Trilobite (Part 2)

As a matter of fact, Stan had taken more than thirty photos, and he had big plans for them. He looked up briefly and waved as Greg escorted Sophie out of the room, then returned to poring through his treasures. Who would have thought that Greg's holy-rolling girlfriend would ever put on such a show? These photos were as precious to Stan as gemstones, each one of them capable of fuelling a week's worth of night-time fantasies.

The hypnotist wrapped up his act, and the crowd dispersed. Stan headed straight home to his one-bedroom flat, and switched on his computer. With more than a little anxiety (what if the data had got corrupted somehow?) he plugged the camera in and uploaded the pictures. When the first one appeared on his monitor, he permitted himself to relax.

Each and every photo was saved into a new folder which he called 'Hypno Show'. Then he used some photo-editing software to shrink them down to a reasonable size, and emailed them one after the other to Voyeur Central, a website that showcased voyeur and exhibitionism pictures sent in by its readers. Stan was a regular contributor.

Stan spent the rest of the evening in front of the television before dragging himself to his feet and slumping off to bed at one o'clock in the morning. He did not have to be at work until nine thirty, and it was only a five minute drive from where he lived, so he generally did not get up until nearly nine.

The following morning, as he walked into the Logistics office block, he encountered his boss, Bob.

"Ah Stan," said Bob, smiling in greeting. "I just had a call from Emma, wanting to know when she should come across. I told her you'd call her."

"Th-thanks," said Stan. "I'll g-give her a t-tinkle in a bit."

Bob nodded. "Let me know before the end of the day how you think she's doing. I'm keen to get the right person for the job."

"I'm sure she'll be f-fine," said Stan. "She's g-got more b-brains than m-most, and she's m-motivated to learn."

Bob smiled. "Well, that's good. This is really overdue, of course. When's your holiday again?"

"N-next W… N-next W… Next W…W…W-Wednesday."

"And you're off for how long exactly?"

"Two w… Two w…w…"

"Two weeks?" suggested Bob helpfully.

"…And three d-days," said Stan, nodding.

He entered his office, switched on his computer, and took off his coat. As the machine booted up, he picked up his phone and dialled Emma's number.

"Hello Emma?" he said. "I'm ready for you to come over if you're free. Okay - I'll see you in a couple of minutes. You know where to find me? Ah, well if you leave your building, turn right, walk down the road for about a hundred yards until you get to the crossroads, then turn right again, it's the first building on the left. Go in through the main entrance - my office is the second door on the left."

Putting down his phone, he sighed at the prospect of trying to train the young woman with whom so far he had only communicated by phone and email. Emma was a temp, albeit a very smart and capable one, and had been with the company for a mere fortnight - not really long enough to have seen much of the site or its personnel.

A couple of minutes later there was a knock on his office door. "C-come in!" he said.

A young woman opened the door, leaned in and said "Hi - are you Stan?" She was slim and moderately attractive, with shoulder-length wavy brown hair. Her cream-coloured sweater clung tightly to her body, and Stan was not at all sure that she was wearing a bra underneath it. Her skirt was provocatively short and her legs were bare - this is what he noticed first of all, though he immediately raised his eyes so as not to appear to be staring.

"Yes," he said. "Hi Emma. "T-take a seat." He gestured to a chair.

Emma entered, closed the door behind her and sat down. Stan's eyes were glued to her skirt as she crossed her legs - he hoped to catch a glimpse of panties. But in this he was disappointed, and he averted his eyes quickly before she noticed where his gaze was directed.

"Okay," he began. "How f-familiar are you w…w…with the m-mainframe?"

Emma stared at him in surprise and a little shock. "Um," she said. "Uh sorry - you have a stutter?"

Stan grimaced. "Yeah," he said.

"Oh - I'm sorry," said Emma. "I didn't realise - I mean I've spoken to you several times and I've not noticed before…"

"I d-don't st-stutter on the ph-phone," Stan told her. "If I c-can't see the p-person I'm t-talking to, I'm f-fine."

"Wow - that's … interesting." Emma smiled. "Actually it's kind of cute - I like it."

This was not a reaction Stan got often, and he raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Th-thanks," he said.

"Anyway I'm sorry - you were asking if I was familiar with the mainframe. Well, I'm getting to know the customer service side of it, but I dare say that won't be much use to me when I'm covering your desk."

"Actually," said Stan, "you'll use qu-quite a lot of the s-same sc…screens. The m-main d-difference is the f…f…freight aspect."

