THE NAUGHTY LADY FROM SHADY LANE

Thank God it's Friday. I'd been counting the days off, and boy, had they ever dragged. But I figured that if I could get to the end of the first week, I could maybe make it to week two.

Maybe.

 I just had to prove I could make it through my one-month contract. Biting the bullet and taking an office job had been the absolute pits in the first place, but I couldn't drift from college course to college course any longer. The time had come to quell my rebellious streak, tame my multicolored mop of hair, take out my nose ring and don an acceptably smart outfit. What a crime, I thought to myself, when I'd packed away my usual, much more alternative wardrobe, and headed for the temp agency.

The job I was assigned to was deadly. I was audio typing debt-collecting letters for a junior lawyer, and William had been junior forever. He stumbled into my office, blushing to the roots of his remaining few hairs, and deposited a stack of files and tapes on my desk. That was day one. Since day two, he'd left the stacks on my desk before I even got in, presumably in order not to have to make small talk with me, and then disappeared off to who knew where. Maybe he was expecting a simpering office mouse, not a frustrated rebel who responded sarcastically when he mentioned the pleasant weather we were having for the time of year.

Well, what did he expect?

The weather was outside the tinted windows and I was trapped inside. There was no decent company to chat with on breaks and there wasn't even any eye candy in the vicinity. The building site opposite my nineteenth-story window was too far away to make out anything. That would have been something. All I got was a drifting tide of muck curtaining my window courtesy of the builder's activities, no brawny guys to check out. Perhaps if I brought in a pair of binoculars I could get a better look, and if I got a better look, that might break up the monotony.

Mostly there was just me and Audrey in the offices. Audrey was the senior administrator and she sat reading magazines and filing her nails all day in the reception. She looked down her nose at me condescendingly whenever I came out of my cell for a coffee. The highlight of her work schedule seemed to be shuffling wannabe-divorcees into the senior partner's office, giving appropriate murmurs of concern to their irate monologues about truant husbands. I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face. Perhaps that's why I wasn't on the front desk.

Looking at the clock, I stood up. It was nearly midday, time for my third caffeine shot of the day. Thank God it was Friday. I was about to step out from behind my desk when darkness suddenly descended. I froze. A shadow had fallen across me from behind, from the window situated behind my desk. The shadow moved across the surface of the desk. My heart beat faster as I tried to make sense of it. Nothing had broken the light falling in the window all week. What could it be?

I turned and took in the sight that met my eyes. Standing in a suspended safety cradle was a window cleaner, moving a large squeegee over the surface of the glass with a rhythmic agility, all the while watching me and grinning cheekily. He winked, obviously well aware he'd given me a fright. I managed to return his smile and waved at him, snatching up my cup from the desk to cover my awkwardness.

Something interesting had finally happened! And, yes, he was interesting. Ruggedly good looking, with several days' worth of stubble, tall, well-built and bleached blonde. He went about his work in a showy, nonchalant way that made it look like a warm-up for dirty dancing. He moved his entire body, as if dancing to the music he was listening to via his headset, and rode his massive squeegee easily over the surface of the glass, his biceps flexing, his torso riding firm and strong beneath the t-shirt he was wearing. Sexy! My blood pumped quicker when I noticed he was eyeing me speculatively, from head to toe. I leaned one hip up against the desk, toying with the mug in my hands, taking in the sight. Well, why not? He was doing the same.

When he'd finished his task he dropped the squeegee, reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a piece of paper. He scribbled on it with a stub of pencil, then held it up against the glass for me to read. I stepped closer and read the scrawled message.

Great Legs. Next time wear a shorter skirt.

I smiled, I couldn't help it. He grinned, saluted and hit a control panel, hanging easily on the ropes as the safety cradle disappeared from view.

Well, that had woken me up. Wear a shorter skirt? What a card! Sure, I was up for some fun and games, especially with a hunk like him, but when was the "next time" that he was referring to? There was only one way to find out.

"I just had the most amazing shock," I said to Audrey, as I poured filter coffee into my mug. "Some guy was hanging on the outside of the building cleaning the windows."

