The Office Christmas Party

"But thanks for saying so," I said with a smile and took a sip from my wine glass. I could not have disarmed them more thoroughly if I'd tried. It was as if their brains had turned to mush.

I was just trying to think of how I could tease them a little more when a voice spoke from beside me.

"I just wanted to say well done again." It was Martin, and the smile on his face told me that he hadn't come to congratulate me, only to gloat some more. He looked me up and down but, unlike everyone else, he made no attempt to hide it from me.

"I'm thinking we could do with a new dress code policy," he said to Bryan with as large a "I'm your best mate" grin as he could manage.

Bryan had seen Martin's type come and go but, like him or not, he had pulled in a huge sales figure this year; just a little more than my own, as if I could ever forget it.

"A few of us were thinking of going on to a club later, if you fancy it," Martin said as he turned back to me. Was he coming on to me, after everything that had happened?

I think my disdain must have been as visible as my nipples because the three older men smiled a little before I even said anything.

"I'm thinking I might be calling it a night soon," I told Martin, "Once I can remember where I left my coat."

That raised a laugh and Martin's eyes sparkled. I wanted to shake him and shout: no, I am not flirting with you, you overdressed primate!

"An early night?" he questioned, "Wasn't our deal to stay naked for the entire party?"

I took a deep breath and he watched my chest rise and fall as I fumed inwardly. And to cap it off, he winked again. He couldn't have been more unpleasant if he'd been chewing on gum at the same time.

"So no sloping off home," he added unnecessarily. "What time does the party end?" he asked Bryan.

"We'll be kicked out at eleven," Bryan told him. Martin looked at his watch.

"That's only two hours away," he said, "Here, let me get you a drink."

"I'm fine with this, thanks," I told him, holding my still half-full glass, "Excuse me a minute."

It was time to move on again. At least I hadn't shown any weakness to Martin, no hint of the embarrassment that was wringing my insides. But for some reason he thought that whenever I got angry at him it was because I was interested in him. It was like he'd learnt everything he knew about women from Hollywood blockbusters, where the leads go from animosity to rolling in the sack in the blink of an eye.

"Hey, Natalie," a male voice said, approaching me, "I don't suppose I could ask a favour, could I? I mean, it might be fun?" It was Les.

I raised an eyebrow. Les wants a favour? And, who on earth walks up to a naked woman at a party and just asks them for a favour as if there was nothing wrong with the world?

"Uh, sure," I said for some reason.

"Well," he said, "I've got to do the Secret Santa now. And I thought with you... well, naked and all... it'd be fun if you could hand out the presents."

"Me?" I asked incredulously. Was this his great idea that might be fun? "Oh, sure," I said sarcastically.

Les grinned and I remembered just how impervious he was to sarcasm. "Great! Follow me."

Like an idiot, I followed him onto the low stage and stood there with my arms crossed.

"Gentleman," he said into a small microphone, "And ladies." He turned and looked at me and there was another cheer. What were they expecting me to do: wave back?

"Now we've got the second most important part of the evening: the Secret Santa!"

The crowd of young men obligingly filled the space that Les had left for them with incoherent shouting. Les waited for the noise to die down.

"I'll call your names out," he said, "And my beautiful assistant here..." He looked at me again, and there were more cheers, whoops and wolf whistles. "... will present you with your... uh... present."

Les picked up the first parcel and read the name out loud.

"Duncan."

Duncan came to the stage and I handed him the box. Was that pause before he left because he was expecting me to kiss him on the cheek? Dream on, buddy. Just be grateful I smiled and didn't throw it at you.

"Amanda."

And so the list went on. When Brian (who isn't the same as Bryan, the chief executive) came up to the stage I was barely paying attention enough to remember that I had bought him his gift. Brian worked in tech support or databases or something and I barely knew him so I'd bought some kind of flashing light gadget that plugged into a USB port. I thought that was the kind of thing tech guys liked. I would say I hoped he liked it, but I didn't really care. It was called a Secret Santa for a reason.

Finally, Les picked up the last box, which I realised he'd put aside especially.

"Country girl!"

I don't know if the lights were bright enough to show how red I went as my nickname was called. I couldn't say for sure that the box was from Martin or from one of his cohorts, but I made it my business right there and then to get each and every one of them back for this.

