She is disturbingly beautiful, seemingly cobbled together with the most interesting and prominent features of several genetically and geographically scattered people. But the eyes are most definitely hers, a penetrating pale blue that fades away into almost nothingness when she stands with her tight little Asiatic body very very close and stares deeply, lingeringly and hungrily into my anxious lustful soul.

She touches me as she talks, her hand lingering on my arm, her fingertips dancing on my shoulder.

For a moment I am lost, dazed, confused, in another time and another place, not really hearing her, or thinking she has said something else. "OK sweety," I answer her, my hand on her spine.

I realize too late what I have done, that I have gone too far for work, even if she crossed that line long ago, the very first time she came to my cube and told me what a big strong kind smart man I was for helping her.

But she does not run. She does not scream. She does not say "what?" She does not even flinch.

She smiles.

Emboldened I run my hand up her back. She does not speak, but squeezes my arm and stares into my eyes.

My hand is on her neck, gently stroking, then back down her spine, making her shiver as I reach the small and then her ass, where I run my fingers in luxurious circles.

She purrs.

I turn and pull her in, enthralled, enraptured and in a state beyond belief or understanding, I put my other hand between her denim-clad thighs and she spreads her feet a little further.

We are too far gone to stop now. I do not know who else is in the office, how soon someone else could walk in wanting help, how visible my hands are from the aisle between the cubes, but still my hand is cupping her cunt through her jeans, moving back and forth as the other moves round and round and she bends forward to kiss me.

As our lips meet, as out tongues play, I rub harder and faster, feeling her tension, and her quickened breathing. The denim is unexpectedly soft and supple between her legs as though it has been rubbed many times before and I wonder as she lifts on to her toes, leaning in to me on the verge of collapse, what she does all day in her own cube when she is bored and lonely.

That image, of her in her cube with one hand between her legs as she sits in her cube testing my software spurs me on, drives my hand faster, drives her over the edge and she comes, toppling in to me, leaning on my shoulder, gasping for breath, whispering into my ear one labored word at a time, "You are such a big, strong, kind man for helping me."