Humpday Story: Late Night at the Office

Late-Night-at-the-Office-GenericQuarter to midnight, and Stan wakes up at his office desk, computer paper stuck to his cheek, glued in place by drool and a sweaty five o’clock shadow. Tough life as an accountant during tax season. No time to nap on the job. Back to the grind for Stan.

Until a woman in a black trenchcoat and red high heels steps into his office.

Never mind she doesn’t have an appointment. Never mind the late night lonely blues at the office.



What You Do After Waking Up

Stan woke up, startled. A piece of white computer paper stuck to his cheek, glued in place by drool and a sweaty five o’clock shadow. His neck hurt, like he’d been sleeping in an awkward position. Which was exactly what he’d done. 

The blinds were open, letting in the fake yellow lights of the parking lot lamps. The office smelled like a moldy pepperoni and mushroom pizza, the kind that was good when fresh and terrible after a long night of work. He kicked the cardboard box with his foot, fumbling about, trying to wake up.

He leaned back, the swivel chair squeaking like a dying animal under his butt. The computer had fallen asleep, the blue light on the monitor winking at him like a one-eyed woman flirting with Stan. If only he were so lucky. Marissa left him after five years of bliss, taking the glass eye he’d bought her for her thirtieth birthday. She also took the cats and most of the furniture.

Including the massive king sized bed he’d bought for their third year anniversary. All he had left in the house was some steel-frame barstools and a lumpy sofa with tattered upholstery.

Good enough reason to sleep on the office sofa most nights. Didn’t do his neck any favors. He could barely move his head without feeling a little woozy. Sharp pain shot from the middle of his back to middle of his brain. Stan shut his eyes tight, breathed slow, and took a sip of stale water from the plastic cup near his keyboard.

Back to the grind, so to speak. Being a tax accountant meant being moderately busy for most of the year, and stupidly busy for one month leading up to April fifteenth. Stan fired up the computer again, the stark white light blinding him.

The office door squeaked and rattled open. A tall blond woman in a sleek black trenchcoat two-stepped inside. Her red high heels clicked on the tile floor. She wore fishnet stockings and jangly shiny gold earrings. Her hair was done up in a loose bun with chopsticks poked through the back.

Stan checked the clock on the wall. Quarter to midnight. “Please come back in the morning,” he said. “Business hours are eight to nine.”

She made a frowny face, except not entirely convincing because her eyes crinkled with humor. She looked slightly familiar, but Stan had seen a lot of clients over the last week, including the weekend. “Oh?” she said. “But I have a rather… pressing question.”

She sat down in the cushy brown leather chair across from him. He didn’t stop her, or protest. He was too tired, and still a little buzzed on cheap instant coffee. The woman spread her trenchcoat a bit as she sat down, revealing her long legs and…

A hairy bush?

Stan almost leapt out of his seat, leaning forward. Headache or not, his attention was on her. She noticed his downward gaze, a playful smirk spread to the corners of her mouth. She leaned an elbow on the back on the chair, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

And just like that, she crossed her legs, concealing herself again. Stan wasn’t even sure if he saw what he thought he saw, or if that was just wishful thinking. Idle daydreaming while at work, because Marissa had left him for another woman. They made a cute couple, of sorts. Butch dyke and old one-eye.

“What can I do for you?” Stan said. Way to let a client walk all over him, barging in after hours without an appointment or a courtesy call. He checked his phone. No messages. Yup, no call.

But the blond woman wasn’t a random walk-in. Couldn’t have been. She was too familiar. A high maintenence type, too pretty for a guy like Stan, way out of his league, but with a slutty squint in her eyes. The kind that beckoned foolish men to do foolish things late at night.

Well, so Stan hoped.

She leaned forward, the top of the trenchcoat spreading just enough for Stan to see pushed up cleavage. He looked away, then tried to make eye contact. The office seemed hot suddenly, especially under his armpits and down his back. 

“Maybe you can do something for me?” she said, placing the red painted tip of her fingernail against her bottom lip.

