Not into Yoga

You turn your camera off and roll your eyes. I flash a brief smile, droning on about requirements elicitation.

It doesn't help that we have a solid five more hours of this meeting, or that we both have to be logged in. But at least we're in this hell together. And lucky you, you don't have to talk through most of it.

You sigh, attempting vacantly to balance a pen on your desk. It's not that you don't care about the meeting, which you really don't, it's more that you've heard this shtick before. We've been sharing this office for four years now, staring at each other across this desk, and working on this project for six months. You know how I talk about this stuff.

You toss the pen up, attempting to catch it in your mouth. You have no idea where the thought came from, but suddenly it's the most important acheivement in your life. You must succeed.

Or not.

You try a few times, one time nearly stabbing your own eye out, before success! You jump up, victorious, arms raised, and mock cheer yourself, pen cocked out one side of your mouth.

I smirk up at you, chuckling. "No, sorry, just some ambient noise on this side, please, continue..."

You grin.

You grab another pen, and turn your back to me, stuffing it indelicately into the opposite side of your mouth. You wait until I'm saying something, then spin, hands claws, erupting in a low growl, tusks raised.

I snort at just how stupid you are, cough, give you a "oh my god stop" smile, apologize to the meeting at large, and continue.

You grin again.

You try a few more gags to see if you can get me to break. The classic pantomime elevator does nothing. You almost startle me by jumping up from crouching below your desk, but not quite. The growling tusks don't play as well the second time.

You pout, defeated. Back to balancing your pen again.

After a moment, you get an awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

You look at me. What harm could it do? I mean, it would work.

You'd win, for sure.

And it'd be fucking hilarious, you think.

You glance at the door. Closed for the meeting. No one will bother us. They're probably all sitting in their stupid offices in front of their stupid computers at this same stupid meeting, anyway.

You stand, and I glance up. You stare seriously at me, and I look past the screen at you, puzzled. You just stand there, biting a lip, staring.

"Oh, ya, so, we actually ran into that early on..." I start and you seize the target of opportunity, springing into action.

You tug your blouse out of your skirt, pulling it free around your waist. I flash a quizzical look your way, continuing, as you grasp the bottom of your top.

Victory time, you think.

You pull up quickly, momentarily baring your sleek, skin-tone, push-up bra, tripping me mid-word. I blink, mind fumbling, trying not to stare past the screen and process what I just saw.

You positively beam. Crushed. You crushed me.

Someone online says my name, dragging me back to reality. I stare at the meeting for a second, glancing back at your now-covered chest, swallow and continue, apologizing for inexplicably losing my train of thought.

You grin.

You give it a minute or two. Until I'm buried in another question. Then you bolt upright, yanking your shirt up, your bra staring me suddenly in the face once again.

I stumble again, severely, but don't fall flat this time.

A minor victory, you concede.

After a few minutes, you get up, like you're heading out of the office, then suddenly spin and flash your bra again. After a momentary "Um, I mean, so" I finish my thought, mute my mic, lean out of the camera, and scowl.

"Oh my fucking god you have to stop." I try to look very serious and not at all like I actually don't want you to stop even a little bit.

"Okay." Your contrition seems... shallow.

Because it is.

You already have another plan. An escalation.

You go back to tossing the pen in the air, catching in your lips it more often than not now, and I get back into the meeting. Shortly, you toss it, and it bounces off your forehead and onto the floor behind you.

I glance your way, in the middle of a rather drawn out discussion of system architectural choice, as you cross over to where the pen lays on the floor, and bend down.

That's when I notice you'd done something with your skirt. Pulled it up high? Folded it over? I don't know skirts. It was shorter than it should be. And then you bent down.

"... and that-" Your pink thong slips into view. Like, fully into view. Like, your skirt slips right up over the curve of your ass and I can definitely confirm you are, in fact, wearing a thong. That is to say, the part that I can mostly see is the shapely curve peeking out from between your thighs.

You grin at the pen, savoring my silence. Victory, once more, is yours.