"That'll be you, Natalie," Les added, raising laughs from those of the crowd that were still paying attention instead of showing around their instantly forgettable presents.

I took my badly wrapped parcel, which was a clear sign that it had been one of the "that'll do" men, and took it over to the bar. At least I was off the stage, and I felt safer standing at the bar where I might be more visible but I was also more mobile. It was better than hiding at one of the tables and being cornered by the likes of David or, even worse, Martin again. More people were standing in groups anyway now and, faster than I thought, fewer people were paying attention to me as I walked around. I almost felt offended at that.

I put my box on the bar and began to unwrap it. Whatever it was, it was quite large, about twelve inches square and four or five inches deep. I pulled the scrappily taped paper off and opened the plain cardboard box.

I instantly recognized it for what it was: a cowboy hat, or a sort of childish version of one. I picked it up and looked at it.

"Aren't you going to put it on, country girl?" a voice said from just behind me. I looked around and saw Martin again and he gave me another wink. Geez, I wish he would stop hitting on me. And who the hell winks at girls in this day and age and expects anything from it?

"Naked from head to toe, I thought the deal was," I said, showing him the hat.

He grinned. "Yeah, and aren't I glad of it." He ogled my body yet again. "But if the hat's on top of your head then no rules are broken. Yeah?"

I rolled my eyes; this was just some part of his fantasy. And it struck me: he really did have the hots for me. And not just because I was naked, although I'm sure that helped. That would make sense of so many things that had happened over the year. And if I couldn't get under his skin any other way then maybe this was the weakness I had been looking for. It had been right under my nose, and right between his legs, all the time.

"What do you think?" I asked as I rolled the hat onto my head and cocked my hip with one hand, forcing a flirtatious smile to my lips. His eyes lit up and I was certain I was on the right lines.

"Beautiful!" he said. It was the closest thing to a heartfelt compliment that I'd ever heard from his lips. "But there's something else in the box too."

Well that pretty much sealed the theory about who my Secret Santa was, although I wondered if it had been luck that Martin had been assigned my name or if he'd somehow arranged a swap.

I looked in the box and spotted two more items: a plastic gun belt with a toy sheriff's gun, and a pair of handcuffs. I picked the handcuffs up and realised that they were very much not made of plastic, and I began to see just how deeply Martin's fantasy ran.

I wrapped the gun belt around my waist. It felt odd to have the cool, hard plastic against my bare skin. It was slung low on one hip and I picked up the handcuffs and adopted my coquettish hand-on-hip pose again. Martin grinned.

"Now that's what I call a country girl," he said. I grinned to stop myself from telling him what a creepy little shit I thought he was as I twirled the handcuffs around my finger. They were surprisingly weighty and I wondered if they were adult play handcuffs at all. The ones I'd used before (it was an experiment, okay?) were flimsy and you could twist them apart with a bit of effort, in case you got stuck, I suppose. But not this pair. This pair looked like the only way out of them would be the key (which was thankfully attached to a small loop of string which I slipped over my wrist) or a lengthy session with power tools.

"I don't suppose you've got a pair of cowboy boots lying around, have you?" I asked him teasingly.

"Oh, I wish..." He thought for a second: "But I could give you your shoes back."

I'd heard that the naked woman in heels thing was quite the male fantasy, so I nodded. Martin almost fell over himself as he bounded across to where my shoes had been lined up neatly at one side of the stage and returned with them held by the straps. So why did he insist I took them off in the first place, then? I guess he wanted me to be humiliated first.

"Don't shoes break the rules?" I asked him, still doing my best to flirt.

He tilted his head a little as if in thought again. "Head to toe, we said, and this only just covers your toes."

He was right, in a way, and I put the red shoes down on the floor and slipped my feet into them. I was back to my usual in-the-office height again, and it already felt better to be an inch higher, as if the extra height gave me more authority. And that was a comical thought: that a naked woman in red shoes, a cowboy hat and a plastic gun belt could have any authority at all.

Martin looked me up and down again, his eyes filled with lust. So this was the key all along, this was the way to make him drop his cocky act: to pretend that I was in awe of him in some way? I would have happily have pretended that just to get under his skin.

