A Two-Way Portrait

It had been one of those days at work for me. I didn’t feel as though I accomplished anything. I spent hours on the phone to impatient clients, being tied up in meetings for what seemed like an eternity, and I pushed my subordinates to complete sensitive projects by nearly impossible deadlines. Being an executive of a multi-million dollar empire wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

I stayed late at the office again to try and finish up some of these sketches on my own, an aspect of the job with which I didn’t normally associate myself. Whenever I remained after hours, it was usually to conduct sales forecasts, crunch numbers, or critique works in progress. Tonight happened to be one of those occasions where if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. Such was my predicament.

Looking at the clock on the wall, it was after midnight and the beginning of a new day, Saturday, and another year tacked on to me. Happy birthday.

For the first time in over a week I’d finally been able to use my office. It contained a clear view into the boardroom through a two-way sheet of glass separating both rooms, the other side being a mirror. That pane had been missing for the last week due to a mishap where we had to let somebody go. Extensive use of the boardroom meant that I didn’t have any privacy to use my office. The glass and walls weren’t very soundproof anyway, and if there was a meeting to be had, I was there. The pane had only been replaced before the close of business for the weekend earlier today.

My pencil slipped from my hand and onto the floor. I slouched in my chair, staring at it, not making an effort to pick it up. I was too worn out. Dropping my pencil drained me of what little momentum I had, including all my thoughts and ideas. Rubbing my eyes, I leaned over my desk, resting my head in my arms.

I took a few moments to myself before mustering the energy to bend down and retrieve the drawing tool. I wasn’t the only one working late on this night as the door to the boardroom crept open. Stepping through was a gorgeous young lady. She must have been a new hire. As our business expanded, there were so many new faces being brought onboard that I couldn’t keep track of them all. Hers was a face that I wouldn’t have forgotten had we met previously. She peered out into the hall before shutting the door. I was too captivated by her beauty to question her presence.

A smile lined my face as she approached the glass. I could only sit back and admire. She had to have been in her mid-twenties and stood no more than a couple of inches over five feet. I had a thing for short women. Looking into the mirror, she conducted fixes to her lengthy, bold, brown mane, situated atop her narrow face, patting and straightening every strand until they were properly aligned. Her expression was that of seriousness in her fine tuning, causing her thin eyebrows of darker tone to form quarter-moon curves over her ambit, hazel eyes.

“Relax baby, you look fine,” I whispered, wishing I could run my fingers through her hair and more.

I’m really very shy around women. At the moment, I was in my comfort zone being on this side of the glass. People seem to get the false impression that if you’ve got money then you’re instantly a chick magnet. Truth be told; no. Money is the magnet, take it from me… or not. I’m no playboy. I’ve worked hard for the money I have. Why simply go out and blow serious cash to feel lucky by being in the company of a few girls for a night? Tempting? Absolutely it is, but when the money runs out, they run out. However, the appealing portrait before me served as a reminder to fill my need for companionship, something my mother always irked me about.

She finally concluded that her hair was perfect. Levelling her stance, she brought a bright smile highlighted in luscious red to her lovely face. I couldn’t help but lean forward, nearly resting my chest on my desk to consume every detail embedded in her by nature. She was a teakettle that had been boiling for hours; steaming hot.

Her apparel was borderline for office policy. She wore a pink long sleeve dress shirt buttoned only to her bust line, looking to burst at any minute. Supporting her sizable appendage was a black silk bra, one with flowery, frilly lace material sewn in atop the cups, peering above the crease of her top. Her shirt was tucked neatly into a black skirt that draped to just over her knees. The belt around her waist, jet black, did much to bring out the natural contour and figure that her slender body possessed; a perfect figure eight.

Back stepping some, she graced her sides running the palms of her hands from her underarms down her torso to her hips. Twisting ninety-degrees, she gave her tiny rear a shake. Raising an eyebrow, she blew herself a kiss.

