A bank building near Delaney’s home advertised they were practically giving away office space. With the economy the way it was, the bank on the first floor tightened its proverbial belt. The management of the property converted half the first level (behind the bank) into affordable offices. The lease included the space, a general foyer reception area, receptionist, 24-hour security, public bathrooms and a cleaning crew. It was too good to pass up.
A week after reading the ad and contacting the building management, he had moved his photography studio equipment and furnishings out of a storage facility and into the bank building. Six months before, he’d had to close his business. But it seemed likely that business would blossom with such great exposure. There were distinct advantages to this set up. Many people entering the 4-story office building saw the office directory which would provide him with free advertising. There were some exceptionally attractive women worked in the building – many were pin-up quality. He specialized in boudoir photography; naughty, flirtateous photos the women would pose for – and give to their husbands and boyfriends.
Even though his studio was on the first level, he would frequently ride the elevator to the top floor and back down, trolling for potential clients, always with his business cards handy in his wallet.
Unfortunately, most of the business he was getting was for portraits of these attractive women’s children. Several “dry” months went by. His appointment book was filled with family portraits, sweet-sixteen pictures and an occasional dog portrait.
He missed the long-stemmed models and actresses. He missed their thong underwear, bare breasts and garter belts. He missed their gleaming, well-oiled bodies and watching them arch their supple backs in erotic poses, the fan blowing their hair sensually for the camera. He missed the thrill of trying to concentrate, while his cock throbbed inside his pants. He had taken to wearing a tight athletic supporter to disguise any involuntary bulge. And, occasionally, he had gotten lucky.
Although traffic had definitely increased business-wise since he’d moved into the bank building, monkey-business wise, his penis was pretty much unemployed.
He was losing interest in going in to work, shooting children and pets and touching up pimples on sweet-sixteen portraits on his computer.
For the real beginning of this story you have to go back two weeks when Delaney received a mysterious email. It originated from someone with an odd-looking email address. Normally, he wouldn’t open those types of emails – no real name, just a string of numbers. He knew better, having fallen victim to too much spam and the odd virus. But when the first one arrived, it intrigued him.
The subject line of the email was entitled, “From a Secret Admirer.” He thought to himself, he’d take the chance, couldn’t resist and opened it. There was no introduction – it began directly and to the point.
“I will write you once a day. When you find me, you can fuck me.” It got his attention.
The next day, after checking for it every hour – at home and at the studio – a new email arrived in his inbox. It said,
“Smell my perfume and know I want you.” What did that mean? How could he smell her perfume in an email? He was confused yet intrigued.
The following day the email just said, ‘Watch for my note.’
That afternoon, his last appointment was photographing a beautiful bitch – a pure-bred Afgan hound. He’d taken a couple of dozen shots of the dog and her horse-faced owner and called it quits for the evening.
When he left the building, it was getting dark outside and there were only a couple of cars left in the parking lot. He put his key into the door lock and noticed an envelope stuck under the driver-side windshield wiper blade. He snatched it up and without thinking, lifted it to his nose and sniffed. There was a distinct scent of a woman’s perfume. It was partially floral, but had a hint of something tropically fruity in nature. Sexy. He turned it over and there was the imprint of a woman’s lips – an actual kiss mark in bright red lipstick – on the sealed flap. It was killing him – he had to open it, but he couldn’t rip it open and destroy the “kiss.” It could be a clue. He thought about waiting to read it until he got home. No. He had to see it sooner than that. He slid the envelope into a folder he was carrying and returned to the studio where he sat down at his desk, took out his scissors and cut one end of the envelope open, releasing the aroma – the woman’s scent, stronger. He chuckled at himself – seeing his own hands tremble a little.
He was startled when the receptionist rapped on the door and popped her head in to say she was leaving. Blah, blah, blah, have a nice night. Instinctively he hid the envelope in his lap until she waved good bye and left. He drew it back out and smelled the envelope again, then pulled out the note. It said,
“I love watching your ass when you walk, imagining you naked.”
. . . when you walk? He walked by her? This woman sees me, knows me? Who could it be?
The next day he was distracted – leaving the building several times to check for another note under his windshield. There was none.
The last thing he did that evening was check his email. There was a new one from her! He eagerly clicked on it. It said, “There will be a note soon, but it won’t be under your wiper blade.”
This woman was now creeping him out. How did she know his every move? He was almost afraid to check his email the next day. But he was still curious. By 4:45 he thought he wasn’t going to get another email. But there it was “You’ve Got Mail.”
“I fall asleep at night, imagining you on top of me, your strong legs straddling me, your cock thrusting, probing me, driving me wild.” He couldn’t believe how a complete stranger knew so much about him, and how reading her emails was arousing him. He reached under his desk and unzipped his fly. He looked out the row of windows next to his desk, seeing no one, he pulled out his cock and licked his fingers. He rubbed four of them on the underside of his hardening shaft while his thumb rubbed the top. He read the email again. Then he opened each of her emails and read them again and again while stroking what had become a mighty erection. He reached for a couple of tissues and jerked off into them – wadding them up and tossing them into his waste basket. Then he thought better of it, retrieved them and put them in a manila envelope; he’d dispose of them at home. The cleaning crew didn’t need to know he masterbated in his studio! The cleaning crew! Maybe she worked for the cleaning crew? He just couldn’t rule anyone out.
