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Order Date, Ship Date

Short story By: WriterErotic

Angela Beaumont plays a game during a meeting.

Submitted:Feb 15, 2008    Reads: 1,000    Comments: 1    Likes: 3   

I was challenged to write an erotic story using these tne words: Keyboard, Pen, Yellow Apple, Nipple Clamp, Stapler, Water cooler, Cattle prod, Armor, Electric Car, Humidifier. Not exactly conducive to the erotic genre, are they? I didn't think so, either. Here's what I came up with.

- - -

Angela Beaumont let her index fingers lightly touch the raised dots on the "F" and "J" keys, her other fingers hovering above the neighboring keys, but she could not bring herself to actually touch the keyboard. She couldn't focus on anything other than the nervousness and trepidation that seemed to have taken over her entire being. She was more worried than she'd been getting ready for her first date, more apprehensive than when she'd lost her virginity, more anxious than the first time she went skydiving, and all of it was centered on the meeting that was to take place in her office in exactly five minutes.

There shouldn't be anything to worry about. It was the usual, daily status meeting. Every morning, she met with Milt, John and Jennifer, the Production Manager, Production Scheduler, and Customer Service Manager respectively. As the Business Manager, Angela held the meeting in her office. It was generally a quickie: ten to fifteen minutes of production status, customer issues or changes, and new projects coming down the line. Although the schedule this morning was the same as every day, an alteration had been made, and it was this single modification that caused her such stress.

Beneath the huge, oaken desk, Angela's skirt was hiked up over her hips, her panties in a ball at her feet. Each of her knees was tied to the arm of her chair, preventing her from closing her legs, and between those legs, out of view of everyone on the opposite side of the desk, knelt a stunningly beautiful, nearly naked brunette woman with eyes like molten amber. She didn't even know the woman's name.

There were trigger words the woman would respond to, or at least, that's what Angela's Mistress had explained. Certain words would cause the unnamed brunette to perform certain actions between Angela's legs. If the word ship was spoken, the woman's tongue would go to work along Angela's lips. The word date would cause her to penetrate Angela with her fingers, and if the word order was said aloud, the woman would stimulate Angela's clitoris. She was to remain focused on her meeting, and do her best not to give away their little game.

Angela sat straight in her chair, her posture perfect, nervousness tingling through her like a murmur through a crowd. She pushed her keyboard to the side and lifted the Montblanc pen from its holder, rolling it nervously between her thumb and forefinger. She shouldn't have agreed to this game. What they did outside the office was one thing, but this could jeopardize her career. What would she do if she was caught? What could she possibly say to explain the situation? Before she could even consider the question, a tap on her door indicated the meeting was about to begin.

"Come in," she called to the closed door, squaring the arms of the chair with the desk, afraid of anyone catching a view of what was concealed beneath.

Milt backed slowly inside, a stack of folders held at waist height towered up to his chin, which he used to hold them steady. A yellow apple was clenched in his teeth, and she could hear his noisy breathing. He was in his early sixties, close to retirement, with short, grey hair and a fashion sense that screamed fifties science teacher. He shuffled to Angela's desk and dropped the stack of folders on the corner, grabbing the apple from his mouth and taking a deafeningly loud bite. He smiled at Angela as he plopped down into the chair on the left.

"Mornin'," he said around mouthfuls of apple.

"Good morning," was all Angela could get out before John pushed inside.

John was self-important and arrogant, and if he reported to her, Angela would have fired him a long time ago; she couldn't stand John. He wore a K-Mart special olive polo shirt, the kind you could buy on sale for twelve ninety-nine, and his glasses perched awkwardly on his pinched nose. His hair looked like it had been cut by a near-sighted epileptic. There was nothing extraordinary about him aside from his ego. He leaned back in the chair beside Milt and stared out the window past Angela without a word.

She was still thinking of how badly she wanted to slap John when Jennifer entered. She had a single folder tucked under her arm and a cup of coffee in her hand. She was dressed smart, as always, in a navy pin-striped jacket and skirt combo, wide white collar and cuffs protruding from under the silky fabric of her jacket. Angela wished she looked as good in a suit, and a pang of jealousy reverberated through her.

Jennifer smiled at Milt. "Good morning, boys." Her voice had a sing-song quality, as if she didn't have a care in the world. She glanced at Angela and winked conspiratorially.

"Before we get to the orders," began Jennifer, and Angela felt a tongue press against her clitoris, "I just need to check one ship date with Milt."

Angela felt the tongue move over her lips and fingers penetrate her almost instantly. She sat up even straighter in her chair with a sharp intake of air, and wasn't even sure if Milt responded. It was all she could do to concentrate on the three people in front of her and not the sudden waves of pleasure emanating from between her legs.

She remembered one of her first bondage sessions with her Mistress, and the focus she had learned to block out the pain and pleasure from the nipple clamps and perform the duties her Mistress had commanded. This was essentially the same. She couldn't acknowledge the situation, and had to pretend that everything was normal with two men and her Mistress sitting across from her. She looked at Jennifer, the woman who she called only Mistress when they were outside the office, with pleading eyes.

Jennifer smiled and said, "Thanks, Milt," to whatever response he had given to her query. She winked again at Angela and sat in the chair furthest to the right.

Angela mentally gathered herself and tried to remember her standard meeting plan. "Status?" She looked at Milt.

"Okay," he lifted a pile of folders from the top of the stack with which he had arrived and shuffled through them. "Forty-eight orders in house."

The tongue was back on Angela's clitoris sending shivers of sensation throughout her body.

