The Zaftig Chronicles

All he asked for was a simple blow job, and I blew it. He asked me to do one simple job, and I blew it. Literally! I'm on my knees, bobbing on his hardness; my mouth feels like it's ready to have an orgasm. I'm moaning and going to town, it's feeling better to me than it's probably feeling to him.  Then a knock on my office door: "Zaftig, are you sick?" *Paula* asked.  PANIC.  PANIC!  Shuffling quickly, pants zipping, shirt tucking, mouth wiping. "I'm fine, my stomach's a little queasy."  He looked so deflated. "Well, you blew that."  "Meaning the job?" I asked. "You can't be quiet? I'm quiet when I blow you."  "First of all, we shouldn't be doing this at work."  He shushed me. "You blew the job, embrace it." I embraced it. But I missed a deadline for a report I was doing; so technically, I blew two jobs today.

It was cold and rainy.  I sat in my office, sipping hot cocoa, wanting badly not to be at work. He brought me a piping hot bowl of navy bean and sausage soup from the cafeteria, which I devoured. "On days like this," I said, "all I want to do is stay in bed, under the covers, and listen to soft music. " "Well, then let's do it," he replied. Of course, we were dreaming -- because we both have deadlines out of this world. "You need to learn how to utilize your office." At lunch time, he came into my office and closed my window blinds, put on a Sade CD and turned it low so we didn't disturb the office. He found Fleecey and spread her over me. He then massaged my temples. "Now, relax," he said. He then massaged my shoulders, back and legs. That led to a long sensual kiss.  He gave me head for a while, but I was too nervous to let him do it for more than five minutes.  He made me feel so good.  He felt so good. Slowly the puzzle is ...

This afternoon I woke up feeling the same. No guilt. I'd fallen asleep naked. I didn't even take off my makeup. I fixed myself a can of Italian Wedding Soup for breakfast and questioned if I wanted to leave the house for a movie.  I didn't.  I smelled him and that made me feel even better. I looked at my Caller ID and saw that he'd called at 3 A.M. I must have been in a deep sleep (intense orgasms do that to me). I waited until after my shower to call him back. "I have something of yours," he said. "Guess." "Uh...I don't know." "You're not trying." I looked around my apartment to see if anything was missing. "Did you steal something valuable?" "Yes. Something I needed to help myself go where you went." I went into my living room and immediately realized what he'd taken. "You stole my underwear?" I smiled. "Pervert." He asked me out for tonight. "I think I'm going to stay...

He took a nap in my temporary office yesterday. I had to play Duty Girl, and keep people from discovering his unprofessionalism. When *Yolanda from HR came by to ask me about a form I'd returned to her, I had to speak to her through a tiny crack in the door while pretending I was on a call. Please, don't let him start snoring, I silently prayed to the work gods. She didn't seem to notice my acting strangely and promptly got on her way. I wiped the sweat from my brow, and proceeded to sprinkle water on his face to wake him. "Hey, don't you know it's against the law to sleep when you're in advertising?" I said, "Fuck the law," he replied. He stretched out, then breathed into his hand to check for nap breath. He caught me eyeing him. "I don't get nap breath." "Get out of here. Go sleep in your permanent office. " He got up and hugged me, sliding his hand under my skirt. I stopped him. "Is sleeping in the only in for...

My mind is consumed with thoughts of having sex with Him. Why do I want sex so much? Is it beyond reaching orgasm? Is it beyond wanting to be penetrated fully and brought to a vaginal orgasm? Is it beyond the scope of what I'm capable of comprehending? Today, at work, he pulled me into his office and asked me to kiss him. I did. With PASSION. Oohh, I had to beg myself to step away from his body. Every erogenous zone in on my body was on fire. Then he said, "Come here." He even extended his index finger and motioned for me to do so. Obedient, I did. And he sat me on his desk and wrapped my legs around him. He took a call in this position; using the opportunity to feel places he isn't allowed yet -- knowing I wasn't going to verbally protest while he was on the phone. I pushed against him, but his strength overpowered me. I liked that. He went for my feet again, and removed them from my new Weitzmans, they fell to the floor. My reflex was to save the shoes that have...

Within minutes of coming to work, I was in His office giving him another eyeful. "I thought about you all night long," He said, while wanting to touch me. I didn't let him. "I'm in your office way too much. People are going to know something," I said. He didn't care. We hugged for a long time; me getting a deep whiff of his sexy cologne. Then we reluctantly separated.  "See me before you leave?" I nodded. What's the deal? Is this strictly an office thing? Is this where the excitement lives? Sure it all feels good, but what's really going on here?

We're standing in the conference room where He brushes past me, smiles, and casually asks: "Were you sick yesterday?" I smile. "No," I reply, "I just needed a day off. Stress." He taps my shoulder lightly and says, "Maybe you need another one of my massages." Before I could respond, He dashes out to get a fax. I'm left standing there with red cheeks, a stirring nether region, and a glint in my eye. Massage? He invited me to his office before we leave. I have to be careful: I'm freshly groomed, and I've been known to show off. Oy . Here I go again.

He stands over my desk, smiling, as he shows me early runs for a campaign he's passionate about. His hair is a bit floppy today, but the thick mass of healthy black follicles still frames his face in the most flattering of ways. I try my hardest not to think of the close encounter in his office months ago. We don't speak of it. He takes his leave when my Greek salad arrives. He offers to buy me a Snapple before he departs. I decline. I'm having an Evian. As I unpack my salad of feta, olives, red onions and romaine lettuce, I smell his cologne. He's long gone, but his scent -- unmistakably male and crisp -- still lingers at my desk, making my nose climax repeatedly. He did this on purpose.