that week i was going around to all the company’s PCs, updating
the network software; at one point i found myself alone in the
manager’s office with his secretary, Marseya. She has a lovely
precise, British accent, which contrasts in an interesting way with
her exotic asian looks; dark brown shoulder-length hair, her lips
ever pursed on the edge of a smile. Her dress-sense… neat?
neatness isn’t quite the word (although it would have been impossible
to describe her as untidy)… fashionable? i can’t see her as a
slave to the dictates of others when it comes to clothes; all i can
say is that what she wore accentuated her slight figure in a very
She stayed with me while i was installing the updates, asking me
about myself as we waited for the software to de-compress. i was a
bit wary at first… if she was a social climber, then she had no
good reason to talk to me (scum-bag that i am :-)… in retrospect, i
suppose it was because she was one of the world’s very few Genuinely
i ran into a problem; it seemed that the hard disk was almost full
and the temporary working space required by the software as it
decompressed wasn’t available. `that’s a 60 meg hard disk,’ i
thought to myself, `it can’t be full of word-processing documents
already; they’ve only had it for two months.’
`Is something wrong?’ she asked, her beautiful face shadowed by
concern. I started looking around the hard disk, trying to find what
was taking up so much space. There were one or two games, as usual;
she admitted that the manager played them sometimes during lunch.
However, taking up almost twenty megabytes was an impressive
collection of GIF files, some of which i recognised by their names;
`3GIRLS.GIF’, `COUPLE2.GIF’, `HORNY.GIF’, and so on.
`Are these his as well?’ i asked with a wry grin.
`Those are mine.’ she replied evenly. I raised an eyebrow.
`Imagine that. Can you afford to lose about a dozen of them?’ i
was surprised at her rueful expression.
`Is that really necessary? Can’t we upload them to the fileserver,
or put them onto floppies, or something?’ I like the `we’ part, i
thought. Very conspiratorial.
`We can’t access the server until the new network software is in
place… and the new software won’t be in place until we free up ten
megabytes of disk space. Do you have any blank floppies?’ She
spread her empty hands.
`You know what the supply department is like. Oh well,’ she
scowled, `I shouldn’t really have them on here anyway.’ I started up
a directory utility, allowing her to select and delete files which
she felt she could do without. She freed up six megs, but couldn’t
decide which of the fifty-odd files that remained should go. `Could
I look at them again? It would help decide which ones to kill.’
Suppressing a smile that threatened to turn into a lascivious smirk,
i nodded, ran my handy-dandy GIF viewer (don’t leave home without
it!) and loaded the first file. for a moment, i forgot to breathe…
two very attractive girls in a black marble bath-tub were caressing a
third, sitting on the edge with her thighs wrapped around the
water-spout. All three were naked; i didn’t have to look very hard
to see that the third girl was Marseya. `No, i’d like to keep that
one.’ she murmured. I could understand why!
The second was a close-up shot of Marseya’s face, showing her
draining the last drops from a bottle of Perrier. Her eyes burned
with lust, her tongue caressing the circle of the bottle’s mouth.
`Ah… next…’ i said, clearing my throat. She smiled. The next
two files had become corrupted somehow; i could just make out naked
figures contorted into vaguely tantric yoga positions. We deleted
them and continued.
The next one was in clip-art resolution – black and white – and
while it was rather nicely Floyd-Steinberg dithered, i had to move
back a few feet from the screen and squint before i saw the image.
`Is that YOU?’
`Doesn’t that hurt?’ she slipped her arm around my shoulder.
`At first…’ I took a deep breath and passed on to the next
image. After seeing the clip-art image, i didn’t think that anything
else could shock me… which was a pretty naive attitude to have. i
could only stare at the screen, feeling the pixels slowly burning
holes in my retinas. She knelt down next to my chair, and i became
acutely aware of her proximity, the arousing aura of her perfume. it
reminded me of something. i realised that i was still sitting there
with my mouth open; i turned to her and said,
`i never would have suspected that…’
`that someone like me would do something like that?’
`… that someone like you would allow yourself to be photographed
doing something like that. You don’t strike me as someone who would
even think about bestiality, much less…’ i gestured at the screen.
Marseya’s face lost all traces of emotion, becoming a blank mask.
the sudden change made me feel that i’d slapped her across the face,
causing her to retreat. she said, quietly,
`You must think i’m some sort of pervert.’ and she got up to leave.
i grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at me as i put on the most
serious expression i had. i said,
`Not at all. This looks a lot like my GIF collection, actually.’
some animation returned to her face.
`You collect GIFs? Like these?’ i smiled.
`If you’d like to drop in to my place tonight, i’ll show you.’ she
returned my smile warmly; i felt a surge of something inside me that
was more intimate and somehow more noble than plain lust; it was the
feeling of two wanderers meeting, finding that they had the same
destination and that they were no longer alone.
