108,700 views

Denise rode the elevator up to the ninth floor. Getting off and walking up the corridor to the security office, she swiped her card through the door-side reader.

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself," she muttered, as the door opened. "You knew the deal."

Which wasn't much help, when everyone else in the LaSalle building was up in the Starlight Lounge.

This year, held on the sixty-ninth floor, the Christmas party was "the" event of the year. Or at least the event of the season.

"You're working tonight, so live with it, bitch."

Calling herself bitch always helped.

Blue-eyed and blonde, with shoulder length hair, Denise was a part-time security guard, and a part-time student. In the mornings she attended Northwestern University, then spent six of her seven evenings watching the floors. Boring, but the money was good. And she had time to study. Best of all? Tuition reimbursement. This alone, made the employment worthwhile.

Entering the security station (the fishbowl as everyone called it), Denise said hello to Ed Simeon, then dumped her gym bag in the corner.

"And a good evening to you," Ed replied, not looking up from his book.

A retired Chicago city cop, Ed was roundly robust, gray as a battleship, and miserably funny. The father of six, he had fifteen grandchildren, half a dozen of whom were older than Denise. He liked his newest employee enough to let her come in late sometimes, and to leave early. Denise enjoyed his attention, also knew Ed would never act upon it. She knew that for sure: he had already had the chance.

Retrieving her bag from the floor, Denise dumped it on the counter. "Quiet night?" she asked.

Ed said, "Quiet as a tomb." He finally looked up. "Everyone's up at the party."

Denise scowled. She muttered, "The least they could have done was rescheduled us in shifts."

Ed laughed. "You got a lot to learn, kid."

Denise gave him the finger. Then she stuck out her tongue. Then, to show him Ed still loved him, she blew him a kiss.

"Tart."

"I am not."

"You are if I say you are. I'm the boss."

Denise went, "Oooooooo," and flipped him off again. She loved her Ed Simeon. Even if he were a pain.

Unzipping the bag, Denise removed a large textbook and a binder full of notes. "You going?" she asked.

Looking at her with a neutral expression, Ed said, "Yes. I wish you could too, but one of us has to be here, and it ain't gonna be me."

Denise tucked hair behind her right ear. "I got plenty to keep me busy," she said. "Besides," and here she grinned cutely, "Someone has to guard the file cabinets and chairs."

Ed laughed. Then he grew serious. "What about that dress of yours?"

"What dress?" Denise said, looking pointedly at the book.

"The dress you bought for this party," he said. "That dress."

Denise said, "Oh. You knew about that?"

"Nothing escapes me," Ed said. "You should know that by now."

Denise laughed. "I'm beginning to learn that." She put the book on the counter--her Comparative Literature text- -and opened the binder. "It's okay," she said. "Really. I'll wear it sometime."

Your wedding day, perhaps?

"You enjoy yourself for us both," she said.

Ed remained silent and Denise let the silence extend.

Come on, her inner voice nagged. He's older than your dad.

So what, she thought. Daddy's good looking, and so is Ed Simeon.

Slut.

Cunt.

Don't call me that.

Then leave me alone, Annie.

Anne was Denise's middle name, also the name of her inner voice, with whom she had conversed with since childhood. Annie was her best--and sometimes only--friend.

Ed rose, and began gathering his things. "Beth said to thank you for coming in early. She wanted a jump on the party, and you gave her that."

Denise said, "Then go and enjoy it, old man, and stop bugging me."

Then Ed did something that both shocked Denise and thrilled her. Coming up behind her, he slapped Denise smartly on the tail, then kissed her cheek.

"Merry Christmas, stooge."

Denise grew incredibly red. She blurted, "Ed!" and then burst out laughing. "Get out of here, you!" she cried. "Before I call your wife!"

Ed went laughing to the door. "By the way," he said. "Don't ask why, but they installed cameras in four copy rooms downstairs." He shrugged. "Guess someone's been stealing the toner. Or mooning the machines. Either way, don't say I didn't warn you." He looked at Denise over his glasses. "I know what goes on down there, after hours."

