Wednesday, March 23, 2011

THE FRIDAY FILE

  By Sutter
Powel 
 
  Only ten minutes had passed since I'd last checked the time, and I had promised myself I wouldn't look for at least another hour. Friday afternoons at Aliandro, Dunhill and Wade moved like molasses in January. Al­though the firm took up the entire 19th floor, there were usually fewer than ten people at their desks come Friday at 4 p.m. On Friday afternoons the partners and other big wheels migrated like ducks to the golf courses and country clubs of the Bay Area, leaving only the secretaries, paralegals, and bright young interns such as myself to answer their phones and pray for the week to grind to a close.
Even if I hadn't been watching the clock, I would have known it was nearing 4 p.m., because no sooner had my eyes returned to the brief I was not writing than I heard the sound of brisk, efficient footsteps squishing toward me on the plush gray carpet. As befits a lowly intern, I was given a desk located in the law-office equivalent of Siberia — next to the typing pool at the entrance to the file room. My nameplate (MR. GOUCH — INTERN) identifies me as an insignificant serf, lest anyone mistake me for a real attorney. I lifted my eyes just in time to see Mr. Harrow pass my desk on his way to the file room. The older man's chiseled features were set into his trademark inscrutable expression, and he had what I had nicknamed his “Friday file" tucked under his arm. As the impeccably tailored attorney marched by in an exquisite Armani suit, he left just a whiff if Drakkar Noir in his wake. My dormant dick awakened its boredom induced coma and stirred restlessly. Every Friday for the past two months, I had watched handsome Mr. Harrow enter the file room with that damn folder under his arm. He would emerge about 15 minutes later with a slight smirk on his face. This bizarre behavior aroused my naturally suspicious mind much the way the gorgeous older attorney aroused my naturally horny dick. Glen Harrow was the firm's star tax attorney and was rumored to be on the partnership track, so why would he be doing his own filing? On Friday afternoons? What was that all about?
I knew I should finish my brief, but I just had to know what he was up to. I glanced to my left. Mrs. Handerly, the busybody office manager who sat next to me, had her Dictaphone firmly inserted in her lacquered bouffant, and her pudgy little fingers were blazing away on her keyboard. I nonchalantly rose to my feet and meandered toward the file room entrance. I paused at the threshold and leaned my head in, scanning the photocopier area for Mr. Harrow. Not there. After another glance at the oblivious Mrs. Handerly, I slid into the file room. The floor was done in noisy ceramic tile, so I carefully took off my shoes and continued on silently in my stocking feet.
The cavernous room had 15 foot high ceilings, with gray metal shelves that ran from top to bottom. There were six rows of the double sided shelves, each about 25 feet long. More shelves lined the perimeter of the room, and an aisle ran the circumference of the room between the ends of the rows and the wall units. From where I stood I could see that Mr. Harrow was not in the front .lisle. That meant he was not in the back aisle or one of the rows. I carefully made my way down the first row of shelving, moving away from the door and toward the back of the room. I peeked around the end of the row. The back aisle was deserted. He was in one of the interior aisles, between the rows of shelving. I crept from row to row, my pulse quickening. Second row, not there. Third row, empty. Fourth row, ditto. I crouched down and peered around the corner of the shelf into the fifth row. No Mr. Harrow. He must be in the very last aisle. I knew from my vast fil­ing experience that the last row was reserved for "dead" files, a burial ground where inactive flies went to decompose.
"Ugghhmmmm, . . . " A low, throaty moan broke the silence and I froze in place, my breath catching in my throat, my heart pounding. What the hell was that? I held perfectly still, straining to hear. "Ahhhuuhhmmmm . . . " There it was again. The moan was followed by a soft rustling of paper, perhaps cloth. I eased into the fifth row and slowly raised up to peek through the space above the tops of the files.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. About halfway down the last row of files, Mr. Glen Harrow the hot shot tax attorney of Aliandro, Dunhill, and Wade, was busily beating his meat! With his slacks and underpants around his ankles, no less! I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I couldn’t believe it! It was so out of character for Mr. Harrow. He was the most deadly serious of all the attorneys, and I had never seen him so much as smile. And here he was, spanking his monkey in the file room.
