Office Lane 

Her name was Lane, she worked in the records department, and she had a
plump face. I don't exactly go for the plump type of girl, and I didn't
think Lane was terribly plump, per se. But she had a plump face and I
couldn't quite get that off my mind. Perhaps that's a flaw of mine.

I really noticed Lane when it occurred to me that she really wasn't all
that plump. She liked to wear those short black skirts that
twentysomethings wear these days. She had long shapely legs and usually
didn't wear panty hose with her short skirts. When she sat and typed at
her blue desk amid all the filing cabinets, her skirt would ride more
than halfway up her pink-white thighs and fill my eyes with curiosity
of what panties might lay just above the thin black hem of skirt.

Today she was wearing a long sleeve white blouse, wide lapels, with a
zip up front and as I stood beside her at her desk, requesting some old
files that I easily could have emailed her for, I watched as she
fidgeted in her swivel chair, left then right, thinking about where to
look first.

She was voluptuous. That was the word. Big chested, round, curvy. She
filled out her white blouse--just the hint of black bra shaded beneath
the white cotton--with curves that pressed out with her heavy sighs.

"Hmm, I don't know where we put the '98 receipts." She spun her swivel
chair counterclockwise to the big pullout files. She looked up at the
file drawers and I looked down at her skirt ride a little higher up her
thighs. Her knees were together, but her calves veed apart to the
floor. "That was before my time here."

"Of course it was, Lane," I teased, "you would've been in high school
then." I smiled, but she was lost in calculations, ignoring this fifty
year old guy taking up her time.

"98, 98. Where would that be?" She put a pencil's eraser up to her lips
and tapped it. Her plump lips puckered a bit in thought. The rosy pink
of her cheeks distracted me from her thighs for a second. Her hair was
dark brown and straight, parted in the middle, long past the middle of
her back. "Back in this file I think."

Gracefully she pushed herself out of the swivel chair, arching her back
so that I could admire the press of her breasts against her shirt, the
curve of her rump. It wasn't an ass; it was a rump--round and
squeezable.  I restrained myself from squeezing. But I watched and
admired.

I marveled at how so trim and fit a figure could match so plump a face.
Her white blouse pleated below the breasts, accentuating them by
hugging her tummy. I wanted to see that stomach to see how thin she
really was. She walked to a back filing cabinet, tan and metallic and I
followed behind her. Her black skirt hugged her round behind. I prayed
the 1998 files were in the bottom drawer so I could see her bend down
for them. No such luck.

Lane turned, smiled, and handed me a blue hanging file, a fat manila
file of duplicate receipts stapled to invoices inside it. She had high
arched eyebrows above her crystal blue eyes. Her rosy pink cheeks
puffed with her smile. Her face was almost fat, but so pretty.

"Here you go, Mr Jenkins, '98. And I wasn't in high school back then."

"Well, I'm so sorry, Lane," I smiled back. My mind raced to think of
how to turn this into a compliment, tell her how young she looked. But
she spoke first.

"I mean, God, do I really look that old?"

My mind shuffled. She's younger than I thought. What do I say to keep
the conversation going? Her crystal blue eyes were killing me. Her
whole face was smiling. Bail out, bail out!

"I just know you look gorgeous." Her smile became a brief giggle. Time
to cut out while I'm in control. Come back later for recon. I took the
file from her; my hand brushed her hand as I did. I noticed her hands
for the first time. Her nails were long and polished, but her fingers
were plump, like her face. I patted her shoulder, which felt firm and
not plump. "Thank you, Lane."

"Any time."

I went back to my office, but really couldn't work just yet. My mind
was turning over the paradox of Lane. I really should stop these petty
obsessions. I had a wife and a kid at home. But I kept finding
different girls to gawk at, and occasionally to seduce when I could.
This month it was Lane in Records. And she was young. Not in high
school by '98. What did that make her, 23? 22?

But what really had me was her plump face and plump fingers. They were
pink and delicate, curvy like little breasts. Was her body like a big
flesh pillow? No, she looked trim in her tight, short clothes. I needed
to see her naked, resolve this mystery.

At lunch Lane went out with a girlfriend, Minnie from Shipping. Minnie
was plain and forty and unappealing. In the parking lot, as I watched
from behind my Venetian blinds, Lane bounced slightly in the parking
lot. Her round rump moved poetically with her long strides. Such
gorgeous legs, such full hips. I had to see more.

