On Wednesday morning, I stroll into work with a whistle and some pep in my step. I crank out my morning pullups, pushups, and situps. The sun rises on the horizon just like any normal day.

Well, about as normal as any day could be after you caught your hottest female employee watching you in the men’s bathroom of the gym.

Okay, let’s take it back a step. I wouldn’t say she ‘caught’ me like I was doing something I was ashamed of. Besides, it’s her fault I was masturbating in the shower. It’s not something I do--ever--at work.

But when I peeked into the hardwood room for a moment, I saw Brett doing squats and deadlifts in those black pants that were sculpted perfectly to her ass. As she performed the movements of the squat she awakened a part of me dormant for too long--the risky, sexual part of me.

And instead of getting my late Tuesday workout in like I had planned, I was unusually worked up. So I had myself a shower session.

Can you blame me? I mean, have you ever seen a guy try to work out with a giant boner that won’t go away? It’s damn near impossible. So I figured I’d work myself out before working out.

If the bathrooms had surveillance cameras, I would have commandeered those and figured out what she was doing in the men’s bathroom. While I was cranking my cock in the shower, I thought I heard the faintest of moans. I figured it was just my own imagination doing its thing as I pictured fucking Brett against the shower wall.

Okay, you got me. I pictured her. An employee. Is that against work policy to picture someone? Of course not. We can’t judge people on what’s between their own head.

Hey, if she didn’t leave her Blackwell University cap--and if I didn’t instantly recognize her smell in the cap she left behind--I might have never suspected it was her.

I take a sip of my morning joe, open up my email inbox, and get to work. I stare at the screen, but I feel like I’m looking at Chinese. I can’t concentrate worth a shit.

I scrub a hand across my newly clean shaven face and a burst of mischievousness fills me. Brett comes in every day, earlier than almost every employee. And now she stays late? She must be working double what one of my normal employees do.

I pull up the phone statistics to check. Every employee is expected to make thirty-five calls and talk on the phone for two hours.

Brett’s statistics are one hour on the phone and twenty five calls per day, below average.

So what the hell is she doing with her time? Online shopping? Why is she here so late?

Something doesn’t add up with her. What about those veiled notes she took during our meeting yesterday. “Better word for normal-style?” and ‘dirtier later?’

As I run my forefinger and thumb on my forehead, I remember we are running a new employee workgear efficiency software. It’s a little creepy how much data we can get from our employees. It even records the number of clicks and keystrokes they make per day, as well as the time their desktop is powered on. Personally, I don’t like encroaching on people’s privacy, but I also need to know where the weak points in the company are.

I pull up the rest of Brett’s statistics. Her keystroke number is way out of whack. I stare in disbelief at the amount, and I have to wonder if the software is somehow wrong.

Her keystrokes are quadruple her nearest competitor.

What the fuck? Is she writing a damn novel?

I check my watch. Seven thirty, and at this time, Brett’s almost always sitting at her desk typing away. I decide to cross a little bit of a line. I go to the surveillance mainframe and pull up her desktop computer, so I see in real time what she’s doing. My screen becomes her screen.

She’s got a google document pulled up. And she’s typing something. A very long document. Curious, I scroll up and read her words.

“Lacy,” Zane breaths. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Zane pants like he’s out of breath. His huge cock still in his hand, we make eye contact.

I swallow, nervousness expanding through my chest. I’ve never been a ballsy girl. But what I’m about to say might change that.

“Zane,” I mutter, dropping my towel in front of him. His eyes drift to my tits, then back up to my face. I take a few steps toward him until I’m basically standing in the shower, close to him. I can feel the heat emanating from his body. I reach out and put a delicate hand on those delicious abs I’ve been waiting to rub. “Can I...give you a hand?”

He cocks his chin up, and runs his eyes over my whole body, as if savoring my response.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

He rubs his hand on my wrist, gently bringing me toward him. Electricity shoots down my spine as we cross the imaginary line between boss and employee. He’s so tall, my tits rub against his abs as we embrace. He turns the faucet of the shower, and the warm water runs over our bodies as we kiss for one, two, three minutes. I lose track of time. While he nibbles on my lower lip, I run my hand down his wet side, searching for his cock. It’s so prominent, his erection sticking straight out. It’s not hard to find. He groans as I grip his cock, gently at first.

Zane pulls back from my neck for a moment, and fists my hair in his hand, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I’ve wanted you so badly since you walked through that door,” Zane growls. “You have no idea.”

“Me too,” I whisper back.

His moans intensify as I stroke back and forth tighter on his cock, using his precum juices to slide across my clit with ease.

“Turn around,” Zane mouths. “I’m going to fuck you so good, you have no idea.”

Dear fucking God.

I blink a few times in utter disbelief, then give my cheek a few pats for good measure.

Is Brett writing an erotic novel in her downtime at work?

And is it just me, or is she basically writing about what would have happened if she and I hooked up?

This is too much for a Wednesday morning.

“Speaking of hump day,” I mutter, glancing down at the tent I’ve pitched in my charcoal grey suit, compliments of Brett’s fucking writing.

Pun intended.

Brett seemed so innocent when I hired her. Tiny. Blonde. From the heartland of the heartland. Where the hell is she getting the inspiration and deciding that she wants to be an erotic author?

I rake a hand through my hair, and I decide this calls for some swift, decisive action.

