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Copyright © 2015 by C. C. Morian
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
ALLURE OF THE VIXEN
About the author
Books by C. C. Morian
Books by C. C. Morian and Blaise Quin
Find Out About New Releases
ALLURE OF THE VIXEN
by
C. C. Morian
I don’t do office romances.
In a prior job, I’d had one, and it was a disaster. Not the romance, but the aftereffects. Not only for me, but for her. I swore I’d never again get involved with someone at the office. There were plenty of other women out there to fuck. So in my new company, I studiously avoided putting myself in situations where something could happen, like going out for drinks after work. I never flirted with anyone, staying totally businesslike and professional. If women came on to me I ignored it.
But avoiding romance in my office was often a challenge; long work nights and frequent business trips put a lot of the employees in positions where they were spending a lot of time with work colleagues—often more than with their spouses. It led to an inevitable amount of sleeping around, which the company frowned upon, but couldn’t really do much about, unless it was a manager and subordinate thing. Even that was hard to police. Single men and women slept together, married men and women slept together, and single and married people slept together.
I don’t want to give the impression that the company was one big sex retreat, far from it, everyone worked really hard, and the competition was intense. A lot of people were so focused on their careers they had no interest in being sidetracked or diverted by an affair or even a quick roll in the hay. This was especially true for the women, who had to work extra hard just to get on an even playing field with the men, it being a male dominated culture and industry. And sleeping around to get ahead was definitely not a ticket for anyone, male or female, as quite a few people had discovered.
But. . .put men and women together, for long hours, under stress, out of town, free from their other lives, their non work lives, and things just happen. It’s biology.
I was viewed as being fair as a manager by the people who worked for me, a good employee by the owners, and maybe a little mysterious by everyone, since I didn’t discuss my personal life much. It was just no one’s business. To the women, I was also considered safe, since I didn’t hit on them. After a while some of them, especially the married ones, began to flirt with me, teasingly, not really meaning anything. They even talked about finding me a nice girlfriend. I went along good naturedly, and everyone enjoyed the banter. I didn’t really break my rule about not flirting, I didn’t respond in kind, but just laughed it off. Seeing that I didn’t take it seriously, even the single women got in on the act.
So I thought nothing of it when Joanne, the hottest woman in the office, tried to wheedle information out of me about my love life. Well, maybe I thought a little about it, because if you saw Joanne you’d know what I mean. Joanne was the woman every guy in the office lusted after, and maybe some of the women as well. Not only was she gorgeous, she had a killer body. I kept in great shape myself, and a tight body was the first thing I looked for in a woman. I’d heard that Joanne went to the gym every day, and her stomach was so flat you could bounce a quarter off of it. She had these killer green eyes, with long lashes, her hair in that hue in between blonde and brown that made it look really down to earth and natural, which gave her otherwise elegant looks a hint of the approachability. Yet she could also appear sultry and sensuous seemingly at will.
Joanne was always dressed immaculately, in stylish outfits that were totally appropriate for a professional business environment. But because her body was so good, she just looked better than the other women. Her legs were absolutely perfect, nicely toned, with thighs that you could see through. From her time in the gym, her arms had a wonderful firmness, not the flab that so many busy women had, who didn’t have time to work out. Joanne was just as busy as the rest of us, but she made time. When she wore a sleeveless dress, nothing wiggled in her arms, you could see the outline of her triceps, which was wickedly sensual. Her breasts were just the right size, and they jut out, erect, like they had muscles of their own. With a thin waist and hips, the effect was incredibly alluring; she was even better looking than most models, with their stick legs, bony asses, no breasts, and vacant stares. She had olive skin and the slightest accent that I couldn’t place, something European, an exotic voice to match an exotic look.
In my experience, women who had bodies like hers did one of two things. Some dressed to show off all of their assets, dresses too short, heels too high, necklines too low. Sleazy. The rest went to the other extreme, hiding everything in loose baggy clothing, afraid of being labeled as a bimbo. Joanne did neither. But I recognized her subtly, she was fully aware of what she had, and she found a way to show it off. It was far more practiced than it appeared.
Just that should have been a warning, especially to me.
I almost didn’t befriend Joanne. I’d been with my share of women, all of them good looking, and though I am a very confident guy, Joanne was so tempting that I was always a little careful around her, trying hard not to stare, keeping my communications short and limited to work. Strong willed as I was, I was afraid I’d succumb and do something stupid.
If I had met her anywhere else except the office, I would have wanted her. Given the circumstances, I wanted her, but I wouldn’t have her.