I called Edna, the other girl in Records, and told her to go home early
today. We'll be doing audits next week, I lied, and I don't want to run
into overtime. Edna, a single mom, quickly agreed. I called home.
"Honey, I'll be working late tonight." Jesus, was that the oldest
excuse? Then I turned off the A/C in the Records room. The sun thru the
large bay windows started to work its greenhouse magic.

When Edna left I went rifling thru the personnel records. It occurred
to me I didn't even know Lane's last name. After almost half an hour, I
found it.

Lane Courtley. Previous jobs were all retail stores. Born 1985. Shit,
she was only 20. Am I officially a dirty old man now? Nah, I passed
that Rubicon long ago and I knew it.

Lane returned around two. I told her I needed her to stay late, get
ready for the audit. What audit? Jesus, I was just making this shit up
and no one was questioning me. I gave her busy work, records to compile
and enter into a spreadsheet. Two hours later I returned and Lane
smiled up at me. The room was noticeably warmer and she'd pulled her
zipper front down a couple of inches, revealing the start of alluring
cleavage.

I stood over her, pretending to look at the print out, but really
angling for a better view down her blouse. 'This is good, kiddo," I
said, patting the back of her shoulder. I returned to the print out
with mock concern, but left my hand resting on her shoulder as she
looked up at me. "Now we just need these same records for the other
three international clients."

"All the others?" she said, looking defeated. I could tell the warmth
of the room was bothering her. "But that one account alone took me two
hours. And Edna's gone home already."

"Lane, it's got to be done. This means everything to the firm." She
agreed and went to work while the temperature rose with the afternoon
sun beaming thru the blinds. What a trooper. What a team player. I
returned to my "work" in my office.

By six thirty the office was emptied except me Lane and me. I retuned
to the records room, surprised at how muggy it was in there. Lane's
shoes were off and a light glisten shone on her long pink legs. God
help me, her front zipper was down another inch and there was a hint of
black brassiere peaking out from her white blouse. She looked up at me
with her plump face, haggard. Her face was shiny too. I handed her a
cold coke.

"Here ya go. You're being a trooper. The company really appreciates
this." I rested my hand on her shoulder again, this time kneading it a
bit. She smiled up at me, taking the coke can. The v-line of her half
opened blouse flared a mite with my rubbing.

"That feels good."

"Should I?" I said, moving behind her. She put the coke down and
bunched her hair up to pull it away from her back.

"Thanks."

I began to rub her shoulders, pulling slightly on her bra strap as I
kneaded, hoping subtly to take the measure of her breasts. That didn't
work too well, but she did close her eyes and lean her head forward as
I rubbed. She uncrossed her legs and relaxed.

"Wow, you're really knotted up here." She only moaned a bit. "Good,
relax, kiddo." Her chin rested down onto her chest.  I moved my fingers
up from her shoulders to the back of her neck, rubbing with my
fingertips from shoulder to hairline and back down.

"Mmm, that feels good."

As I rubbed the back of her scalp, I felt her temperature, already hot,
move up more. She was getting into my massaging her. Over her shoulder
I could see a bit more of her cleavage down her blouse, but I needed to
see more. Hell, I needed to see it all. "You like this, Lane?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Here, let's try this." And with that I spun her swivel chair enough so
that I could reach the coke can on her desk. "I think you're probably
just getting warm." When I spun her back, I was now standing beside her
chair. her eyes were still closed. "Now hold still."

With my right hand I pressed the cold aluminum can against her left
cheek. She giggled with her plump face, but kept her eyes closed. I
rolled the can across her forehead and then onto the other cheek. She
giggled again and opened her blue eyes at me.

"No, no," I said and with two fingers brushed her eyelids shut again.
"Trust me, this'll cool you off. Now just relax." I sat on the edge of
her desk facing her, her knees resting between mine, and with my left
hand began rubbing her shoulder again while rolling the coke can across
her forehead again. "now, keep 'em closed."

She giggled again as I worked the coke can down to the side of her
neck. She was getting into me taking control.  And I was getting ready
to take a chance. I quit rubbing her shoulder and moved the coke can
down to her sternum where her white blouse was flaired open. I thought
she'd giggle with that, too, but instead she just repeated her
"Mmm-hmm." Emboldened, I pulled the zipper ring down a bit to expose
more chest and cleavage, then moved the cool can down to just between
her breasts, resting the botton of the can at the front clasp of her
black lacy bra.

