She Never Said No

"Could it be true?"

Steve lay in bed, another lonely night. So many failed encounters. Even his recent promotion to managing accountant had not helped tonight.

"You talk too much," she had said, taking him by surprise with a sudden goodnight peck on the cheek.

He had waited politely for her invitation to come in, but she closed the door with a parting shot.

"I like a man who takes charge. You act too much like a woman."

Click.

Well, she acted too much like a man, Steve thought, trying to soothe the sting of her words. He had always prided himself on his respect for women, how he treated them as equals, as partners. He had been praised during his late-blooming adolescence by his female "women's lib" friends in high school. He was "the boy who always waited for permission":

"May I kiss you?"

"Okay."

"May I touch your breast?"

"Okay."

"May I put my hand down your pants?"

"Okay."

"May I put my penis in your vagina?"

"No!"

Unfortunately, his female friends from high school had all become lesbians, leaving him pathetically feminized and without companionship.

Tonight had not gone well and Steve was ready to try something different. He was good at "what-if" scenarios at work. It was part of his job.

"What if I had taken the initiative and kissed her?"

Steve's "what-if" didn't stop there. What if while he was kissing her, his fingers snaked up between her thighs? He imagined her gasping in pleasure.

No, it would have happened earlier...

What if his fingers had snaked up between her thighs during the taxi ride home? What if his fingers had snaked up between her thighs at the restaurant? On the way to the restaurant? When she had said "yes" to a dinner date? What if his fingers had snaked up between her thighs when they first met?

Slap!

No, that wasn't right. Steve rubbed his face, his imagined impropriety so real he felt the burn of her fingers across his cheek.

Defeated for a second time that night, he closed his eyes and replayed his goodbye scene on her doorstep. What if he had kissed her and his fingers had snaked up between her soft, warm thighs, sinking into moisture-soaked panties?

She gasps, fumbles for the key, barely gets inside before he attacks her in the hallway...

It is a vivid, satisfying rush, more than adequate for his own pleasure, and he soon grunts with relief as his blue balls empty their angst onto his belly.

"Attacks?" he questions as he falls asleep. "The word is so violent and disrespectful."

The bus ride to work is unremarkable. Steve stands to give his seat to a young woman. She smiles and thanks him for his chivalry. Steve smiles and nods back, imagining his fingers snaking up between her thighs...

In the short two-block walk to his office he smiles at three attractive women, but none of them smile back. He imagines taking one by the arm, pushing her into a dark alley, up against the rough brick wall for a quickie. He shakes his head. "What's that about, cowboy?" he says, as the news stories come to mind about women who were raped, and the men who were sent to prison, both lives destroyed.

The elevator fills and people squish in. The woman in front of him moves back. More people come in. She backs again and bumps into him. Instead of moving away like he usually does, he holds his ground. He moves his hand, thumb extended, brushes the pants suit covering her butt. He waits for her to object, knowing it's too crowded for a slap. Besides, the close quarters made his touch innocent enough. Instead she leans back. He leaves his thumb extended as it slowly presses the fabric deeper into her butt crack.

"Excuse me," she says, and Steve quickly lowers his thumb. But she wasn't talking to him. She gave a quick nod of her head to the man at her left as she inches her foot aside to widen her stance. She leans slowly back into Steve. She is inviting him, to touch her. Hoping she can't feel him shaking, he opens his hand, slips his fingers along her inside thigh, and rises into the heat of her crotch. The elevator rings, the door opens. It's his floor, but he's afraid to move. She steps forward, then exits with the crowd. He is frozen, waits for her to look back, but instead the elevator door closes.

Steve wanted to search the whole floor, but instead he sat at his desk and replayed every detail. He closed his eyes to remember: perfume, straight brown hair cut cute and short, five foot six, dark blue pin-striped pants suit. He held his thumb to his nose.

"One o-clock meeting," his boss said. "Don't forget."

Steve's eyes flew open. He felt the heat of a blush, but luckily his boss had already disappeared.

"You're pathetic," he told himself, lowering his hand, unable to forget the feeling of her against his probing thumb, reaching down to shift his growing cock. "What if she wasn't wearing underwear?" he imagined. "What if you lost your job!" he reprimanded himself.