The half-naked attorney was staring intently at something he was holding in his free hand as he masturbated vigor­ously. His back was to me, so I edged closer to sec what he was so engrossed in. It was the file I had seen him with earlier — his Friday file! It was a standard multi-section contract folder, but what Mr. Harrow was so engrossed in was not contained in any of the firm's folders that I had reviewed. The wily attorney had removed the contract documents and replaced them with the latest issue of ADVOCATE MEN. Even from my poor vantage point, I instantly recognized Mr. July. I'll confess that I myself had studied Mr. July's codicils and addenda in much the same manner as Mr. Harrow was now doing, only I had conducted my review in the privacy of my bedroom.
I wanted a better look at the action, so I backed up carefully and tiptoed to the end of the row that separated us. I crouched down and peered around the corner. Mr. Harrow was really going at it now, his knees bending and straighten­ing as he fucked his flailing fist. The tax attorney was now in profile to me, and I watched, mesmerized, as he stroked himself. Until this moment I had never noticed how incredibly built Mr. Harrow was. Hairy, deeply tanned legs rippled and bulged with muscle, the calves knotting up as he rocked up and down on the balls of his feet. Mr. Harrow's hair was a deep chestnut brown, and he wore it cropped close to his handsome head. I could see that he kept himself in great shape, because his stomach looked flatter than mine, and I was almost young enough to be his son. He was a complete and total stud. But, as I could plainly see, Harrow's best fea­ture wasn't his flat stomach, his chestnut hair, or his muscu­lar thighs; no, top honors would have to go to his cock, The tax attorney's dick was absolutely exquisite — long, thick, and perfectly formed, the shaft a creamy tan color, the bulbous head a fiery purple-red. Two plump, hairy testicles the size of golf balls bobbed and weaved beneath the mammoth organ as he pumped away with his big hand, his Rolex flashing a masturbation Morse code in the fluorescent lights.
Watching the hunky older man pleasure himself made my dick as hard as a bone. My swollen shaft was bent painfully double in my slacks. I quietly unzipped my fly and reached in to adjust it, keeping my eyes glued to Mr. Harrow's enormous whang. I had only been planning to make my dick more comfortable, but the feel of my fingers on the sweaty cock flesh was so delicious that I drew my overheated hard on out of my pants and began to stroke it.
"Arrrghhli . . . o-o-oh!" Mr. Harrow moaned softly under his breath. He had the Friday file open and leaned against the shelf, his eyes riveted on the centerfold. The attorney's firm, muscular ass was level with my face. Two delectable globes of ass flesh peeped out from under the tail of his dress shirt — a tight little bubble butt divided by a deep crevice. I ached to press my hard dick into that tempting crack.
Just then it hit me. Why couldn’t I do exactly that? What was stopping me from stepping up behind him and pressing my cock into his luscious crack? Absolutely nothing, that's what. I had caught one of the firm's senior lawyers with his pants down. What was he going to do, have me fired for unprofessional behavior? I grinned wickedly as I con­templated my good fortune. Mr. Harrow was really working it now — his ass flexing and squeezing, his arm a blur. I decided I'd better make my move before be blew his load all over the dead files.
I rose silently to my feet, and with my hard on leading the way, crept stealthily up behind the preoccupied tax attorney. Closer and closer I eased, holding my breath. When I was only inches behind him, I reached around his body, clamped one hand over his mouth, and caught his masturbating fist with the other.
"Let me give you a hand with that, counselor," I purred into his ear as' I pressed my stiff cock into his sweaty ass crack.
"Mmmph!" Startled, Mr. Harrow grunted into my palm. He clawed wildly, trying to tear my hand from his face.
"Shhh!" I hissed in his ear. "Don't you dare make a sound. What if someone came in here and saw you like this?" I stroked my fist up and down along the shaft of his dick.