Denise, already lit up like a Roman candle, violently shook her head. "Not me!" she denied. "Not on your life." Then she broke out laughing and exclaimed: "At least not here!"

Grinning hugely, Ed stood undecidedly in the door. Then he gave her a wave and let the door close. Denise listened to his footfalls receding down the hall.

"Whew!" she said, fanning her face. "That was intense."

Had Ed actually just whacked her?

Oh, yes, her inner voice said. He most certainly did. Then Annie warned: That man, despite what you think, Denise, wants to fuck you, really bad.

Her face hot enough to melt ice at fifty yards, Denise had to agree.

The fishbowl to herself, Denise put up her feet and leaned back in Ed's high-backed chair. She watched the monitors flicker. Stretching mightily, she emitted a loud, "Ummmm!" making joints everywhere pop. She yawned really wide.

"I need a good fuck," she declared.

Giggling, she looked quickly around the room. Then she said it again, more loudly. "I need a really good fuck." Then she sighed and leaned back in the chair.

Well, you won't get it here, Annie said. Not even if Ed comes back.

"Which is pretty okay," she replied. "Because he'd probably kill me."

You're not that out of practice, Annie said.

"Out of practice enough."

It's only been six months.

"Yes, six long months," Denise said. "Now leave me alone. I gotta work."

Scanning the bank of monitors, Denise got out the log, and started making notes. This was the dreariest part of her night, the constant writing of notes. Management thought (correctly, too) that if you didn't make notes, then you weren't watching the monitors, and if you weren't watching the monitors, then security was shot.

Security, Denise thought. What security?

The reality of it was--there was no security.

The week before Denise got her job, a twenty-six-year old woman on the tenth floor was raped. Caught by two men in the stairwell after hours, they bound her wrists with her own pantyhose, then spent the next hour raping her mouth. Then they took turns raping her ass. Then they raped her mouth again, right out of her ass.

Deciding she was too much fun for only the two, one of the rapists called two of his buddies on his cell phone and invited them in. They hurried on over. This woman had three daughters and a husband at home. Denise understood she was very pretty, but very demur.

They left her spread-eagled on the eleventh floor landing, her ankles and wrists bound to the stair posts. Her panties were stuffed in her mouth and her pantyhose yanked down over her head. They left alligator clips on both of her nipples and one on her clitoris.

Evidently, leaving the garage that day for lunch, the woman had inadvertently cut off one of the men. He vented his rage that evening.

Now, there were cameras in all the stairwells.

Sighing, Denise picked up her book and began to read. She kept away thoughts of the party. She kept away thoughts of her girlfriend--ex-girlfriend, excuse me--Meredith Wentz. Since they'd broken up (was it really six months?) Denise found herself more, and less interested in sex. More with the men that she met, and less with the women. Truth was, for the first time in her life, Denise's interests seemed pretty well split. She'd kiss a penis or a pussy, whichever came first.

Yeah, right, she thought. Stop with the fucking jokes.

Truth was, Denise felt practically sexless.

"But I still need a fuck," she said.

Well you're not gonna get it here, Annie retorted. You need to date.

"I don't want to date."

You just want to fuck.

"That's right."

Then go and fuck Ed Simeon.

"Maybe I will," she said. "So there."

Two hours had elapsed. Per the ever-watchful eyes of the cameras, everything was fine. The party up in the lounge was in full swing--she'd turned that monitor off an hour ago--and aside from the desk guard downstairs, Denise doubted another soul was loose in the building. She sighed. Then she sat up.

Was that Jane Marsh? Walking down the east corridor on level ten?

"Hello there, Jane Marsh," Denise whispered. "What are we doing tonight?"

For two months now, Denise had suffered a crush on Jane Marsh.

Ten years older than Denise, Jane had short, coal black hair, a finely featured face, a trimly kept body, and great big black eyes. Denise loved her black eyes. A senior account executive with Bear Stearns, Jane was invariably well dressed. For the party tonight, she wore a sequined black gown, full length to the floor, with a low back and a modestly cut bodice. She wore black heels.