I nodded in complete approval. This was great. Standing here before me was a real live sex bomb who appeared to be very confident with her assets. She loved herself, knowing that she commanded jaw dropping awe and possessed a body more valuable than the, overused, million dollar term.

She leaned forward, removing her high heel from her left foot, tossing it to the floor just below the pane. The other she simply kicked off. Grabbing the edge of the table, she hoisted herself to a sitting position on top of it. Like when she first entered the room, she glanced around, ensuring that she was on her own.

“There’s no one else here,” I said. “No other eyes watching you.”

Focused on the mirror, she unbuttoned her shirt from the bottom up. Like a reflex, my lower lip literally hit my desktop, I couldn’t help it. Be as it may, thanks to her capacious bosom, her final button popped at the seam sending it flying across the room. She couldn’t discard her clothing fast enough, yanking the sleeves from her arms and tossing it on the table. Immediately following, she bent her arms, reaching behind her back.

Like a rocket, I shot out of my seat. Unable to cope with the suspense, I moved in for a closer look, scrambling up to the glass. This kind of thing never happened to me, and not because I wasn’t trying.

I had almost pressed myself against the glass, nervous in anticipation. Time passed much too slowly as the moment of revelation had dawned at last. The straps of her undergarment slid over the sleekness of her arms to her wrists where it dangled. With a flick of her fingers, it sprung out of sight. In an instant, she cast a spell on me; my pupils were petrified, fixated chest high on the busty babe. Even Einstein could not have drawn such flawless circles in tight proximity. They stood in balance, naturally supported, demanding attention.

“Very nice,” I uttered in fascination, much like a boy in a department store eyeing a toy he couldn’t afford.

She threw her head back, eyes barred, flinging her hair from her face. Her actions, every move she made rippled with sensual vibes, displaying nubile prowess. I pictured myself in that room with her; she smiled as I stepped toward her. I reached out, caressing her elongated neck, skimming my fingers over her jaw line, and grazed the curve of her chin. She reached for the bulge in my pants, patting it like a favourite pet. My prick throbbed in excitement, rising still, almost causing a spew. I was powerless to tear my eyes from her offerings. My hands obeyed my ambitions, sliding the fronts of what nails I had down her neck and detouring flat across her collar bone.

Her own hand clutched her chest before mine, disrupting my progress. I then concluded that my hand hadn’t actually touched her, nor her me; a sad realization. No matter.

She leaned back, propped up by her one hand as though she was posing for a sports car calendar. Her suckle protruded the line between her fingers while she played with herself, gently stroking, twisting, and kneading it atop her areola. A pitch of sexual content penetrated the wall as did the resonance of her heavy breathing. She silenced herself, scooping her other melon to her lips, licking, tasting, and slurping the arousal juice from her fruit.

She toyed with her peaks for a time. Vibrant pulses, twitching, spaced irregularly, quivered within the fibres of her body, derived from the delight of her playfulness; causing her to jolt upon the table with every sensation.

Exhausted, she reset her head upright and reopened her sagging eyes, squinting in intervals to readjust. Detaching her hand from her mound, she placed it flat on the table for leverage, sliding herself more to the middle of the tabletop, lifting those long legs with her. Once settled, she rolled up her skirt to her hips, spreading apart her knees and crossing her feet. Limitless were the spectacles she seemed willing to perform in front of a mirror.

The base of her hand embraced the narrow stretch of her underlie amid her flowing legs. Cupping her four fingers, their tips stroked the pink, silk textile wrapped around her bun. The pace at which she extended and retracted her fingers quickened. Her veins bloated within that working arm in escalating rubbing tension.

My hands were on the glass, stuck. I was panting like a puppy dog; my tongue on the verge of flailing over my bottom lip, long enough to slap my neck even. Not only did she command my undivided attention, she manipulated my every move. My pupils could only focus on the accentuated segments of her body. I had no control over my breathing, nor could I keep my mouth shut. And all I appeared to be capable of doing was throw myself at her. Fortunately or unfortunately, however you want to view it, the pane was between us. I was unable to resist temptation, yearning to stroll into that room.

