~  The Analyst  ~

Sylvie had been watching him for a couple of weeks now, just across the floor, head down at his computer, so conscientious. She’d marked him on his first day in the office – all the women had. He’d walked in like he owned the place, double-breasted navy suit from the house of Armani, freshly pressed, and the crimson and magenta swirls on his silk Garcia tie adding a vivid splash of colour, dynamic colour, to his appearance. His shoes were polished and he was even wearing cufflinks, glinting with the unmistakable lustre of 24 carat gold. Yes, he had style.

They’d been introduced by Sue, the HR manager, and Sylvie had immediately been transfixed by his eyes, deep blue sapphires, accentuated by the hue of his suit. Sylvie had felt an azure bolt through her sex just then.

“Simon,” he had said, half a crooked grin creasing his face as he extended his hand. His grip was at once firm and gentle. It seemed so… experienced – utterly incongruous when juxtaposed to his boyish face and slightly tousled hair.

“Sylvie,” she had responded, tracing a tongue absently across her lower lip, in spite of herself.

“Mr Curtis is the new equities analyst,” said Sue, a little too primly and holding Sylvie’s eyes just long enough to make her point.

Sylvie blushed a little and sat back down again. Sue led the new man to his desk.

And there he stayed, or so it seemed. He barely interacted with anyone at the office over the next seven weeks, except for the odd director who would come downstairs to consult him about something or other. His taciturn nature was becoming excruciating to the women on the sixth floor. “Fuck, I’d like to get him in the stationery cupboard,” Mona had giggled during the girls’ lunch one Friday, to a chorus of assenting mmmm’s and aaaaah’s. “I bet he’s not so quiet when someone’s got his cock in her mouth.”

“He’s probably a total pervert underneath it all,” mused Catherine naughtily into her Martini. “The quiet ones always are. I bet bondage turns him on, PVC, costumes…”

“Still waters run deep,” agreed Sue knowledgeably, and Sylvie could barely contain her chagrin. That frigid bitch! What does she know??!

“Okay, girls,” said Mona, “a bet. First one to bed him…”

“What, what?” asked Catherine, getting excited.

“First one to bed him…” Mona’s eyes glazed a little as she dreamed a suitable prize, “gets to tell us all about it!”

“Cheers!” exclaimed Wendy and Catherine in glee, chinking their glasses against Mona’s. Sylvie felt a little pang of indignation. She was so sure she’d caught him stealing glances at her across the office… Didn’t that give her the right to claim him?

“First past the post!” grinned Mona, as if she could read Sylvie’s mind.

*       *       *       *       *

The following Tuesday Sylvie was working late. She was just running off some copies of a report she had drafted when the photocopier suddenly shuddered to a halt. She sighed (she was useless with these things) and gingerly opened the paper tray. The photocopier had somehow contrived to ensnare no less than three pages of A4 between its feed rollers. Sylvie gave them a tug, got no response, tugged harder, and then harder still, and eventually managed to tear away three half- pages, thus leaving the other three half-pages where they were, firmly caught up in the mechanism.

“Having some trouble?” Simon’s baritone made her knees mildly infirm and she had to steady herself on the photocopier as she whirled around. A couple of blonde curls fell loose from her sensible bun, caressing her cheeks. “Allow me.” He reached down into the paper tray and pulled at the remaining scraps of paper. They still refused to budge.

“Hmmm.” He set his jaw – Sylvie thrilled at its masculine contour! – and reached a little further into the photocopier. He pulled hard and cried, “Ouch!” Deep scarlet blood welled through the cut on his index finger as he pulled back from the machine and he looked at his wound. “Well,” he shrugged, “at least I got the paper out.” He smiled at Sylvie.

Sylvie’s heart was pounding and her pussy was getting slippery. She’d never have a chance like this again! Almost by instinct, she took his hand in hers and guided his finger into her mouth. She sucked down hard upon it, running her tongue over its tip. The coppery taste of his blood was mildly acrid in her mouth, a novel exploration. Can I really behave like such a slut? she wondered, but the way his eyelids had hooded and his mouth had slightly opened served only to tell her that this was it! She sucked his entire finger into her mouth, and the rest of his soft hand cradled her chin and cheek.

