Ergonomic Steele
Date: Friday, November 16, 2001

Lauryn Poynor <lpoynor@yellowhammer.com>

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em I say. Here's a bit of lagniappe
for the desk set.

Ergonomic Steele

Rated "R"

by Lauryn Poynor


"I think it passes my rigid inspection, Mr. Steele. Every inch of
it. Long, smooth, perfectly contoured. You don't know how long
I've waited to see it completely bare.."

"Laura, if I'd known you'd be in such transports of delight, I
would have done this years ago."

"That was a great idea of yours, I have to admit. Hiring that
efficiency expert, Mr. Sumner, to evaluate the office ergonomics.
No more files piled to the ceiling. This wonderful desk. My
office has certainly gotten a makeover." Laura's fingers caressed
the smooth surface of the desktop.

"No more than you deserve, Miss Holt. Of course, my own desk is a
penultimate example of the furniture maker's art. One should
expect no less. Entirely in keeping with my status as head of the
agency."

"Penultimate example?" snapped Laura with irritation. "This desk
can do anything yours can do, Mr. Steele."

"Really, Laura. Far be it from me to dampen your newfound
enthusiasm for hardwoods, but your desk is simply not up to the
challenge."

"And exactly what challenge is that?"

"Laura! You cut me to the quick. Remember that night at office,
after we left Bingham Perret, the heir apparent to the King of
Caviar, to do battle with his father."

"Get to the point, Mr. Steele." Laura perched on the edge of the
object in question, arms crossed in a posture of skepticism.

"That discussion we had about your shattered lamp, my collapsed
bed? The sturdiness of the office furniture? Followed by a
certain experiment we conducted in my office?" Steele slid his
hand across the cool desktop until he encountered the warmer
surface of Laura's thigh. He ran his fingers lightly up to her
waist.

Laura blushed furiously as she recalled that adventuresome
evening. After a heated argument on how much to charge Bing in
damages, they had stripped each other completely bare, and made
love from an infinite variety of angles, on every square inch of
the polished exterior of Steele's desk.

Laura tried and failed to banish the carnal images from her
thoughts. "I hardly think this was what the efficiency experts
had in mind," she said dismissively.

"Well, Miss Holt. You concede then, that your desk isn't exactly
top drawer by comparision." Steele assumed an air of disdain
while surreptitiously hoping she'd snap at the lure he was
dangling.

"Top drawer? Very funny, Mr. Steele. We'll see who has the last
laugh." Laura kicked off her shoes, stood up, and began to
unbutton her blouse, quite briskly, but in a most unbusinesslike
way.

Unable to believe his good fortune, Steele gaped, barely
breathing, as inch by inch, more flesh was revealed.

Laura pulled her blouse free from her skirt and began to unhook a
nearly transparent peach lace bra. "What are you waiting for? The
Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval? This stress test was your
idea."

Galvanized into action by this unexpected floor show, Steele
yanked his tie free and lost a few buttons on his shirt in his
haste to comply before her impetuous mood subsided.

Steele managed to struggle out of his shirt without further
damage, never taking his eyes off Laura who was now nearly free
of her skirt, half-slip, and panty hose. He could feel his
growing erection tight against the seam of his trousers as he
removed his shoes and socks, then started for his belt.

Laura put her hand over his. "Allow me, Mr. Steele." Now clad
only in a pair of sheer lace panties, she used the belt to pull
him to her, stopping briefly before working the clasp to press
her palm hard against his zipper. She trailed her fingers
insistently down his length, and lower, until a surprised moan of
pleasure escaped him.

His belt undone, she pulled down his zipper and quickly peeled
him from his trousers. Laura surveyed the desktop speculatively.
"How do you want it, Mr. Steele? Full surface contact? Side
angle? On the edge? We want to make sure we've covered
everything. I wouldn't want you to accuse me of cheating."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Steele considered the possibilities.
"On the edge, eh? Let's live dangerously, Miss Holt." Steele
breathed the challenge into her ear as he removed her panties
with enviable efficiency.

"On the edge, it is." Laura perched on the edge of the desk,
straddling him as he stood expectantly before her.

"It may surprise you to know I've learned a few things from the
experts. Our Mr. Sumner, for one."

"Laura! The man's old enough to be your grandfather."

"Ergonomics, Mr. Steele. For instance, when engaged in a series
of repetitive motions, one must always be sure of the proper
angle and positioning."

Steele ran a fingertip along the inside of her thigh. "Wise man,
for a grandfather. Care to test that theory, Miss Holt."

"A comparative study?"

Steele looked at his watch. "From desk to dawn?"

"You're on, Mr. Steele. May the best desk win."

 

The End

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