/3o2mq4/the_desk