But one night, at the company holiday party, I found myself in a group of people. Joanne was there. She was funny in that dry humor sense of way, saying something outlandish with a perfectly serious face, until you’d realized she was joking. She had an amazing ability to put people at ease, probably gleaned from a long history of having to disarm both men and women, men who wanted to fuck her, and women who were jealous. To the other women, her personality helped mitigate her beauty, and she actually had a lot of women friends, women who might otherwise be jealous of her body and looks.
That night, maybe because I’d had a few drinks, I had my first non work related interaction with her, not really in private, there were plenty of other people around, but there was also a lot of noise from other conversations and the music.
Marie, one of the secretaries, who definitely had too much to drink, was lustily eying one of the guys from the manufacturing department. “So what’s your story, Dan?”
“What do you mean?” Dan asked.
“I never catch you looking at the ladies,” said Marie.
“I, uh,” Dan mumbled, co
nfused.
Everyone laughed, not really at Dan, just at the interchange. “You keep track of who is looking at who in the office?” asked another guy, who I didn’t really know.
Marie took a big swig of her drink. “That’s the most fun part of my job. You guys are so oblivious. You think you are being surreptitious, ogling someone when you don’t think they are looking. But what you don’t think about is who might be looking at you.”
Quite a few of the men’s faces reddened at that, and there was some nervous laughter, everyone, including me, probably thinking about having done just that. I don’t redden, I can control that, but it did make me resolve to keep an eye open to see when Marie was around. The women laughed.
Marie wagged her finger. “Oh, you ladies, you are just as guilty. I see you checking out the men, too.”
“So you never look?” asked Joanne. “Maybe someone is watching you, too.”
Marie smiled. “Hey, I’m upfront about it. I make no secret of who I think is worth looking at.” She stared at Dan, who fidgeted. “So Dan, you didn’t answer my question. You gay or something?”
“Let’s not go there,” I warned.
“Of course not,” said Marie. “I just want to know if I should keep track of whether he is looking at men or women.”
Or whether you should write him off your list as someone you want to screw around with, I thought.
Dan recovered his wits. “I better watch where I look from now on. And by the way, I’m straight.”
“So are you keeping notes on everyone, Marie? Maybe planning a little blackmail?” asked Joanne, her tone suggesting that blackmail was something interesting.
“I’m not sure I want to hear the answer to that,” said someone else, and everyone laughed again.
Marie ignored the comment. “I’m not planning any blackmail, just looking is juicy enough. But I do have a list on everyone. . .” She looked around the group, holding each person with a stern look in her eyes. A lot of people glanced away, and others looked a little nervous. I watched it all, more interested than I thought I’d be, I wasn’t one for office gossip, but maybe underneath it all wondering who Marie had caught me staring at.
Like Joanne. I glanced over at her, even in this environment, especially given the topic of conversation, acutely aware of where I was looking, not wanting to get spotted staring at Joanne. Normally I wouldn’t care, if I’d been at a bar I wouldn’t give a shit who saw what I did and who I set my sights on. Joanne’s cheeks were flushed, which surprised me; in my few interactions with her she had been the consummate professional, I never took her as the kind who would be spending her time mooning over men in the office. But she looked very guilty right now.
Joanne glanced over at me and caught me looking at her. She colored even more, the flush highlighting her strong cheekbones. She held my eye, and then languidly turned away.
What was that all about?
“Yes, I have notes on everyone,” said Marie, still looking right at Joanne. I expected Joanne to say something, to put Marie in her place, but Joanne was oddly silent. Marie smiled deviously. “Everyone that is, except. . .” She let the words hang there, now the complete center of attention, obviously enjoying this bit of power. “Except you, Michael.” Marie turned to me, her eyes twinkling.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Marie’s voice had been teasing, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I certainly had checked out women in the office, even though I had tried to be discreet. But I’m sure the other guys had tried to also be discreet, and Marie had obviously noticed. Or maybe she was making it all up, just to get attention, or to have some fun. Marie was cute enough, but she was a dressed a little too sleazy for me, she wasn’t my type. But she seemed like she’d be a lot of fun, under the right circumstances, to hang out with, like this, the life of the party.
“Well, Marie,” I said. “Maybe I need to see if we can get management to give you some extra work, you seem to have a lot of time on your hands.” I kept my face straight as I made this threat.
Marie wasn’t buying any of it. “Go ahead,” she said, flipping her hand dismissively. “Burden me with the weight of the world, it will just give me more incentive to escape into exciting fantasies of what everyone is thinking—or doing.”
Now everyone realized Marie was just having fun, and the mood lightened a little. “We’ll be starting to watch you, too, Marie,” someone said.
