where your secret fantasies dare to be
By Grace Thomas
He entered the last two numbers, hit the equals button and let the computer calculate the difference in what had been reported and what his calculator had come up with. The computer agreed with his calculator. His finger hovered over the save button. If he was right (and he was always right when it came to numbers) he had just saved the company a vast amount of money but heads were going to roll when the mistake (was it an honest mistake, he wondered) came out. He wanted to ask someone’s opinion before deciding what to do but he was the last one in the office, finishing up the year-end reports. It hurt something in his soul to have year-end happen at the end of October. Not coinciding with the normal calendar set his nerves on end.
He couldn’t ask for anyone’s help because they were all off at the hotel celebrating the end of the business (he was going to insist on calling it that) year, so he was on his own. He was the one who would have to make the decision then quickly report it so it didn’t look like he had been the one cooking the books. If he didn’t reported it and it was found it would come back to bite him in the ass. If he recorded it and didn’t tell someone it might be his head rolling across the floor. He never considered ignoring it. His finger hovered over the save button but his mind could not make it depress it. Something hit the back of his office chair, moving him forward and his finger hit the button on its own. He leaned back amazed as the software took the decision out of his hands.
“Smart move, Ace,” a soft female voice said.
At first he thought the computer was congratulating him on his choice but looked up to find a custodian glancing over his shoulder. He had never seen her before and he thought he knew them all from his late night séances with the keyboard. “Oh?” he asked, looking up into her sparkling blue eyes. Her jet-black hair was pulled up into a very long ponytail. She wore no makeup but had a tiny beauty mark in the corner of one eye.
“Yes. Very smart.”
He looked down her cleavage as she bent over to empty his trashcan. Plump, ripe breasts threatened to spill out of her front-button shirt. “You’re new here,” he managed to say and was glad he was sitting down.
“Can’t slip anything passed you, can I? Excuse me.” She flipped a feather duster over the computer screen, which went fuzzy from her manipulations.
He was a little fuzzy himself with her squeezed in between him and the desk. He suddenly found industrial style rubber gloves very sexy.
“You should go to the party,” she suggested, turned and dusted his face.
He tried not to sneeze. “No.” He could see the tiny silver star of her necklace squashed between her breasts that were now on the same level with his nose.
“You should sing your own praises,” she recommended. She straddled his dress-slacks-covered-leg with her blue jean ones so she could reach the shelf behind him.
“I don’t sing.” But he did sneeze. He sneezed right into her cleavage. Horrified, he looked up to see her laughing at him.
“If you don’t go tell someone, they will think you stole all that money. Go,” she ordered. She turned and disappeared into the next cube.
He stood up, tightened his tie and his resolve. He would go to the party, hunt down the vice-president and tell him what he had found. Just as he was slipping one arm into his jacket, her disembodied voice floated across the room. “Don’t forget. It’s a costume party.”
Short of borrowing her mop, bucket and gloves, he couldn’t figure out what to use as a costume. He had a change of clothes in his car, always carried a spare incase of spillage or rain, but it was just like the one he had on only a different shade of gray. There was an assortment of lost raincoats and umbrellas in the lobby but unless he wanted to go as a flasher or a tight ropewalker, he could think of no way to use them. He was walking a very tight rope made of money and he didn’t want to fall. Made of money gave him an idea and he ducked back behind the receptionist’s desk.
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He strolled off the elevator and into the hotel’s convention center. He might be quaking on the inside but on the outside, he was made of money. He had copied his one-dollar bill and his hidden reserved incase-of-an-emergency fifty-dollar bill (and this was an emergency) and stapled the cutout money all over his suit. He was worried about the staples leaving itty-bitty holes in the fabric. He was worried about losing his job. He was just plain worried.
A server handed him a glass of champagne even though he didn’t drink. He had arrived in time for the toasts. He raised his glass and took one tiny sip as he scanned the room. Everybody wore custom-made costumes or rented ones or some that looked like they belonged to the theater. His was the only homemade one in the bunch. The CEO, dressed up as a king, was lording it over the crowd from the stage.
He felt something in the region of his ribs and wondered if it was a gun barrel. He turned to find the vice-president, dressed as a robber baron, plucking a fifty-dollar counterfeit bill off of his suit. He suddenly remembered it was a felony to copy money. He worried about where the real fifty had gotten too.
