12/98	             ____________________________
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The Old Man's Office (MF, humor) 
by Godiva <Godiva@starmail.com>


============================================

WARNING:    Contents are of an adult nature, if you are a legal minor
(18 year old--21 years in some areas),  if explicit depictions of
graphic sex are illegal in your country, or if you are offended by
such entertaiment: DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

===========================================

"THE OLD MAN'S OFFICE" by Godiva c1998
===========================================


"We shouldn't be here."

 "If you've changed your mind, we can just forget it."

 "No!  I haven't changed my mind, Dahlia . . . darling Dahlia . . .
but why the old man's office?"

"Because it's safe."

"Safe!" the man exclaimed.  In repose, he appeared to be a noble
edifice of staunch masculinity, but there was a weakness in him that
turned Dahlia's stomach.   "In the old man's office?"

"Oh don't be such a wimp," Dahlia snapped, in exasperation.  "Harper
Lewis is halfway across the continent, and even when he isn't, he
usually works out of his apartment."

"But what if his secretary. . . ." the brawny man trailed off, looking
as if he were  about to burst into tears.

"Oh, Ryder, don't you know anything about what goes on here?" Dahlia
asked rhetorically.  "Harper gave Gertie a second office on the
twenty-third floor.  All Harper's calls go there, except when he is in
the building.  Gertie found it too isolated up here in executive
territory."

"Oh.  Well I don't keep track of all the insignificant doings of the
staff," Ryder pouted.  "And I'm not a wimp.  You just don't realize
how dangerous this is."

"What?  Getting our rocks off in the Great Man's office?"

"I meant the takeover," Ryder replied peevishly.  "But, this too.  The
old bastard is no prude, but he'd be sore as a boil if he found us
here.  He enjoys nothing more than belittling me.  And, if you think
I'm a wimp. . . ."  Ryder began, petulantly.

"Oh, Ryder! Honey!" Dahlia cried, reaching to pacify the offended man
with a submissive hug about his waist.  "Don't mind what I say,
Darling.  It's just when I think you're rejecting me, I get so upset I
say anything."

"Rejecting you?" Ryder sounded baffled.

"You said we shouldn't be here, we should just forget about it,"
Dahlia declared.  "That depressed me so much I called you a wimp, so
you'd get mad enough to go through with it."

"I said to forget it?" Ryder was aghast.

"You did, Ryder.  You know you did," Dahlia insisted.  "And it hurt,
because I love you so.  I want to give myself to you, Ryder."

"But, I just meant not here, in the old man's office," Ryder avowed.
"I mean, we should go away for a weekend, just you and me.  A friend
of mine has a cottage I could borrow, or there are the Bahamas."

"No, Ryder, please," Dahlia begged pressing harder into Ryder's chest.
"No expensive dates, no costly gifts, no trips to exotic places, no
help with my career, no money; I don't even want you to thank me.  I
just want you to take me, Ryder.  Use me!  Love me, Ryder, if you can,
but take me!  Take me, please!"

Awed by the intensity of Dahlia's demand, Ryder pondered--as vaguely
as he ever examined another's needs--the contradictions of this woman.  

Ryder Lewis had seen Dahlia Damon about the office for nearly six
years.  As late as two weeks ago--if asked--he would have said that
Dahlia was a harsh-featured, desiccated stick of a woman who wore
severely-cut, mannish suits.  That she was, in fact, a pseudo male,
female executive.  With Dahlia pressed tightly against him--as had
happened several times this week--Ryder was forced to admit he had
misjudged Dahlia.  

Beneath the conservatively tailored suit, his body contacted a wildly
lush feminine  figure.  Her strength came as no surprise, except in
its degree, which was somewhat overwhelming.  And it did surprise
Ryder that she chose to employ that strength to press her hidden
charms against him, while a smile lightened her determined features
into real beauty.  Dahlia's countenance glowed with that fawning
expression which does so much to enhance a woman, yet so few master.

"Look, I've got an idea," Ryder declared, as the intoxication of a
beautiful woman, worshipping him with her eyes and body, went to his
head, "let's forget about the takeover.  It's all so sordid, and I
don't like the idea of you spending a single second with Curt Andover.
He's . . . he's some kind of animal."