"Ugghhhmmm," grunted Mr. Harrow, his ass cheeks tightening reflexively around my cock as I jacked him off. His rigid manhood was hot and moist, the skin velvety soft. I slid my fingers up to the head of his dick and toyed with the broad head, twiddling his spongy cock lips with my fingertips. Mr. Harrow inhaled noisily through his nose and tried to speak against my palm. "Oo arr oo?"
"Come again?" I whispered politely. "I didn't get that." Just to be ornery, I left my hand over his mouth.
"Ake urr ann off!" Mr. Harrow demanded.
"OK. But only if you promise to be a good boy and keep your voice down And no turning around!" I slowly dropped my hand from his mouth, all the while stroking his cock.
"Who is that? Is that you, Frank?" he hissed indignantly. Frank? Surely he didn't mean Frank Dunhill! Wow, Mr. Dunhill would do something like this? I filed this little tidbit of information away for future reference.
"No. it's not Frank," I replied. "Who I am isn't important at this point. What’s important is that I caught you being a very naughty boy on company time. Which client were you going to bill your time to this afternoon?" I inquired teasingly, massaging and stroking his mammoth meat.
"Let go of me this instant! Whoever you are, I'll have your ass fired for this," Mr. Harrow threatened softly.
"Actually, I was thinking of having your ass. Glen." I worked my cock deeper between Mr. Harrow’s ass cheeks, the moist curls of his furrow tickling my shaft.
"Stop that!" the older man hissed, reaching down to dis­lodge my hand from his organ. "If you let me go right now, I might consider not having you fired."
I slapped his hands away and pulled him back against me, my palm against his chest. "Puhl-e-e-eze! You’re bluff­ing, and you know it. On what grounds would you fire me? Mastubation Interruptus? I doubt there are any legal precedents for that." I pressed my lips to Mr. Harrow's ear and kissed it, darting the tip of my tongue into his ear canal, then sucking his earlobe firmly between my lips. He sighed.
"No. I don't think anybody needs to get fired over this," I whispered. "The partners will never even hear about this in­cident if you play your cards right. I'd be willing to overlook your inappropriate behavior if you were to work with me on this. I think we can come to an equitable settlement here in the file room — say, your ass for my silence? We'll just have to keep our negotiations quiet." I made a trail of kisses down the side of Mr. Harrow's muscular neck as I began to undo the buttons of his crisp white shirt.
"Well, I, uh . . ."
"C'mon, Glen, you know you want to. Wouldn't it be hot to do it right here in the files? Isn't that why you came in here to beat off . . . the thrill of possibly getting caught?" I kissed my way around the nape of his neck to his other ear. I stuck my nose in his hair and inhaled the spicy scent of his shampoo. I had undone most of the buttons of his shirt, and I slid my hand inside to caress his furry pectorals.
Mr. Harrow tried to squirm away from me again. "No! I can’t do this! It's too big a risk. Someone could come in at any second. I could lose my job. They'll have me disbarred."
"Shush, now, no one will ever know — unless you keep making so much noise. Or unless I'm forced to tell on you . . ." I let the threat hang in the air for a moment, and then I slid my hand down Mr. Harrow's shaft to his nuts. I cupped his testicles, squeezing the resilient orbs. With my other hand I located one of his gumdrop nipples and pinched it, teasing it to pebbled hardness. "Wouldn't it be easier to just relax and enjoy it? It could be our little secret."
"Damn you!" he muttered. "This is blackmail, and you know it." I found his other nipple and pinched it erect as I rolled and squeezed his gonads. Mr. Harrow groaned help­lessly. "All right, all right — but hurry up, before we get caught!"
"That's more like it, Harrow. Why don't you turn around and meet your blackmailer? " I released the horny attorney's balls and nipples, and he whirled around to face me.
"Hey, you're just an intern!" Mr. Harrow said indignantly.
"Shut up and kiss me," I whispered, pulling him to me by his necktie. Mr. Harrow's eyes widened, and he seemed ready to object, but he appeared to change his mind when our lips met. I pried his mouth open with my tongue and slid my hands down to his furry ass. I massaged the hard glutes and pulled his muscular body to mine, grinding his enormous dick against mine as we kissed. Mr. Harrow responded by wrapping me in his arms and thrusting his tongue out to duel with mine. "Take down my pants," I panted between kisses.
