I was looking for my new digital camera — I had had it just a bit earlier, but now it was nowhere to be seen.

I finally decided that I must have set it down on the counter in the coffee-service area as I was getting myself a lunchtime snack out of one of the vending machines. Since it was not a cheap unit, I decided I’d better head right over there and grab it before someone else did.

Sure enough, there it was, sitting on the counter just behind the coffee-maker. I picked it up and was about to head back to my office when I heard a noise.

I couldn’t quite make it out, it was so faint, but it sort of sounded like some small animal in pain — rather like the cat that had gotten trapped in a storm drain near my house when I was a teenager. I decided that I ought to see what it was.

Listening a bit more, I decided that it seemed to be coming from the direction of the conference room, so I started over that way.

Sure enough, as the nearer to the conference room door I got, the more clearly I could hear the noise.

And, even before I opened the door, I realized what it must be.

It was the sound of a little afternoon delight — some illicit intercourse on company time.

I couldn’t believe it — after all of those Penthouse letters I’d read, all or virtually all of which had to be pure fiction ... and here was what had to be a genuine Penthouse “Letters” situation.

The door turned out to not be completely closed — the slight crack it was open, apparently, being what had allowed the sounds I had heard to escape the sound-proofed conference room — and it swung wider on silent hinges as I gently pushed it.

Not that either of the two people currently violating at least three or four company regulations and policies — from on-the-job sex to dress-codes — would have noticed even if I’d marched in with a brass band, letting off firecrackers and roman candles. My angle wasn’t good, but I could see enough.

She was on her back at the edge of the broad oak conference table, nylon-clad legs raised as her knees draped over his hips, skirt pulled up over her hips, panties dangling from one angle above her shiny black spike-heeled shoe. From where I was, I could see her up to just above her tits, which were exposed by her unbuttoned blouse and opened front-close bra, jiggling wildly on her chest as her partner plowed into her. I realized that her stockings were old-fashioned sheer, ice-blue hose, held up by a genuine garter belt — one of my favourite visual kinks. In fact, though I couldn’t see her face, she rather reminded me of Sharon Mitchell in Heat Wave, a late-70s “loop carrier”, before she went so butch...

The guy had his back to me, and, though there was something familiar about him (not surprising, since he was almost certainly a fellow worker), I couldn’t quite place him.

I suddenly remembered that I was holding a digital camera, one of the last point-and-shoots on the market and that claimed extraordinary low-light capabilities, which is the reason I wasn’t using my phone, and that here was a show I wasn’t likely to get another chance at.

Making sure that the flash was off, I began snapping pictures.

I decided to experiment with the zoom lens, and pulled in for a close view of his stiff cock pounding her brown-furred, wide-open wet pussy, then back for an overall shot. I also shot some videos of the action, then zoomed in again as he lifted one hand from her hip to fondle and squeeze her ripe tit, and then to pull, tease and twist at its hard red tip, causing her to moan even more loudly.

I was ready with the zoom as he bent down to kiss and suckle that erect little nipple, but I almost dropped the camera when I realized that it was Bob Riley, my only rival for the soon-to-be open Vice President of Marketing slot.

Perhaps these photos might have some practical value, instead of just something for me to use for whacking off to...

As Riley sucked her nipples, his hand was busy between their bodies, stroking and teasing her clit as he kept on pumping her, and, so intensely that I could tell it was happening from where I stood several feet away, she came, with a mewling gasp and what promised to be the beginning of such loud moans or cries that he quickly reached up and apparently put his hand over her mouth.

He was standing again, pumping her hungry snatch even more urgently, his whole body twitching as he brought himself even more and more closely to the edge of orgasm — and suddenly, he stopped.

In fact, he drew back, sliding his glistening length, liberally coated with her juices, completely out of her hot hole, and stood there, reaching forward to her shoulders and pulling her toward him, urging her on for the next act.

Not that it looked as if she were requiring much urging; she slid forward off the table, dropping to her knees in front of him and taking his shiny wet, pulsing cock in her hand, eagerly leaning forward to take it in her mouth.

I was all zoomed in for shots of the cock-sucking action, but I almost forgot to take any — it was my own secretary, demure, loyal little Karen, going after the meat like an addict after her drug. Karen, my confidential assistant, lovingly sucking the cock of the slimy bastard who was constantly trying to knife me in the back.