Steve prepared for his meeting with several "what-if" spreadsheets until he felt confident he could answer any question that might be thrown his way. He looked up. He had worked over an hour straight without a single thought about his morning encounter. He got up and went to get a cup of coffee.

He was stirring in the sugar when someone passed behind him. His head jerked up as his nose caught the scent of a familiar perfume. The woman stopped, took a cup, poured some coffee, then looked over at Steve. It was Joan, one of his new employees. She smiled, took a sip of coffee. Steve was going through his checklist: straight brown hair, blue pants suit, five foot...

"Do you like my new haircut?"

Joan turned her face towards him, then spun around so that he was looking at her from behind. Steve looked down at the curve of her buttocks. It was her.

"Well?" she said.

Joan didn't turn, not even her head, while she wiggled her high heels to slowly widen her legs. Then she suddenly turned and caught him staring, and not at the hair on her head. She smiled, a sly, wicked kind of smile, obviously pleased with herself. Just as suddenly, she spun away from him and walked off, lifting and swinging her spiked heels in a way that rubbed her thighs together and rocked her hips.

"Hey, Steve."

The call was followed by a poke in the ribs and a whisper.

"How'd it go last night?"

"Knock it off, Jeff."

Steve hadn't meant to sound so annoyed.

"Crash and burn?" Jeff said, giving a sad puppy face.

Steve and Jeff were two peas in a pod. Neither had scored since they first shared their frustrations. Steve took a deep breath and nodded Jeff over to the corner table.

"Would you ever," Steve lowered his voice, "take advantage?"

Jeff gave Steve a warning glance, opened his mouth, but Steve interrupted.

"I mean, not against her wishes, just continuing, without waiting for yes."

Steve and Jeff had agreed on the "stages to sex," an important discovery they both latched on to early in their discussions. Under this theory, sex was the final stage in a dance of 12 stages. Steve had insisted that at least six of those stages required an ask:

Stage 1: Eye to Body

Stage 2: Eye to Eye

Stage 3: Voice to Voice

Stage 4: Hand to Hand (ask)

Stage 5: Arm to Shoulder

Stage 6: Arm to Waist

Stage 7: Mouth to Mouth (ask)

Stage 8: Hand to Head

Stage 9: Hand to Body (ask)

Stage 10: Mouth to Breast (ask)

Stage 11: Hand to Genitals (ask)

Stage 12: Sexual Intercourse (ask)

"I mean, what if I took her hand, instead of asking, and I waited for her to say no?"

Jeff shook his head. They were interrupted as several people came into the room.

"Hey, I got to prepare for our one o'clock," Jeff said. "See ya later, cowboy!"

Instead of returning to his office, Steve toured the floor, talking to "his team." Steve was new at this supervisor thing. Young and inexperienced, he was being mentored by an old curmudgeon, who kept reminding Steve that, "You have to be firm. You have to lead. Don't let anyone on your team take advantage. You'll lose your leadership."

Steve ended up at Joan's desk. She wasn't there, so he looked at the pictures on her bookshelf and desk. There were several of different men in uniform.

"She'll be back in a minute," her co-worker commented, responding no doubt to the sour look Steve was giving all those "leaders."

"Thanks," Steve answered, trying to smile. "Tell her I want to see her in my office."

Judging by the wilting expression on the co-worker's face, Steve knew he had said it in a tone that meant he had some bad news for Joan. He almost said it was nothing serious, but then thought, "Why not? Why not let her sweat it out?" She was obviously enjoying making him sweat.

Steve went back to his office, moved the arrow on his door to "Do Not Disturb," and sat down to work on his computer. It was only a couple minutes before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Joan slid through the door, took a quick look as if to confirm no one had seen her being called to the boss's office, and closed it quietly behind her. She turned and gave an innocent smile.

"Sit down," Steve barked, using an angry voice he had not uttered since before college.

In the split second it took Joan to sit, she had turned from a confident, smug, sexy woman into a scared little girl. As Steve stood and walked over to her, her head and shoulders drooped. She clasped her hands in her lap with her knees locked together. The effect it had on him surprised Steve. He felt his anger growing, and this time he didn't stop it. She was making fun of him, imitating his own weak behavior.

He bent down to smell her perfume. She shrank even lower. He leaned his lips into her ear and talked in a harsh whisper.

"Was that you in the elevator this morning?"