"I've got something I need to check on upstairs," I said coyly, "Do you want to keep me company?" I dangled the handcuffs on the end of my fingers. I needn't have bothered as he was already under my spell. He simply nodded and I waved a beckoning finger and turned and led him away from the party.

I started up the stairs to the offices and meeting rooms with Martin followed behind. I tried to walk seductively, but I can't help but think that the view that Martin had of my behind as I climbed the steps was not my best angle. But then, I've heard that men like that kind of thing, and if I'd heard it then Martin had probably heard it too and decided that he should think the same thing.

"Where are we going?" he asked me.

"To find a quiet meeting room," I told him, and now it was my turn to wink. He received my wink like a puppy that had been told he was a good boy.

I peered through the door into the open plan office. The lights were on but it was deserted. I walked confidently towards the small meeting room, knowing without looking that Martin would be following on my tail.

I opened the door and leant up against it with one arm, inviting Martin inside. Martin entered and stood in the centre of the room and as I stepped away from the door it closed shut. I glanced out of the square window in the exterior wall, grateful that we were three stories up and with no tall buildings opposite. The last thing I'd want was for someone to see me alone with Martin like this.

Martin now appeared to be a bag of nerves. It was amazing how quickly he'd gone from alpha male to frightened young man. All it had taken was a confident woman who knew she had the upper hand. A confident naked woman, I admit, but I knew it was the confident part that he had a bigger problem with than the naked part.

"What..." he began as I stood only six inches away from him. I put the handcuffs on the table beside him, grabbed hold of his tie and pulled his face closer to mine. The cowboy hat slipped backwards as the brim pressed crushed his forehead. This was the part that was going to take the most willpower, but I managed to force my lips against his. His eyes closed, unlike mine, and as I worked at unknotting his tie my mouth was filled with the taste of onions. I tried not to think about it as I pulled the long strip of fabric from around his neck.

Martin's hands closed around my waist and pulled me against him. Now, I have to admit, that part wasn't so bad. He was pretty well built and his hands were strong. My skin rubbed against his shirt and his trousers and his erection pressed against my stomach. If it wasn't for the kissing it wouldn't have been so bad.

As I started to unbutton his collar his hands began to slide down my back and onto the tops of my buttocks. I had no time for that at all and, well, to hell with it, I thought as I wrapped his shirt lapels into my fists and pulled outwards as hard as I could.

Buttons flew in all directions and his shirt was open to thirds of the way down. Martin stopped kissing and his hands dropped to his sides in shock, which is exactly what I hoped would happen. I couldn't tell whether it was the idea that I had damaged his precious shirt or the delusion that I wanted him so badly that I was going to literally rip the clothes from his body.

I changed my grip to hold his shirt further down and pulled again, scattering the last of the buttons across the floor.

What I had felt of his body wasn't a bad assessment: he was in very good shaped indeed, with even a hint of a six-pack. As I said: apart from the kissing, and it being Martin, this wouldn't have been too bad.

I ran my fingers across his stomach muscles, partly to calm him and partly because he probably did have the best body of any man I'd ever touched. His eyes half-closed and his hands started to return to my waist.

I had to put a stop to that, so I pushed my hands onto his chest and across his shoulders, shoving his shirt from his torso. His shoulders were pretty well-built too... No, I couldn't get distracted. But the main thing was that as I pulled his shirt down his back his hands were staying away from my body. I had to fiddle at the buttons on the cuff to tug the shirt over his hands and he laughed. It would have been quite a touching moment if it wasn't for the fact it was Martin.

I tossed the shirt to one side. Now one of us was fully naked and the other was half naked. It was a start.

He was about to put his hands on me again when I placed my palm in the centre of his chest and pushed backwards. He let me push him down into the chair just behind him. I put one hand on my hip, stood with my legs slightly apart, and looked down at him. He gazed up at me, nothing but lust written across his face. As it bloody well should be.

I picked up the handcuffs and dangled them again, as if I was wondering what I should do with the half-naked man in front of me. I put my hands on Martin's knees, which he had well spread as if to demonstrate he needed that much room to hang his testicles, and knelt in front of him. His hands moved to my body again but I took hold of them and pushed them through the arms of the chairs and wrapped them behind him.