You pop upright, turning curtly, and sitting down, stone-faced, in your office chair.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You unmute your mic and prompt me to go on.

Fuck, I think.

I somehow fix myself and figure out how to continue, your pink thong burned into my retinas.

Pink! I obsess...

Given the poor showing of the bra-flashing after the first go, you decide not to push your luck on the pen trick. But, by the time I've dug into another Q&A, you've got a fresh idea.

You lean over, messing with your shoes. I'm prepared this time, and pointedly focus on my screen.

No matter. This isn't a quick one, you think.

You pull your feet free and roll back in your chair, lifting them up onto the seat, your skirt riding up, baring the front side of that pink thong this time.

You gently rub the soles of your feet, the crotch of your panties pointed right at me. And you just sit and wait.

You catch me struggle to string together a particularly complex thought. Maybe it's not enough?

You adjust your snug little thong, pulling it away from your skin, letting it snap back.

This time, I choke. And you grin. I immediately mute.

"What the fuck are you doing." I look at you like you've gone insane. Because, apparently, you have.

You shrug, smiling, pink thong staring at me. I just look at you, and at your crotch, and roll my lips.

That's when you catch it. I shuffle my hand across my lap. Adjusting myself.

Interesting, you think.

You just stay there, bright pink crotch spread wide, until you catch me looking again, and you calmly slide a fingertip right up the middle, tracing between the curve of your lips.

My eyes go wide and I cough, apologizing, shuffling my lap again.

Very interesting, you think.

You slip your feet down, rolling your chair in, and go back to balancing your pen.

Fuck it, you think.

You snatch up your coffee cup, stepping briskly around the table. I steel myself for anything, but you simply grab mine from my desk and disappear out the door.

I meander through the meeting for a few minutes, and you slip back in, setting a warm cup on my desk. I nod a thanks, and take a hesitant sip. Dark roast, hazelnut creamer, two pink sweeteners, like always. I smile, and you smile back, sitting down and sipping your own cup. Light roast, extra cream, real sugar.

After a minute, I'm chattering inanely about some such nonsense and you stand. I glance over at you, somewhat less apprehensive than before the coffee, and get the distinct impression I'm about to see your bra again. Not that I mind, but I can still focus on the meeting.

Fuck it, you think again.

You lift your shirt, baring your full, firm breasts, your wide, pink areolas stiffening in the chill of the office air conditioning.

Nervous, you don't actually pay much attention to the exact timing, and just as your breasts bounce into view, I take a heavy sip of coffee, on which I suddenly choke, coughing, sputtering coffee all over my screen.

"Fuck!" I blurt, then "Sorry, wrong pipe, just a sec," I mute my mic and camera. "What the fuck was that?"

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." You pause, considering, unexpectedly nervously.

Fuck it, you think one more time, then hand me something to wipe it up with, letting your blouse catch, bunched up above your breasts.

I take it, scowling at you, and start wiping the splatter off my monitor.

With the odd bit of fabric you just handed me.

The bright pink fabric.

I look up at you.

"What is going on with you right now?" I look from you to the thong as you stand there, almost shaking. "This meeting, like, kinda matters?"

"Why? WHY?" You smack the table, your breasts jostling with the intensity. "Why does it matter? This stuff sucks, and is dumb. What are we even doing here? Requirements development? For systems no one will ever build? Policy position papers for policies no one will ever follow? Our greatest accomplishments are monuments to the meaningless, hollow futility of endless bureaucracy."

I can only offer a blank look. "Hey, I mean, we're paid very well to..."

I realize you're shaking before you do. "To do what, exactly? What do we even do here in these pointless fucking meetings to nowhere? What have we even accomplished? In the, what, ten years you fucking worked here?" You hold up your 10 year anniversary pin. "Or me? How have I changed the world? What earned me the two million dollars of salary I've been paid getting this stupid fucking pin?"

I have no answer, except to stand slowly, stepping around the desk and over to you.

"No answer? What? Nothing?" Your voice gets hoarse, rough, crackling. "Have we, in out collective 20 years at this company, done nothing at all?"

