Pebbles rattle against the second-floor window like gunfire in the night. I freeze on the parking lot grass, breath ragged from sprinting across the dark lot. Dust cakes my sneakers and jeans cuffs. Heart hammers. Will the night security hear? Or Linda? Door clicks echo faintly from the lobby. Stale coffee lingers, mixed with my perfume.
A soft glow flicks on in her office. I hold my breath. Barely hear the AC hum like distant horses. ‘Kate?’ Her whisper floats down.
The Clandestine Signal
‘Linda?’ I hiss back, eyes up. Her long hair cascades in the lamplight. She leans out. ‘One sec, coming down.’
‘Don’t wake security,’ I warn.
‘Never have.’ Window shuts. Light dies.
I drop to the grass, knees hugged. Minutes drag. Fourth stair creaks— she always hits it. Butterflies twist my gut. Uni split us—me at Waterloo, her at Queens. No contact since September. Does she still want this?
Back door hisses open. She slips out barefoot in her thin silk blouse, unbuttoned low. No pants. Breathless, flushed. Breasts rise under fabric. Runs to me. Jumps into arms. Kisses hard. ‘Missed you.’
We break. Her eyes sparkle. ‘Wasn’t sure you’d come.’
‘Almost didn’t.’
‘Good you did.’ Another kiss, fingers lace. Passion confirms it. Relief floods me.
She leads to supply closet. Doors squeak loud. Inside, printer whirs faintly. We pat humming machines like old friends. Giggle at memories—naked office pranks dodged.
‘Lady Godiva in the parking lot?’ she teases.
‘Yeah, close call.’
She pulls soft ropes from shelf. ‘Perfect for the Tree.’
‘Sure you want this? We could talk.’
‘You kidding? Craved it for months.’
We slip through dark corridors, cubicle shadows like corn stalks. AC whispers. Moon rises amber over east windows. Full harvest moon. Hypnotic.
Conference room. Old coat rack stands sentinel—our ‘Tree.’ Moonlight bathes it through glass walls. I spread my jacket on carpet. We sit, hands clasped.
Bound in Moonlight Ecstasy
‘Too long,’ she breathes.
Kiss soft. Electric. Clothes shed. Her blouse flies. Firm tits glow, nipples hard. I gulp. Never tire of her. Jeans off—no panties. Naked, tits press, nipples spark jolts.
Fingers tease. She lies back. Mine trail her slit, dip in. Tongue flicks clit. She moans. Taste her on my lips. Kiss swaps it.
‘Ready?’ I pant.
‘Born ready. Fuck.’
She kneels. Wrists out. I bind tight— no escape. She shivers. Leads to Tree. Arms up, tie to rack arm. Faces moon. Perfect: nude, bound, tits thrust, hair wild.
Kneel. Spread thighs. Rough carpet bites feet. Tongue dives. Lick folds, clit. Fingers grip ass. She cries out—echoes bounce. Tongue spears, circles. Orgasm hits. Body jerks, wrists strain. ‘Kate!’ Trembles fade. Foot nudges me off.
Face slick, I rise. Kiss deep. She presses bound body close.
‘Give you mine soon. Need a sec.’
‘Take it, love.’ I flop on jacket. Grass-like pricks excite. Moon climbs. Peace. We talk futures—jobs, secrecy. Community won’t get it.
‘Ready.’ Untie rack. Arms drop. ‘Your turn.’
Eyes widen. Lie back. She kneels, bound hands awkward. Kisses tits till I beg. Tongue plunges bush, finds clit. Swirls, sucks. I arch, scream. Climax rips—body red, quaking.
Cuddle. Her arms loop neck. Skin hot. She dozes. Shake awake. ‘Time to go. 2:30 AM.’
Kisses linger. Dress. She keeps ropes. Wipe traces. Back through halls. Closet ropes stowed. Final kiss on lot—her nude-ish, me clothed, moonlit.
Untie wrists. Tears gleam. ‘See you at Christmas?’
‘Hope so.’ She slips inside. I trek home. Moon watches. Replay every thrust. She does too.