She had the pinkest, almost white, swell of breast. I rolled the can
left and right onto the first inner swell of breast, but the can had
lost its condensation and was starting to lose its coolness now. I set
the can then beside me and pulled her chair closer by te armrests. She
breathed in deeper, eyes still closed, rising her breasts against her
veed shirt front. Her round thighs now rested between my knees as she
slunk deep into her chair. I returned to massaging both shoulders now.
She was staying warm, but relaxed, giving into the control I had over
her.

After a moment I lowered her zipper down more, then a bit more, and
flared her blouse out. The zipper was almost down to her navel when she
opened her crystalline eyes and looked at me quizzically. Her cheeks
were pinker than before and flushed. Was it the room's heat or hers? I
didn't care, I needed to see more.

"Mr Jenkins..."

"Shhhh. We're relaxing."

"But..."

"Shhh" and I returned to rubbing her shoulders, but now with my hands
inside her collar. Her bra cups were half exposed now, full and
blooming with white pillows of breast. As I rubbed my thumbs massaged
on her pectoral muscles and pulled the breasts slightly up in the bra
cups. "Just close your eyes, Lane," I whispered, "and relax." She
looked about to say something, so I went "shhh" again.

I moved my left hand to her face again, stroked her cheek, then neck,
then brushed her eyes closed again. "Just relax..."

She let her eyes closed again, giving up control for good, I hoped,
then craned her neck back in her chair as I stroked her from the top
her breast to the neck and chin and cheek with my fingertips. I rubbed
behind her ear next--this is a great place to rub a girl when you want
to get them out of their heads, or out of their skirts. With my free
hand I pulled down on her zipper again, exposing belly to the belly
button.

Her tummy was round, I saw, but not fat or lumpy. It was beautiful,
perfect, two sizes below rubenesque. "Mr Jenkins, I--"

"Shhhh" and I returned to rubbing her shoulders and the tops of her
breasts. "Let's lose this," I finally said, after she'd retuned to
quietly yielding for a minute, and started to pull down the zipper the
rest of the way. I pulled back the sides of her blouse, completely
exposing her bra and white round tummy. They were clouds, visions.

Now, understanding, she opened her eyes up at me, cocked her head to
the side, almost playfully, but didn't smile. Instead she stood up,
arching her back again as she would, and nudged her rolling chair
behind her. Then, moving her gaze to the floor, she drew back her white
blouse and pulled it off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her to
the floor.

To do this, she moved her long brown hair to in front of her, mostly
covering her breasts. Then, without quite looking at me, she unclasped
her black bra from the front to let it too slip behind her off her
shoulders. I started to reach out to  her as she did this, but then
Lane smoothly turned halfway away from me, still allowing her hair to
cover her breasts. I only saw the outline and shape of breasts--they
were large and drooped like teardrops from before her. Her moves were
graceful, not quite teasing. Her bare back was too me, an hourglass
based atop a short black skirt.

Finally she looked over her shoulder at me and let the bra drop to the
floor. Her arms were full at to the top, round and inviting like her
face, not trim and athletic like her torso. Her rosy cheeks were
flushed almost red now. I stood up from her desk as she turned to me
and brushed her long hair back over her shoulder, exposing a full white
breast. They were full and large and inviting as I reached for her. I
held Lane by the waist, then pulled her hair back from the other
breast. Her nipples were pink and fat--it was almost impossible to see
where the areolas ended.

I moved in to kiss her, cupping her breast with my left palm and
kneading it, bringing her nippled to a point. Lane, almost as tall as
me, moved her lips up to mine and responded, alloweing me to press my
tongue into her mouth. Her plump pink lips were full and matched in
rhythm to mine as I pulled her close into me, mashing both breasts
against my shirt. When we opened our eyes to each other after a second,
she looked almost punch drunk, drugged and puffy with passion. Her face
was serious and her lips were parted for another kiss.