Stay professional. Be calm. This isn’t a porn movie. Stan pinched himself on the thigh to make sure. He felt it. And besides, he was a bit fresh from sleeping with his head on the desk. The last shower he’d had was at six o’clock in the morning. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, the thin blond stubble barely showing on his chin. He had a shower stall the backroom of his office suite. He’d take one soon.

“What do you mean?” Stan said, immediately regretting his question. Bad porno scene it was. If only he were so lucky.

Maxine? That was her name. She had a large account, with lots of deductibles. Stan couldn’t think of her last name to save his life, not off the top of his head.

Maxine rubbed her lip seductively. “I’ve got a special problem with my taxes. Something I’ve just noticed.”

Out of habit, Stan grabbed a ball-point pen and yellow legal pad, ready to take notes. “What’s your name? I’ll look up your account on my computer.”

She told him her name. She really was Maxine. He immediately forgot the last name right after he typed it into his system. Her file came up. No flags. All the forms seemed to be filled in. Just needed her signature, and her tax return was done. Maxine had some odd deductibles. Vibrators. Exotic sex toys. Lots of clothing. Boots, high heels, stockings, lingerie.

Her listed profession was “entertainer.”

“You okay, sir?” Maxine said. The way she said those three words, the way they rolled off her tongue, melted him. Stan resented her a little, for that stupid power. She probably didn’t even realize how she affected men.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just a little tired. You know, long day at the office.”

“I know the feeling,” she said, quietly, like she truly empathized with him. Maxine reached across the desk and patted him on the forearm. A light touch, friendly.

Kind. He resented her all the more. He wasn’t getting laid tonight. But how would she know that? Stan was just the tax accountant, friendly, helpful. He smiled like a dork, and pulled his arm away, out of her reach. 

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said. “All your forms are ready to print up and send to the IRS.”

“That’s the thing,” Maxine said. “I’m just worried about being audited.”

“Why so?” Stan took another sip of stale water, trying to clear his head. He felt a little better, if only because of the eye candy sitting in front of him.

“Well,” Maxine crossed her fingers, hands in her lap. “A girl like me makes a lot of money, doing weird jobs.”

“Entertainer, right.”

She smirked, nodded her pretty head. Then it struck Stan like a lightening bolt from the sky. His client wasn’t just a generic “entertainer.” She was a porn actress. Maxine must’ve noticed his look of mixed astonishment and realization. She kept nodding, eyes cast down at her lap, a quirky tip of her lips.

“You see my worry,” she said. “If I’m audited, what happens? Will I be ruined?”

Stan leaned forward, reached out with one hand to try to comfort her. “No, no. I assure you your paperwork is in good order. If you’d like, we can go over everything now.”

“Really? Right now?”

“Totally,” Stan cringed inward. How long was this going to take? Yuck. “Every schedule and form, right here.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

Stan printed all of her tax forms out. He explained each deduction, going into the gritty detail of how much she owed and how to minimize her tax burden legally. Maxine listened, asked questions, back straight and perky the entire time. Some of her energy rubbed off on him. Each question, Stan woke up a little bit more. By the time he flipped to the final page, he was still tired, but didn’t want to return to sleep yet.

Maxine touched him on forearm, scooting closer to him. As close as the desk between them would allow. She had skinny, delicate hands, and soft to the touch. Stan’s penis bolted upright to attention. He shifted in his seat, in a vain effort to be more comfortable without showing her how aroused he was.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I feel much better.”

“Name’s Stan,” said Stan. “When you’re ready, all you need to do is sign at the bottom, and I’ll prepare your taxes for filing.”

“Just like that?” she said. “Stan.”

“Just like that,” Stan said. He handed her a ballpoint pen.

Maxine took the pen, but hesitated. The tip of the pen hit the paper, but she didn’t sign. “There’s still something I don’t feel right about. Stan.”


“I might need to fire you.”

What You Do After Being Fired

And just like that, Stan’s headache returned like a sledgehammer between the eyes. Fired? Why? After going through her taxes line by line, being as friendly and patient as he could be.

Maxine tugged at the belt on her trenchcoat. “I’m sorry, Stan. Maybe I should explain.”

“No need,” Stan said.