She glanced up at the mirror, gritting her teeth. Unexpectedly, her glimpse veered into my line of sight. She smiled, straightening her skirt. Giving a wink, she waved her index finger, motioning for me to come to her.

I stumbled backwards, tripping over my own feet. Was she looking at me? How could she see me? There’s a two-way sheet of glass between us… wasn’t there? How could she know I was here watching?

She chuckled, hopping off the table. The focal point of my eyes; however, only observed her cup moulds bounce as she leapt.

Again, she beckoned and pointed at me. I stood there, stunned, bobbing my eyes from side to side. Hesitant, I raised my wrist and lifted my finger, pointing to myself.

She nodded before speaking. “Yeah you. Do you like your birthday present?”

My eyes widened. I was slow to answer back, mustering a single word answer… or question; sounding somewhat unintelligent. “What?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes; stretching a wider smile. “Do you like your birthday present?”

I fumbled about with a reply in my mind, but couldn’t deliver. I needed those moments to comprehend what had just occurred, wishing I could go and hide someplace. This was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me, acting like a fool in front of this delicate dish. The heat flaring within my cheeks informed me as to the color of my face, bright red like the Turkish flag. Appropriate since I felt like a turkey.

Stepping up to the window, she smudged her belongings flat against the glass, pressing her body against the pane. “You can use your tongue if you like.”

At this point, I was trembling; weak in the knees. Why did she have to do that? She should have known she disbanded my willpower, lest my foolish actions were unconvincing. I sensed my tongue tingle, yearning to unleash. With whatever power I had remaining, I did it, I shied away from her display, turning my back.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about damaging your pride,” she stated, pulling away from the glass, “that’s the way everybody acts. That’s the way you’re supposed to act.”

I didn’t speak, bending my head forward, dawdling back to my seat. Plummeting to my chair, I clasped my head in my hands and covered my eyes, hoping that a childish version of peek-a-boo would conceal me and make her forget I was ever here.

It was just that, a long shot as she tapped on the glass. I didn’t want to look. “You can’t see me,” I whispered, quietly to ensure that I was the only one within earshot.

“Have it your way,” she said. “Besides, I have to go. I’ve got other places to be tonight anyhow.”

Hearing that, I had to take one last peek before she departed, peering between my fingers. She had already started adjusting her skirt, but no bra yet, allowing me one final look at her naked torso before putting them back into the closet permanently, at least to my eyes.

Telepathy had to be in her arsenal, slipping me a smile. I guess she knew that I couldn’t resist.

“You must have very good friends, I don’t come cheap. If you’re looking for another show babe or having a party sometime down the line, you can ask your friends where to find me, or you can look for my advertisement in the classifieds. The name’s Rain.”

“Rain? You mean this was a house call?” I questioned, pulling my hands from my face.

“He can talk,” she implied. “Yeah, it was, and yes, my name is Rain. You know, Rain or Shine, either will brighten your day. It’s lame I know, but that little line gets me by. Shine is my partner. She’s sexy and her show is just as good.”

With that, she walked out the door, but not before poking her head back in the room briefly.

“You might want to get the window replaced properly next week,” she suggested, “it wasn’t easy to pretend it was two-way glass and more than likely the security camera in the room caught your puppy dog act. You’ll later be the topic of office conversation for months if that tape gets out, not mentioning trips down memory lane in the future.”

Those were her final words before she left for good this time.

I was beside myself; throwing my arms in the air. Stunned, I slammed my forehead on the desk much like she slammed the door in my face. I was set up. A clear pane had been purposely installed for this event. How was I going to deal with the camera? I made a complete fool of myself. Threatening jobs was the only way to avoid humiliation. I have to get my hands on that tape.