"Uh huh," Mr. Harrow grunted enthusiastically, his tongue swirling around mine. His hands found my belt buckle and fumbled it open. He quickly shoved my suit pants and shorts down over my ass. When my dick popped free, he caught it in his sweaty palm and pumped it firmly.
Mr. Harrow pulled his mouth back and looked down at my erection. "Nice cock you got there — for an intern, I mean," he whispered sarcastically.
"Can you see it OK from clear up here?" I asked snidely. "Why don't you kneel down and take a closer look? At your age I bet your eyes aren't as good as they used to be."
"Yeah, I guess I can't see smaller things as well as I used to," he shot back with a grin.
"You got a smart mouth, Harrow. You need it washed out with dick." I placed a hand on his head and pressed down. Mr. Harrow dropped to one knee, eagerly running his fist up and down my eight throbbing inches. He locked his gaze on mine and pulled the head of my cock to his full lips, darting the tip of his tongue out to sweep around my leaking dick head. He coated my engorged glans with saliva, then drew my swollen organ between his lips, taking just the head and an inch or two of the shaft into his hot, moist mouth. He sucked his cheeks in, creating an intense vacuum effect, and began to pump his handsome head up and down as he twirled his rough, strong tongue around my tingling shaft. God, it was so good! The suction, the tongue work, it was all too much for me, and I was soon on the brink of orgasm. I reluctantly pressed my hand against his forehead and eased him off my dick. "Let's not get carried away with that," I said. "I believe the terms of our settlement included your ass."
"C'mon, kid. We don't have time. Just let me suck you off. We can't fuck in the file room; we'll get caught for sure!"
"Sorry, Glen, no dice — get up off your knees. I want that ass, and I want it now!" I commanded in my best butch top voice, although some of the effect was lost by the whispering.
"Oh, all right, but make it fast." Mr. Harrow peered ner­vously between the shelves as he turned around and presented his luscious lobes to me. "You have a rubber, right?"
"It's 1996 Glen; of course I have a rubber. But why rush?" I knelt behind Mr. Harrow and grabbed his left ankle. I worked his foot, which was still clad in an argyle sock and an Italian wing tip, out of his slacks. "Put your leg up on this sec­ond shelf. Now move the other one out more — that’s it. You don't mind if I kiss your ass before I fuck it, do you, Glen?"
"Just hurry up, already!"
I cupped his furry globes and palmed him open. "Stick your butt out more." Mr. Harrow pushed his hips back, his ass crack yawning open to reveal his tightly clenched aper­ture. I dived in, pressed my lips to his asshole, and kissed it. I stuck the tip of my tongue out and tickled the silky pucker of his ass lips. Mr. Harrow moaned, and I felt his anus blossom against my lips. I stiffened my tongue and inserted it into the slender, satiny track of his ass. I reached under him and felt for his dick, then cupped my fingers around the rigid shaft and bent it back between his legs, forcing his balls up against my chin. I rubbed the pad of my thumb against the sensitive area of his dick right below the dripping head, and he squirmed against my face, pressing my mouth deeper into his sweaty crevice. I fucked his asshole with my tongue and rubbed his pulsing cock with my thumb. I then popped my tongue out of his twitching pucker and let it dance down over his distended balls and along his turgid shaft. I washed the underside of his cock with my tongue and eagerly collected the salty drops of lube that dripped from the attorney's broad dick head. After savoring his pre-come, I resumed tongue fucking him.
When Harrow's asshole was running with spit and clenching desperately at my tongue, I knew he was ready to be fucked, I pulled my face from his humid valley, and fumbled in my slacks for my wallet. I was shaking with lust, my fingers clumsy as they searched for a condom. I finally located one and tore the foil open. I rolled the rubber over my cock and stumbled to my feet, then grabbed Mr. Harrow by the hips and pressed my cock against his asshole.
"Here come da judge." I panted. "You ready for him, counselor? Any last minute objections?"