Working out in the gym every night, often at the time Denise took break, Jane and Denise had struck up a friendship. Getting a forty-five-minute workout daily helped Denise stay in shape, but she was fooling herself about Jane Marsh. The woman politely but firmly rebuffed even her half-hearted advance, which Denise had not even deliberately made.

"I couldn't even buy you a drink," the twenty-year old sighed.

She sharpened the image on the display, only to loose Jane beneath the camera. She did not reappear on the next monitor in line. "Where did you go?" she said, switching between views. There! Just entering the tenth floor copy room.

The tenth floor copy room? What was she doing in there?

Looking at the status reports, Denise discovered that Jane's destination was one of the newly monitored locations. And the camera was concealed. Switching on the feed, Denise leaned forward to watch. She found Jane, unexpectedly were glasses, standing at the big photocopier, punching numbers into the keypad.

What, Denise wondered, was she doing? A senior account executive, making her own copies?

"And since when do you wear glasses?" Denise asked. Then she grinned. Most women looked cute in glasses and Jane was no exception. Denise hated herself in glasses.

Meredith wore glasses, she thought.

Oh, shut up, she told herself.

Denise tried to go back to her studies, but her eyes kept lifting to the display. Finally, she turned off the feed. "If she wants to make copies," she said. "Let her."

Five minutes later, Denise turned back on the feed. She watched as Jane fed one sheet at a time to the copier, then returned it to the folder. She appeared in no hurry at all.

"Will you go back to the party," Denise groaned. "Please?"

Then Annie cleared her throat. Maybe, she said, that's something she's not supposed to be copying.

"What?" Denise said, aloud. Then she grimaced. "Man, don't be telling me that. I don't want her in trouble." But, even as she leaned forward again, her hand went to the security phone. Suddenly, she didn't want to be there.

Why me? she thought. Why now? Don't you know someone is watching?

No, she answered herself. She doesn't.

Picking up the telephone, Denise speed-dialed Ed Simeon's beeper, then hung up before it could ring.

"Come, on," she admonished. "Stop fucking around and call."

She dialed again, and then hung up again. "Now," she said. "You're really pissing me off!"

Rising, Denise was about to go downstairs, when a second woman entered the room.

"What is this?" she mused.

She watched the second woman shut and lock the door, and suddenly she bit her nail.

"Don't you tell me," she said, slowly. "Don't you fucking dare."

The new arrival was someone Denise recognized, but didn't really know. She had curly brown hair, cut very short, and moved with a tomboyish grace. It was Christine, or Krystal or something like that. No, Denise thought; her name was Kristen. Kristen Fishlaw. A year or two older than Denise, Kristen was decidedly cute, but obviously a dyke. Denise liked a woman to look like a woman, not an imitation man.

Making sure the camera was recording, Denise sat back down. She felt decidedly on edge.

Come, on, she thought. You can't really be jealous.

And why not? Annie asked.

Because I hardly know her, that's why. And besides--she laughed, aloud--this isn't what it looks.

Oh, really? Then tell me what it is, then.

Denise grumbled, "Just wait and see."

The women immediately became engaged in a spirited discussion, having nothing to do with the machine. The copier ran on, ignored. Standing before Jane in a way that confirmed Denise's fears, Kristen raised both her hand and her voice, and that's when Denise saw it. At the bottom of the screen was a small icon, in the shape of a speaker; the camera had audio.

Leaping forward, Denise banged on the keyboard, and the sound turned on. Right away she knew Kristen was drunk. Or very close to it.

"Bullshit!" shouted Kristen. "You left because of me!"

Jane's face was very tight. "I left because of this," she shot back. "Not because of you. I told you to stay at the party."

"I didn't want to stay," Kristen complained. "Not without you!"

Jane angrily shook her head. "You're drinking way too much. You can hardly stand up."

"Then lie down with me!" Kristen whined. "On the floor!" She hiccupped, loudly. "We could do that!"

Denise seriously doubted this, not with them both in gowns.

Dressed in a very low-backed red dress (Denise could see the dimple in the small of Kristen's back), with a matching low bodice, this was the most feminine Kristen had ever appeared. She looked very alluring. And she wore no brassiere.