Audrey gave me a superior smile. "Not what you expect to see this high up, is it?"

"Not exactly. How often do they come around? I'd like to be prepared next time?"

"Oh, usually every six weeks."

My heart sank. I'd be finished with my contract and gone by the next time he appeared.

"Until they started the building work opposite," she added. "It's every Friday on that side of the building now, so you'll have to be prepared for another visit next week."

"Oh, I will be," I said, as I sidled off, trying to contain my smile.

That second week went much quicker. In fact, counting the days off till Friday took on a whole new meaning. I was looking forward to my visitor, instead of wishing the days away until the end of my contract. I didn't even think of bringing the binoculars in; I had something far more interesting to focus on: the arrival of the dishy window cleaner. What would happen if I did as he suggested and wore a shorter skirt? Where would it go then? I raced through my stacks of audio typing whilst at the back of my mind I tried to decide what to wear.

Audrey commented on the fact that my typing had speeded up. She had so little to do; she had to eavesdrop on me to fill her timetable. If it weren't for the prospect of the window guy, I would have told her to stick her job. She didn't approve of me, that much was obvious from the start. I'd heard her on the phone to the temp agency, asking if they had "anyone more suitable, someone the right caliber to work in a legal office." Too bad for her they didn't have anyone else, right? And she did so not approve when I arrived for work on that second Friday, wearing the leather mini skirt I usually saved for clubbing, knee length boots and a skin-tight lizard print shirt that dipped low into my cleavage. I waved when I passed her desk where she sat open-mouthed, glaring at my outfit.

The morning went far too slowly and I was up and pacing around between the desk and the window when the shadow of the cradle finally began to descend. This time I was even more mesmerized, because as the window cleaner lowered into my field of vision I realized he was stripped to the waist. Boy, what a sight for sore eyes that was. He was built all right, all that physical labor had given him a great body and the day was warm enough for him to sun himself while he worked. He grinned, eyeing me appreciatively as he washed the window. I reached for a piece of paper and wrote him a message.

Great abs! Do you approve of the skirt length?

When he broke into a laugh, I'd have paid highly to hear the sound of it. He nodded, his mouth forming a whistle while he eyed the gap between my boots and the skirt. With his eyes on me like that, I was suddenly aware of every inch of my body. My breasts felt tight. My sex was heavy, responsive to every signal he was giving me, to every nuance of his body language. I turned on my heel and gave him a better look, hands on hips. He reached into his pocket and scribbled on his notepad, slamming the paper against the glass.

Oh yeah. That's much better, but I still can't see what color your underwear is.

I laughed. What a lad. And something about the set up, with him on the other side of the glass like that, made me feel even more daring than I might have under normal circumstances, and I was no shrinking violet either way.

His squeegee was hanging idly in one hand, the other leaned up against the taut ropes of the safety cradle as he watched, riveted while I slid one finger down into the front of my shirt, idly toying with the top button in my cleavage. He licked his lips. My sex clenched; my panties were already damp from expectation. Seeing him through the barrier of the impermeable glass had created a void of discovery, a safe zone to test each other out. I popped my top button, thrilled by the effect I was having on him. He mouthed something encouraging. I let another button pop open. He nodded, one hand gesturing for me to continue. I felt like I was part of an act in a live sex show. The thought spurred me on. I stepped closer to the glass. We were possibly twelve inches apart, but he was so untouchable. I undid the final two buttons, my hands pushing the fabric back to reveal my sheer lace bra.

He shook his head; his eyes glazed, and he ran one finger down the length of the glass in front of my breasts, smearing the damp glass with his touch. He continued to stare while he grappled in his pocket for his paper and pencil and wrote me another note:

You've made my day! Will I get to see more of you next week?