– – – – –
that evening, i rushed about my room, picking clothes off the floor
(where they’d been lying for days) and stuffing them into the clothes
basket. i kicked the bedclothes into a heap, then decided to make
the bed, to try and show that i wasn’t a complete slob. i put on my
`motivation to make the bed’ CD (The Butthole Surfers’ `Hairway to
Steven’), and got to it. The music was so loud that i didn’t hear
Marseya come in through the unlocked front door. i was singing along
with the CD;
`Whaddaya know about reality… i AM reality…’ when, out of the
corner of my eye, i caught a glimpse of her, leaning against the
doorway and smiling. i stared at her for a moment, biting my lip.
she was dressed casually; a Country Road windcheater with ragged
cuffs; a pair of faded denims and scuffed Reeboks. when compared to
the icy Secretarial Standard Image that she presented at work, it
didn’t look scruffy, but rather, more personal, comfortable; as if
the way she dressed at work didn’t express her real personality. and
besides, i found myself very attracted to the way the denim followed
the curves of her thighs and hips. i tried not to look like i was
staring at the subtle shifting of her obviously unrestrained breasts
underneath the windcheater as she regarded the room, taking in the
`Eraserhead’ and Skinny Puppy posters, the uneven stacks of CDs,
videotapes and floppy disks, my personal computer which took up all
of the wide desk. I presented her with a chair, inviting her to sit
in front of the PC, gesturing with exaggerated servility. she smiled
sweetly, accepting the glass of moselle that i offered.
i had prepared a `slideshow’ of GIFs that started out with soft-
core `cheesecake’ and progressed steadily into the areas that she’d
hinted at earlier. in lieu of a second chair, i kneeled down next to
her, and started the show. i was somewhat surprised when she took my
hand, holding it between hers as the images marched past, and even
more surprised when, as the first of what i called the `really raw
images’ appeared, she pressed my hand between her thighs. i glanced
at her; she was completely entranced with the image on the screen,
and probably wasn’t even aware that she was rubbing her crotch with
my hand. i wasn’t going to point this out – in case she decided to
i watched her intently, noting her interest betrayed by tell-tale
flickers of her eyes as the GIFs became less `vanilla’. i could see
a tiny reflection of the screen in her eyes, just large enough to
show sufficient detail to determine which GIF she was looking at.
eventually, she got to what i considered to be the most explicit GIF
in the collection; a naked young girl with long bronze-red hair,
kneeling underneath a huge black stallion, grasping its monstrous
erection and kissing the end. she gave a start when it flashed up on
the screen, and suddenly realised that my hand was firmly wedged
between her thighs and under the seat. for a moment, she didn’t
move, as if trying to think of a polite way of backing out of the
situation. Almost as if in a dream, i found myself reaching around
her waist with my other arm, hugging her to me, pressing my face
against her side, moving up to press my lips against the soft warmth
of her breast. Keeping one hand over mine, squeezing it between her
thighs, she stroked my face with the other, running it through my
hair, down my neck, slipping it under the collar of my shirt and
massaging my shoulder. i felt her heartbeat, heard her sigh as she
drew a deep breath, feeling her ribs expand, gently pushing back
against my face. i moved my other hand underneath the waist-band of
her windcheater, stroking her side, cupping her breast and trapping
the nipple with my index and middle fingers. at the same time, i
slowly ran the thumb of my other hand along the rough denim
jeans-seam that was drawn up between her buttocks. she shuddered,
drawing another deep breath.
i slowly levered the reclining chair back, bringing her face almost
level with mine. my lips moved up over her breast, nuzzling her
collarbone, delicately teasing her pulsing throat with the tip of my
tongue. she sighed faintly in time with the rhythmic motions of our
hands between her legs (which were becoming slower as she lost the
will to resist clamping her thighs together), her sighs muted to a
soft humming as our lips met. playfully, i dug the knuckle of my
thumb into her; she gave a start, her breath tickling my cheek. she
drew her legs up, turning on her side to face me, putting her other
arm around my neck; the reclining chair wobbled unsteadily for a
moment, her eyes widened as she felt her sense of balance
disappearing, and the chair toppled over on its side, spilling her
over on top of me.
for a moment, she kneeled astride me, too surprised to say
anything. Then we both began laughing, which gradually degenerated
into muffled snickers as we kissed again. She lay on top of me,
holding my arms outstretched flat against the floor, slowly moving
her lips against mine. her warm, wet mouth occasionally twitched
into a smile as her laughter threatened to erupt again. i managed to
slide my arms down to my sides, break free of her hold and run my
hands underneath her windcheater and along her back, hugging her soft
body to mine. She made the most sensuous sound i have ever heard –
somewhere between a moan and a squeal – and brought her knee up,
pressing it against my crotch. My hands wandered over the exquisite
texture of thin denim stretched over her thighs, the folds in the
material where it rippled along her hip, the insistent resilience of
her rear. We were pressed tightly together, hardly moving at all;
her fingers slowly entwined themselves in my hair; i undid the brass
stud at the front of her jeans, then traced her spine along her lower
back, down underneath her behind and nestled three fingers in the
damp warmth there. My erection pressed against the smooth cylinder
of her thigh, through two layers of denim. she pressed back, my lips
sensing her smile as she noted the immediate reaction. In return, i
slowly pressed my middle finger past the lips of her vagina, causing
her to arch her back, angling her slit so that i could slip all four
fingers into her and pressing her breasts against my chest. While
she held my head still with one hand, clutching a handful of my hair,
her other hand fiddled with the stud on my jeans, flipping it free
and then drawing the zipper down. She then thrust her hand down the
front of my underpants, grabbing my erection and my aching balls
together, slowly squeezing.
at this point, we decided that it would be a good time to get the
rest of our clothes off and move to the bed.