I rise up from my desk and first do a few pushups to get rid of the Ron Burgundy style erection I’ve got going on, minus the pleats.

Move along folks. Nothing to see here.

When I’m finally satisfied my bulge has gone down, I grab my coffee and head out onto the sales floor, as I sometimes do.

The CEO doesn’t need to make an appearance every day, but it’s always good to know he’s there. Keeps the morale of the troops high.

Except today, I have a very specific target for my morning walk.

It’s five to eight now, and about half of the desks are filled up. I walk over to Bob’s desk. He’s not there yet, no big surprise. I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with him about general productivity.

I stroll casually down one aisle, careful to walk out of Brett’s eyesight.

Finally, I turn and see her cubicle, watching her from about twenty feet away. I see her, but she can’t see me. I stride silently toward her. I become a Jedi knight. Luckily the three desks in her pod are unoccupied. Perfecto.

I take a moment to smile her way, admiring her spirit. The truth is, writing erotica on the clock is drastically against company policy. She should immediately be fired. But, honestly, I highly respect anyone who believes that much in an idea of theirs to work hard at it. The vast majority of my employees just play with their iPhone’s, check their Twitter, go on Facebook and look at Fantasy football statistics for a minimum of one to two hours per day. Those are just the facts.

Brett’s got a vision for her free time, at least.

A very hot vision.

Her blonde hair falls just beyond her shoulders. Today she’s got on this white and red strappy dress, emphasizing her cute arms.

Did I just say cute arms?

Well it’s true. She’s a beautiful creature, from her shoulders, to her arms, to her neck...and of course that magnificent ass that spurred me to choke my chicken in the shower yesterday. As I approach, I can sense her fresh scent. It’s like blueberries and bluebonnets mixed together. Even the way she sits is fucking gorgeous. All prim and proper and southern belle-like. I wonder what she’d do if I just upped and kissed her on the neck, right now, with no warning.

I marvel at her typing speed. She’s in the zone, furiously writing her shower masturbation scene.

As soon as I arrive behind her, I clear my throat. “Morning, Miss Blue.”

I’ve never seen someone minimize a screen so fast in my life since my brother got caught by my mom watching porn when we were kids.

“Morning, Mr. Blackwell,” she chokes, clicking onto her outlook email like she wasn’t just writing fucking erotica.

I smile and take a breath. She half-spins her chair around, and I swear she glances ever so quickly at the bulge in my pants before she looks up at me.

“You’re here early,” I say, my voice coming out lower than usual. “That’s good.”

As she opens her mouth to speak, it’s like our interaction is happening in slow motion.

“I always get here early,” she smiles, and I notice a quiver of nerves in her voice.

“I’m glad you’re here early. I wanted to talk with you about something important. Do you have a moment?”

As she goes to open her mouth, I go right past first base and head toward second. I wonder what it would feel like to have those soft sultry lips wrapped around my cock. Glancing out the window, I try to focus on anything but the sexy blonde in front of me.

“Yes, of course,” she says without hesitation.

Damn, she’s good. If I were just walked up on by my boss when I was writing erotica, I don’t think I would be this calm and collected. Then again, I haven’t been an employee for years, so I have no clue what it’s like to have someone looking over your shoulder.

“I wanted to talk about your first couple of weeks. And how you’re...spending your time here,” I elaborate.

That gets a reaction out of her. It’s barely perceptible, but I see the mini-muscles in her face contract, giving me evidence of her nervousness under that confident veneer.

“Great, what’s up?”

I swallow, and smile. I was going to just come right out and tell her I know about the little side project she’s been working on. But what fun is that? I call an audible.

“Bob’s sometimes a little overbearing,” I say instead. “I noticed your interaction at the meeting yesterday. Is everything okay?”

She swallows. “With Bob? Oh, yes. I mean, not completely. He’s a good man, but sometimes I feel like he’s picking on me.”

I rock back on my heel and take a sip of my coffee. “I’ll be honest. Bob didn’t used to be quite like this when I hired him. I think his home situation is leaking into his work. That being said, he doesn’t have an excuse to call you out like he did in the meeting yesterday.”

“You noticed that too? So I’m not crazy.”

“No. You’re not crazy at all. That’s why I stepped in. Although, I am curious to what your little notes meant.”

She shrugs. “I sometimes write weird notes. Just a weird thing I do.”

“Okay.” I glance at my watch. “Look, I have to go, I have an eight o’clock.”

“Okay. Thanks,” she says, and her voice is laced with some of that moan I swear I heard yesterday in the bathroom.

I turn half-way around, and I notice her looking up at the ceiling and the heavens, like she just dodged a bullet.

“Oh and Brett,” I say, looking over my shoulder.

“Yeah?”

I pause for a few beats, letting the air become awkward. Does she know that I know what she’s doing with her free time?

Fuck it. I want to keep this a secret for just a little longer I’ll keep this ace in the hole, and use it at just the right time.

“Great job closing your first deal yesterday. Very impressive.”

With that, I walk off back into my office.

“Fiona, cancel my eight o’clock,” I say.

“Oh? Did something come up?”

“Yes,” I smirk. “Something very important.”

I enter my office, shut the door, and open a word doc.

I start writing.

So Brett wants to play a little cat-and-mouse?

I’ll play this game all day long.