Tick, tick, tick, the lights in the elevator passed behind the numbers, 6, 7, 8. Water dripped down the sides of Malcolm's boots, leaving slight puddles on the floor. He texted Natalie, "Missed the train be home a little later." The metal box finally let out a ding and he gave a final soft shake like a dog, before stepping out onto the wall-to-wall, hard-packed corporate carpeting.

He walked in the dim light given by the twinkle of the city skyscrapers outside the windows, knowing the path with muscle memory to his cubicle. His left shin found a metal wire waste bin left in the walkway, spilling him onto the floor.

"Fuck, ahh fuck," Malcolm hissed between his teeth. He came back up to a knee and kicked it under a nearby desk, and rubbed his leg. Seeping through the insulation and corked ceiling tiles was music and the occasional thud of a foot from the executive Christmas party. Malcolm had an invite, but the thinly veiled elbow-rubbing of wannabe sycophants made the premise unpalatable. Recovered he finished his journey, sighing audibly with relief, there right where he left it, was the wrapped box labeled: "To Natalie, From Santa."

The elevator dinged and light spilled into the entry hallway. Malcolm ducked, but questioned why he did almost immediately.

Wait, there's no reason I can't be here.

A pair of suppressed laughs make their way into the bullpen. "Come on," an airy voice whispered. Malcolm's arm hair stood up.

No way.

Peeking his head up, in the heavy shadow he could make out two figures heading to the copier/breakroom. The taller one in front set their mug down on the counter with a definite ceramic clack, while the shorter one behind found the light switch.

Immediately Malcolm knew them, with his back to the bullpen was the stocky figure of Phil. You'd swear he was a gymnast when he was younger, but 20 years of sitting on his laurels and early hairline recession made him a real bastard of a manager. What caught Malcolm's eye was beyond him.

He'd seen Lana a handful of times in his tenure here, but she had a way of sticking with you. Her snow-white sweater with tacky recreation of Kim Kardashian's "Break the Internet" featuring Santa may have fit the criteria of an ugly Christmas sweater, but it did nothing to tone her down.

Her flirty smile seemed to reflect light right into Malcolm's eyes making him blink immediately. Her black skinny jeans made a perfect silhouette of her legs that flared out upon reaching her hips. The sweater held such beautiful contrast with her warm terra-cotta skin, it made her face stand out more.

Her lips were plied open in that smile, that fucking smile. Deep purple lipstick furthered the contrast. Her chin was defined to a point where you could cut your hand on it, framed by dripping dark rings of hair. Underneath full eyebrows were deep mahogany eyes, the kind where if you had the opportunity you'd be a fool not to fall into them.

She peeled off her sweater in a fluid movement that was a blip in history but dragged for minutes in the mind. A skin tone bandeau top held her chest close. Her stomach was perfect from some sort of exercise. Phil immediately latched his hands to her, magnetically pulled, digging his fingers in where he could.

Her smile felt different as she looked at him becoming mesmerized, placing a hand on his shoulder she looked around and out into the darkness which was looking back at her. She sucked air through her teeth in surprise as she locked in on the figure in the dark.

Leather jacket obscuring his frame and peeking out of his pocket an employee lanyard. A faint bit of brown stubble around his chin formed an attractive goatee, black hair just long enough to sink the tips of her fingers into to get hold of curls. Staring back at her were eyes glowing with, desire? No, admiration, a more patient appreciation. He looked like he was about to jump out of his skin and bolt. "You like this," Phil asked from her cleavage.

Shit.

Lana looked back down, "Relax, I'm not going anywhere."

She flipped a hand behind her, deftly undoing the clasps of her brassiere she slowly lowered it with her other hand. Her breasts slid to rest like dollops of whipped cream, dark areolas challenging you to a staring contest. Her eyes rose to see the figure in dark.

What are you going to do now?

Malcolm felt something catch in his throat.

Fuck.

"Fuck," Phil brought thick fingers to pinch her buds and tilted his head up to kiss her. She met him halfway but her eyes remained open, glancing out to the man in the dark. Malcolm felt blood rush to his penis. She placed her hands on Phil's shoulders, "Down boy."

She pushed him down to a kneeling position and with a quick flick of the wrist, the fastener and zipper were no longer fulfilling their purpose. Lana tucked her thumbs underneath the waistband and in tandem with rocking her hips inched them down over her pert backside. As the fabric rolled over the thickest part of her, it's snapped like a rubber band, landing right below to cup her ass. It gave off a subtle jiggle like Jello on a table that had been bumped. In a moment the jeans were a dark pile on the floor, black lace nestled in them. She looked down at Phil.

That boyish charm had aged out of him, not to say he'd grown ugly or unattractive at all, but he'd come to expect things. Phil moved in to kiss her inner thighs, bouncing between left and right every third peck until he found her sex. Lana let out a sigh with a touch of rasp in her throat that gave it an almost purr-like quality. She tilted her head back enjoying the moment before looking out at the figure again.

Good boy.

A smirk crept up in corner of her lips revealing the faintest of laugh lines. She now had the best look of him all night, he'd peeled off the jacket somewhere. His broad shoulders and thick neck pushed against the fabric of his navy blue button-down.

