{ASSM} Mat Twassel: Christmas Break (doorknobs)
mat twassel
http://Calendar.atEROS.com
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CHRISTMAS BREAK
by Mat Twassel
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Melissa is either going over the cut list or thinking about
the doorknob, about the exact way it might nudge her cunt.
Our offices are dark now, all but mine and hers, this last
day, these last hours before Christmas break. I've been
enjoying the unusual peace of these quiet offices as I
prepare for next week's reviews. Mostly I've been thinking
about Melissa, about her slim long legs squeezing together
rhythmically as she stares at her PC screen saver.
We're on the seventh floor of central division headquarters.
The corporation wants our space eliminated; they want us
down-sized drastically. Melissa was brought in from the
outside to do the job.
It's been a long day for Melissa. She's had to interview
everybody. She's tired. She has her legs stretched out,
crossed at the ankles under her desk, and she leans back in
her chair, puts her hands behind her head and arches her
back. She can feel it most especially just below her ribs,
her slim tummy, but also the tips of her breasts pressing
the soft cups of her silky little bra. And this is when she
squeezes her legs together, those muscles of her inner
thighs, and an instant later she clenches her cunt, and then
her asshole, a little rock and roll between them, so that
her pelvis lifts almost imperceptibly.
It's not clear that she can come this way, or that she even
wants to. Her PC screen-saver shows white gulls swooping
across a slow sunset over the shimmery sea. Now and then a
fish jumps--you only see the ripples really, hear the little
splash--and sometimes a swooping gull seizes the jumping
fish, pinches it firmly in its beak, then swallows as it
soars away. It is these jumping fish that get to Melissa--
she associates them with the twitching of her clit. It
wouldn't be fair to move her hand there, would it?
Sometimes two fish jump, one right after the other, and plop
plop they fall back into screen-saver sea. That's
especially sexy, that little plop plop. "Oh," she wishes
with a sigh, "Someone to suck my little clit just so." She
doesn't use those words, of course. It's all in the
internal flow of the screen saver.
When everything goes black, the moon comes up. It goes
through a complete cycle in one slow curve across the
screen, crescent at the edge, full at the apex, final
crescent just before going off the end. During the lunar
journey, night clouds cross the screen, sometimes covering
the moon, and black waves lap slender silver light. Screen-
saver sunset requires almost eleven minutes. Night is over
in three. Sand glistens in the dawn sun. The tide is out,
and two children, a boy and a girl, stroll the dunes holding
hands. They play tag. They spread suntan lotion over each
other. As the sun follows the moon, as sandpipers twitter
and peck, the children age into teens, their bodies fill
gently, slightly, and in the in-house edition these young
sweethearts gracefully remove each other's swimsuits before
splashing thigh-high into the surf. My private version of
the in-house edition goes one step further: With luscious
shades of pink and purple spreading across the sky, the boy
and the girl share a tender kiss. That's not quite all:
Just as the sea engulfs the last of the sun--at that last
instant, with the slimmest band of bright gold light lining
the horizon, the girl slides her face slowly down the boy's
body. That's what I do with my spare time--enhance these
mildly erotic screen savers.
Melissa has her numbers, her targets, but it's not clear she
has my screen saver. Maybe she has my office mate's--those
fat penguins riding antique bicycles on ice. One penguin at
first, then more and more. Lots of narrowly missed
collisions. Occasionally a bike spills, and the penguin
slides across the screen, off the edge. When enough
penguins get on the screen, the ice begins to crack. It
tips up, big blue-white sheets of ice, and the penguins and
bicycles slide swiftly into the sea. That's been a big
seller this year--penguins on bikes. I gave Craig the idea,
but Craig got most of the credit.
Or maybe Melissa is just looking at names and numbers. She
sighs. Maybe she's looking at my name now, my numbers. She
links her fingers and presses her clasped hands down her
trim tummy, smoothing the upper lap of her trousers to just
above her mons veneris. She really could come now--the
pressure is too delicious, so she takes her hands away,
takes a deep breath.
I should be packing up, getting ready to leave. I look at
my watch, the second hand climbing up. Melissa might be
ready to call it a day. She uses her left toe to pry off
her right shoe. Feels then for the ridge somewhere down
there.
Melissa thinks about the shower she'll take at the hotel.
The firm spray of fine warm water on the verge of too hot.
Afterwards, according to my vision, she bends gracefully
forward to dry her legs but accidentally brushes the
bathroom doorknob with her lovely bare bottom.
In her office, getting ready to go, Melissa thinks about the
doorknob--how remarkable that it is at the perfect height to
touch her so intimately. What if I turned around? she
wonders. Where, exactly, would it come to? And could I
lift my leg? Could I stand on my tippy-toes just a little,
and graze myself against the top, against the fluted little
curl of grip? And how would that feel? And what would it
look like in the mirror, the partially steamed up mirror?
Melissa sits up in her chair as she asks herself these
questions, and as the questions flow she squeezes her cunt
more rapidly. She knows if she touched herself, even the
littlest bit, she'd come.
Instead Melissa reaches down to put on her shoes, then she
stands up, grabs her coat, gathers her purse and satchel and
heads for the elevators.
I get my stuff together.
"Oh, hi," she says as we wait for the elevator to come up.
"I didn't realize you were still here."
"Long day, huh?" I say.
She nods, smiles sweetly.
"Do you usually turn everything off?" she asks.
"What do you mean?" I say.
"When you go? Do you shut off your PCs? I wasn't sure.
Yesterday I left it on."
"That's ok," I say. "We're in the screen saver business
after all."
"Oh right," she smiles as she steps ahead of me into the
elevator.
"I don't know if I should tell you this," I say, "But I've
been thinking about you."
"Oh," she says. "What have you been thinking?" She jabs
the button for lower level one.
"I've been thinking about your thoughts," I say.
"My thoughts?"
"And about the doorknob in your bathroom."
"That's funny," Melissa says. "I'm not sure my bathroom has
a doorknob."
"Doors usually have doorknobs, don't they? There must be a
doorknob on the door."
"I guess so," she says. "But not all doors. These elevator
doors, for example."
This wasn't going quite the way I'd planned. Maybe because
I hadn't really planned. "I was imagining you thinking about
brushing against it after your shower."
The elevator door has opened. The lobby is before us, but
Melissa has made no move to leave.
"Brushing against what?" Melissa asks.
"The doorknob," I say. "With your...." I don't know what
word to use.
Melissa waits.
"Bottom," I say.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Melissa says.
"Not enough to hurt," I say, "Just nudging it, accidentally
at first, and then more deliberately... caressing yourself
against the surface of it."
"I see," Melissa says. "So you're talking about some kind
of masturbation?" Still she makes no move to leave the
elevator.
"I hope you don't mind me telling you this."
"No," Melissa says. "I'm glad you told me." She moves very
close to me. I know she's going to kiss me. I know what's
going to happen: she'll hoist herself on the waist-high
hand-holds and wrap her legs around me. Through the wide
open doors, anyone passing by could see us, but we won't
notice, we won't care, we'll be too busy examining the
glistening little knob of her clit as it wobbles back and
forth.
She's looking deep in my eyes. Wondrous desire. She takes
a deep breath. Her perfume is pure sex.
"I need to tell you something, too," she says. Her eyes
gleam, a deep greedy pleasure.
"What do you have to tell me?" I say.
"The lay-off list," she says, "You're on it."
END
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Christmas Break
by Mat Twassel
Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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