Now he slid his other hand down to her hip and over her ass. He sucked his breath in sharply as he discovered the firm territory of her derrière. She moved in closer to him, sliding a thigh up between his legs and tilting her mouth up to his. The kiss, the lustrous first kiss, made her feel like ripe fruit and she was trembling as he gently lifted her skirt up above her hips. Sylvie kissed him more urgently, locking her full lips on his, their tongues entwined. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shivered in delight as his fingers made their lascivious way to her sex…

Sylvie’s passion was fully aroused now. Simon lifted her – just a little roughly! – onto the photocopier, still kissing her searchingly. She unbuttoned his shirt, thrilling at the tufts of fur that adorned the hollow between his pecs. She leant forward to take one of his nipples in her teeth, biting it gently and enjoying the sharp intake of his breath, his involuntary response. The bulge in his crotch was equally involuntary, she reckoned as she palpated it with her hands, and she moved to unfasten his belt.

“Not here,” said Simon, pulling away from Sylvie’s hungry mouth and catching her by surprise. She looked questioningly at him. “Let’s do it on Sue’s desk –” damn that crooked grin! “– I just don't that cow.”

Sylvie giggled, feeling like a schoolgirl again. She led Simon back into the office, deserted at 9:30 in the evening and seeming so alien. No phones ringing, no papers rustling, no banal chit-chat – just silence. She was breathing quicker now, and she could feel her cheeks flushing. She fairly scampered to Sue’s desk, leading her man by the hand. At the last moment, Simon overtook her with two quick strides and in one decisive motion, swept the desk of its clutter. The little pink cuddly toy that Sylvie just loathed – apparently a Valentine’s gift; Sue had made so certain that everybody knew of her secret admirer; who was she trying to convince? – bounced onto the floor. Sylvie pushed Simon back against the desk and sat in Sue’s chair, legs spread wide, her pussy tingling in anticipation. Now – finally! – she unfastened his belt, opened his trousers and pulled down his boxers. Simon’s cock sprang free, standing hard and proud against the sky blue backdrop of his Polo shirt. Sylvie’s eyes widened with lust and she leant forward to take him in her mouth.

Simon gasped as Sylvie’s warm lips closed around his cock. She ran her mouth up and down his shaft, tracing her tongue around the helmet and sucking down hard now and then for just an instant. She looked up at him mischievously, still holding him fast. He was biting his lower lip, breathing shallow, eyes transfixed upon her. Sylvie felt totally in control of this man. She cradled his balls, gently rolling them in her lithe fingers. He moaned softly.

“You’d better slow down,” he breathed, “or…”

Sylvie pulled off his cock, watching him with a hawkish sexuality that had Simon feeling utterly bewitched. She unbuttoned her shirt and tugged down on her brassiere. Sylvie’s breasts tumbled free and Simon’s left eyebrow twitched. She thrilled inwardly at the effect her body had on him. Simon’s cock was also twitching; Sylvie guessed he was near climax. Just to tease him, she pushed her tits together about his cock and wanked him off a couple of strokes. “Stop!” pleaded Simon, suddenly grabbing her head and pulling her away. He breathed deep a couple of times. Sylvie still had her eyes on his cock, visibly throbbing in its agitation.

Simon regained his composure momentarily. “Your turn,” he smiled, taking Sylvie’s hand and guiding from the chair to her feet. As she stood, he kissed her long and slow, whilst expertly unclasping her skirt and letting it drop to the floor. Simon moved around behind her, hands on her hips and directing her to the desk. His focused intent, so different from just a minute earlier when he was this close to blowing a wad in her mouth, had her intrigued and just a little nervous. As she leaned forward, arms braced against the desk, breasts swaying free of her clothing and exposed to the world (if anyone were there to watch) Sylvie felt so deliciously sluttish. She wanted this guy inside her. Sylvie lifted her right leg and rested her knee on the desk, bending forward in invitation. Her ass tensed as she awaited Simon’s approach.

She felt his nose first, rubbing gently along her pussy, breathing in her sex scent and ruffling her fur ever so slightly as he exhaled. Then came his tongue, gentle yet insistent, probing along her slick mound and into her sex. She sucked her breath in sharply. The sensation was piercing, so pleasurable. Simon’s tongue traced its inexorable path from clit to vagina, probing ever deeper with each pass. Sylvie imagined her cooze cream gushing on his face, she felt so wet. His firm grip on her hips held her fast as he tongued her relentlessly, yet gently. Sylvie’s breathing was quickening now, and she snaked a hand behind her to grab a fistful of Simon’s tousled hair. She pulled him into her pussy, feeling his tongue writhing in her sex, the tide of her pleasure welling up within.

Simon pulled back and Sylvie panted in frustration. “Come on my face,” he said, and leant forward once more, burying his tongue within her snatch.