"Oh, Ryder, Baby, don't be jealous," Dahlia begged.  "It's so
ridiculous.  What could I possibly want with Curtis Andover, when I
can be with you.  But, we must go through with the takeover, darling.
You . . . You don't know what it means to me."

"Eh . . . now that you mention it, I don't," Ryder confessed,
dumbfounded.   In his experience, beautiful women didn't normally
offer their bodies, or risk their careers, unless there was something
in it for them.  "What do you get out of it?"

"Satisfaction," Dahlia answered, a suspicion of a sob in her voice.
"You don't know what it does to me, how it makes me feel, seeing the
inconsiderate treatment you get from these people.  The old man treats
you like dirt, and everyone else follows his lead.  It makes me want
to scream."

Much struck with the justice of her observation, Ryder impulsively
pressed a kiss onto Dahlia's lips, mashing their noses together in the
process.  Undaunted, he slid one hand upward, scouring her heavy
jacket for a concealed breast; then yelped as he impaled his thumb on
the sharp point of her lapel pin.

"Oh Honey, I'm sorry!" Dahlia exclaimed, popping the wounded digit
from his mouth to kiss the trifling wound.

Stepping back, Dahlia began to undress quickly.  With sure, deft,
movements she rapidly shed her tailored jacket, practical white
blouse, and popped open the catch of her utilitarian brassier,
releasing high eagerly jutting breasts from their rigidly compressed
prisons. 

Watching them bounce and jiggle as Dahlia bent to step out of her
skirt, Ryder forgot to minister to his injured thumb.  Having shed her
shoes, Dahlia swept both her panties and pantihose down her legs,
stopping at the ankles to draw them off from the toes.  Pausing only
to assure herself that the pantihose were not tangled or damaged,
Dahlia turned, legs parted, while she stretched forth her arms to
welcome Ryder.  

Had he been his uncle, Ryder might have likened Dahlia's
transformation to the Venus de Milo freed from her block of marble.
Since-- with the exception of beer and football--Ryder was culturally
unlettered, he simply gawked.

Gripping the bottom of his clamorous tie, Dahlia backed toward an
impressively outsized leather couch, dragging Ryder as though he were
on a leash.   While she shuffled backwards, Dahlia's other hand was
busily tugging at Ryder's belt.   When she felt the couch's costly
leather touch her calves, Dahlia released the last catch on Ryder's
pants.  Another practised motion sent Ryder's boxers down his legs to
join the puddle of clothes about his ankles.  With a whoop of
laughter, Dahlia launched herself backwards to plop onto the couch,
forcing Ryder to accompany her.

Dahlia landed with her back pressed into the cool leather, while Ryder
grovelled between her spread legs, the coarse weave of his tweed
jacket scratching Dahlia's stomach, where his elbow prodded.
Balancing awkwardly on his knees, Ryder grasped a large, looming
breast, squeezing and pinching, energetically.

"Ow!  That feels good," Dahlia lied.

As he repeated the manoeuvre on her other breast, Dahlia noticed
Ryder's rigid penis peeking coyly between the parted curtain of his
shirt.  Digging in her heels behind Ryder's rear, Dahlia dragged him
off-balance, and set him falling on top of her.   Quickly, she raised
her hips, and tilted to receive him.

"Ouch!  Sonovabitch!" Ryder declared, as his penis bent against a bony
protrusion on Dahlia's pelvis.  "Dammit," he expanded, "that hurts!" 

Raising himself, Ryder grabbed his rapidly wilting erection.

"Oh, poor Baby," Dahlia proclaimed, adroitly confiscating Ryder's
injured member, "you stubbed your poor widdly cocky-wocky."

Gradually, the combination of mystic fingers and soothing nonsense
convinced the pained penis to perform.  As he hardened, Ryder
deliriously hauled out his wallet and extracted a condom.  Shredding
the wrapper, he attempted to put it on.  By the third unsuccessful
attempt, he was becoming frantic.  Calmly, Dahlia took the rubber and
rolled it up Ryder's shaft.  In five seconds it was on, and fit like a
coat of paint.