I rubbed on her waist and ribs and then back up to her round pale
breasts, both pointy now and flushed. I pulled her in for another kiss
while I trace my palms down to her behind and fumbled around her skirt
waist for a zipper or clasp. Not finding it, I let off from the kiss
and Lane settled back into her chair, topless, and kicked her foot
beside me up onto her desk. With her other foot on the floor, this
raised her skirt up enough until I could see the beginning of her white
panties.

I rubbed her smooth leg again while she silently smiled up at me,
inviting but wordless. She looked almost childlike now. I could see her
as a plump faced ten year old, eight year old. Her hands folded over
her heart, her arms framing her beautiful full breasts as she swiveled
the chair and gazed at me. Her smile faded with decision, resuming the
punchy drugged look as I took her by both hands and stood her up for
another long slow kiss. I needed to see this girl naked. Now.

I hooked a finger in the waist of her skirt. "Let's lose this," I
whispered, rocking her in a swivel in her stand. Again she half turned
her back to me, as before, and found a zipper on the side of her black
skirt. I reached over from behind her and cupped her heavy breast as
she walked her hips left and right to shimmy the skirt over her hips
and down to the floor. Her panties were lacy and thong-style from the
back. Two full round butt cheeks appeared before she glanced over her
shoulder at me, hesistantly, as if waiting for approval.

 "Beautiful" I said, then pulled her to me for antoher embrace. Again
her naked breasts pressed against my work shirt as I cupped first her
waist, then her bottom. She reached around my neck with her arms at
last,  freeing my hands up to hook thumbs into her panty band and
slowly work them down her ass and legs too. I bent at the knees,
kissing her full breasts, teething her pointy nipples, then kissing
down her soft tummy as I pulled her panties down to her ankles and
stepped her out of them.

Her bush was the same dark brown but trimmed into a thin line reaching
two inches above her mons. I know had her entirely naked as she stood
before me. I kneeled down and buried my face into her abdomen,
massaging her rear with my hands and darting my tongue into her sex.
She smelled intoxicating and tasted rich and almost sweet. When I
pulled my face away, she was looking down at me, still serious and
drowsy looking. She was entirely naked now; I still clothed.

"Let me get a look at you," I said and shifted to get up.

As I stood up I became aware of my cock straining in my pants as Lane
looked at me, expectingly, yet maddeningly passive, almost hypnotized.
I caressed her cheek, then behind her ear again as she looked down away
from me. My other hand massaged her breast as I pulled her closer to
me. As she got close, I moved my hand back around to her behind and our
lips met again in a long, deep kiss. Her hips rocked and pressed
against my front as we wrestled our tongues in the arena of our kiss.

A noise interrupted up.

"Ahem"

Startled, we both shot looks over to the doorway, to see Mr Canby, the
company president, staring back at us. "Fred, Lane, I assume you're
both off the clock," the shriveled seventy two year old man said.

Stunned, then stammering, Lane threw one hand across her breasts and
started turning left and right looking for her clothes on the floor. In
his craggly old voice, Mr Canby barked at her, "Ms Courtley, please pay
attention to me while I'm talking to you!"

The sternness of his voice stopped her momentarily, and she looked
doe-shocked at him, now placing her other hand over her pubic triangle.
"I'm sorry, sir, I, I..." Her arm, tho crossed over, could not fully
cover her breasts and one pushed its nipple out over her forearm.

"Sorry nothing," Mr Canby snapped, limping into the room with his cane,
"I want to know if you two are on the clock! Fred?" We both froze for a
second, but Canby's gaze was on the quivering girl more than me, for
fairly obvious reasons. My mind raced.

"I'm an officer of the company, Mr Canby, so I'm not hourly. Since it's
after six, I guess I'm off the clock." The old man gave me half a
glance then turned to Lane.

"And you, Lane?"

"I'm... I'm..."

Canby brought his cane up and whacked her on her left arm, the one that
covered her pubes.

"Ow!"

she still shimmered with sweat, tho that would have been from fear more
than arousal now, as she dropped the struck arm and grasped it with her
other, exposing both vagina and breasts to Canby (and my) leering eyes.

"Stand at attention when I address you, girl! Are you on the clock?"

With frightened eyes she turned to me as if for protection. Canby swung
his walking cane at her arm again, but she stepped back to avoid it, so
that the brass stubb landed on her breast.

"OW! Yes, yes. I'm still, I'm sti--" she stammered, stepping back from
him, and bumping her rear end into the full length Venetian blinds over
the bay windows.

