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OVERTIME by Dulaney Browne She had no choice. The demands were ridiculous and the pressure intense. She was up against deadlines and there were still discrepancies in the balances. It was her job to find and correct them. The audit would be the end of this week and her boss had been an asshole about the whole mess. There were so many other things she’d rather be doing than working overtime: having fun with her friends; shopping; even curling up with a bowl of popcorn and her boyfriend with a movie in the DVD player. She had dated Kevin for about two months. He worked in her building, but they met at a street vendor’s wagon during a break. She had managed to drop a big gloob of ice cream on some file folders he had laid on the top of the stainless steel cart. There were apologies, then small talk, and somehow they wound up exchanging phone numbers and email addresses. On their first date, he took her to dinner, then a movie, then to an ice cream parlor where he shoved the placemats aside and sat their bowls on a pair of manila file folders. She thought it was hysterically funny. From that moment she knew she liked him. He was easy to be with. They enjoyed the same kind of movies, laughed at each others’ jokes, and they both liked to try new and different things. He was ten years older than she was. But she really liked his maturity. He had an air of experience but he wasn’t arrogant or old about it. He just had a way of teaching her things. All and all, she couldn’t say she was falling in love with him, but she couldn’t help feeling a little giddy when she thought about him. Their relationship was already at that “serious” stage. She tabulated figures as the numbers blipped away on her computer screen. But there were still errors in the columns and she had to hunt them down. She was having a hard time concentrating anyway. Kevin was due back tonight. He was in Chicago for a week on business and Şerifali Escort had sent her an email saying he hoped to get a late flight home. She wished she could meet him at the airport, go to dinner with him, give him a warm welcome home. But noooooo. She had to work into the wee hours, doing this shit. The high rise office building she plodded away in was almost deserted. She was alone in her dreary cubicle. But she felt safe. There were security guards on the first floor and no one could get by them without flashing a badge. The doors to the office suites were also secured with cyber locks; and the only way to get in was with a swipe of an employee badge. No worries. Her cubicle was on the forty-third floor. On the rare occasions when she found herself stuck at work late, she loved to sneak a few minutes here and there to look out the massive windows at the twinkling lights of the city. She could see the glow from the offices in other high rises and she liked to imagine what other people were doing. Working? Gossiping? Making love? She also loved to watch the interstate. The little orbs of white and red lights fascinated her. They were like strands of exotic living pearls, moving back and forth across a span of strings. But none of that tonight. She sighed. It was just tappity tap tap on her keyboard as she ran her spreadsheets and balances and account vouchers. She froze when she felt the hands on her shoulders. A cold spring of fear jolted through her body. She gasped, held her breath, then almost consciously reminded herself to breathe again. Then it occurred to her that Kevin had caught his plane and came directly to the office to surprise her. “Kevin? Is that you?” “Yeah, it’s me,” he whispered. She smiled and relaxed a bit. His hands were not hurting her. But they were firm on her shoulders, not tight, not squeezing, but….solid. And they Şerifali Escort Bayan were holding her where she was. She was a bit startled by that and didn’t know what to do. She wanted to turn around and embrace him, let him embrace her, kiss him. But she didn’t…she couldn’t. She just sat there with his hands on her shoulders, frozen, waiting. “How was your trip?” she asked lamely. She tried to turn around but he stopped her. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “Just relax.” The voice was a low whisper. It could have been anyone’s: Kevin’s, Clint Eastwood’s, someone with laryngitis. His hands kneaded her tired shoulders, gently massaged her stiffness and aches. It felt good. She wanted to turn around and see what he was up to. But his hands were soothing, calming. She had work to do….but she gave into the moment and closed her eyes. She felt the tension slowly drain from her tired muscles, her stiff neck. She let her head droop and sighed: “Mmmmmmmmm.” Kevin’s fingers worked their way along her spine, pushing, rubbing, touching her where she needed to be touched. He had massaged her before, but they were half-hearted efforts, usually a quick prelude to sex. This time he was really putting himself into it. Jesus, he had a way with his hands. His fingers stopped on her back and pushed up, lifted, urging her to stand. Somehow, she was on her feet. She heard him push her chair away. It rolled across the plastic floor cover and out of her cubicle and bumped into something. His hands again worked their way over her back, not massaging her this time, but gently caressing. She felt them thru the sheer material of her top, working their way over her shoulders, and sliding down her body, his arms encasing her. “Kevin…..” She was going to protest, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. He was acting weird. Something told her she should put an end to Escort Şerifali this. This wasn’t the time or place. “Stop….” But she wasn’t even sure she had uttered anything when he said again in that low whisper “Shhhhh…don’t say a word.” His warm breath against her neck made her skin tingle. Her breathing deepened. She felt, well…. watery. She had told him about her sexual fantasies before he left for his trip. She fantasized many times about being taken, being forced by an anonymous man, being had in a forbidden place. Kevin had smiled, raised an eyebrow, and said it was “intriguing.” His arms were around her, his hands cupped her breasts. He pulled her close and held her to him, swayed with her gently back and forth, a slow dance without music. “Stop him,” a voice in her head mumbled. This was not fantasy; this was real life. She knew she should stop. But it was a feeble protest. He had her. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and offered her neck to him. He nuzzled her hair, nibbled on her ear with his soft lips. She pushed him with her ass, rubbing it against his pelvis. He pushed back. He was large, solid, stiff. Overpowering. She didn’t resist, couldn’t resist anymore. He slowly pushed the buttons of her blouse through the tiny holes. She shivered when the silky material slid over her skin and dropped to the floor. His arms engulfed her as he slipped his hands under her bra and fondled her breasts. She wanted to help him, to take her bra off for him, to give him access to her. But he held her too tightly, her arms pinioned to her sides. She could only put her hands on his forearms as his fingers played lightly with her hardening nipples. She was only vaguely aware when her bra came off and lay on the floor with her blouse. She moaned when Kevin’s lips kissed, nibbled, and brushed along her neck. His hands moved slowly down her body as she felt him taste her. He touched under her breasts, down her stomach, slipping his thumbs into the elastic waistband of her slacks and panties. Desire began to grow in her, a thing all of its own, taking over her body. She felt a heave downward and the rest of her clothes slipped over her hips and lay around her ankles.
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