He scrunched the paper in his hand after I read it, and his eyes were molten with arousal. I nodded, and blew him a kiss, winking. As he reached for the controls on his cradle, his other hand ran over the impressive bulge in his jeans, and he flickered his eyebrows at me. Then he was gone. Only the smear on the glass remained to remind me of what had passed between us, a sticky remark on the intervening sheer pane. I touched the inside of the glass, placing my own mark against his. Man, was he ever sexy. And he was making me so hot. I stalked over to the air conditioning panel and turned it up to full blast, my mind racing with ideas of how to up the ante the following week.

By the time that third Friday came around, I'd been thinking on it long and hard-I'd even dreamt about the guy twice. Both times it was the live sex show imagery, and the idea of it fascinated me. In the first dream, I was dancing for him, slow and sexy. He was riveted, sitting back in a low chair, his erection straining through his jeans. In the second dream, I stripped naked and then watched as he tried to lick my body through the glass. When I woke, I was twisted in my sheets, my fingers crushed between my legs as I wanked myself off.

My excitement level built over the week and my imagination was running riot. To top it all, Audrey had pissed me off big time, which left me feeling even more rebellious. I was ready to pull pints in my local pub rather than listen to her miserable condescension a moment longer. That sense of rebellion and the fact the guy had filled my thoughts all week long meant that I was edgy and high on my own physical arousal.

"Thank God it's Friday," I murmured to myself, yet again. But this time I smiled at the idea.

The window cleaner looked at my floating summer dress with a surprised expression when he winched down into view. I waved and then turned my chair to face the window, to face him. I sat down in it, staring straight at him, smiling. He wrote his message:

Hey, you're breaking my heart here. That skirt is way too long.

He mimed an aching heart, his expression teasing me all the while. I shook my head at him, swinging my chair from side to side, then I kicked back in the chair, one strappy, sandaled foot jamming up against the window frame, the dress sliding down my thighs and pooling in my groin.

Oh yeah, he loved that.

I pivoted on one heel, my chair moving from side to side. I knew he was watching the flash of scarlet G-string I was wearing and it fuelled my fire. Between my thighs, a nagging pulse begged for attention. I let my hand tease along the hemline of the dress. He lifted his head, his eyes on my fingers. I picked up the piece of paper I'd left handy and scribbled on it:

What do you think now?

Quickly, he replied.

I'd like to put my hands under it and touch you.

It was just the kind of response that I'd hoped for. He was really up for this. I ran my hand over the surface of my G-string, one finger sliding beneath the fabric. He nodded his head, scribbling again.

You are so bad!

"You better believe it," I whispered, as I pushed my fingers into my damp slit, where my clit was begging for attention. With a quick, practiced action, I arrested it between two fingers, my whole body jolting with the sensations that instantaneously roared over me.

The guy started craning his neck, like he could see inside my underwear if he tried hard enough. Logic had clearly gone from his mind by that point. For me, the fact that one gorgeous man was watching, wanting me, completely mesmerized by what I was doing, was like a drug heightening the experience, channeling every dart of pleasure into a major roller-coaster ride. I slid down in the chair, my back arching against it as I worked my clit. My fingers were sticky, the flimsy fabric of my G-string quickly growing wet. His mouth was moving-he was saying something to himself and his eyes were glazed with lust.

"Yes," I whispered at his silent form, "yes." I managed to nod at him, my lips parting, when my clit throbbed unbearably and density gathered in my core. As I rode the wave, I became aware that he was moving. The cradle was disappearing out of view. Had I gone too far? Had I embarrassed the poor guy? I doubted it-he'd pushed it along this far. And I'd really got off on the secret, silent performance for the man on the other side of the glass. My body was thrumming with sensation, my energy levels soaring.

I let my foot slide down from the window. I couldn't help thinking about how it might have looked to him, from the outside. Perhaps he'd gone off somewhere more discreet to have a wank. The idea infused me with a sense of raw power, heady and intoxicating. That was when I heard voices outside.

"Fuck." I tried to pull myself together.

There was some sort of disagreement going on in the corridor. Audrey sounded put out. I grappled my dress into place, spinning my chair to face front. The door sprang open.

"There must be some mistake," Audrey said, in a bewildered tone. "We had them done just a few weeks ago."

