The Editor

The evening of his deadline he sat at his desk staring blankly at the monitor, slowly poking at the keyboard. He reviewed his neat lists and tables once more, assuring himself everything was in order. It was all there...the diagrams and crisp explanations, all compressed into a tidy package. His writing was consistent and clear, representing the years of experience he had acquired as a technical writer. In these moments he would often wonder if he had thought of every possible question or misunderstanding, or what new incarnation of ignorance would force his hand to add another note or tip, further obscuring the message for the rest of the readers. But, today was different. At this moment he simply could not bear to imagine the struggle to learn how to double-click, nor the frustration of scanning pages of text for relevant information. No, at this moment he imagined the green eyes that would, in minutes, be scanning his words, editing his writing for clarity and technical accuracy. He wished to be entirely clear, something impossible with an audience of many, but perhaps achievable to a single target.

He recoiled and shook his head, an instant from deleting the extra text, then slowly continued with his second paragraph. He didn't know exactly what pressed him to write, and considered everything from sheer novelty to a dark desire that had been welling inside him. As he wrote, a vague reality emerged from dense fog and then faded away, hinting slightly at the latter. In either case his fingers moved despite every practical influence opposing them in a rampage of insolence, as if they had broken free from a steel cage, no longer bound by the snare of style guidelines, format considerations, or even spelling, as each incorrect word would deliver the sweet evidence of her perrusal. He lusted over the thought of her careful, delicate hand pressing the red pen against the paper at his comand. He trembled at the knowledge that all his errors, intended or not, would deliver him the same iresistable result...a part of her body engaged in his service. She might know that he had always felt this way about her corrections, and even that she had accommodated his desire unintentionally, or maybe even despite herself. He had not thought about these things before, but his keyboard chattered with increasing speed as the nature of his obsession materialized, not yet to her, but to himself. The necessity that his words remain private became increasingly apparent, but they needed to be written nonetheless. Somehow in the act of writing he had discovered what he could never have imagined, and he could not help but continue...

His draft was due, and in moments he would deliver the electrons to her inbox as he had done so many times before. She was expecting it, her delicate body perched only a few feet from him. His heart pounded as he glanced across the office, the top of her head visible from his desk. He pictured the familiar eyes and lips that had always gracefully welcomed him, although the two had scarcely spoken beyond the dialog required to facilitate their jobs. She glowed today more than ever, and it compelled him to forge ahead, pressing the forbidden buttons that described the way he shamelessly admired her at every possibility. He paused, but could not prevent the imanent disclosure, as inappropriate as it was. It was true. Each morning he acquired his coffee at a specific time in hopes of catching a glimps of her casual smile or to admire her slender, graceful figure. He wondered whether she would wear the blue sweater that formed so perfectly to her torso, or the similar white turtleneck that was like a cozy nest for her devestatingly lovely face. He thought about how many seconds his eyes would be allowed to drink her figure, indulging every inch from shoulders to heels, to her dangerous behind that so desireably filled the snug denim wrapper. It was an ass that taunted him in his dreams, her legs so perfectly designed to carry this persistenat catalyst to his imagination. It was this part of her body, at least as much as the others, which made so regular an appearance in his depraved fantasies, wetting his sheets or locking him to his seat to avoid embarrassment at work. He knew he could not express an actual account of his passion for her, and excused himself for lack of the right words, although he knew there were aspects beyond the capability of his courage to admit, as true as they were.

There were competing truths that he wrestled with, weighing their pros and cons. 1) He liked his job. It suited him and paid an acceptable wage. By forwarding his message anonymously she could quite easily terminate his employment. Perhaps he would be forgiven by management as he reviewed what he had written. He knew it would not be worth sending if this was a possibility, and continued with candor. 2) Evidence of the opposing truth was more visceral. It could be seen on his shirt, a patch of dampness where he had carefully dabbed away a spot of semen that he had ejected from his erection in the men's room moments earlier.