Leaning forwards with my breasts against his thighs I reached around his back and closed the handcuffs around one wrist and then the other. I know he could have stopped me if he wanted to. His body arched towards me, his desire now almost overwhelming him, and his cock, feeling rock hard even beneath a layer of trousers and underwear, pressed into my chest.

I rocked back, satisfied that I had Martin immobilised and powerless for the time being.

"I don't know what's come over you, but I like it," he said. And this was the worst of all: he winked again. He had a naked woman knelt between his legs, a naked woman who had cuffed him to a chair and was apparently stripping him in a lust-filled frenzy, and he thought a wink would help things along? I guess an idiot is an idiot no matter what the situation. Actually, a turned on idiot is even more of an idiot.

I unfastened his belt and pulled his trousers open, trying to rush as if I was wild with desire. And to tell you the truth, I was immensely curious to see if his apparent confidence at the prospect of walking around naked for the evening was justified. The bulge I'd felt against my chest had felt... satisfactory, and even when I'm coldly calculating revenge I can't be expected to overlook the occasional pleasure, can I?

"I wish I'd seen this side of you before," Martin said.

"You just needed to look harder."

I slipped my fingers into the top of his boxer shorts and yanked downwards. His penis sprang free and slapped back against his pelvis. He really was rock hard, and he really was justified in being so cocky: it was enormous.

"Actually, you look more than hard enough," I joked, but he didn't hear as his eyes closed and his head rocked back. I could read his mind: yes, it's finally happening; she's going to do it. The anticipation was almost too much for him.

And I know it was only Martin, but the sight of his enormous phallus just inches from my face... One or two male genitalia may have passed these angelic lips in the past, but his would be by far the largest. It almost made me question my past choices.

"Bad girl," I told myself, and I shuffled back a little and untied Martin's shoe laces. His cock was trying to wave up and down in front of me, the waistband of his trousers and boxer shorts keeping the shaft pressed against his stomach.

I pulled off his shoes and socks and I could hear Martin breathing heavily.

"You don't need to do that," he said through dazed eyes. He just wanted me to get on with it. He'd probably read something about foreplay being for losers or some shit somewhere.

"Sshh, you," I told him, and to shut him up I put my palm on his penis and stroked gently upwards.

Okay, okay, I wanted to see what it felt like. Is that such a crime? Anyway, it did the job and his eyes closed and his head fell back again and a low moan came from his mouth.

I grabbed the hems of his trousers and simultaneous stood and pulled. I forgot the office chair had wheels and Martin began to slide towards me, unable to stop himself as his legs were now ten inches from the ground and his hands were cuffed behind him. I put my foot on the base of the share to stop it and pulled harder and Martin's trousers slipped out from beneath him and down his legs. And, I have to admit, I enjoyed having that much power.

I finished removing his trousers and stood looking down at him. Now he was nearly as naked as I was. Only his boxer shorts, halfway down his hips already, were left.

I leant forwards and put my hands on his hips, conscious that my breasts were only a few inches from his face. He craned his neck to try to reach one with his lips. Maybe I could let him?... No: just because I was getting horny that was no excuse for getting intimate with Martin. Although, I guess, some people would call this pretty intimate already. But in my book it's the thought that counts, and my thoughts were far from intimate.

I pulled sharply at his boxers and they slid out from under his buttocks. He closed his knees a little so that I could pull them down his legs and off of his feet.

I stood and admired my work: Martin, naked, handcuffed, with his erection poking into his own belly button as it flapped up and down.

"Are you going to finish the job?" Martin asked, first looking down at his penis, and then back at me with a wink. WITH A WINK! Did he think a wink was going to get him a blow-job? Knowing Martin, he probably did.

"Oh, yes," I said, and as I sunk between his knees I wiggled my hips and ran my hands up his thighs.

His eyes closed again. "Oh, yeah," he said as I gave his cock another stroke with my palm. Look, it was there, I was horny, and I just wanted to feel it again, so stop judging me. I'd had to put up with all kinds of shit from Martin over the year so I think I deserved a little time appreciating his one redeeming feature.