Jane laughed. "We've been through this how often, Kristen? A hundred times?" She tapped the younger girl's forehead, lightly. "Discretion, Kristen. D-i-s-c-r--" Kristen interrupted: "I know how to spell, Jane, goddamn it." She pushed Jane's hand away.

"You just don't know how to use it," Jane scolded.

Like a junior high school girl, Kristen pushed out her lower lip. Jane fought off a smile, then said: "Look, we'll go back in a minute, okay? Hand in hand, if you'd like. Now, please be a good girl, and let me finish?"

Kristen stuck a finger between her teeth. "You promise?"

"I promise!" Jane exploded. Then she laughed. "I don't know what I see in you, you brainless little twit."

This made Kristen giggle--and Denise groan.

Suddenly, Kristen bent forward and planted a kiss on Jane's mouth. Jane hadn't the time to move. Her eyes opened comically wide, and she hissed, "Don't do that!" looking all around. "Something weird's been going on." But she looked directly at the ceiling, at the location of the hidden lens, giving Denise a nasty start.

Kristen only grinned and leaned forward again, hands behind her back. Denise knew they would kiss.

"God damn it," she said, slapping the top of the desk. "You fucking bitch!"

She sat back in a huff, arms clamped over her chest, fuming mad and grinning madly. She laughed, bitterly, saying, "You fucking bitch," again, but she didn't stop watching.

You should have bought her that drink, Annie remarked.

Denise mumbled. "Somebody obviously did."

It was five minutes later and there was no denying her arousal. Denise gulped loudly. She resisted turning off the feed. She watched the two women kiss.

The two had started off slowly enough, Jane returning Kristen's kiss almost with restraint. But, as the kiss endured, hands began to move and positions began to change. Presently, Kristen's left hand was now cupped over Jane's right breast, and Jane's hand was behind Kristen's neck. There was no doubt about it; the women enjoyed their kiss.

"Smile, ladies," Denise whispered. "You're on Candid Camera."

Then she sat back, feeling sudden guilt over her voyeurism, and both guilt and embarrassment over her arousal. She felt zeroed in on herself.

Looking carefully about the room, Denise got up and inspected the air conditioner vents and the various pieces of equipment. She looked for any telltale dark spot or circular shape. She knew the search was hopeless, as any search of the copy room downstairs would be. Some cameras were not meant to be found. They could watch you through an opening no larger than a nail head. Denise gave up.

Returning to the desk, Denise found the two women even more aroused. Kristen had Jane backed against the copier and was kissing her neck. Her left hand was between Jane's legs, caressing her inner thigh. Jane's legs were widespread. Sitting down in Ed Simeon's chair, Denise let her own legs spread wide. Her breathing had deepened, and her heart rate increased. Her hands wanted to touch her own body. She forbade them.

I am so horny, she thought.

So am I, agreed Annie. Our nipples are hard.

Looking down at her chest, Denise saw this was true. Twin points stood out on her shirt.

"That is so embarrassing," she said.

But, she did not rub them down. And no way could Denise ignore the heat between her legs. She spread her legs farther.

I can't do this, she thought.

And why is that?

You know why! she shot back. Cameras!

Hmmm, Annie went. Then she said: Maybe Jane thinks the same thing.

"What?" Denise asked, aloud.

Annie said: She's definitely checking the ceiling.

Denise sat forward and saw this also was true. Jane was not as deeply into lovemaking as Kristen believed. As Kristen kissed every part of her neck, Jane's eyes scanned. She scanned every inch. For a second time, her eyes trained directly on the lens and Denise thought: She feels me. She feels me watching.

She reached for the controls.

Don't you dare touch that!

Annie! she protested. It isn't right! I can't spy on them like this. It's...it's...

Exciting?

"Disgraceful!" she said, killing the feed.

Annie harrumphed. I don't believe this.

"I don't believe it either," Denise said, sitting back. "I am such a wuss."