The second truth was performed while imagining her legs straddling his waste, his cock deep inside her wet, begging cunt. Her light and flowery spring dress, the one she was wearing, was draped around both of them as his hands grasped her bottom beneath, guiding her onto him with impassioned urgency. Her arms around his neck, he engaged her forcefully, conscious of the sound of sex that echoed among the clean tile, aware of the subtle smell that might have emanated throughout the chamber. As she had first climbed onto him...as he first felt his firm cock slide slowly into her...a man had walked in, whistling casually. They paused, his trugid, extremity enraged with restraint, her body paralyzed with both lust and fear of being discovered, body quivering. As the visitor's belt buckle clicked by the urinal, he brought her down slowly and silently, her flesh gently enveloping each centimeter, like silk slowly slipping over the edge, until the moist lips pressed firmly against his base. His tip flirted with her deepest parts as they waited patiently for the visitor to leave. The urinal flushed and he lifted her slowly once and then twice, her short gasps almost inaudible. Then, he lifted her again as the faucet ran, desperate for complete silence, although he could already feel the powerful orgasm approaching as her breath invaded his ear. As the sound of the hand dryer filled the space his hands grasped her firmly, guiding her body up slightly and then down once, then again, then again as her arms wrapped around his neck, her body animated though rigid, teeming with anticipation of the inevitable future. He burried himself with reservation, desperate to fill her as soon as the man exited the room. The door opened and the visitor walked out as the hand dryer continued to blare. At this point they engaged each other, his body thrust into hers with ferrocity, the sound of fucking filling the space, her whining soft, then growing slightly in volume. He brought her into her forcefully, desiring to fill her with hot cum before the next visitor arrived. She was ready for it, her sighs coaxing the fluid from his body. He pounded against her and they both knew their bodies were tipping over the edge, her hands grasping him tightly, her being lost in passion. The dryer stopped, the door opened, and several men walked in talking loudly as her subdued cry was muffled into the side of his head, their bodies now still together. Her trembling body was desperate for release, and his cock was throbbing with desperation. As the several men chatted and laughed, he felt her body begin to succomb. He pushed into her as far as he could and her body shuddered. She could not stop the wave of pleasure from consuming her as the half dozen men waited only a few feet from her. Feeling and seeing her, he could no more restrain himself and erupted, shooting wave after wave of hot liquid deep inside her, some dribbling back down between his leg. They remained united until the last man exited the room, and then reality began to set back in as he noticed his hand covered in his own ejeculate...a spirt having shot against his otherwise clean shirt. And this was the nature of his previous moments, those that he could expose her to...those of which he should be ashamed...

He looked at the Enter key. If pressed this information would almost instantly appear before her eyes. One slip of the wrist and his perversion would be exposed for all to see...his job at risk, his reputation destroyed. He could restrain his hands if not for this. Raw, difficult reality was the fuel of his expression, and each letter grew more powerful as he accepted its weight, and the nature of its consequences. He imagined the unthinkable: delivering his words to her intentionally. As he did a passion consumed him. It washed away the near inevitability of her disgust, his destruction. If he could bring himself to do it he would not ask forgiveness. He would not shrink to terror, but welcome the consequences whatever they might be. A part of him desired a response of complete silence, her option to complete ambiguity. A part of him wanted to lose his job. Either way, he knew he could no longer convince himself to refrain, and pressed Enter.

The Conference

I felt like a goose among ducks. It was my first technical writer's conference, and I was stepping on very unfamiliar territory. It was crowded and busy with thousands of displaced writers ambling around looking for conference halls and bathrooms. It was my second day, and I was less than anxious to suffer through the next 90 minutes of translation advice. I found myself standing next to a vendor's booth listening to jumbled technical lingo while gazing almost unconsciously at her delectable legs.

I was not ashamed as I devoured her with my eyes...her black boots, white sweater, wavy brown hair. I looked away for a moment and she turned her head. It was a near miss. I looked back at her. She was serious, taking notes, and quickly turned to continue viewing the vendor's presentation. She wore glasses with thick rims that said she meant business. These were industry professionals whose companies had paid dearly to send them here, including mine. I needed to remember to stay on task, to make connections and learn about the latest technology.

She had that distinctive, innocent aura that teases of unspeakable possibilities. She turned again and I admired her soft cheeks. I wondered if she could read my thoughts. They were far from end user documentation.

After the short presentation I became a friendly contemporary making business connections. Her name was Lindsey. I asked her where she was from and what type of writing she did. She responded cordially, explaining that she edited the manual for an industrial plant somewhere in the mid west. She was less than enthusiastic about it, but welcoming my conversation, even if she seemed a bit preoccupied. She was delighted to hear how anxious I was to escape the awful place, and responded in kind.

Our few friendly words were cut short as we broke for our next session. As she walked away my eyes locked onto her legs once again. If these drones all around thought me a pervert, I didn't care. I would never see them again. Her easy stride and casual attitude was refreshing. She turned around and smiled before she disappeared around the corner. The whole place emanated a sterile, contrived, commercial air. Lindsey was like a lone daisy in the middle of an empty parking lot.

I grabbed a short drink at the water fountain and stepped into the next session. It was a large room with several rows of chairs. Dread filled my psyche as I imagined the next unbearable 90 minutes. I slipped into one of the empty rows toward the back and sat down. As I leaned to place my bag beneath the chair, there she was on the other side of the row...Lindsey. She was looking the other direction.

'Oh, man. I didn't want her to think I was stalking her or something,' I thought. This might seem awkward. Still, I couldn't flee to another row. She would see me for sure. I decided to walk down the row and confidently sit in the chair beside her. She smiled, and almost immediately the speaker began...

