Ernest Goes to Work Pt. 02

The wet spot on the front of my neatly pressed slacks had nearly disappeared by the time I entered our Midtown office building, but I had yet to pull my brain back from the brink. Every woman I passed, whether young or old, skinny or voluptuous, short or tall, invited a new facet for me to fixate on: lips pursed around a straw; the sway of hips in a summer dress; lidded eyes glancing up towards me from under a curtain of bangs. In short, I was dangerously horny, and I had but one hope of relief: my lunch break.

One of the perks of my job was my office, and while it was painfully small, and had only one window that looked out on another office building, its door closed and occasionally even locked. If I could just make it to noon, I could rub one out and be back on the job with no one the wiser.

I sped through the office, offering pleasantries to colleagues I passed as I tried not to notice the plump red lips of our receptionist, Jasmine, or how Anne's heels accentuated the long muscles running up her calves. Stay on target, I told myself, and before long, I collapsed in the chair behind my desk, fired up my desktop, and exhaled. I could do this.

A short knock on my open door preceded Julie's arrival for our morning meeting. She didn't wait for an answer before sitting down in the chair directly opposite mine. I nodded towards her, not looking up from my inbox.

Julie was the one woman I wasn't worried about distracting me on staff--well, one of two; my boss, Lillian, was exceptionally fit for her age, but she was also a borderline tyrant, and I didn't think I could conceive of her sexually even if someone held a gun to my head.

Julie, on the other hand, was my age, tall and trim, and relentlessly pleasant and professional. We'd gelled from the start, and I'd shepherded her through the worst of Lillian's entry process, which was designed to weed out people who couldn't think for themselves, as well as those who couldn't meet her exacting standards. At this point, Julie and I had earned Lillian's respect, and in the process, forged a relationship that fell squarely between work colleagues and work friends. After her first week, I don't think I'd had a single sexual thought about her. The same couldn't be said for our direct reports, the telemarketers.

You'd think telemarketers would be dull and boring, but the reality was that they were among the most ambitious and creative people I knew. Most had at least one other side hustle, ranging from acting to art to law school. This led to a certain flexibility of thought that could be highly distracting, especially when conversations turned personal. I knew exactly where my ethical line resided--no having sex with my direct reports--but that boundary seemed to be much blurrier on their end.

I finished checking my email just as Lillian entered, chunky bracelets clanging as she sat next to Julie, crossed her legs, and raised her eyebrows at me. Right: it was my meeting. I straightened up, pulled out my notes, and began.

The next three hours were as challenging as expected, as I fended off a series of conversational diversions that on another day I might have entertained.

"Ernest, did I tell you about my latest piercing?"

"Ernest, please tell me you, at least, don't care about body count."

"Ernest, is it weird that he told me my mom was hot, or am I being too sensitive?"

"One date, Ernest, and I swear I'll stop asking."

This last was said just as it turned noon, and was delivered with a hand on my knee.

Anne, she of the long legs and short mini-skirts, had pulled a chair to my side of the desk, and was looking at me with wide blue eyes.

"Anne, you work for me," I said.

"You're barely my boss," she said. "I report to Dan."

"Who reports to me," I said. "Which makes it even worse."

She rolled her eyes. While she was older than me, she had the mannerisms and fashion sense of a college student, a combination I found oddly compelling.

I rolled my eyes back at her, and tried not think about how warm her hand felt on my knee.

"Okay, how about just a handie under the table?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Anne."

"Don't worry; I'll close the door first."

"Anne!"

"BJ?"

"Jesus Christ," I said, feeling my face get redder. I peered around her out the door, trying to see if anyone had heard her.

"Come on," she said, "I'll make a man out of you." Her hand crept higher up my leg.

I slapped my hand down on top of hers, harder than I intended.

"Anne," I said.

"Ernest." Hers was matter-of-fact.

"You need to stop teasing."

She raised her eyebrow. "Who's teasing?"

We locked eyes for a beat, and I had to fight the urge to move her hand, still under mine, up my thigh towards where my cock was stirring yet again.

"Okay, fine," she said, sighing. She stood up as I released her hand. "But for the record, if you want me to stop, you have to stop being so damn fun to tease."

"I'll take it under advisement," I said.

"Door closed?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at me. Her eyes sparkled as if she knew what I had planned.

"Door closed."

Five minutes later, my cock was in my hand as I watched a clip of an Anne-lookalike bobbing her head up and down on a businessman's cock. He was ostensibly leading a meeting from behind his desk while her saliva pooled up in his lap. I wished I could hear the sound of her slurping, but I didn't want to risk putting in my AirPods. I forwarded the clip and resumed as she began licking his balls, her hand slowly snaking up his shaft. I began to stroke myself faster, thinking of Anne's wide eyes looking up at me, her mouth full of my balls.

I started to reach for some tissues but was interrupted by a sharp knock on my door.

"Shit," I said, shoving my chair further under my desk as I took my hand off my cock and smashed at my mouse, trying to close the incognito porn tab.

The door opened, and I closed my eyes for a second, cursing the inconsistent lock, before snapping them open and plastering a smile on my face.

"I know it's lunch," said Julie, who was frowning down at a paper in her hand, "but these don't look right."

I managed to get the tab closed, and realized I still had a tissue in my other hand. I blew my nose, tossed it in the garbage and rolled in even closer to the desk, which was now pressing in tight against my stomach.

"I'll take a look," I said, extending a hand.

Julie put the print-out in my hand, and tilted her head as she noticed the other tissues strewn across the desk. She looked at me, wheeled tight under the desk, and I smile as disarmingly as I could.

Julie's cheeks reddened, and she refocused on the paper now in my hand. "We either pulled the wrong numbers or our teams are doing something very wrong."

She gave me a short smile. "Take a look, and we can chat after lunch."

I nodded, anticipating an end to to this latest indignity, when Lillian strode in. "Good," she said. "You're both here."

I felt my flush grow deeper, and I pushed myself even closer against the desk as I swept the tissues into the garbage.

"Are those the latest numbers?" she said, looking down at the paper in my hand. "They're a mess. I expect better of you two."

I started to respond, then froze as a memory washed over me--the fragments from my dream coalescing into a clear scene.

Julie, lying on her back on the conference room table, dress pushed up around her waist. I'm standing at the edge of the table, and my cock is deep in her pussy, my hands clutching her hips. She's moaning, eyes rolling back in her head. Her hands clasp my forearms, her nails leaving marks. I'm aware of the pain, but most of the sensations are focused on Julie's pussy, wet and impossibly tight. I'm also aware of a desperate desire to please. I raise my eyes, and there's Lillian, sitting on the opposite side of the conference room table, arms crossed underneath her breasts, watching intently as I fuck Julie. Her voice, low and intense, carries across the table. "I expect better of you two. Fuck like your jobs depends on it, Ernest and Julie."

I snap to, aware that 1) my cock is rock hard and pushing uncomfortably against the underside of my desk, and 2) Lillian is waiting for me to respond.

"I'm sorry," I say, focusing on the desire to please that has lingered past my reverie, "I'll do better."