Susan... makes it hard to concentrate on work...

So, I'm sitting in my little office -- the rumble of the line coming through the paper thin wall, my desk shaking every so often -- trying to make sense of a sheath of papers and little columns of numbers. I'd been on the floor earlier troubleshooting a problem on the line and was now trying to take care of a crisis with production projections... and Susan slides in to have me check some measurement stuff... Sure. She's wearing a short, short skirt which shows off her fine ass; and she's wearing thigh highs which show of her shapely legs. (You might be wondering how I know they're thigh highs. I know this because earlier in the morning she showed me the tops to them; I saw the tops and flesh above. Yes, thigh highs.) So, Susan sits down in the chair across from my desk and I look up from the papers; she's a mighty fine sight after trying to make sense of the numbers. As my eyes travel up from my desk, I'm drawn to her legs... and I swear I can see up her skirt... and I don't want to stare (hell, I do enough of that) but I want to.

I know. I know. Don't mess around at work. Bad voodoo. And I haven't. But, the thought has crossed my mind. Sue has knock-out legs, a fine ass, great tits, a pretty smile, bright eyes. Have I thought about hooking up with her? Sure. But, aside from the fact we've become firm friends, her significant other would knock the shit out of me. Yeh, I can see it. Susan and I are in the conference room after hours, the oak table wet from the sweat and love juice, my head buried between her tan legs, when all of a sudden the door bursts open and Luke storms in, grabs my head, and bashes it to the table. I'd be seeing stars, my face slimed with the musky scent of Sue's wetness. Not a pretty picture.

So, we're in my office and Susan starts to tell me about some hot sex she and Luke had last night, chocolate syrup all over her huge breasts, syrup trailing from the kitchen through the dining room and all over the coach in the family room. Oh, the images in my mind. I cut her off; I couldn't handle the images. I'm sitting behind my desk which is covered in papers and binders and folders and catalogues and reports, and she's in the chair with her knees up and slightly apart and her short skirt riding up...

Yeh, I love my work...