Fuck he's tall. 6'4"?

She continued drinking in everything she could, while between her legs Phil was doing his duty. The long months they'd been having this arrangement he'd gotten quite good. Maybe it was the holidays, the spirit of giving, but he was performing like there was an audience. Lana raised her hand again making a circle with her index and thumb, performing a smooth jerking motion then moved her hand to her breasts and nipples that craved affection.

Oh, it's like that huh?

Malcolm took a half step forward bringing his hand down to his slacks, opening his zipper he popped out his erection. He grasped it in his right hand and began with slow strokes. He watched her eyes flare open briefly before squinting again, her hand on the back of Phil's head pushing his nose into her landing strip.

Minutes passed for what felt like a delicious eternity, then grasping both sides of his head Lana brought Phil away from her glistening vagina. With a smile and a glint in her eye that in another genre would you make you think she was going to commit murder, "I've got an idea," she reached over and flicked off the light switch.

Malcolm swore he was about to have a heart attack completely losing all sight of them. Dark sounds pierced through the low murmur of Christmas music upstairs. Beep, beep beep, a band of green light broke the darkness, showering the ceiling in a glow out of a movie. Standing there, sweater off, dick out, and facing the source was Phil.

Shit!

Malcolm instinctively tried to put his cock in his pants until he realized Phil wasn't looking at him. The green light faded then started up again, a beam going across the ceiling punctuated by shadow in the middle.

"Fuck yeah," Phil exclaimed. He approached the light leaving the door frame. Malcolm still frozen began to hear the scuffing of cardboard on the carpet, he pivoted around to see and what beheld him made him gasp. Sitting on top of the Xerox machine, legs spread open, was Lana. The slow thoughtful thrum of the scanning bar beneath her illuminated her legs, her sex pressed down against the glass. Green light shone up over her stomach, caressing the bottom of her breasts, finally finding a home under her chin and in the curls of her hair. This picture spoke something wicked into her eyes.

The scuffing came from Phil who was pushing full paper boxes in front of the Xerox to stand on. Having finished building the platform he climbed it and dropped his pants down to his ankles like a kid at a urinal. It took a lot of effort not to laugh at this sight but Malcolm managed. Lana draped her arms around Phil and pulled him in kissing him deeply, "Come here baby, give me that dick."

Phil grasped his hands around her waist and thrust forward inside her. She groaned with pleasure bringing her hands down to cup his ass. Looking past him she could see Malcolm in the doorway, cock fully erect with a silly grin on his face. The light bounced off the rich tones of his skin as he slowly stroked for her.

Yeah, you'll be fun.

She pointed out with a finger to the counter where two mugs were and she began to moan and groan, fighting for airtime against the whirr of the machine, the clatter of paper, and the incessant conga line upstairs. Malcolm confused picked up one of the mugs sniffing it, the harsh acrid smell of spiked eggnog greeted him.

"Ahh, I'm getting close I want you to come for me, baby," she cried out.

Malcolm looked at her, then down at the mug, then back to her. She confirmed with her eyes. He began stroking more furiously squaring off to face them, hovering the mug just at the end of his cock.

"Yeah? Take it, you like that," Phil changed his pace. Pulling her along the glass to get closer, he entered the final leg of the race. She latched onto him to support herself, kissing his neck while looking over into the dancing lights at her new toy, "Yes, baby. Say Merry Christmas."

Phil complied with, "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!!" Gripping both cheeks of her ass he pulled her in for the final set of deep long strokes. Red lines now ran up his ass cheeks, she pulled in tighter feeling her climax approach biting into the upper muscle of his shoulder.

Across the small room, Malcolm felt his hips jerk, his cock bounced in his hand. Stifling his moan, glob after glob of spunk fell into the cup. He held onto both for dear life as his hips bucked looking at the woman across him.

Within seconds both lovers reach their climaxes. They shuddered, pressing their collective weight onto each other threatening to crack the glass below them. Violent deep groans and cries filled the room.

All three began catching their breath, the Xerox machine had a trail of slime running down it. It continued spewing out frame-by-frame images of this scene. Phil began to pull away but Lana brought him back kissing him.

Ohh shit.

Malcolm quietly put the cup back on the counter pulling up his pants and left the room. Malcolm grabbed his jacket, the present and tiptoed his way to the elevator. It wasn't until he was in the metal box that he let out his breath. Looking down his dick was still hard, the tick, tick, tick of the elevator wasn't helping. Putting his hands in his jacket pockets he realized his lanyard wasn't there. He tapped his head against the wall, "Fuck."

The day after Christmas, Malcolm made sure to come in early. Janitors were still cleaning up the Christmas party aftermath upstairs. Down in the bullpen, he looked everywhere he'd been. It wasn't by the break room, where he'd set his jacket down, nothing. But at his desk, he found two things placed in the center. An office mug with a deep purple lipstick stain on it and an envelope underneath.

It contained his lanyard and a folded piece of paper. It was one of the scans from when she leaned over, a perfect image of her pussy. On the back, it read, "Hope you come to the New Year's party, Malcolm. Merry Christmas, Lana XO"