The monotone voice from the microphone was seemly and dream-inducing. I felt trapped immediately, feeling as though there was absolutely nothing beneficial. Nonetheless, I sat obediently, behaving as a professional should at a conference. She wanted to be there less than I. My attention was somehow arrested by the attractive woman by my side. I felt doubly helpless.

She was fidgety, crossing and re-crossing her legs. I admired her slim figure in my peripheral vision, her pert breasts, and continued my uncivilized thoughts. She stretched, turning away from me and her sweater lifted high enough to reveal her back tattoo. I wanted desperately to know what she was thinking. I tried to keep my mind focused on the presentation.

After about 15 minutes she still seemed restless. I noticed something extremely subtle...

She was looking at my clipboard. It was my notebook. Instead of notes the page was entirely blank...

She turned away and then looked back. She was blatantly staring at the page.

I didn't know what to think at first, but then it occurred to me...she wanted me to write. Something...anything...

I was suddenly very bashful, but felt my heart beating. Her restlessness was now completely tempered, focusing on my page. I was obligated, but pressured. I needed to perform...

Finally, I brought my pen to the page. Her eyes snapped to the page.

Pressure.

I wrote...

She saw his pen approach the page in anticipation.

I strained for more words. This was insane...

Words. He knew she wanted them.

I was partially terrified. I needed her to cough or reposition herself and focus on the speaker. I needed to know this was not what she wanted. I simply couldn't resist the possibility. Her pen moved discreetly to the corner of her own notebook...

m

My breathing intensified and her soft body seemed so welcoming. It floated next to me in anxious desire. She wanted me to write to her. I suddenly felt a command for my pen. It became a weapon of lust in my tender hands.

Silken skin
Delicate face
Red lips he could taste
Under her spell
She drank his words

She raised her hand to her neck and grazed her fingers between her breasts. I wrote...

Her fingers spoke
Her mind
Her body
At his command

Her breathing became measured and deliberate, breasts heaving slightly. She uncrossed her legs and placed her hands on her thighs, looking at the paper. I was trembling slightly, wondering if anyone else knew what was going on.

The ink opened her.
She wanted it badly.
Desperate for his pen.
He knew it.
He knew what he had awakened.

She moved her pen to the corner of the page again.

mm

Her eyes were locked to my paper...

How could he
Do so much
So easily
Wet
Burning for him
Trapped
Bound to chair
She cannot move
Her body begs
As does his
Oh so
Ready

As I wrote the above she etched in jagged letters...

fuck me

I was beginning to sweat. I was a hopeless pile of sex, boiling over. I thought of Vanessa. She would demand I continue. She would beg me to fuck her with my innocent pen. Knowing this my consciousness slipped into attack mode. I was on a mission...

So badly
He wanted her
Her heaving breasts
Her cunt
To slide into her
But now
Only her silence
Her obedience
Restrained
Was how he wanted her

She was breathing noticeably harder. Her hands rubbed against her thighs.

Locked to her chair
A mess for him
No escape
No mercy
People all around
Do they know?
This is real
This is not a test

She crossed her legs and began to squirm again.

Could she resist his words?
Could she turn her head?
She could not have an orgasm
Not here
Not now
But it grew inside her
Bad girl
Very bad girl

He was obviously flustered and it seemed as though others were taking notice. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them...

She should not look
But did
Sex welled from deep within
It enveloped her flesh
It washed over her
Waves
Of pleasure
Over her breasts
Tummy
Between her legs
Unstoppable
Desperate
Forbidden
Desire
Impending
Controlling
Roiling
He watched her
Her body
Breaking point
No mercy
Locked
To his
Demand
Fucking her
Now
Deep
Inside
Knowing
Her body
Her mind
Bringing
Her body
To
The
Edge

She was rigid in concentration, still locked to the page. Could she? Could she have an orgasm? Right here? Right in the middle of this crowded room? Yes. I decided. Yes she could...

Perfect
His words
Pushing
Giving
Bringing
She drinks
She yearns
She heaves
Do not
Release
Not here
Not now
Look
Away
Or
Risk
The
Impossible
Building
Growing
Trembling
Welling

Her breathing became steady and she read in concentration. It was building relentlessly inside her. I could tell she was capable of a dangerous response. I provoked it.

Shaking
Brimming
Clenching
Hard
Shameful
Awful
Terrible
Truth

She began to shake in her chair, shuddering, attempting to prohibit her motions. Her eyes were closed and she choked back her high-pitched whine. A gentleman behind us almost placed his hand on her shoulder, but I turned and assured him everything was fine. Her eyes remained closed for a minute. I turned the paper over and sat motionless.

Before long the speaker ended and we were released. I was in a hurry. "Pleased to meet you," I said as I shook her hand. I quickly departed through the crowd and left the conference hall.