“What are you made up to be? The moneyman? Bags of money? Plenty of bags under that suit. You should get out of that cube more. As white as you are, you could have done the vampire thing. Women love that one.” The crowd roared as the king toasted someone for doing something. “Drink up,” the VP insisted.
He had suddenly come to the conclusion that this was not the man to inform about a lot of missing (and found) company money from pay raises no one had ever received. He sipped in hopes that the man would leave.
“Finish that one off and we’ll get you another.” The VP grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the crowd. As they passed, people reached out and pulled handfuls of money off of him.
The VP turned and got both of them fresh flukes of the bubbly liquid from a busty brunette who winked a blue eye at him from behind her lightly applied cosmetics. “Should have worn a thong then people would be putting money in instead of out,” she suggested. He wobbled the mostly full glass of his first drink as he sat it on her tray and saw some splash between the open collars of her uniform onto creamy flesh.
This drink tasted different from the last but as he didn’t drink he couldn’t figure out why. His VP pulled him away before he could see what the pendant was on her necklace. At least the VP seemed to be leading them toward the other side of the room where it was less crowded. But as they passed the steps up to the stage the king … er … CEO saw them and using the microphone called his VP to join him. “And bring your friend. Just what I’m always looking for … more money!” he screamed and the crowd screamed with him.
Standing between his king CEO and his robber baron VP, looking all the world like a plucked chicken (the thought of food made his stomach hurt) and feeling decidedly strange from the drink, he grabbed the microphone and told his CEO where there was a lot of money hidden in a secret account funneled off by his VP who was in charge of payroll. He wondered if everyone had gone quiet because of his revelation or because he was lying flat on his back looking straight up his CEO’s nose.
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He found himself propped up in the corner of an elevator. His CEO stood in the doorway. The door was trying to close and kept hitting the man in the shoulder as he held out his crown. It was full of credit cards. His head hurt.
“We rented a bunch of rooms incase some over did. Pick a card…”
He wasn’t ready for card tricks.
“…Go upstairs and go to bed. We’ll sort the rest of this out in the morning. Are you okay?” The king looked worried.
He stifled a giggle as the door slammed into his boss one more time. He took a card from the top. It was a cardkey pretending to be a key because it had a picture of a key printed on it. His head hurt worse. He was thankful it wasn’t a picture of a big greasy pizza … his stomach protested.
“Good night then and … thanks.” The king pulled a disappearing act by stepping away from the accursed door and it vanished him from sight.
He looked down at the key again and read Room Number 1313. He knew hotels didn’t have a thirteenth floor (which messed with his sense of order in the universe) and cardkeys didn’t have room numbers printed on them. He looked at the panel and even though his vision wasn’t clear saw the number thirteen right there between twelve and fourteen where it belonged. The elevator door had become patient and was waiting on him to make up his mind. His finger (the one that had gotten him into all this mess) did that taking off on its own and reached for the thirteenth button. He could have shorn he saw a spark arc between the button and his finger when he heard a female voice yell.
“Hold up there, Ace. What’s your hurry?”
He tried to back up even further but the wall stopped him as a very shapely witch slipped in and the door shut. He watched as she pushed the button for the thirteenth floor even though it was already lit up.
She turned to face him. “Wow. Really bad strip joint? Lost your wallet and had no place to carry all your money?” She moved in closer and pulled a fifty off of the front of his slacks he didn’t remember stapling in such a delicate spot. “You do know it’s illegal to copy currency, right?”
He could see she was very shapely under the very tiny black dress and long, sweeping black cloak. He had never seen a woman in red fishnet stockings and black shiny heels. When she titled her head back to see him clearly from under the brim of the very tall cone hat, he saw sparkling blue eyes encircled with heavy black liner, lots of red flowing hair, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and bright pink lipstick.
“What, never seen a witch on Halloween?”
He realized he was staring. “Sorry.”
“No biggie. So you ended up singing for your supper?” She moved in closer.
“Please do not mention food.” He couldn’t back up any further and there were staples digging into his back.
“He slipped something into your drink.” She slipped an arm inside his jacket and laid her hand over his heart. “A little slow there.”
He wondered if she meant his heart rate or his being duped by a drink. “Slipped me what?”
