Helen 1: Year End

by Serena Jones

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Group Sex, Interracial, Black Female, White Male, Oriental Female, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Dull day at the office? Helen finds one way to pass the time during the holidays! The first of Helen's Tales but not the last....

It was the Friday before New Year's and the firm was at a dead stop. Everyone with an hour's worth of leave had begged, borrowed or coughed the day off and the only those persons who had to be there wandered around looking for something to do.

And, of course, the Accounting Department. Helen stretched and again lamented her choice of occupation. Only two of the department's staff members had been required to work the whole week — herself and the newest member of the team, a just-out-of-college child named Sage. A quiet and shy Korean girl, Sage was normally the perfect office mate — she didn't listen to loud music, she didn't listen to your phone conversations and she did do her share of debits and credits with efficiency and a smile. Overall, Helen quite liked the girl, even tried to take something of a mentor role with her and Sage seemed to welcome the relationship. The girl was new to the 'western world' and often had questions about the "American" way of life. This week unfortunately was so dull that Helen was beginning to wish that anyone else had draw the other short straw.

Helen needed a break. She logged off her computer and grabbed the outgoing mail, less because it needed to go and more for the excuse to take a walk. Most of the offices on this floor were closed, the doors locked and the occupants far from the daily office grind. The office next to the ladies room, however, had one stressed employee. Jerry was the kind of guy you always thought should be married; friendly and intelligent with a good mix of humor, ambition and a tight ass thrown in. His Latin heritage built him like an Aztec statute so he was tall and tan with dark hair and perfect teeth. His wide frame had always made Helen think of football players. She had often considered talking her way into his bed but he always begged off office social events and there hadn't seemed to be a good opportunity in the office. Besides, he was always working, rarely dating and never seemed to look twice at short, pudgy accountants.

Helen tapped on the doorframe, "You got stuck in here too, eh?"

He turned around and smiled, "Hey! Yeah, someone had to finish the department's schedule. Guess who got to be 'someone'?" He put down his pen and ran his fingers through his silky dark curls, "You got plans?"

Helen had plans that she did not want known about the office so she shrugged, "Nothing special. Meet a couple friends at the local hang out, have a drink or two, be home by 12:15 probably."

He nodded knowingly, "Yeah, same here." His phone rang and he grimaced, "The boss. Can't come in, no no. But he can call ten times!"

Helen gave a sympathetic wave and left him to take the call. After dropping the mail in the appropriate bin and checking the department's incoming mailbox, she stopped by Jerry's door again. He was still on the phone so to stall for time, she stepped into the ladies room. She stood back from the sink to take a good, almost-full-length look in the mirror. At 35, she was in average shape she thought. Her chocolate brown skin, one of her best features, was smooth and unblemished. Five foot, three and 150 pounds did not a fat woman make — she hoped. She tended to wear suits in the office, which hid the worst of her figure flaws and accented her DD-cup breasts. Her legs had always been shapely and — in the suit, at least — her ass was round and firm. She stepped into the stall and hung her jacket on the door hook.

The holiday plans she told Jerry were honest enough. If he knew that the 'local hang out' was an on-premises sex club and that by 'meet friends' she meant 'get fucked', it qualified for full disclosure. Under her conservative suit and transparent silk blouse, Jerry would find a very non-conservative black lace shelf bra that restrained rather than contained her ample breasts. Even in her youth, she had never been 'pert' but no one had ever complained about their size. The bra cupped her breast but did nothing to hide her nearly black areoles and noticeably large nipples that hardened with the slightest provocation. She closed her eyes and pictured Jerry. Instantly, she felt a familiar tingle as her nipples brushed the silk so she gave them a gentle squeeze. After a few minutes, they stood erect like little tent poles and throbbed with her heartbeat. She unzipped her pants and slid one finger inside her black lace thongs (oh so useless, oh so erotic) to find her pussy warm and wet already. She fought the urge to moan aloud. She loved the slippery feeling of a wet pussy as much as she loved the sexual pleasure that produce it. She slid her finger around her pussy folds avoiding her clit for the moment. She found it increasing harder not to make a sound as she slipped another finger in and squeezed her nipples more frantically. She imagined Jerry watching her masturbate — imagined him wanting to touch her. The idea was too much; Helen sighed softly as she rubbed her slick fingers over her clit. The wall held her up as an orgasm overcame her. She groaned as the bathroom door opened. With an effort, she controlled it and silently let another wave roll through her. She heard someone use the other stall, wash their hands and leave. When the door finally closed again, Helen gasped. She mopped up enough to be decent and straighten her clothes. She left the rest room; Jerry was nowhere to be seen but the papers spread across his active computer told her that he would return. Sighing wistfully, she licked her fingers and headed back to her desk.

By 4pm, she was climbing the walls with boredom. She was sorting paper clips by size when Sage turned and looked at her.

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure." Helen stopped typing.

"A personal something." Sage bit her lip; something clearly distressed her.

Helen shrugged, "It's ok. What do you need to know?"

Sage was silent for a moment and smoothed her long black hair behind her ear. The gesture drew Helen's attention to the girl's face. She was not what Helen would typically have called pretty. Frankly, the child was a touch plain with a narrow sharp face and a slim almost boyish body. At 25, she was still painfully shy sometimes and Helen tried at every occasion the get Sage to break out of her shell. Still, oh the joy of youth — her small breasts were firm and pert and her stomach was flat. The black dress Sage had worn to the office holiday party got more than a few looks and she was even coaxed into dancing once or twice.