"Arms at your side, girl! Now!" old Canby barked, raising his cane back
handed now. "you're on my clock, you do as I say, got it?" She nodded
frantically, bending forward slightly at the waist, but keeping her
hands on the sides of her thighs. Canby then spoke to me, tho
continuing to rake over her naked pale body with his eyes.

"Jenkins, you're dismissed. I'll see you in the morning for some
explanations." I'd got a good look at her now and, my erection having
subsided, decided that discretion was the better part of valor for me
at this stage. The girl looked even more frightened now, on the verge
of being abandoned. I started to back out wordlessly when Canby barked
again.

"Wait!"

He reached his cane tip down to where her shirt and bra lay crumpled
before the desk. Lifting them, he poked them to me. "Take these to the
incinerator on your way out, Fred." This was definitely a time to play
yes man. I took them off his cane point silently. Naked Lane looked at
me doing this bug eyed and silent, as if she couldn't comprehend me
doing this. Really, it's amazing she couldn't grasp the situation any
better than that. I needed to keep my job and that meant I needed to
keep the old man happy right now. Frankly, she needed to, too.

Instead, seeing me about to depart with the top half of her clothes,
she started trying to think for herself again.

"I'm really sorry, sir," she started, finding her voice, "I'm very
super sorry. Please don't..." It was time for me to help the boss if I
was going to stay out of Dutch.

"Hush. You just need to be quiet, Lane, and do what Mr Canby says," I
snapped, tho a bit less forcefully than the old man had been.

Instead of thanking me, however, Canby just turned his attention back
to Lane, swinging his cane around to point it resting straight onto her
chest, right between her two heavy breasts. "Yes, girl, you owe me for
lollygagging on my clock." She was frozen with fear while he slipped
his cane point down her chest, down her tummy and abdomen, then rested
it right at the furry little triangle where her legs crotched. The old
man stepped forward, pushing his can in between the gap between her
legs until the point rested onto the blinds behind her and she was
straddling the end of his wooden cane.

"You got me, girl?" She said nothing, just stood there naked and almost
pinned like a butterfly while Canby looked her up and down. He looked
down and saw his foot standing on the girl's skirt. I saw beads of
sweat gathered on the boss's brow. Kicking it back toward me he
snapped, "Fred! Incinerate this, too."

I pulled it off the floor and backed out, closing the door behind me.
It wasn't until I was out in the hall that I realized how hot and
sweaty I was. The air in the hall way felt cold against my damp shirt
and pants. With the A/C off in the Records room, it must have inched up
past 80 degrees in there, not even counting the body heat Lane and I
had been generating.

As I moved down the hall, I heard a muffled swack, followed by a girl's
scream and a plea to "please don't." Then I heard a louder swack and a
crash of something falling over, followed by the old man's shouting
something unintelligible. When I got out to the incinerator I looked up
at the second story window, but only saw the occasional shadow moving
quickly across the horizontal lines of the Venetian blinds. As the
girl's clothes burned up, I thought I heard another high pitched
scream, but being outside, I couldn't be sure where that came from.
Plus the sun was starting to go down and I needed to head home.

When I got to work the next morning, police cars were silently rolling
their lights in the parking lot and an ambulance was pulling up the
driveway behind me. Oh shit, time to think. Do I bail out? Do I run? My
head was swimming, but the ambulance behind me was blocking the only
escape route. Play it off, boy. Be cool. Easy does it. Oh shit.

A cop approached my car while Edna from Records was pointing to me with
another cop by her side. Oh shit... think think. No, act innocent. I
stepped out of my car and asked him what was up.

"Mr Jenkins?" the cop asked me, rather than answering my inquiry, "Can
you tell me when you left the building last night?"

"About seven or so. What's going on?"

"Well apparently Mr Canby died from a heart attack after undergoing
some considerable strain last night. I'm afraid he passed away. We're
really not sure what happened. We were hoping you could--"

"My God, was he alone?"

"Apparently so, altho we found a pair of women's underwear that we
can't account for. But no, the building was empty and locked down when
the janitor found the body this morning. Anyway, we were hoping..."

But then my attention drifted as I smelled a faint but disturbing scent
coming from the incinerator. I crossed my fingers and said nothing
about it. The cop kept talking, but I really wasn't paying attention at
that point.



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