“I’ll prepare everything, and then you can take your files to a new accountant. No problem.” He resented saying that. What a big fee to see walk out the door.

She stood up, and tugged apart the belt. “I don’t think you understand, mister,” she said. The trenchcoat fell apart, revealing everything.

Black bra with a lacy bow in the center, big milky white breasts pushed up, firm abs, a triangle shaped snatch of hair between her legs. So Stan didn’t imagine that when Maxine sat down. He shook his head, shutting his eyes tight. When he reopened them, Maxine was still just as exposed.

She walked around to his side of the desk, and sat on the corner.

Stan kept his hands in his lap, entirely unsure of what to do next. Reach out and grab her? Cross his arms? Sit still and be a perv? At least he didn’t have a marriage to ruin anymore. But would this ruin his business? Was he really reading the situation right? Women didn’t come on to him like this, never. Only in his wettest dreams did Stan ever imagine a beautiful woman, much less a client, bare her pussy for him.

But Stan was sensible. So he did the sensible thing.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said.

Maxine wrapped herself immediately back in the trenchcoat, covering her sexy body. The sultry look disappeared, replaced by a more sinister one. An angry, disappointed expression.

“Fine,” she stood up, heels clipping on the way to the door.

Stan glanced from her bobbing hair and retreating ass—a view he was long used to with women—to the clock. Well after midnight. He stood, too quickly and lost his balance.

Maxine made it to the door, but she slowed down, the high heels stopped, hand on the doorknob.

“You misunderstand,” said Stan, entirely unsure where his confidence was coming from. He was tired. Tired of looking at numbers and tax schedules all day and night.

Tired of being alone and sleeping at his desk. Or the office sofa.

“Oh?” Maxine said, glancing over her shoulder, face concealed by her blond hair.

“You need to leave so I can take a shower. The waiting room has some plush chairs.”

“I see now,” Maxine flipped her hair over her shoulder. Her face regained the lively countenance. Stan’s heart rose a little, happy that he made her happy. She quarter turned. “Need any help?”

Was this a trap? To get him in the shower and busy so she could…

What? Steal his computer? Probably not an entirely foolish plan. Maxine could’ve watched him type in the password when he pulled up her file. But what would she gain from stealing from him? He had backups locked in the fireproof safe, so all his client’s data was retrievable. But Maxine must’ve been smart enough to realize he’d just call the cops on her. He had her name and address on file, after all. 

Otherwise, he had no other valuables here. Nothing worth going to the trouble of seducing Stan just to pull off a heist.

But he had clients to think about.

And she was offering to shower with him.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said. He kept his tone even, looked Maxine in the eyes, shoulders square, chin firm.

She turned all the way around, and leaned her lovely backside against the door. “Neither have I. Well, you know.”

“You took a big risk coming to me, not exactly baring your soul. But baring enough.”

That made Maxine laugh, a broad smiled, throated laugh which in turn made Stan burst into laughter.

“I bared enough?” she said, tugging on the trenchcoat’s lapel. “You sure?”

“No,” Stan said.

“I’ll wait outside,” she curled a finger around one of the coat’s buttons, as if ready to snap it off. “Want something to think about while you shower?”

Before Stan could answer, Maxine opened up her coat again, revealing her lean, muscular body. He could’ve stared at her all day. He rubbed his mouth with a finger, to check for drool. Thankfully, he wasn’t making a total fool of himself.

Either way, Maxine pivoted away from him, wrapping herself in the coat again, and shut the door behind her.

He quietly thumbed the deadbolt, and then stripped as quickly as he could on the way to the shower. The five minutes it took him to clean up was a blur, with tangled emotions and jittery nerves getting in the way of the soap and shampoo. Much cleaner smelling, he wrapped a towel around his waist and crossed the room. He unlocked the office door.

Maxine sat in the reception area, thumbing the pages of a magazine, high heels propped up on the glass coffee table.

“That didn’t take long,” she said, and tossed the magazine on the table before standing up. “Good thing. I was getting bored.”

“Don’t want that,” Stan said.