Walking down the hall on his way out for the day, he passed a woman and turned his head, trying to catch a whiff of her perfume.
On the way to his car he saw a woman looking out a window in the building across the way and he made note of what she looked like. Was it her? Should he go into the building, try to find her, confront her? From what he could see, she was attractive – and she wanted him. Maybe . . .
He had to put that out of his head. This was making him crazy.
When he got home he checked his email again. What was he thinking – she said she would write only once a day. He’d already gotten one email from her that day.
The next morning he checked the instant he got to his desk. Nothing. Then, just before lunch he checked again. There was an email in his inbox! He clicked on it, expectantly, even excitedly. He felt his cock twitch and get hot. It was from a national outlet selling frames. Shit. Just as he was about to sign off and get coffee – another email appeared in his box. It said,
“I am outside.”
He left the studio and strode rapidly towards the front doors. What was that? He smelled perfume; HER perfume. He pushed the doors outward and smelled her perfume on the door handle and then on the palm of his hand! He looked in both directions and saw a woman walking rapidly away. He began to take longer strides – almost at a run. When he caught up with her, he spun her around. She faced him – and he saw it was the wife of an attorney who had the office next to his. They had met a few times socially. Oh, no. This was a fucking nightmare! And yet, he didn’t want to be a wuss. So he decided he would confront her – it had to happen eventually, she couldn’t keep teasing him forever. She was caught off guard. “Oh!” she said. Mr. Delaney! What is it?”
He thought fast. “I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your party last month. I wanted you to know I appreciated you inviting me but I’m not much for writing thank you cards." Smooth.
She said in a southern accent, “Oh, aren’t you sweet! You are so welcome. I hope you will come to our next one – St. Patrick’s day. The invitations haven’t gone out yet but we would love to have you. She leaned over and gave him a little, proper Southern Woman peck on the cheek. He moved a step backward and said good bye. It wasn’t her perfume. He felt like he’d made a complete fool of himself – but maybe he’d recovered okay in the end.
Back inside he returned to his desk. Propped up on his scotch tape dispenser was a small envelope. Sure enough it was sealed with a kiss – again. And again it smelled of her perfume. He slit it open with his scissors. Inside it said, “Find me, I want your cock ramming me.” That night he lay in bed, pumping his erection until he came – wondering who she was, what she looked like – if she was hot. She had to be. Then he reviewed in his mind all the usual women in the building, female clients and suppliers who he did business with, even those who he knew socially. Over the next week, there was, as promised, a new email each day.
“Did you feel my tits rub against you in the elevator?” What the fuck? The elevators were usually crowded. Hell, he rubbed against lots of people.
The next day it said, “I love your after-shave – so masculine, so sexy. “ She was that close?
Finally, he thought he’d figured out what was going on. The tip off was something in an email.
“Your cock looks good enough to eat!” That did it. She couldn’t know that. Could she? He’d only had it out under the desk when no one was around. And of course in the men’s room taking a whizz. So it was a prank!? Some jerk in the building getting his jollies at his expense? Was it the guy who cut him off in the parking lot?
But then the email the next day made him have his doubts about it being a prank. It said,
“I’m tired of waiting to have you fuck me.” And then she broke her own rule and added a second sentence:
“Take the next empty elevator and pull out your cock and balls.” He wondered if he dared. Was he supposed to go up or down in the elevator? What the hell. He had to be close to figuring out who she was. She wanted him badly enough to keep up the seduction so long. He went to the elevator and waited for one that was empty. Then he got in and when the door closed, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock and balls as he had been instructed. When the elevator stopped, he quickly adjusted himself back into his fly and zipped it up. There was no one waiting when he got out. What was this game?
When he got back to the studio his phone was ringing. The receptionist said, “They want to see you in Security.” Oh my god! His face flushed. He’d forgotten the security camera in the elevator! He was busted! This was going to look really bad. He briefly thought about packing up the studio – leaving and not coming back. But maybe that’s not it at all. There had been some robberies at one of the bank branches across town. Maybe they just wanted to discuss making the building safer since he was usually the last to leave at night. He got into the elevator and winked at the security orb. Why not. What the hell.
When he got off at the security office floor he realized it was noon. Most of the staff took off for lunch – but there was always at least one person in the security office at all times. He knocked on the outer door and walked in. Behind an inner glass door a female security guard glanced up from her desk and buzzed him in. Once he passed through he saw the rows of security monitors. They clearly showed the image feed from cameras in the bathrooms and cameras in the elevators. There were cameras in the hall outside his studio. There was even a camera surveying the parking lot.
As the woman stood up, he could see she was “built” with some enormous breasts. She had undone her uniform’s blouse exposing a black lace bra. With a quick movement she undid the front closure revealing her magnificent set. Licking her red lips, she circled each of her hardening nipples with her fingers.
“I couldn’t wait any longer for you to find me,” she said.
He didn’t have to inhale her scent to know who she was, but he did, deeply.
Secret Admirer © 2011 by Excitewrite aka Nelle Thceh
Delaney had recently moved his photo studio into a space in a 4-story office building. Shortly afterwards he began receiving emails from a “Secret Admirer.”