Wednesday Pt. 03

Claire snapped her hand mirror shut and smacked her lips to even the applied shade of wild rose lipstick before it dried.

Spinning lazily in her office chair, she considered the stacks of manila folders clogging her inbox and the complicated spreadsheet swimming with unintelligible numbers on her screen.

It all looked like a bunch of tedious busywork foisted on her by a bunch of lazy losers who should be doing it themselves.

Sorry, she meant “Clients” …bleh!

That was just inane corporate speak for the whiny, know-nothing, findom simps who begged her to tie the tax system up in knots so they could jack off over the rebate cheques she scored them at the end of the financial year.

Pathetic.

It all seemed so boring and didn’t appeal to Claire at all right now. The humdrum columns and figures seemed to have taken over her life at some point and leeched all the zest out of living. Her days were dominated by tax deductions, purchasing receipts, and bank balances.

When had she become a total fucking snoozefest of a person? Small wonder she was perennially single as her thirties loomed in the not-too-distant future.

The last time she had gone on a date was over a year ago now. Dale… Dan… whatever his name was, had talked a lot about valuing fitness between side-eyeing her thicker curves and openly flirting with the younger, thinner waitress.

Claire had ordered the carbonara as a form of silent rebellion.

Available men her age were either chauvinistic pigs, overburdened with personal baggage, or had laughably unrealistic standards that kept them on the market well past the proper time to settle down.

Had she simply given up after that regrettable dinner? Was that it?

It couldn’t be. Claire had woken up this morning feeling like a million bucks. The strange fever possessing her the last few days hadn’t broken exactly, more like settled into a manageable simmer.

She was still running hot and terribly hungry–usually a red flag for her lackluster attempts at weight management–but when she had checked herself out in the bedroom mirror, the reflection staring back had lost a few pounds.

The bathroom scales confirmed it.

Her thighs were less thunderous, her pudgy belly visibly firmer, and the beginnings of time’s downward march in her generous chest had miraculously shored up overnight. Parts of her sedentary body were looking slimmer. Not toned, by any means, but certainly more… tuned up.

Even her hair looked longer, shinier, and possibly a few shades brighter.

So, yeah. Perhaps a rush of self-confidence had informed Claire’s uncharacteristically revealing choice of attire today. It was her body, and how she chose to display it was her decision to make.

Admittedly, the clingy white leggings and glittery pink crop top were a daring selection, but that didn’t give Tammy the right to shit all over her parade.

That mouthy Asian bitch had shown up to work dressed like a punk dirtbag skank, with her short tartan skirt, dark fishnets, metal band t-shirt, and studded leather. Showing off her petite figure and a complete lack of tits.

Stones and glass houses…

“You know, most guys want a girl with boobs larger than their own.” Claire mused out loud as she took another spin in her chair. It was kinda fun and made her feel delightfully giddy. “You should probably start shopping around for geeky weebs who are into the younger sister vibe.”

“Fuck you, Cow! Stick to your chubby chasers and leave the real men for us women who have more to offer than a drooping pair of udders!”

Claire could practically smell Tammy fuming beyond the barrier of cardboard archiving boxes. She snickered and toyed idly with a stiff nipple through the thin fabric of her tight shirt. No pesky bra impeded her play. She hadn’t bothered wearing one, not given her recent… enhancements.

It felt nice. Like, really nice and particularly neglected regions of her ripe, womanly physique responded to the teasing touch. Feeling warm and moist and exceedingly empty. Ready to be taken.

She moaned quietly as fitful fingers came to rest over the sharply pronounced camel toe in her form-fitting leggings. Her libido had roused from hibernation over the past day or so, her plump pussy purring like an idling engine at all hours.

Claire had needed a panty liner once it was clear she wasn’t getting dry down there after her morning diddle in the shower. The one she was wearing now–the second one today–was already getting a tad swampy.

She needed to get herself a man, stat! Before she ran out of clean underwear.

The golden-haired accountant’s gaze flicked over to Sam’s neatly arranged desk, the image of its absent occupant flickering to mind in a whole new light.

He was young, male, and almost certainly unattached, lacking the hangups of men her own age while simultaneously being old enough for a spot of no-strings fun. Not a relationship, nah ah, never that… but what about a secret office situationship?

That might be thrilling. A tad taboo, given the age gap and co-worker status, but that simply added a frisson of spice to the idea. Sam’s unexpected outburst of take-charge attitude had startled Claire earlier, not that she was complaining.

He had been putting out some serious big dick energy for a while there…

She licked her plump lips and let her painted fingertips press down on the contours of her womanly mound with a soft gasp.