In reply the lust-crazed attorney jammed his hips back and drove my cock all the way up his ass in one long thrust. I gasped in pleasure and bit my tongue to silence myself. "Just shut up and fuck me," Mr. Harrow grunted under his breath, clenching at my embedded member with his ass muscles.
I pulled out until just the head of my cock remained in his hot channel, then I slowly slid all the way back in until my balls pressed tightly against his. I stroked in and out in this manner, mercilessly teasing both his tight asshole and my burning spear with long, deep thrusts. Mr. Harrow arched his spine, pressing his muscular ass back to meet each plunge. I slid my hands up under his shirttails and stroked the sweat-slick muscles of his broad back. He rose up, and my hands slid around his trim waist. I took his prick in my fist once more. Mr. Harrow moaned and ground his ass even harder against my groin.
Suddenly the sound of high heels on tile rang out as someone entered the file room. Click, click, click. We froze in place like some pornographic tableau. The high heels stopped just past the copiers. "Yoo-hoo, Mr. Gough!" Mrs. Handerly sang out in her annoying nasal voice, "Are you in here? You have a call."
I held my breath, and Mr. Harrow held his. Maybe she'd give up and go away. I felt Mr. Harrow's dick softening. I eased my hips from side to side, stirring my dick in his ass, and squeezed his organ in my hand. It hardened up again.
"Mr. Gough? Are you in here?" Click, click, click. Mrs. Handerly had moved farther into the room. Mr. Harrow tore at my hands in a panic, trying to get loose. I pulled him closer and buried my cock up his ass, holding him prisoner impaled on my cock.
I cleared my throat and called out, "Could you be a love and take a message? I'm deep into a legal matter, and I just can't pull myself away at the moment. I should be free soon, Mrs. Handerly."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Gough," she sniffed. Click, click, click, went the heels out of the room.
Mr. Harrow heaved a sigh, and I could feel his heart pounding as he leaned back against me. "Jeez, that was close! What if she'd come around the corner? You're crazy, Gough. You are out of your fucking mind." He protest­ed, but his ass was grinding against me, the close call obviously exciting him as much as it had me. He reached back and put a hand behind my neck, pulling my lips to his, kissing me deeply. "Now stop goofing around and fuck me before she comes back,'' he panted into my mouth. "Fuck me hard — make me come." I grunted and shoved my dick up his ass. Holding it there, I worked in and out with rapid thrusts, grinding my hard on against his swelling prostate. Mr. Har­row moaned his appreciation, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I caught his swollen balls in my free hand and squeezed them firmly. With my other hand I roughly jacked him off, stretching and straining the moist skin. His asshole clamped down on my dick as I jerked forcefully on his cock.
In a matter of seconds, we were both exploding. Glen's big body went rigid against me, and he tossed his head back onto my shoulder. His hands shot out to grab the shelves at our sides. His mouth opened, and I was afraid he was going to scream as he came, but he only sound he made was one long, satisfied exhalation of air as his asshole convulsed around my dick and his engorged fuck pole detonated in my fist. Enormous blasts of thick, hot sperm arced out, spatter­ing the tiles beneath us. That did it — with one last thrust I erupted. My shuddering boner was repeatedly stroked by Glen's milking ass muscles as I filled the condom with my seed. Glen turned his head, and I kissed him gratefully. I grasped the base of the condom with two fingers and eased my dick out of his ass, and we started to dress.
"That was the hottest fuck I ever had," he said, panting for breath. "Who'd have thought a pip squeak intern like you could be such a love machine?" He grinned at me.
"Who'd have thought an old man like you would have such a hot ass?" I shot back good-naturedly, kissing him again.
"Now listen, kid, we have a deal, right? You won’t say any­thing to anyone?" Mr. Harrow reached for the Friday file.
I clamped my hand down on his and snatched the file away, tucking it under my arm. "Not so fast, counselor. I won't say a word to anyone, but I'll just hold on to this for you until, oh, let's say next Friday afternoon at 4, when we continue these negotiations? "
"Why — you horny little shit!"
I chuckled wickedly. "See you Friday, counselor."

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