Steve's nose bumped against her ear. The soft flesh made him even angrier. He hated that she had teased him, made fun of him, in the coffee room.

"You're the boss," Joan whispered.

It stopped Steve in his tracks. It wasn't the words, but the way she said them, more than just a you're my job boss. She had made it sound more... subservient. Using his anger for inspiration, Steve let his nose slide from her ear to her neck. She pulled her head away. He took a deep breath.

The perfume spun his head. He turned her chair with a jerk, leaned forward, his hands grasping at each armrest, locking her in. He leaned in. His leg came against her knees. He continued to lean his weight until she winced and his leg inched between hers.

"Don't move," Steve grumbled.

And even though he thought he should ask, he didn't. He kissed her on the neck, then rose to her ear, kissed, then darted his tongue inside. Joan gasped and jerked her head away. Steve was certain that wasn't a yes, but the gasp hadn't been a no, either. He reached for her shoulder and missed, sliding down to her breast instead.

Terrified, he pulled his hand away. Joan gasped with a low hiss, looked as surprised as he felt. Without stopping to think, Steve's hand returned to her breast. He pressed. This time he was sure she had hissed yes. He turned, locked the door, then lifted Joan out of her seat. He pulled her up and kissed her on the lips. She looked at him in a kind of stupor. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hard, crushing her body into his. She melted, her legs buckling. Steve reached his hand into the opening gap at her crotch. He held her up by pressed into the heat. Joan collapsed. He barely kept her from crashing to the floor. She was on her back, staring up at him, her legs wavering, then flopping open, spreading her knees.

Possessed by his new-found understanding, he searched her face for no, but only found wonder and confusion. He undid her belt and jerked at her pants, pulling them down so fast her face lit with shock. Her mouth opened, but only to allow her heavy breathing. Still she remained silent. Staring at her bright-red g-string, he grabbed at it, yanked, didn't mean to, but it just tore away. He was staring at her bare pussy, something he had only seen in porno mags: a puffy, glistening, swollen invitation. He threw down his pants, fell on top of her, and jammed his cock inside. She gasped loudly and he covered her mouth. Pumping quickly, as if it all might end too soon, he came quickly. A couple of thrusts and then his muffled grunts. He couldn't believe it. He had just emptied his balls inside her, inside a woman's pussy. He could feel his silly grin, but didn't care. His limp cock slipped out.

Joan's disappointed frustration was obvious, until he propped himself onto one elbow and moved is fingers to her swollen bulb. Aware that time was short, he furiously rubbed at her clit. It was less than a minute, and this time she covered her own mouth as she convulsed with an orgasm.

Coming to his senses, Steve stood, pulled up his underwear, pants, tucked in his shirt, zipped, did his belt, all while watching in admiration as Joan's legs wafted open and closed. She was enjoying the echoes of her climax, with her own silly grin, as she flashed her pussy at him, his cum now spilling out, oozing from the corner of her lips, slowly making its way over her anus.

But this wasn't the place to be taking the time for that. Steve pulled her up, offered a tissue, which she used and threw in the waste basket. He helped her with her clothes, until she took over and got dressed. She snapped off the other strap to her g-string, looked at Steve, then tossed it in the waste basket alongside the sticky tissue. Still catching their breath, and spinning from a few short moments ago, they were dressed and seated in their respective seats in no time.

"I hope you found my comments... valuable," Steve finally said. "I'm very happy with your... effort."

Joan's face regained her confident composure. She teased Steve with a sly smile and a twinkle of her eyes.

"I really appreciate your... probing," she answered. "I think you touched on some very... powerful points."

Joan stood, straightened out her jacket, rocked her hips.

"I never did like pants," she said. "I think I'll wear a dress tomorrow."

They both looked towards the spent red g-string.

"Won't be needing that," she said in a way that made Steve want tomorrow to be now.

She bit her lip, rolled her eyes.

"Oh my, excuse me. I need to stop by the powder room."

She unlocked the door and walked out. Steve got up from his seat, grabbed the g-string remnants out of his waste basket, tucked them into his pocket. He stood by the door, watching her make her way, carefully tip-toeing down the hall. She wasn't so steady on those high heels, now. He reached into his pocket, rolled the g-string in his fingers until he found the damp triangle of cloth that had so recently been caressing her pussy lips. He smiled, knowing exactly why she was walking like she had a stick up her butt.