His seat had been empty for… how long? She hadn’t paid much attention to the time. The numbers on the old analog clock set above Sadie’s office door were as repellant to her as the numbers cluttering her desktop.

Too many fucking numbers when Claire was free and frisky for the first time since forever. But Sam had excused himself to the bathroom sometime after lunch–Turkish takeout. Smoky grilled meats, garlicky flatbread, and buckets of babaganoush–and now she focused on the little hands pointing out the hours and minutes…

It was past four in the afternoon.

“I’m going to check on Sam.” Tammy announced from the other side of the paperwork divide. “He’s been in there for a very long time. Poor guy mustn’t be feeling well…”

Claire was up on her high-heeled feet so fast her roller chair tumbled to the floor behind her.

“Sit your boney ass back down, Bird Brain!” She pounded a fist on her desk in outrage. This poaching whore thought she could get a jump on her? “I was just about to pop my head in on Sammy. So back off, you don’t have the friendly rapport with him like I do.”

Tammy’s head made an appearance around the side of the stacked boxes. Her delicately-featured face was a picture of scorn, plastered with corpse-white concealer, violet eyeshadow, and long stick-on lashes that hadn’t been there that morning. Hair clips shaped like tiny cartoon skulls held back her cherry-streaked bangs as she glared daggers at Claire.

“Friendly rapport? Is that what you call barking a coffee order at him and occasionally shaking your flabby butt in his general direction?” She snorted. “I think you’ll find he’s more receptive to a classier, more refined approach.”

“Fuck you. I can be, like, elegant and shit too!”

“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth, Moron?”

The door to the men’s room squealed open on rusted hinges and both women jumped in the manner of guilty children caught stealing cookies as the man of the hour staggered out.

Sam looked distinctly disheveled. His hair was an ash blonde riot, far removed from the usually neat side part. His untucked shirt poked from under his sweater vest, and his pressed khaki slacks had gained a haphazard collection of wrinkles. Even the collar of his business button-up was twisted, the necktie missing.

A wave of funky odor washed out with him as the stocky young man hurried to his desk. Like the fog from a smoke machine following a rockstar out onto the stage. A salty musk rolled over Claire in an olfactory wave, sending her weak at the knees.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” Sam muttered, muscles bulging against stretched clothing as he squeezed into his chair. It creaked under his weight. “You won’t want to go in there for a while. Not that you’re supposed to, anyway. It is the men's room and all. No girls in there… not allowed.”

She and Tammy traded challenging stares before bright, simpering smiles graced their cosmetically enhanced expressions, and both strutted toward their junior colleague.

Claire knew she had the advantage there.

A girl needed nice wide hips and some padding in the rear to sway for a properly sexy strut. The tall heels helped, too. And while she wasn’t as hefty downstairs as yesterday, Claire still had plenty enough to make a good showing.

Much better than that skinny Asian clod, clomping about in her torn fishnets and ridiculous platform hightops.

“You’re so right about that, Sammy,” She crooned sweetly, perching her shapely butt on the edge of his desk and crossing her long legs right next to his keyboard. The white leggings conformed to her thick thighs like a second skin. “And I thought it was, like, super cool the way you moved all those big, heavy boxes earlier. I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for helping a girl out.”

Claire kept up the demure tone and stole smoldering glances through half-lidded eyes while teasing a shiny lock of her increasingly golden hair down over her prominent breasts to capture his attention.

Tammy shot her a dirty look before launching into her own plan of attack, gliding up behind Sam to rest her delicate hands on his broad shoulders.

“My goodness, but you are tense from all the hard work you do for us, Sam.” She purred, pressing her thumbs into the base of his stiff neck and massaging a path down the ridge of his spine. “Is that a new cologne you’re wearing? Because you smell incredible. Now relax and let me work out some of these knots for you…”

“I, um–” Sam’s voice devolved into a heartfelt groan when Claire boldly slid the pointed toe of her four-inch pumps into his lap.

It came to rest against something that was also tense and stiff. A huge, adamantine outline shoved down his left trouser leg. Both women’s gazes were drawn to it as though magnetized, watching it grow and harden.

“Hey, I don’t hear the clicking of fingers on keyboards out there!” Sadie’s commanding voice shouted from her office, shattering the sexually charged atmosphere and sending everyone scattering back to their desks. “The end of the quarter is only a few short weeks away. We’re deep into the home straight here, people!”

Amid the mad scramble to sound busy, nobody noticed as a mostly naked Zoey slunk out of the bathroom and crawled back into the stacks of ancient filing cabinets, giggling silently with her soaked panties clenched firmly between her teeth.

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