She pumped him with one hand as she bobbed her head back and forth, taking in so much of his length that she had to be throating him. He had his hands on her head, tangled in her hair, urging her to go deeper yet as his hips shoved forward and back, just as if he were still fucking her on the table. I could hardly believe that the way he was fucking her face didn’t choke her, but I guess she must have had practice at that sort of thing, and she didn’t miss a stroke. Her free hand was between her legs, pumping two fingers in and out of her dripping snatch in a counterpoint to the rhythm of her oral ministrations.

Suddenly, he gasped, thrust his hips forward, cramming yet more of his cock’s length past her lips, and then stiffened, hips twitching spasmodically as he obviously came in her hot mouth.

Not like the “money shots” in porn films, either — he stayed in her mouth, pumping what was apparently quite a load of sperm down her throat, as she swallowed quickly, managing to get most of it down, though a small amount trickled out of the corner of her mouth (perhaps on purpose) and dribbled in little pearly spots onto her left tit.

I got pics of that, too.

His softening prick finally slipped, glistening, from her lips, and he bent forward and licked his semen off her tit, taking a couple of quick bites of her nipple while he was there, and then they both began slowly to get dressed, with occasional kisses and caresses delaying the project.

And they began talking.

“ ... you get it?” was the first I could make out from where I stood; I suspected that they were keeping their voices down, just in case anyone was near the conference room.

Heh.

More pics of them dressing, meanwhile; there’s something erotic to me in the image of a freshly-fucked woman drying herself with a kleenex and pulling up her panties, and I planned to both have something to use as a whack-off aid in the future and, more immediately, to destroy at least one and maybe two careers.

And then I realized what they were talking about.

Karen was slipping that bastard Riley copies of my papers — all my plans and projects, so that he could figure out either how to steal my ideas or to discredit them with old man Seproth! And she’d just brought him the final details of my new marketing plan for the division — the one that was supposed to win me that VP job.

But there was worse.

Karen suddenly said “I just had to get really fucked, honey, after spending the morning working on old Seproth.

“I mean, he’d do anything for my pussy, but he’s so old and feeble — it takes me an hour to get him ready, and then he’s in and out in about ten seconds and there I am, hot and horny as hell and having to tell him how great it was and what a lover he is when I just want to slip off and masturbate till I manage to get off!”

“But you gotta keep him happy, let him think you’re in love with him, while you’re feeding him that stuff about what a loser bastard Jeffy-boy is, so that when it’s time, Jeff won’t even see it coming,” Riley chuckled.

“Yeah — god, I can’t wait to see his face when you’re VP and he’s on his way out the door, lover,” Karen said with an evil grin, then kissed him again, with lots of lip and tongue action.

I couldn’t take any more, and they might come out the door at any minute, so I slipped away,

I got to my desk, thought for just a moment, and then grabbed my jacket and headed out the door. As I passed Emma, the receptionist at the front desk, I said “I’m not feeling well, Emma — if anyone wants me tell them I took the afternoon off, okay?”

“I think Mr. Seproth was looking for you, Mister Howell...” she began.

“Oh, well, I’m afraid I really have to go — it’s like a stomach virus thing, and I’m afraid I’m going to have diarrhea any second...”

She looked as if that were Too Much Information, which was sort of what I’d hoped, as I trotted out to my car and started home. Based on what that treacherous bitch had said back there in the Conference Room, I really figured I ought to avoid Seproth until I’d had a chance to think about things.

Arriving at home, I put the car into the garage and let myself in through the kitchen door. I was just about to yell and let Jenny know I was home early, when I heard something from the living room.

It was Jenny’s voice, but she was gasping as if she were in pain. I started to dash in there to see what was wrong, and then I heard a male chuckle and Jenny let out several obviously sexually-inspired yelps...

I pushed the door between kitchen and living room open a crack, and there they were — my wife and our next-door neighbour (not my best friend as the cliche has it; I could barely stand to be civil to him at the best of times) on the couch, clothes scattered around the room. Judging by the overall scene and their attitudes, there’d already been a fair amount of hanky-panky going on, but it was also obvious that they were building up for another round.