Marie widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Starting? And here I was thinking you men were watching me all the time.” She batted her eyes. “Besides, I’m not the only one keeping track. I have a partner in crime. She’s told me all about which of you—” again Marie looked at each of the men—“have been checking me out.”
“It’s like George Orwell,” said Dan. “You are keeping track of everyone.”
“I told you, not everyone,” said Marie. She turned back to me. “I still don’t know your story, Michael.”
I just nodded mysteriously. “I could tell you, but then I’d—” I left it hanging, letting everyone fill in the words have to kill you—“take away all your fun.”
“Nah,” said Marie. “Plenty of other people to keep track of. Although I’d still want to know.”
I just smiled, but inside, I was thinking that I’d have to be extra careful around the office. Marie was fun, but she wasn’t very discreet, and if word got around, the next thing someone could be hauled in for discussions about sexual discrimination or creating a bad work environment. I was wondering how to bring that up, because Marie, as innocent as she was being, might be making some people uncomfortable.
But this wasn’t the place to do that. Time to change the subject. “Who needs another drink?” I asked.
There was a chorus of “Me, me!” I took orders, but it soon became clear I wouldn’t be able to carry all the drinks.
“I’ll go with you,” offered Joanne.
And that’s how I found myself standing next to Joanne at the bar, waiting on the bartender to get the drinks. For a brief moment, we were kind of alone in the crowd.
“That was an interesting conversation,” said Joanne.
I glanced back at the group we were with, very aware of how close I was to Joanne, almost afraid of looking directly at her, because I didn’t know if I trusted myself to watch what I said. Someone jostled Joanne on the way past the bar, pressing her body into mine, and involuntarily I reached out to steady her, and was stunned by how warm her bare arm was. It was very cool in the room, the air conditioner on even in the winter due to the huge crowd. My image of Joanne had always been one of aloof elegance, and I had for some reason equated that with someone cool, not an ice queen, but certainly not hot and flushed.
Joanne’s eyes caught mine, and now her face flushed again, just as she had when Marie had called her out. I looked away. Joanne held on to me for a few seconds before letting go, her fingers ribbons of heat.
“Excuse me,” she said, although she didn’t sound at all sorry. Her voice had a hint of promise to it, a softness.
“No problem,” I said. “Just some guy not watching where he was going.” I was not going to let myself read anything into Joanne’s voice, this was the time to be strong. I didn’t want to be seen as hitting on someone in the office. And I didn’t want to be ensnared by Joanne’s allure.
The bartender came over. “Here are the first two drinks,” he said. “The soda canister is out, I need to swap it before I can get the scotch and sodas, it will be a few minutes if that is okay.”
“That’s fine,” said Joanne. She hadn’t moved back from where she had been shoved near me, and our bodies were still touching. I wanted to move away, I needed to, but I couldn’t.
I glanced over at her, it wouldn’t hurt to be polite, instantly drawn to her eyes, and as soon as I did she caught me, smiling devilishly. The woman who I thought had been embarrassed by Marie was toying with me. I looked down, but that was a mistake, because at well over six feet I was still mu
ch taller than her five nine frame, and my eyes fell directly down to her chest, the river of her cleavage, drawing my eyes downward. Tonight she was wearing something a little more revealing than her normal office outfit, a lot of the women had dressed up a bit today because of the party. Her dress fitted her perfectly, her breasts so erect they pushed the fabric out, giving me a clear view of the top of her bra.
As I said, I’d been with quite a few attractive women, I’d always been confident with them, and in my abilities with them. I had been told I was a very good lover. At first, I thought it was some womanly bullshit, oh, you are so good, you make me so hot, you have such a big dick, all of that, like they had been all reading the same magazine, an article about how to suck up to your man. But after hearing it so often, I started to believe it. I must have actually been pretty good, all the women seemed more than happy, ecstatic even, with our sex. I’d even broken two diaphragms, bent them out of shape, one of the women telling me that it was because my cock had crushed it. I loved getting women off, giving them orgasms. I didn’t think much of it in the sense that I assumed all men were the same, but once I got into my thirties, and was having sexual relationships with women who had slept with a greater number of men themselves, and therefore had some experience, did I begin to understand that I was probably better at all this than most men.
As if she was reading my thoughts, Joanne said, “You’re not at all like the other men in the office.”
“In what way?”
“Let’s see.” Joanne perused the crowd. “There’s Jack over there. He’s a creep, always making rude jokes with what he thinks are subtle sexual innuendos. Then there’s Jason, he drops stuff on the floor all the time so he can catch an upskirt. And Frank, from accounting, always coming over, asking questions about expense reports, just trying to get a look down my blouse.”
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