by David Cain

“Relax,” Terri told herself. “Loosen up. He’s just a guy.”

Terri rapped on the wooden door and stood listening. A moment passed in silence and she knocked again. Pushing down on the brass handle, Terri opened the door a crack.

“Mark,” she said quietly. The door swung open gently and Terri peered into the office. An empty chair sat behind the large walnut desk. Terri glanced at the memo she had brought Mark and shrugged.

“I guess I could leave him a note,” she explained to herself, a little disappointed. “He can call me if he has any questions.” Terri stepped inside Mark’s office. The heavy door swung slowly shut with a click.

Intimidated by the calm silence of the young manager’s office, Terri quickly placed her memo on the center of the desk’s green blotter. Taking a pen from her jacket pocket, Terri looked for a pad of note paper, but the wide open desk space offered nothing of the sort. Terri quickly checked her pockets for something to write on and finally sat down in the large executive desk chair with a shake of her head.

“He must write on something,” she said, reaching for a drawer. As the dark wood compartment began it’s gentle slide outward, Terri paused and looked up nervously. A photograph in a gold frame, two men, one younger, one older, both strikingly handsome, stared smiling from the far side of the desk. Terri pulled the drawer open and quickly rifled through the stack of papers until she reached a yellow legal pad nestled beneath last week’s quarterly reports. Pulling it free, she flipped past twenty pages of handwritten notes until she reached a blank sheet and tore it loose.

“Mark,” Terri wrote. “Here’s the Jenkins memo. Call me if you have any questions. Terri.” She scrawled her name with a self-satisfied flourish, hoping the new manager would be as pleased with her work as Franklin, the old regional director, always had been. Terri folded the long canary-yellow sheet and slipped it under the paper clip that bound her memo.

Picking up the legal pad she had borrowed, Terri started to return it to the place from whence it came. She hardly looked down, but in a flash, a dash of words caught her attention.

> excited gleam in her eyes

The tight rush of a masculine script leapt off the yellow page. Terri felt her heartbeat race as she started to read from the top.

> Jenkins – unsatisfactory, reorganize, consider bringing in two
> people from the Walters account to support – Allen, Frank???

Terri smiled with a glance at the memo planted in the center of Mark’s desk. She had concluded that the Jenkins account should be reorganized, that additional people be brought in to help. Allen had been her first choice as well. Terri returned to the legal pad, skimming the paragraph on a meeting that had taken place two weeks earlier.

> The woman (Name? Mary?) working on the Jenkins memo
> could probably manage the whole project. Call North for update.
> She seemed sincerely interested in bringing the team around,
> hampered by the short staff and Franklin’s attitude that the whole
> thing would wait. When I spoke to her about looking for new
> ideas, I was impressed by the excited gleam in her eyes. She
> wants to make this happen. That’s exactly the kind of attitude we
> need to make this project work.

Terri’s smile spread full across her face. Looking up to the youthful man in the photograph, she nodded her thanks and blushed.

> Beautiful, really. I can’t let her looks influence my evaluation
> of her performance, but she presents the kind of image that would
> go far in Seattle. I’ll wait to see the memo before making any
> decisions about that meeting. Tough call, two weeks in close
> quarters with a woman like that could wreck havoc on my reason.

Terri held her breath. She never dreamed that they would consider taking her to Seattle for the corporate conference. A thrill ran through her and she flipped the page.

> Two suites, Stacy needs to make reservations. Sander’s can’t make
> it, going to Geneva for ASCOM. Steven or Terri. Steven knows the
> numbers. Terri’s really the better choice. Fuck that would be
> hard to manage. No way I’m going to concentrate on the new range
> of pharmaceuticals with those tits sitting next to me.

Terri felt her nipples harden as she tried to decide if she should be offended by such blatant sexism. She stole a glance at the photograph, Mark looking like a boy next to his grey-haired father.

> Can’t forget Reno – disaster – working with Jackie on the Magruder
> systems. We hardly lasted two hours in the hotel before that
> hard-working missy was grinding her twat on my cock. Mmm, sweet
> memory, if only Robinson hadn’t found out. Terri seems different,
> anyway, hardly any sexual chemistry there. No flirting. Husband?

Terri bit her lip, more offended by the sudden dismissal of her sexuality than she was by the unprofessional comments about her breasts.

> No ring. Some flirtation, maybe. Saw her lean over to examine
> the copier, flash of silky thighs, maybe a trace of lace panty.
> Don’t know if she knew I was behind her. My cock took notice.
> Fabulous ass. I should take her to Seattle with me. I wonder if she would go.

Spreading her legs slightly, Terri scratched at the tight elastic band of her stocking and slowly pushed her skirt slightly higher until she could tickle her satin draped pussy. “Mmm,” she whimpered.

> Either way, I lose. Screw her and who cares about the biotech.
> But it we go and manage to control ourselves, how am I going to
> concentrate? I can’t spend twelve hour days for two weeks sitting
> next to a beauty like that and not waste every fucking minute
> dreaming about those titties. I would be insane after the first
> few hours.

“Yeah,” said Terri, rubbing herself vigorously. “Drive you crazy.”

> I couldn’t survive the late night planning sessions, sitting in
> our suite going over the figures, or dinners with clients and Terri
> in a silk dress with Johnson pouring Saki and toasting success and
> riding back in a taxi, half drunk and giddy with victory and ride
> the elevator to the twelfth floor together and goodnight at the
> door, see you at tomorrow’s meeting on international sales.

Terri brushed the satin to one side, drawing a finger between her moist cunt’s lips.

> “Your room or mine” and lift the dress to see those silken thighs
> and lace panties, pulled off that sweet ass, press my cock inside
> to prove that teamwork makes us go and suck her pretty titties and
> let her suck my cock.

“Lick my cunt,” moaned Terri.

> Spurt my cream on her cherry lips, good job, good night, kiss
> Jenkins goodbye.

“No,” said Terri, sinking a finger deep inside as she rubbed her clit furiously. “Read my memo. Jenkin’s is easy. Fuck Jenkins. We can handle that shit. Fuck me, Mark.” She looked at the young man in the photograph. He smiled lecherously. “Fuck me,” she said with a gasp.

> I have to take her. No way to explain not taking her. She’s too good.

“Great,” Terri said. “Fucking great.”

The handle on the door slowly twisted. Terri felt a mad wave of ecstasy pass through her and then held her breath. The door swayed inward. Terri shoved the pad into the open drawer and pulled down her skirt.

“I’ll let you know,” said Mark to someone in the hall as he backed into his office. “I just hope she’s done with that memo.”

“Mmm,” said Terri, taking a deep breath. “Right here.”

“Terri,” said Mark.

“I was just dropping off the memo. I think you’ll find we have Jenkins well in hand.” Terri handed him the sheaf of papers.

“Excellent.” Mark lifted the yellow note and skimmed over the first page. “Fantastic. I think we’re of one mind on this.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” Terri said, stepping past Mark to reach for the office door.

“Yeah,” said Mark, still reading. “Wait. Tyler wants you to go to Seattle with me. Can you arrange your schedule for the fourteenth to the twenty-seventh?”

“I think so,” said Terri with a smile.

“Great,” said Mark, putting the memo on his desk. “I think this will be perfect. We’ll need to go over this later today. Good work, Terri.”

“Thanks,” she said with a blush. Terri vanished down the hallway.

“Sweet girl,” Mark said to himself. “Nice perfume. She just needs to loosen up a little.”

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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