Tami and Claire become a lot more friendly with Mike...

For the record, I am not a morning person. Never have been. For me, the challenge of overcoming the inertia of my groggy sleep state conjurs mental images of Houdini, breaking free of a straight jacket and fifty iron chains while under twenty feet of water. Yet somehow, I always manage. And as I was stumbling though the garage, groggily searching for my car to go to work, I bumped into Claire.

Normally the sharpest, most together person at the office, today she looked every bit as exhausted as I was.

"Long night?" I asked.

"Didn't get a single minute of sleep." A huge, shit-eating grin spread across her face, "But I'm not complaining."

"So, you and Tami?"

She nodded ecstatically, "Turns out there was a lot of pent-up tension between us."

"Damn, I only wish I could have seen it."

I finally found my car climbed inside.

"Hey Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"That naked picture of your girlfriend—showing us that wasn't an accident, was it?"

I gave her my most innocent expression. "What do you think?"

"I think I owe you one. I think we both do."

She glanced quickly around, checking to make sure there was nobody else in the parking garage with us.

"Speaking of which," she said, and then she quickly yanked up her blouse, flashing me a glimpse of her perfect, creamy breasts encased in a virtually transparent lace bra.

"See you at work," she smirked.

From then on, Claire did that every single morning. Always giving me a quick flash of her absolutely delicious—albeit totally unattainable—bosom. Her little way of thanking me for helping to bring her and Tami together. It quickly got much easier for me to wake up in the morning, knowing what was waiting for me downstairs.

If my first week working around Claire and Tami had been sexually frustrating, my second week was sexually excruciating. Since I had been the catalyst of them coming together, I also suddenly became their new mutual best friend, constantly on the receiving end of hugs and smiles and a mountain of affectionate attention.

And Tami—because she was Tami—went back to flirting shamelessly with me. Not with the goal of seducing me this time, just with the goal of making me feel like a stud. Still, it's hard to spend four hours a day hearing a hot, big-breasted girl tell you how good you look without your imagination running wild. And it didn't help that, ever since the night I'd given her that first back massage, there still remained an ever-present, unconsummated sexual tension between Tami and I. I couldn't stop dreaming about what would have happened if I hadn't pushed her away.

As predicted, the summer only got warmer, and as a result I spent most evenings and weekends in the pool at my apartment complex, splashing around with my two lovely coworkers and their increasingly sexy bikinis. Once the sun went down, we'd drift freely between each other's apartments, just enjoying each other's company.

At least once per day, they'd get turned on and start making out, right in front of me. But just as things started to get steamy, the girls always politely asked me to leave so they could have some privacy.

Sometimes—and I'm not proud of this—I'd stand just outside the door after I left, straining to listen through the wood as they moaned orgasmically in each other's embrace.