She sat there five minutes, lower lip stuck out, staring at the empty screen. Then she thought: If she suspected a camera, why didn't she stop?

Duh! Annie said. I tried to tell you!

Denise sat up, ramrod straight. "Are you saying--" she said, aloud.

That she was looking for you? Well, finally!

Denise shook her head. "I can't believe that! After she blew me off?"

Patiently, Annie explained: D-i-s-c-r...

"-estion!" Denise finished. "Of course!" Then she became indignant. "But why with her! That stupid little twit! I'm not a stupid little twit!"

Brainless little twit, Annie corrected.

"Whatever!" Denise exclaimed. She switched back on the feed.

Downstairs, Jane was sitting in a swivel chair, and Kristen was between her legs. This gave Denise an even nastier start, until she realized Jane dress was still down and Kristen's head was in her lap.

"Whew," Denise said. "I thought they were..."

They will, Annie said. Just give them time.

Denise shook her head. "I'm not sure I can watch. I'm too jealous." Her whole body underwent a strong shiver. "I have to turn it off."

You won't.

Don't tell me I won't! I will if I want.

Annie laughed. I've lived with you twenty years, Denise. I think I know you.

"Fucking bitch," Denise murmured.

On screen, Kristen raised her head and placed both hands on Jane's thighs. They talked too softly for Denise to hear. She picked up only a murmur. Then Kristen reached up and slid the straps off Jane's shoulders, and lowered the gown. This exposed Jane's strapless brassiere. Like her gown, it was black. Then Kristen took the tops of the cups in her hands and pulled them down also, exposing Jane's breasts. Denise almost shut down the feed. She did shut her eyes. Denise...

I can't do this!

Just wait a minute, okay?

Annie! I'm watching someone I like (God! I didn't know I liked her this much!) making love to another woman!

They're not making love. They're having sex.

Big fucking distinction! It still hurts!

Just watch, okay?

Petulantly, Denise crossed her arms. She stuck out her lower lip. "I'll watch," she said. "But you know I don't like it."

By now, Kristen's mouth was attached to Jane's left nipple, while cupping Jane's right breast in her hand. Denise had seen Jane naked before, just as Jane had seen her. She liked the other woman's small, taut breasts, because Denise had small breasts herself. The thing first tipping Jane to Denise's interest, in fact, was catching Denise's eyes on her breasts.

Denise closed her eyes.

What are you doing?

Just wait, Denise said.

Concentrating, Denise envisioned their last time together.

It was a week ago, in the upstairs gym. Jane had just whipped Denise badly at hand ball, and they were on their way to the shower. Jane suddenly stopped, saying she had to go back her locker. Denise went on ahead. Starting a shower and removing her robe, she then stood beneath the hot spray, fully expecting Jane to shower across the room, if she showed up at all. Since finding her out, Jane had maintained her distance. It therefore caught Denise by surprise when Jane turned on the shower beside her.

Lathering up her hair, Jane had asked: "Are you going to the dance?"

Feeling one-step behind, Denise said: "Dance? Oh, you mean the Christmas Party?"

"Uh, huh," Jane said, rinsing her face.

Given this opportunity, Denise stared long and hard at Jane's breasts. Smaller even that her own Jane's breasts were tipped with nutmeg colored aureole and nipples, the nipples large and puffy. Denise wondered what they would feel like in her mouth.

"I have to work," Denise said.

"They're not letting you off?" Jane protested.

Denise watched lather flow down Jane's stomach and between her legs. Like herself, Jane was shaved completely bare.

"Low woman on the totem pole," she said.

"Well that just sucks," Jane said. "With whom do I talk?"

You mean whose cock do you suck? Denise thought. Because that's the only why I'm getting off for that party.

"It's okay," she said. "Truth is--" she leaned in confidentially "--I'm not old enough to drink. And I hate getting carded, and I know they will there."

Jane shrugged. "A building full of personal injury lawyers? I imagine you're right." She cleared mascara from her eyes. She blinked water away. "You're not twenty-one?"

Denise nodded. "Not for another three months."

"You poor child," Jane said, laughing and placing her hand on Denise's shoulder. "I never would have imagined."