She came right up to him, hands on his chest, eyes devouring him up and down. “You sure you want to do this?” she said. “With me?”

“Careful,” Stan said. “Give me too much time and I’ll change my mind.” Again, he had no idea where his burst of confidence came from. At the moment he didn’t care.

He kissed her. The first brushing of lips was like a prom date kiss—barely touching, close enough to smell each other, far enough away to retreat from total embarrassment. The second kiss, they tickled each other’s tongues.

And then Stan pressed Maxine against the doorframe and pulled open her coat. She tugged on his hair, yanking his head this way and that. His fingers were rough on her baby smooth skin. The kissing turned hot. Barely breathing, lungs aching, cock bulging through the towel and against her stomach. The knot on the towel wasn’t strong enough, and fell apart as if by magic. Stan didn’t bother fixing it, he was far too preoccupied. The towel fell to the floor, leaving his ass bare.

He reached between Maxine’s legs, and discovered she was just as damp as his freshly showered hair.

In too deep, at least metaphorically. Might as well be literally. No turning back from here, the damage was done.

“Sofa?” he said. “Or the desk?”

“Those are life’s two options?” Maxine said. “Damn, why didn’t they tell me that in college?”

She dragged him to the desk. Stan swiped away all his office supplies. Pens, the coffee cups that held the pens, paperclips. He lifted the computer monitor off and set it carefully on the floor.

Maxine laughed, whether at his ass sticking up in the air or the fact that he was so careful with only some of his office equipment, he didn’t care. He was prepared to dance like an idiot listening to unrhythmic music, just to hear that cute laugh again.

Stan patted the edge of the desk, and she dutifully sat with her legs crossed. She seemed to fit in his arms, perfect. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this feeling, holding a woman close, smelling her, touching and being touched.

He started gentle with her, tasting her, enjoying the night and all the senses flooding his tired brain. The headache was a forgotten memory, like a bad dream before waking up to the smell of French toast and fresh brewed coffee—just something to be left behind.

Stan opened the coat for her, and kissed southwards. Down her cupped breasts, her stomach, down one thigh. Then he circled back up to her snatch of hair. She was trimmed in just the way he loved, not too hairy, with the lips clear. Stan thought briefly about how many other men must’ve enjoyed this view, given she was a porn star. In the heated moment, Stan decided he didn’t give a fuck.

The girly smell was intoxicating. Like a bee drawn to a flower, Stan dove right in. Slow kisses, then the tip of his finger. Maxine’s breathing slowed, her pussy got wet. Then he poked his entire forefinger in, while licking her clit. More wet. Two fingers. Three.

Maxine yipped.

He curled his fingers into a hook. And then ripped her.

Warm liquid dripped down his wrist.

But he didn’t want to stop. His ex—he couldn’t even think of her name—never orgasmed like this. No matter what he did, a sack of potatoes was more fun to make love to.

Stan pumped her for a few strokes. Then curled his fingers again, hitting the G-spot repeatedly.

Her scream echoed in his office. And once again, juice dripped down his arm.

And then it turned into a downpour. A puddle collected on the floor.

Maxine shook, eyes shut tight.

When she opened them, she spoke so softly, Stan wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

“Get to the sofa,” she said. “Now.”

What You Do After… Oh, Fuck It

Stan wasted no time. He helped Maxine off the desk and guided her by the hand to the sofa. The green and yellow striped cloth was surprisingly soft under his ass. But then, he’d never slept naked on it.

He laid back with his head on the pillow, and Maxine straddled him. Soft kisses up and down his chest, lower, ever lower. His prick was already hard, with a gob of pre-cum oozing onto his stomach. When Maxine found it, she liked it right up, and blew a soft moan onto his privates.

She puckered her lips around his tip, her face bright and cheery. Never had Stan imagined a woman laughing while giving him a blowjob, and certainly not in a good way. Maxine was absolutely delighted, he could see the happiness in the way her eyes brightened. When she took him in her mouth, he was on cloud nine.

The way she tugged on his balls with just the right pressure, and how she licked him up and down, pressed her teeth into his shaft just enough to make him feel it without hurting him. Everything she did was just perfect.

