Office angels

Bambi and Alma have shared a desk for three months, trading files and excuses for long talks after everyone else leaves. By week two they knew they were the worst kept secret the building ever almost kept—quiet fucks in the copy room, Alma’s mouth hungry on Bambi’s thigh, the copier humming against the wall like cover noise. Tonight Alma shows up after midnight in nothing but stockings and a long coat. She drops the coat on the floor, steps between Bambi’s spread legs in her own swivel chair, and sits on the strap already strapped between those thighs. The office chair squeaks with each slick slide down; Bambi grips Alma’s ass and rocks up, the strap buried to the base. Alma rides harder, one hand clutching the back of Bambi’s neck, the other cupped under her breast, nipple pinched between finger and thumb. Bambi pushes two fingers between Alma’s lips and watches her suck while their hips keep working. Alma comes first, teeth catching the top of Bambi’s shoulder. Bambi pushes her thumb against Alma’s clit and follows right after, a sharp, low groan against the dark. The only light left in the bullpen is the glow from someone’s forgotten monitor, painting both of them silver and shadow.