Sylvie was shocked. No man had ever said that to her before! But the abandon within her left no room for demure sensibility. Right knee still draped across the desk, she collapsed upon her folded arms, thereby cocking her ass and presenting her glistening pussy to Simon’s eager mouth. While his tongue still ferreted within her, teasing and probing her vagina, his lips kneaded and massaged her labia. Just as he felt the first little contractions of her orgasm, he moved his tongue from her hole to her clit, pulling the hood away from her pleasure nub to expose it to his tender ministrations. He slid a thumb inside her, and then – shocking! – probed her ass with his middle finger. She’d never had this before, this… Sylvie gave herself up as a violent orgasm welled up within her; gave herself up to this satyr who held her core in one hand while he kissed the epicentre of her sex. Sylvie moaned aloud as she climaxed, waves of ecstasy emanating from within and washing out over her body. She felt her ass clamping down on the intruding finger – it served only to heighten her pleasure as her pussy spasmed on this sexgod’s face…

But no! Pulling away? Why??! She looked backwards beseechingly, still racked with orgasm, only to catch a glimpse of his cock as he guided it towards her. She bucked her ass and felt him nudging up against her pussy. She groaned as her labia spread in gentle acquiescence, drawing him in and holding him fast. Simon thrust with slow, deep, regular strokes – Sylvie’s orgasm was prolonged now, reaching a plane of continual pleasure as she rutted her man. He had a strong grip on her flanks, burying his shaft deep and deliberately within her. Aaah - again he fingered her ass! Sylvie felt such lustful abandon… she pounded the desk with her hand, bucking ferociously and moaning like a tigress on heat.

*       *       *       *       *

It was nine-thirty the following morning when Sue, the HR manager, arrived at work. She was usually one of the last to get in, a rather transparent attempt at office politics dressed up as fashionable lateness. Everybody saw right through it and nobody really cared. As per usual she marched straight to her desk, asked Sylvie for a coffee (as per usual) and (as per usual) Sylvie obliged. It wasn’t in her job description and she wasn’t Sue’s secretary. But she was Sue’s understudy and Sue had a tendency to being tetchy if she didn’t get her way, so making coffee for her was a small price to pay for a smooth working environment.

“Where’s Mookie?” asked Sue of the world-at-large.

“Who’s Mookie?” asked Mona, not bothering to keep the utter boredom from her voice and not even taking her eyes off her monitor. She was a project manager and basically autonomous, so she didn’t have to take any crap from Sue.

“My Valentine,” said Sue, sounding triumphant.

“No idea,” said Mona apathetically.

Sue scowled and looked around. Eventually her gaze moved beneath her desk. “Well, how did he get down there?” she asked the world, stooping to pick the pink cuddly thing off the floor. No one responded, which didn’t please her. Just then Sylvie returned with the coffee. “Did you hide Mookie?” demanded Sue.

“No,” said Sylvie, which wasn’t strictly untrue. The fact was, she’d just forgotten all about the toy, somewhere between Simon’s tongue entering her cunt and the animalistic rear-entry fucking that had followed.

“Well, I want that report by ten,” said Sue abruptly. She sat down and turned on her computer. “Oh, ugh! What is this… slimy… stuff… on my keyboard? I need a tissue! Sylvie!”

“Coming!” said Sylvie brightly and with deliberate irony. Mona’s ears pricked up. “Here’s that report,” added Sylvie, handing Sue the nine-page document that – thank the gods! – had brought Simon to her rescue the previous night. “And here’s a tissue.”

Sue took both without thanking her and turned her attention to wiping something messy off her keyboard. Just then (speak of the devil) Simon entered the office. “Morning, Sylvie,” he said, pausing only to smile at her before walking on to his desk.

“Hi,” she blushed, with a smile of her own.

Mona’s jaw dropped. “Ciggy break,” she announced. “And you’re coming too.”

“But I don’t smoke,” said Sylvie, not getting it.

“First past the post,” Mona reminded her, “and the rest of us get a full description.” Catherine and Wendy picked up on this, and immediately grabbed their cigarettes.

Now Sue’s jaw dropped. She watched the four girls stepping onto the balcony in a huddle of gossip, and looked again at her keyboard. Then she turned to look at Simon, who had his head down at his work, blissfully oblivious (as per usual). Her eye caught something on her desk. Oh, that couldn’t be a pubic hair… could it?

~  Fin  ~

© Basil von Geusau 2007

Baroque Posture
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