"It's contracted, trust me."

I blinked, several times. It was him. He was there, standing in the doorway to my office. He'd put his t-shirt on, come inside and found my office-and now he was walking in. Dumping a bucket on the floor, he grinned at me and slammed the door shut behind him. A stifled cry of dismay emitted from beyond the door.

Now what was I going to do? No glass shield, no gap the equivalent of thousands of square feet separating us. My blood roared, my heart thumping out a fierce, erratic rhythm. Given that I was already totally wired by what had gone before, his one-hundred-percent physical presence tripped switches I didn't even know I had.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn't resist." He put his hands on his hips, observing me with hungry, watchful eyes. He was even sexier in the flesh, and the sound of his voice ran torrents of sensation over me. I was delirious with arousal, unable to stop myself responding in kind.

"Couldn't resist seeing it in the flesh, huh?"

He strode over. Pure testosterone oozed from him. Had I really caused this? Tut-tut, I mused-must be more circumspect around rampant males. I had to laugh. I couldn't believe he'd actually fought his way past Audrey and was standing right there inside the office.

"You better believe it. That performance was enough to drive a man insane." He knelt down and swung my chair round so it faced him. His eyes were green, bright green. I ran a finger over his stubbed chin. He captured it in one strong hand, giving me a look that announced he was taking control of the situation now.

"I had to get me a closer look." The smile he gave me was full of raw, undiluted sex appeal.

Before I knew what was happening, he'd grabbed my legs and hauled them apart. If I thought my little bout of exhibitionist self-pleasuring had been hot, I wasn't prepared for what came next.

He ran his hands down the inside of my thighs, feeling his way toward the hot niche at their juncture. He stripped my soaked g-string down my legs, manhandling me with ease. The way he looked at me where I was wet from pleasure, sent a hot wave of self-awareness over me. Then I suddenly forgot how to be self-aware when the tip of his tongue found its way into the sticky, cloying heat of my slit and he was eating me up. I nearly lifted off the chair!

His tongue was agile and intuitive. He explored the territory of my sex, before he began mouthing me, his tongue lapping against my swollen lips and over the jutting flesh of my clit. Rivers of sensation flew through my groin. My hands were knotting in his hair, my hips bucking against him. When he pushed an inquisitive finger inside me I quickly came a second time, my body shuddering.

"Do you do this with every woman you meet courtesy of your squeegee?" I managed to ask, as I surfaced.

"Nope, most of them do a runner when I appear. Not you though." He gave me that suggestive smile of his. He had one hand resting on his crotch, where he was rock hard inside his jeans. I was just contemplating how quickly I would hit the jackpot a third time if I had the pleasure of something that hard inside me, when I heard a sound.

"You're fired." It was Audrey. She stood in the doorway, her hands gripping the frame, glowering.

"Too late, I quit." Let's face it; it was only a matter of time before I walked out or got fired. It had been well worth it.

"I'm sorry," the guy whispered, one hand squeezing my thigh rather endearingly. He was genuinely concerned. What a sweetie.

"No problem, really. I was out of here anyway." I leaned forward and pushed my fingers into his hair, hauling his head back. I kissed his mouth deep and hard, reveling in the sense of deviance that roared in my veins.

I glanced over just as Audrey staggered backwards in the doorway, shocked to the core by my response, her mouth opening and closing like a fish's.

The man kneeling between my legs followed my gaze and chuckled low. "If you're looking for a new job, we need a receptionist at HQ. It's not a posh place like this, but we have a laugh, and it does mean I'd get to see you again."

His smile sent an aftershock of pleasure right through me.

"Not to mention the fact that a chick like you would be a hell of a lot more fun than the dragon they sent us from the agency."

 "You reckon?" I asked, pushing him onto the floor on his back, straddling him and reaching for his belt.

"I reckon," he said, grinning widely when he felt my hand reach for his cock.

What was the old saying about being in the right place at the right time, and grabbing opportunities when they come by? My hand tightened on his cock. It looked like office work wasn't going to be so bad after all