I have only silence to offer, gently pressing my hands to your arms. You're nearly sobbing.

"These are our lives..." You whimper, falling into me, and I embrace you. "Our solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short lives, spent in frippery, here, doing nothing, for no reason, all fucking day."

"Not totally solitary, at least..." I murmur softly.

"Ya." You pull your head back and look seriously up at me. "Not anymore, at least." You whisper, leaning up and pressing your lips to mine.

I hesitate.

You pull back, nervous. I am stunned.

Victory? You wonder, finding yourself shaking again.

"Ya." I step in toward you, seeing you. "Not any more." I pull you into me, and we kiss, deeply.

My hands roam up the back of your blouse, caressing your bare skin, pressing into your soft flesh. Your hands do the same, and when one of mine finds its way to your breasts, your hips writhe softly, and something clicks. You pick up the pace, reaching down, fighting at my belt. I pull your blouse up and you let me strip it off you. You manage to get my pants down as I start on my tie, guiding my stiff cock between your legs as you hop onto your desk, wrapping your thighs around me.

"Oh my god..." You sigh as my cock presses gently against your aching pussy, teasing tenderly in.

"Hello?"

Oh shit, the meeting.

You look down at the keyboard under you. "I must've..." You whisper, looking back. All the camera can see is your hair. As long as you don't move, they won't see anything.

"Sorry, uh..." I start, shaking my head, my cock barely half an inch inside you, begging for more, terrified of indulging. "We spilled some coffee over here, it'll just be another second." I shrug and you smirk, trying not to laugh.

I look down at the keyboard, sliding it out from under you, and tap at the mute buttons. The camera and mic are off.

"Holy fuck, we, uh, we should..."

"Fuck?" You say, wrapping your legs around me and pulling my cock inside you. You shudder as you take me in, your pussy aching for this attention for so long. Too long.

"Look, I..." I pause, aching to keep going, but for some reason, resisting. "I don't know what this is going to become, but, I think it's good."

"Ya, me too." You agree, grinding your hips, trying to make me fuck you already.

"No, I'm, I'm being serious." I press against you, my cock deep inside you, pinning you to the desk. "Maybe we're poor, nasty, brutish and short, but if I spent ten years doing pointless drudgery and came out the other end with you, then, ya, I think that's worth it."

Your turn to stare blankly. You swallow, and nod. "Ya... me too." You blush. "Now for the cumming part." You smile.

"And we're hardly poor." I kiss your neck gently, letting my hips rock back, gently thrusting my cock out and back in, your body shuddering as I do.

"How do we get paid so much to fuck?" You murmur, my pace painfully slow.

"I don't understand economics, but I think a billionaire gets bored, throws some money around, and we slowly milk that until he gets bored again and wanders off, and that's, like, how capitalism works?" I string together a reply between kisses and thrusts, my lips working their way around your breast.

"Seems bad." You shudder as I kiss at your nipple.

"Fuck..." It's all I can do to resist, but we can't be doing this right now. I press in deeply, pausing again, and looking seriously down at you. "Look. I want to fuck you. I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck you all night long, tonight, but first, we absolutely cannot bail on this pointless meeting or the billionaire might get bored and wander off."

You glower. "You're lucky I have an edging kink." You shove me and I slip free.

"Really?" I dart back around to my desk, fixing my tie, glad the naked lower half of me will be safely off-camera. You slip off your desk and adjust your skirt, looking around for your blouse.

"No." You frown, pulling your top on. "I actually just want you to make me cum right fucking now, but I'm obviously not getting that, so..."

I smile as I sip my coffee and try to get back into what's going on in the meeting. After a moment, I unmute, and drone on pointlessly once more.

You pout, back to balancing your pen again.

After a moment, you get an awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

You slip out of your chair onto the floor, and I glance up, curious what's going to happen this time. I don't see where you've gone, but in a moment, I figure it out, as your hand runs up my legs, gently guiding my knees apart.

I feel your tongue on the tip of my cock, tripping me mid-word. I blink, mind fumbling once more.

Victory, you grin.