Hopefully, Denise asked, "How old do I look?"

"About fifteen," Jane said.

They both laughed at that.

A week later, that conversation made sense. Jane knew very well Denise worked tonight, and that she was alone, having asked pointedly about that. And as a member of the security liaison committee--they reviewed building security and advised the staff--this was something Jane could easily confirm.

Denise began to grow convinced. "But why like this?" she asked, again feeling jealous. "With that bimbo, instead of with me?"

Annie answered for her: Maybe the bimbo was first.

"The airhead? You must be kidding!"

Annie said: Remember Meredith?

Slowly, Denise nodded.

If someone had told her days, hours, even minutes in advance, that she and Meredith would remove each other's clothing and make love in Meredith's broken down Toyota, Denise would have laughed. Or slapped that person's face. But that's exactly what happened. To this day, a pair of Denise's Victoria's Secret panties were lost in that car.

"It still doesn't make sense," Denise said, watching the screen.

Annie patiently said: She knows you're watching, Denise, and she wants you to see. Ergo, she wants you as much as you want her. It's her way of letting you know.

Denise muttered, "A simple, 'Hi there, let's fuck', would have sufficed."

Downstairs, Kristen had switched breasts and was now attached to Jane's right nipple. Jane's left nipple stuck out like an accusatory finger. And though Jane stroked Kristen's hair in a very tender way, her eyes were locked on the ceiling. They were trained on Denise's own.

"Does she know?" Denise wondered, aloud. "Where it is?"

Her most obvious guess, Annie suggested.

As she breathed in long and deep breaths, her chest going visibly up and down, Jane's eyes remained glued to the spot. Suddenly, Denise slid back in her chair, undoing the buckle on her belt.

About damned time, Annie said.

Shut up.

I thought I'd never get relief.

Will you shut up? Please?

Casting one last look around, Denise sighed and ran her hand down her pants. Her fingers went beneath her panties, sliding gently over her skin. They found the hood covering her clitoris. Maneuvering herself apart, Denise's middle finger began a slow and gentle dance. Immediately, she shuddered.

Annie, sighed. Now, that's what I'm talking about, girl.

Denise did not tell her to shut up.

Downstairs in copy room ten, Kristen disengaged from Jane's right nipple and, after momentarily laying her head in Jane's lap, began raising Jane's dress. Jane stopped her. They talked for a long while, voices too low to hear. Denise strained to hear, regardless. "Please don't let her," Denise whispered. "Please?"

Finally acquiescing, Jane sat back and Kristen raised her dress around Jane's waist. Then Kristen slid Jane's panties down her thighs and Denise closed her eyes. Her lips moved silently, in protest, before she looked again. If Jane wanted her to watch, Denise would oblige her.

Her panties off and her genitals completely exposed, Jane silently watched the lens, her mouth open and her chest going up and down. Her nipples were very, very hard. Then Kristen kissed the tops of her thighs, then their insides, then spread her legs apart. With Jane's assistance, she brought Jane forward and draped her legs over the arms. Widespread, Jane now offered herself for consumption. Kristen buried her face into Jane's crotch.

"I can't watch this," Denise said. But her eyes never left the screen.

While Kristen's head worked in circular fervor, Denise duplicated the motion on her clitoris. She slid farther out on the chair, letting her legs spread apart, and let her other hand steal inside shirt. She freed her breasts from the brassiere--they were already in full bloom--and began to caress them. She began to moan, softly. On screen, Jane was again locked on the camera.

"I want to eat you," Denise whispered. "Oh, God, I do." She bit her lower lip. "Please, Jane? Will you let me, please?"

Jane's breathing was now more pronounced, her chest starting to heave, her eyes were big and round. She looked desperate for release. She squirmed beneath Kristen's tongue and lips, and Denise squirmed as well.

"I want you," Denise moaned. Her eyes half shut, she missed Jane's answering message.

"I want you, Denise," Jane silently mouthed.

