Undressing Optional

The office holiday party was getting into its frankly carnal stage. Married staffers who wanted to steer clear of trouble were saying their goodbyes or simply walking away. Unmarried staffers, and some of the married ones who were looking for trouble, were visibly shifting gears, appraising their best prospects for ending the evening in somebody else's bed. Or simply finding some action in a shadowy corner of the large warehouse and gallery space the company had rented for the evening.

Music pounded from the d.j. and reverberated around the large brick rooms of the long-ago printing plant. Martin was on the prowl, no doubt about it. His fondest hope for getting something tonight had been Wendy, lovely Wendy who dressed as carefully and femininely as if she were an air hostess in the 1960s, but she seemed to be attached to Carl tonight. Martin supposed he should have guessed that. Mariah was a possibility, she was a little rougher and tougher than Wendy but that probably meant she was a wildcat. Or a lesbian. Hard to tell. In any case, he didn't see her. In fact, it looked like there weren't that many women to hit on left.

Then he saw Sharon. Sharon was kind of on the big side. Okay, more than kind of. She wasn't fat fat, but she was broad across, and she was stocky, and she had a kind of nerd-girl thing going, with pulled-back hair and black retro hornrims, which was appropriate because she was obviously smart as hell, to judge by meetings he'd been in with her. Martin didn't exactly go for the BBW type, but he didn't exactly not go for Sharon, either. There was something he'd found kind of a turn on about her nerd-girl thing and the way her ample bosom strained against her dress shirts, opening gaps between the buttons which flashed little bits of pale peach flesh. Or her chubby thighs extending from a plain-front skirt. She had probably put on weight fairly recently and her wardrobe hadn't quite caught up.

He pulled up next to her, with practiced casualness, and made a witty comment about a couple of coworkers who were obviously a couple of drinks past their limit. Sharon seemed to be amused by his caustic sense of humor, based on past experience, so she took it in stride. The conversation went easily, relaxedly. Sharon was more of a pleasure to talk to than many of the women Martin would have considered prime bedding candidates.

Then she asked out of the blue if it wasn't time for him to being looking for some hot chick to hit on. He wasn't surprised that she knew his reputation, and almost without thinking about it he shot back a glib response: what makes you think I'm not? With someone else this might have gotten just a knowing tease in return, but he knew he had miscalculated with her when he saw her face turn serious in an instant. He only half-heard what she muttered in response, but the message of it was obvious: don't make fun of me, just for your fun.

Now he had to backpedal, quickly and convincingly. Without laying it on too thick, he let her know that he wasn't making fun, that he'd always thought she was kind of attractive in a different way from the others. That there was no joke in what he said, and that... he was interested in her, if she was interested in him.

She was skeptical. Why, so you can check me off your list of coworkers laid? No, because we'd have a good time together, he said. Yeah, I hear you're good at having a good time, she said. Is that so bad? he said. The question hung in the air, with no definitive answer.

Why don't you go get us a couple of drinks? she said.

He hurried back expecting her to have moved on, but she hadn't. Maybe there was a little hunger in her eyes, now, too, or something amused at the thought of what she was thinking of doing. Martin hoped that was what it was, anyway. They sipped their drinks and talked a little more, superficially, avoiding the big subject. Then she fixed him with a look.

I'm not going home with you. But find us somewhere we can make out.

The gallery complex had lots of dark and off-the-beaten-path places— small offices used for nothing now, stairwells, places where rooms had been cut in half, leaving odd-shaped nooks. Martin quickly found one and they squeezed into its shadows.

Now that they were there, how to begin? The idea seemed faintly ridiculous now, the two of them enclosed in this weird little phone booth of a space with one side open to the world. But no one seemed to be passing by it, and then Sharon held out her hands and Martin took them. She pulled him closer and they began to kiss, pressing their bodies together, radiating warmth toward each other.

He kissed her lips and then nuzzled her neck. She tossed her head back, she seemed to be liking it. He kissed further, to her collarbone, discernable under a soft layer of spongy skin. He brought his hand up to her breast and she didn't object as he gently stroked it. They were bigger and rounder than he had realized all this time; he had a sudden flash of her on top of him, her breasts dangling over him and swaying furiously as she rode him up and down. But that wasn't going to happen here.

He kissed her lips again and as he did his hand strayed up to her cleavage, felt the warmth of her heaving breasts. Her quite large and suddenly very delectable breasts. He felt for the button in front and began to unsnap it but she stopped him. I'm keeping my clothes on, she said.

Which was not, Martin noted, the same as saying stop. So he tried something else. He slipped his hand in under the top of her blouse, feeling his way past the lacy (well, polyester-y) brassiere to a handful of her hefty mounds. At the same time she reached behind him and cupped his ass, pulling him closer to her.

Then he reached behind her and slipped a hand under her skirt, feeling her big bottom in its sheer panties. That pressed him against her and she felt his cock, knotted tightly inside his pants. She laughed knowingly, she seemed pleased to be having this effect, which only made Martin's erection grow more uncomfortably in its tight space. She must have sensed the problem because suddenly her hand shot down into Martin's pants, grabbed his cock by the root, and rearranged it upward so that the sensitive side was facing out. She smirked a little at the speed of her acquaintance with his cock, then began rubbing her pelvis against his, her weight providing enough force to keep him excited as she moved up and down against him.

As she did he slipped his hand in between her thighs and she let his hand ride straight up to her pussy, he could feel that it was warm and moist in there even as her panties blocked direct access. As she slid up and down against his cock she rode his hand, and he grabbed her butt with his other hand and squeezed it as they pressed against each other.

Then she stopped and turned around, hiking her skirt up slightly. He pressed his cock inside his pants against the crack of her ass, and she began to ride it up and down her ass. He reached up inside her blouse and felt her chubby tummy, her love handles, the little swell of a belly, then up to those big breasts, swaying as he'd imagined inside her bra. But her ass moving up and down on his cock— it was incredible, like the best lap dance imaginable, all that weight, the softness of her big ass moving against him, working his cock.

And as she rode him he became aware that her hand was rubbing her pussy, and that did it. Suddenly he shot off inside his pants, and as the third or fourth contraction took place, she stiffened and moaned softly, growlingly, and it was obvious she was coming too.

She turned around and draped her arms over his shoulders. He didn't want to press against her and risk soaking through his pants, but she looked at him, wryly but tenderly, and they kissed again, more gently, less hungrily.

Merry Christmas, she said.

Happy New Year? he asked.

Why don't you ask me out for it and see what happens? she said. It might be nice to see you out of...

Out of?

Out of an office setting, she said. Why, what did you think I meant? And she gave him a mischievous look, and then straightened her clothes, and went out of their little space as if nothing had happened... as if not so much as a button had been disturbed.