Without further foreplay, Ryder guided his penis into Dahlia's vagina
by hand.   Once the head was securely stuffed through the labia, he
rammed his penis home.  Immediately, Ryder began humping and bucking,
as his hands clutched fiercely at Dahlia's breast's.  Humping and
pumping, Ryder's mighty grunting filled the office, and eventually,
slightly moved the couch.  Gradually, Dahlia raised her legs  to clasp
about Ryder's waist.  As her feet touched behind Ryder's back, he gave
a great bellow, stopped, humped convulsively three times, and
collapsed on top of Dahlia.

"Ryder?"  Dahlia's voice sounded muffle and anxious.  "Are you okay?
Ryder?"

A growl sounded in Dahlia's ears.  Quickly, it expanded itself into a
rolling snore.  "Shit!" Dahlia observed with feeling.

"Ryder," she said, after several failed attempts to wriggle free. "Get
off."

Ryder responded with a complicated buzzing sound.

"I'm warning you."

The buzzing remained unabated.

Dahlia dug the heel of her foot in front of Ryder's hip.  Her hand
burrowed to reach the ribcage below his shoulder.  With a grunt Dahlia
straightened both arm and leg, and Ryder flopped over onto his back.
Dahlia rolled off the couch, leaving Ryder to his somnambulant
muttering as he slid bonelessly to the floor.

Brazenly, Dahlia stalked across the office to the entrance.  Checking
the lock, she removed the key and returned to the desk, which
dominated the huge office.

"Wha'cha doing?"

"I'm keeping the key," Dahlia announced, a furious scowl marring her
features.   She took a deep breath and replaced it with her fawning
smile, then turned back to Ryder, who was still resting on the carpet.
"Honey, if I keep the key, you can get another, then we can meet here
often."

"Er, yes, as long as the old man is out of town," Ryder agreed,
reluctancy.

"It's only one more week," Dahlia reminded him, "then this will be
your office."

"I guess you're right," Ryder allowed.  "It is time for me to stand on
my own two feet."

Putting words into action, Ryder arose from the floor, but tripped
over the tangled clothing warped about his ankles, and measured his
length on the carpet.   Dahlia looked away, biting her lip.  Starting
over, Ryder managed to untangle his slacks, draw them up, and buckle
them in place.  A few adjustments, a twitch to straighten his tie, a
quick pass of his comb, and Ryder was ready for business.

"Well, I must run," Ryder announced, "I'm already late for a meeting.
Oh, are you going to see Curt tonight?"

"I'm not sure," Dahlia replied.  "It mostly depends on what headway is
made with Witherspoon."

"Witherspoon!  Bob Witherspoon?  Curt will never convince Witherspoon
to make a move against my uncle," Ryder predicted.  "He's too much of
an old woman."

"I think he can be brought to see the advantages," Dahlia replied,
carelessly.

"I doubt it," Ryder objected.  "Besides, Bob Witherspoon sticks his
neck out for no man."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, gotta go," Ryder pecked Dahlia's lips with a kiss, then stood
back for her to unlock the door.

"Better not leave that behind," Dahlia advised.

Turning to look where she pointed, Ryder spied a used condom lying in
front of the couch, slowly staining the carpet.

"Er . . . can't you take care of it?" Ryder glanced at his cuff and
added, "I really am late."

"Well, it is yours, after all."

Hesitantly, Ryder raised the condom between his thumb and forefinger.
He looked about in embarrassed puzzlement.

"I have no place to put it," he protested.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Dahlia exclaimed, turning to unlock the door,
"just put it in your pocket."

"My pocket!" Ryder was shocked.  "Never!" he avowed, brushing an
invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

With a stoic expression congealed on his features, Ryder closed his
hand about the foul object.  He marching across the room, and waited
while Dahlia unlocked the door.  After a quick peek, she swung the
door open.  With an expression of Homeric dignity pasted on his face,
Ryder passed through the portal.  Down the hall he strode, a tall,
distinguished man expensively attired, holding his head erect and a
soiled condom cupped in his hand.

Dahlia carefully turned the key in the lock, leaned back against the
door,  surveying the office.  Nonchalantly, the naked woman flipped
the key into the air, caught it, and delivered her opinion.

"What," she told the empty office, "a maroon!"