Like she was made for him.

Stan stroked her hair back as she went down on him. Every nerve felt on fire. He was still a long ways from orgasm, but she tugged him closer to the edge little by little, so that the climax seemed ever closer, around the corner.

Without warning, she spat him out. A devilish, playful grin spread from ear to ear. Maxine climbed back on him, over him. She struggled out of her coat, as if the garment were on fire. Eventually she tossed it across the room.

And then she unhooked her bra. The twin peaks fell out without a lot of ceremony, and she was completely naked before him. She had lovely pink, pointed nipples, the kind Stan would kill for the chance to suck on for one night. Maxine cuddled on him, and wiggled around, letting those nipples tease his skin. Stan massaged her back. She kissed his collarbone.

Maxine reached between them, and grabbed hold of his cock. “Is this mine?” she whispered in his ear.

“All yours,” Stan whispered back.

She wiggled her hips, teasing him by inserting only the tip. And then a little more. Stan begged her to go all the way, jabbing upwards in an effort to sink it inside her. But Maxine denied him, and went at her pace.

With her hands on his hips, Maxine pressed him into the couch, holding him still. Then she inserted him into her tunnel, an inch at a time, sighing as he delved deeper. Stan fingered her nipples. Little circles, then a tight pinch, just to remind her to fuck him. Maxine obliged, bouncing light and slow at first. Her breasts jiggled to and fro, up and down.

Then faster. Quick motions. Boobs slapping skin. Breathing quick. Closer.

Then she slowed down, a luxuriant expression on her face, eyes closed, mouth pursed. A wet explosion trickled down Stan’s shaft. Maxine purred in delight, body shaking as if she were cold, but she was sweaty and her body heat radiated against his own.

Maxine fell against him, cheek pressed to his chest, exhausted. Stan grabbed her ass cheeks, one in each hand, and stabbed her, making wet and sticky sounds with each thrust. Her head bobbed against him. She didn’t struggle, or put up a fight. She just held on, gripping his biceps and mumbling nonsense.

Stan pushed her upright. She was a ragdoll, spent on her own orgasms. He had no problem turning her around, her head resting on the couch’s arm, ass stuck up in the air.

Then he plunged right back in. He wiggled his hips, hitting the spot again to make sure she was ready for what came next.

Stan curled his fingers into her round hips. And pumped. No mercy. Just animal heat, non-stop fucking, her pussy tightening around his cock, skin slapping skin, both of their moans mingling together like a sexy two-part harmony.

He reached around, and grabbed one breast, squeezing for all she was worth. Maxine whipped her head up, flinging back her beautiful blond hair, smacking him in the face. She purred again, a sultry fuck-me-now-harder sound. 

Stan let her have. Jackhammered her.

His orgasm edged closer. Any moment he’d pop.

Maxine glanced over her shoulder, at him. Eyes pleading with him. Desperate.

The office smelled of sweat and pussy.

She squirted again.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. Stan pulled out and spurted his sticky load on Maxine’s back. The gush seemed to come from all the way down from his toes, and didn’t stop. He hadn’t come this hard in years. He painted Maxine white.

The couch was utterly ruined. Maxine laid down on her stomach, her juices squishing on her front side, his juices dripping from her back down her sides. Stan cozied himself on top of her, and kissed her neck.

He nuzzled her until the afterglow wore off, and then he let up up. She seemed just as weak in the knees as he felt.

“I can’t let you fire me,” Stan said.

“Oh?” Maxine fell into his arms, and laid her head against his shoulder.

“I quit,” he said.

“Does that mean I’m not invited back to your office?”

“It means,” Stan pushed her away, holding her by the elbows, “my office is ruined thanks to you.”


“Next time, we’ll ruin a hotel room.”

Maxine smiled. She cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him. “Sounds like a plan.”


Copyright © Hermit Muse Publishing

Cover Image © stokkete/BigStockPhoto

Thank you for reading! If you would like to purchase this story, you can find it at your favorite retailer. Or feel free to leave a tip with the PayPal button below.


Author: D. Anthony Brown

Writer of speculative fiction.

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