Displaying a sudden, mischievous, don't-you-dare-do-this grin, Denise unbuttoned her shirt and pulled out the tails. She pulled her bra cups aside, baring her chest. Both of them were now bare-chested. Then Denise slipped the shirt back over her shoulders and yanked out her arms, and slipped off the bra. She let it fall to the floor.

"You," she said. "Are absolutely, completely nuts!"

Certifiable, Annie said.

Downstairs, Jane was becoming orgasmic. Her head twisted back and forth, and she bit down on her lower lip. Her eyes were half-closed--or half-opened--but still trained on the camera's eye. Her chest heaved up and down and her hands alternately gripped the arms of the chair, and the back of Kristen's head. She mouthed her words again. And again Denise missed them.

Up in the fishbowl, Denise exclaimed, "Oh, what the fuck!" and unzipped her uniform pants. Shoving them down, she put her hand inside her panties, and speared her vagina. She gasped.

Crying, "What the fuck!" even more loudly, she took off both her panties and pants. Then, wrapping her shirt haphazardly about her middle in imitation of Jane's collapsed dress, Denise threw open her legs. She straddled the arms.

"Eat me!" she yelled, filling her vagina with fingers.

Then, both she and her Jane began to climax.

Denise was immensely grateful for soundproofing. Laying back in the chair, collapsed, panting and red in the face, she looked fearfully at the fishbowl door.

"You know," she panted to her other self, "Ed could decide to check in."

Annie said: And he could bring his wife.

"And he could bring his wife," Denise laughed. "And pretty much everyone else."

Imagine his shock, Annie said.

"Imagine mine."

Just for that reason, Denise swiveled herself toward the door. Spreading her legs wide, smiling a very naughty smile, she put her middle inside herself and pleasured her g-spot. Then, putting the juice-covered finger in her mouth, she sucked it clean. Then she laughed again.

"I am certifiably nuts!" she cried.

Downstairs, Jane was getting dressed. Denise caught a final look at her adorable breasts, then Jane bent down and put on her panties. Denise scowled when Jane allowed Kristen to kiss her. Then Jane laughed.

"Whatever am I ever going to do with you?" she said.

"Take me home to bed." Kristen replied. She straightened her own dress, then helped Jane adjust hers. "Would you please?" Kristen asked, again.

"Fuck you," Denise muttered, in sudden anger. "Right up the ass."

Putting her arm around Kristen's waist, and casting one last look at the ceiling, Jane replied. "We'll talk about it, later."

Then they left, leaving Jane's folder behind.

"Quiet night?" Mike Horner asked. He was Denise's replacement. It was four o'clock in the morning.

"Same as always," Denise said, zipping her gym bag. "Did you go to the party?"

Mike yawned. Then he stretched his arms. Joints went pop in his back.

"Yeah," he said. "Until twelve o'clock. Then I went home." He looked at the control board. "Anything I should know?"

Denise said, "The feed for copy room ten doesn't seem to be recording. Other than that..." She shrugged. "Not a whole lot of anything."

Around two a.m., Denise had gone through the tapes, locating the cassette for copy room ten. She had removed it and put in a blank. The tape was safely stashed in her bag.

"Good night, Mike," she said.

"Night."

Walking slowly to the bank of elevators, Denise sighed and deeply yawned. She was really tired. And morose. And jealous. She thought she hated Kristen Fishlaw.

"I bet you smell like a fish," she muttered.

On the way down, Denise stopped at the tenth floor and went to copy room ten. She retrieved Jane's errant folder from the machine's cover and looked it through. To her untrained eye, the contents seemed innocent enough. Something to do with Enron Corp. Maybe she'd let Jane confirm that, later on tonight, when she knocked on Jane's door. Then she laughed at herself, knowing she'd do no such thing.

Dropping both the folder and the Sony cassette tape in an interoffice envelope, Denise wrote out a short note, adding her telephone number at the end. This she placed in the envelope as well. Then she went to Jane Marsh's office and left the envelope in her mailbox. Then she went home.

On Monday morning, at eight o'clock sharp, still asleep in her bed, Denise got a phone call.


Comments

Nobody has left a comment on this story, yet.