Chapter 1: A sudden shock to the system

He'd seen her several times now around these offices. One of the cleaning ladies. There was a team of them employed by the building, responsible for keeping everything ship-shape.

Mostly they spent their time sprucing up the common areas like corridors and bathrooms, hoovering carpets and mopping lino floors and stairways. But every few days they came around to clean people's individual offices. Dust their bookshelves, vacuum the floor, empty the waste paper basket. It was like a regular ritual.

They came and went with great frequency - staff turnover, that is. Obviously a sign that the pay was lousy. And mostly they were older women. Serious women, with kids now all at school and needing some extra pin money.

None of them could be considered glamorous. They were care-worn, stretched by serial childbirth, buttoned up in some corporate-image cleaning-uniform that made them look as straight as pipe-cleaners.

Except this one. She alone stood out.

She was young, early twenties at the most. Black. Short and petite, with a high rounded bum. And breasts out of proportion to the rest of her slight build.

She did indeed manage to look glamorous. Though in a very low-budget sort of a way. Her uniform appeared to have been handed down from someone much bigger than her. It hung loosely on her, flowed around her curves, and seemed to accentuate rather than conceal.

Her face was cute, like a young Billie Holiday. Her hair was often arranged in "corn-rows" of tiny pulled-back braids, and sometimes she'd wear a small flower over one ear.

Sometimes she didn't even bother wearing the corporate uniform, and that used to make her really stand out. She'd wear something like a long stretchy split-skirt, down to her ankles and tight across her bum. A skirt better suited for night-clubbing, though it was now grubby in places and sometimes had cobwebs stuck to the hem.

This might be matched with a fashion t-shirt top, a bit too big and low in the neckline. One that easily fell away from her chest as she bent forward to vacuum. Anyone in the right place could really cop a good look.

And, standing up straight, it was apparent that on occasion her bra would be a couple of sizes too small. Deliberate? Or just another ill-fitting hand-me-down from somebody? Her big boobs would try to spill over the undersized cups, giving an appearance through the loose but clingy material of her top that she had four medium breasts rather than two good-sized ones.

She seemed well aware of the effect she had on men. She always had a very knowing look in her eye. She was almost smug in her prettiness. In ten years time she might end up as frayed as the others, but right now she still had that flush of youth.

If ever he caught her eye while passing in the corridor, she'd meet his gaze unashamedly. Look straight into his soul, with an inscrutable Giaconda smile and eyes that seemed to say "Yes, I know I'm gorgeous. And I know what you'd like to do with me."

He was meant to act proper. He was a professional in this place. Responsible, organized, meticulous. A workaholic, as his ex-wife'd be the first to tell you.

And he did act proper. Exceedingly proper. He'd always been shy around women anyway. Especially one as stunning as this. He started avoiding her gaze if ever it fell on him. Deliberately and self-consciously, he would refuse to catch her eye.

And she knew it. Knew he was dodging her knowing look, the one that said her mind could read every single lustful thought he'd ever had about her. Knew she made him uncomfortable with just a glance. Knew exactly how hot the blood would get behind his ears as she passed.

There was a polite knocking on his office door. He recognised it as the cleaners' usual knock, and reached across to release the doorknob. Three of them filed in, dusting implements at the ready. Two as plain as pikestaffs. And one sex bomb, looking ready to explode.

Or so his fevered imagination was telling him. The other ladies paid neither him nor her the slightest attention. This was just another office in a long string of offices. Dust, vacuum, empty the bin, and get the hell outta there.

But were they really as guiltless as their twin poker-faces made out?

If so, why did they let her do most of the work? Why did they dawdle in the corridor as soon as they'd dusted, while she did the vacuuming? Why did they say "We'll start on next-door, sugar", leaving her all alone with him?

It was as if a conspiracy was at work here. She could have faced any other point of the compass as she bent to vacuum. But no matter which part of the room she hoovered, she kept her body turned so that her dangling neckline was pointed right at him.

He was trying to carry on typing, trying to keep his eyes on the glowing computer screen in front of him. Weakening, he glanced across at her.

Fuck! What a cleavage!

She was bent forward about forty-five degrees, her top hanging well down. Through that gaping neckline, he could see both brown breasts in their entirety as they bobbed and wobbled and bulged out of their bra cups.

It must indeed be a conspiracy. She would surely know that her goods were on display. And be conscious of his gaze upon her. Yet she kept her own eyes demurely downcast, giving her full attention to ensuring the carpet became spotless. She afforded him the freedom to look as much as he wanted.

With a superhuman effort he dragged his gaze back to the financial data on his computer screen. He pressed semi-colons, apostrophes, random consonants, anything to make the keyboard clatter busily. A stream of nonsense inched across the screen. He wouldn't look at her. He mustn't look at her! It was embarrassing, humiliating, that without a word she now controlled all his faculties, drew upon every fibre in his being.

She knew what was going on. Gave him every chance to see her gorgeous chest without being "caught". She felt his look boring into her. And inwardly she exulted. Once you can get them to look, you're halfway home. It's the litmus test of possibility, but has to be carefully judged. If they take a good look, then something might be made of the situation. If they glance briefly then ignore, you know to back away.

She switched off the vacuum cleaner and started dusting. Along the bookshelf. Down the side of the filing cabinet. Along the front of his desk. Down the front of his desk.

Down the front of his desk... oh shit! She had to bend low for that one. Right in front of him, slightly to one side of his computer monitor. He only had to move his eyes a fraction and extend their focal length, and suddenly his view was into heaven itself. He felt like a rabbit, literally transfixed by two headlights.

She dusted her way around from the front of the desk to the side. Now standing to his left, she flicked away imaginary specks while he kept his eyes riveted on the screen. She was so close now that she could read the gibberish he'd been busily typing these past three minutes. Seeing it, she gloated.

She was standing next to him now, only inches away from him. Feeling his tongue getting thick in his throat, he forced himself to speak.

"Shall I move out of your way?"

"Don't worry, I'll just lean across."

She did, reaching out over his keyboard with her duster to flick its feathers over the computer mouse. Despite him leaning well back in his chair, her side-on leaning posture brought her dangling chest level with his face.

Time seemed to stand still. He didn't know where to look, or how he should react to her being so up close.

"Would you like to touch one?"

What!??!

Her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible, but he'd heard correctly alright.

In case he hadn't, she repeated "Go on, feel them."

"No. I... I... it's okay, thanks."

She'd really put him on the spot now. Stripped away the handy camouflage of proper manners, the mask of good behaviour that was concealment for his shyness. She'd cut right to the chase. Knew exactly what he was thinking about, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. On the one hand, he wanted to go for it. On the other hand he was too embarrassed - to do so would admit the truth in her crystal-clear reading of his base desires.

She turned to him and leaned with her hand on the top of his thigh.

"Do it. I know you want to..."

That deep, dark canyon was up so close, and looked so inviting. He caught a whiff of cheap perfume, and sweaty armpit. Her free hand pulled the neck of her tee further back, to expose still more black lace on brown skin. Her taunting eyes danced at his discomfort, and she smiled sweetly.