"What's a slut?"

Helen blinked for a minute. "A what?" Sage sometimes had language issues and what she said occasionally was not what she intended to mean.

"A slut. Linda in marketing said..." She paused, "I mean, she say you could tell me..."

Understanding dawned — Linda in Marketing was the office prude. She was Utah born and breed and believed that bread should be white, mustard should be yellow and relations should be for marital purposes only. Linda tended to assume anyone one who had more than one date in a month was sleeping around. "Did she?" Helen smirked," And what else did Linda say?"

Sage looked uncomfortable and hesitated but Helen reassured her. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. I just don't think she should have said anything about my personal life to you. Especially at the office; see, it's, uh, not appropriate." Sage frowned.

"I don't care. If you really want to know, I'll tell you. I'll tell you why she said it too because, well, really, it's probably true. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. It's a negative sexual term and she meant it as an insult."

Sage looked appalled, "I'm a slut?"

Now it was Helen's turn to be shocked, "You? I thought she said it about me! Oh no, not you. Christ! What did that nosy little bitch say to you?"

Sage smiled shyly; she had heard that one enough to know its meaning. "We were talking about our holiday plans, and I say you going to that club and I want to go too..."

"Oh really, that's no..." the last part of Sage's sentence echoed in Helen's mind, "Wait, you told Linda you want to go to The Crack?" Which was exactly the type of place the name implied. Helen hoped the new year wouldn't start with her personal life as the topic of office conversation. She had told Sage about dancing at the main bar; she did not recall mentioning the sex in the back rooms. "You mean you want to go dancing, right?"

"I told my brother about it and last week, he took me there. We danced. It was fun. But we only stay for an hour because my brother have to work in the morning." She blushed, "If I go with you, we stay later."

"Oh. I see." Helen though for a moment and Sage went on.

"So I told Linda it was fun and the people very nice. And she say only sluts had fun at a place like that and if I didn't know what a slut is, you tell me because you an expert."

Helen nodded, "Yeah. Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Ok, um, Sage, she's kinda right. I don't think that club's the right place for you. If you just want to go dancing, I know a couple places with really great dance floors."

"Oh. Ok." Sage turned back to her desk. Helen turned back to her own computer. She did not start typing right away, however. She did not think it would be long before the conversation re-started. After maybe two minutes, she heard Sage's chair turn.


She didn't turn because she knew - just knew - what the girl was going to ask, "Yes?"

"What is a slut?"

"I gave you the short answer already. It's sexual and it's meant to be an insult." She paused and when Sage did not respond, she turned to face the girl, "Did you want more detail than that?"


Helen thought for a moment, "You know what a prostitute is, right?" When Sage nodded, she went on, "ok, a slut — technically — is a women who has as much sex as a prostitute but doesn't get paid. Ok?"

Sage bit her lip and Helen sighed. "Where'd I lose you?" Sometimes a simple word or two distorted the meaning. Sage frowned. Helen sighed again, "Ok just know that Linda's right and The Crack is not the type of place that you and your brother should be hanging out."

"So why you go there?"

"Because, well" Helen couldn't think of a better way to say it, "I am a slut. What you don't know is that there's another room at the club where strangers have sex." Helen found herself arousing just thinking of the backroom. "This is definitely not office talk."

"What do they do?" Helen expected Sage to let it drop but the girl appeared to be asking the question seriously. Sage furrowed her brow and tried again, "I mean, how do you ... Why would they ... I mean..."

"You mean, why would someone sleep with a stranger willingly or what actual action does a person take to sleep with a stranger in public?"


"Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I do it because I just like having sex. It's my favorite thing to do. And I'm not picky, I'll fu-- uh — have sex with anyone. And before you ask, yes I know about all the diseases running around. I try to be responsible most of the time. But I mostly just have fun. Now, about how to pick up strange sex partners." Helen thought about the easiest way to explain it without props and realized that she did not know how. "Ok. I can show you. Well, sort of." She glanced at the office door. The lights in the hallway were all motion-sensitive and all off. Showing Sage some seduction tips was far more interesting than any else on Helen's desk. She closed the door. "First, you have to dress the part, I mean, if you don't care about who you find. The slutty-er you dress the more likely you are to find a man who sleeps with sluts, right?" She glanced at Sage who was nodding. "Ok, so imagine I'm wearing something tight and low cut. And high heels; I always wear high heels." She sashayed across the office, and Sage giggled. "No, really, it looks better when I'm dressed right. Ok, so I pick a guy I think looks good and walk over to him. I put my hand on his thigh and say something like, 'I like easy things. I'm an easy kinda gal.' Usually, they just follow me to a quiet corner and fu- I mean - and we have sex."

Sage looked confused again. She looked around her chair. "You put your hands here?" she placed her hands on the arm of her chair.

"No, here." Helen pat her own thigh.

Sage missed it again, "On your leg?"

"No, on his."

Sage's brow furrowed again. Helen stepped over to her and pointed to Sage's thigh, "Here. I touch him here." Sage's confusion seemed profound.

"Ok, like this. If he were sitting where you are now, I'd lean over — preferably so that my cleavage was hanging out — and ask him if he liked what he was seeing."

"I don't see."

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