“I don’t know but it backfired. Had you up there on that stage singing like a bird.” Her hand slid down to undo his belt buckle.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Releasing the constriction to your blood flow. Emergency medical procedures.” She unzipped him and slipped her hand inside. “I’m going to suck the poison out.” She wrapped her fingers around what she held in the palm of her hand.
“Even if he did give me something which I’m not sure I believe, that would not help get it out of my system.” He decided this was the longest elevator ride he had ever been on.
“Then you don’t want me to?” She lowered herself down to her knees and pulled his dick and balls completely out of his boxers and into the open.
“That’s not what I said. I said it wouldn’t help with … Jesus,” he moaned as she licked up the length of him.
“Wrong messiah. It will speed up your pulse rate and metabolism and you’ll like it. I promise.”
He tried to look down but all he could see was the tip of the cone.
“Up to you Ace.” She ran her tongue over the head.
She was right, he thought. He was up and he could hear his pulse roaring in his ears. “Hurry,” he requested, hoping the door didn’t pull its opening trick, then she took him and he couldn’t think at all.
She combed his bush with her long, red nails. She dipped to one side and licked the tender area on the inside of his thigh then moved to the other side ignoring the center and damped the other thigh. Going lower, she sucked his bag completely into her mouth then let it slowly slip back out, very wet. She traced the tiny ridges on its surface with the tip of her tongue and then she pulled one of his balls into her mouth. While it rested there, she rolled her tongue around it then let it pop back out. The other, she took in and sucked it like a hard candy she was trying to dissolve.
He moaned and she giggled, sending waves of sound up the shaft. Her mouth followed. She trailed her tongue up then stopped to pull his sweet spot between her lips so she could nibble at it.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
“Shut up,” she answered. “I swear you would complain if …” She took him. She took the entire length of his cock into her mouth.
He could feel the tip hitting the back of her throat he was so far in. He could feel her nose pressed into his hair and her breath was steaming the curl out of his hair. He reached for her to make her go faster and managed to knock her hat off onto the floor.
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her nails in his cheeks then started to work him. She pulled away until her teeth caught on the rim of his head then plunged him back into her mouth. With every pass, her tongue teased the sweet spot. Slowly she worked him in and out, using her hands to pull him back and forth. She giggled again, vibrating him to a higher level. She sucked so hard he could feel each of her cheeks touching both sides of him.
She kept her rhythm steady until his hips joined in then she matched his. He was so hard it hurt but he was enjoying the pain. He picked up his thrusts and she took him even deeper and made swallowing motions with her throat.
All he could feel was wet suction and her tongue lashing across the bottom of him. He could feel it building and couldn’t stop. He pumped into her mouth as hard as he could. “Now,” he yelled.
She suddenly released him and worked him with her hand. Hot liquid flowed and erupted from him.
She threw her head back and laughed aloud.
The last thing he remembered was looking down at her freckled breasts where he had coated her silver necklace and the tiny star with cum.
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He avoided the elevator at work the next morning. The hotel desk had gotten him up with a wake up call he never requested. He woke up in room 1213, naked in a very messy bed, aching muscles and vague memories of having never seen red cunt hair before. There had been a new suit in his size (blue not gray), a pair of briefs (not boxers) and disturbing scratches on his back. He decided to blame the scratches on the staples but that didn’t explain the ones he discovered on his butt cheeks in the shower. He had snuck out through a side door so he wouldn’t run into his coworkers.
From the top of the stairs, he tried to sneak to his cube but the CEO caught him in the hallway. “Doesn’t look good, sneaking in late on your first day.”
The man led him to a real office. “Yep. Seems we’re replacing our vice-president … with you. Congratulations, son. We’ll talk it out over lunch. Enjoy.”
He went into the room to find a very shapely butt bent over a desk. His desk, he guessed. “Excuse me.”
“You are late.” She stood up and turned to him.
She had long, straight blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and a tiny silver necklace with the star riding on the curve of her very full, unfreckled breasts.
“It’s a wig. You’re doing it with wigs.”
“I take offense at that, sir, but I will allow you one because we’ve never met. I’m having your things moved over from your cube.” She pinched his sore butt on her way by. “I don’t do it with wigs and why are you avoiding elevators?”
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