"We'll make the due date on thirty-nine of them, no problem," Milt continued.

At the word "date", two fingers moved slowly into Angela, pushing unhurriedly, deeper than the last time, working their way in. She could feel herself begin to flush, her face reddening as the tongue on her clitoris moved in concert with the two fingers slowly fucking her.

"We've got two," said Milt, flipping open a folder on his lap, "that have to be pushed out. There's no way we can meet the ship date."

The unnamed woman's tongue and fingers picked up their pace at the mention of the secret words. Angela's body wanted to grind against that beautiful face between her thighs, but she resisted. A deep push inside nearly made her cry out, and her hand shot out in front of her, fingers extended. She tried to cover by grasping her stapler.

Trying to recover quickly, she picked up a few stray pieces of paper from her in bin and stapled them together. The tongue moved down over her pussy, licking slow lines over both outer lips, fingers still moving in and out.

"Are you alright?" Milt asked the question, but both he and John were giving her strange looks. Nothing she said would change the fact that they both thought she was losing her mind. This would give them water cooler gossip for weeks. She had to end this meeting quickly.

"Fine, fine." Angela laughed a bit, nervous and breathless, and tried to recover. "Just had to staple these before I forgot."

Milt gave her a sideways smile, eyes questioning, as if he were afraid of what her next random outburst might be.

"Please, go on." Angela smiled again, trying to recover her serenity while the unseen woman continued her oral assault below the surface of the desk.

"We need new ship dates on…" Milt thumbed through the papers while the unnamed brunette thumbed Angela's clitoris. "These two," he continued, handing two sheets of paper to Angela.

She took them, almost able to act normally, as if being licked and finger-fucked were part of every meeting. She still wanted to force that woman's face deep in between her thighs, thrust her hips at that searching tongue and those probing fingers, but she held her desire in check. She would not lose it in front of Milt and John, regardless of whatever plan Jennifer had concocted.

Angela scanned the pages Milt had handed to her. She barely even noticed the words, and had no concept of what either page said. There was no way she was going to be able to do this. The presence below her desk was unquenchable, the tongue and fingers working mercilessly on her, as if the only goal the woman had was to draw an orgasm from deep within Angela. She passed the sheets to Jennifer.

"What do you think?" Angela leaned back in her chair, fingers grasping the arms tightly, knuckles whitening.

"Orders, dates, shipping," Jennifer put on an exasperated look as the unnamed woman below the desk began a new round of assaults upon Angela's soaking wet pussy. "Why can't we just ship orders when we say we will? Why do we have to give new dates for every order?" Jennifer turned to Milt and John.

A cattle prod would have elicited a less visible response from Angela. At the slew of trigger words, the woman under the desk increased her tempo to a fever pitch, fingers slamming in and out, tongue and thumb rubbing circles over Angela's clit. She felt her body spasm, as an orgasm centered in her over-stimulated clitoris rippled through her. She grasped the arms of the chair and threw her head back, her mouth opening wide in a silent scream. She tried to cover the motion by extending her arms up above her head, as if she were just stretching, but it had to look contrived and bizarre to the two men in the room.

"Seriously, guys," said Jennifer, drawing their attention away from Angela, who was still trying to catch her breath. "We give you an order, you give us a date, then you can't meet that date." She shook her head in annoyance as the brunette woman probed deep inside Angela. "You give us another date, then you can't meet that date. Then another date, and another date, while our orders are backing up."

Angela was positive she was going to explode. The cool calm she had pulled on like armor was crumbling as the woman below the desk followed Jennifer's verbal lead and battered Angela's pussy and clitoris with her tongue and fingers, working a magic the likes of which Angela had never experienced. She wanted to scream, wanted to kick Milt into his Oldsmobile and John into his little electric car and have her office to herself, the whole building to herself, a private playground where she could indulge in the breathtaking sensations that were coursing through her nervous system.

So lost was she in the world centered between her legs that the loud noise form outside her window barely even registered. She opened eyes she didn't even realize she had closed to see everyone staring past her out the window beyond.

"Was that a humidifier?" John looked amazed.

"Air conditioner," said Milt.

"Holy shit," said Jennifer. "That fell from upstairs."

Angela tried to assimilate this information as the sudden absence of stimulation allowed her to temporarily regain her cognitive functions. Something had fallen, outside, but she really had no idea what was going on. She felt her labored breathing begin to slow, felt the sweat bead on her forehead and between her breasts.

John, Milt, and Jennifer leapt from their chairs and bolted for the door, all of them intent on finding out what had fallen from the window upstairs and who might be injured. Milt stuck his head back in the door.

"You coming?" he couldn't believe she seemed so uninterested in the potential disaster.

"Go ahead," Angela said, "I'll come in a minute," and smiled to herself and her double-entendre.

Milt sprinted down the hall towards the elevator. The office was blissfully empty. The brunette had stopped all her ministrations when the commotion over falling appliances had begun. She looked up from between Angela's thighs, her face glistening with saliva and other bodily fluids, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight.

Angela looked down at the woman, a complete stranger who had just given her an orgasm during a business meeting. She smiled; the brunette woman just stared.

"Ship," said Angela.

The brunette's face lit up, a beaming smile spreading from ear to ear, and then leaned forward, moving her tongue along Angela's lips in a delightfully delicate manner.

"Order," said Angela, and watched the woman's tongue move onto her clitoris, feeling the electric current shoot through her entire body. "Order."

She stared down her body at the tongue, and then closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. "Order. Date. Ship. Order date ship, order date ship, order date, order date, date, date..."


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