"I see," said Emma, nodding. "I assume that when the CSRs put orders on the mainframe, they appear somehow on your screen?"

"P-precisely," agreed Stan. "Here - I've g-got a shortcut to it." He turned to his screen and double-clicked an icon on his desktop, which loaded up a small black window with a list of numbers. He then turned back to Emma, who was just uncrossing her legs so she could scoot forward to have a closer look. This time he caught a glimpse of white panties, and he rejoiced internally.

Emma dragged her chair forward towards the desk, then slid her bottom forwards on her seat to get even closer. This caused her skirt to ride up her thighs until it was barely covering her panties. Stan's jaw dropped, but he forced himself to continue with his commentary and looked back at the screen.

"Um, th-this is a list of orders f-for w…w…w… for w…which f-freight has n-not yet b-been booked," he explained, as beads of perspiration appeared on his brow. He glanced down at Emma's skirt again - he could just see her panties if he leaned sideways over the desk a bit…

"Um," he continued, shaking himself, "you have to m-move the c-cursor to s-select an order, then hit Enter to b-bring up the f-freight d-details. Here, as you c-can see, th-this one's f-freight record is b-blank."

Emma nodded, and Stan continued to talk her through the rest of the freight booking process. As they closed off the first order, he said, "and th-that's it. The order w…w…w…W…" He sighed. "The order g-gets t-transf-ferred over the W…W…WAN link to the haulier w… I selected, and if there's a p-problem w…w…w…with the t-time I've allocated, th-they'll call me and let me kn-know." He let out a deep breath.

Emma was struggling not to laugh at his speech difficulties. "Okay, that's pretty straightforward," she said. "So the order now appears on the loading timetable for the despatch date you've chosen?"

Stan nodded. "If you n-need to ch-change the t-time, you can d-do it either through the t-timetable itself, or you c-can access it through the f-freight m-maintenance p…p…program. N-now, in c-case there's a qu-query, you can run off a f-freight history for any g-given order, like this…" He demonstrated, and the printer whirred into action. "If you c-could j-just get that for me," he said, pointing at it.

Emma stood up to retrieve the printout. When she returned to her chair, she sat down at the very back of the seat, then crossed her legs, affording Stan a long look at her panties. When he glanced up at her face, she was engrossed in the information on the sheet of paper, so he allowed himself another look at her legs. Her skirt was riding so high that, with her right leg crossed over her left, he could see practically all of her right leg up to her hip. Was she really unaware of what she was showing? Stan began to equate the customer service office with his concept of Heaven - he would give anything to spend all day in there if this was how Emma habitually comported herself.

"Okay," he said, "as you c-can see, the history g-gives you the n-name of the user who m-made each change to the f-freight record. P-provides a useful audit t-trail you see. N-now, I'll j-just show you the f-freight costs f-file…" He double-clicked on another program, and a new window appeared.

Emma uncrossed her legs and slid forward on her seat again to get a closer look, and when Stan glanced back at her he was stunned to see that her skirt was now bunched up around her hips, her panties in full view even from directly above. Surely she was aware of this! Yet he did not dare comment, for still a lingering element of doubt remained, and he did not want to get himself sued for sexual harassment.

"Um, s-so this is the f-file," he said lamely. "C-click here to add a n-new f-freight cost. It asks you for the haulier c-code, the c-country code, the p-postcode, the s-source s-site, and the f-freight cost in p-pounds. F-for d-destinations w…w… in the UK, we use j-just the f-first half of the p-postcode. Otherwise it's the f-five f-figure area c-code." He gestured to a filing cabinet standing against the far wall of the office. "The p-processing of the f-freight records d-depends on the c-correct format of the c-customer addresses. I k-keep a copy of the c-customer address list in there," he said. "I'm n-not the person who enters those addresses, so I run it off once a m-month, j-just to ch-check it. Any errors in f-format p-people make tend to stick out like a s-sore thumb."

"Can I have a look at the address list?" asked Emma.

"Sure," Stan agreed.

Emma pushed her chair back and stood up. Her hemline was more than an inch above the level of her crotch, and when she turned around Stan was treated to the beautiful sight of the bare lower half of her buttocks - it now appeared that Emma was wearing a thong. Apparently oblivious to the fact that a large proportion of her bottom was on display, Emma crossed the office and began to read the labels on the drawers of the cabinet.

"Which drawer's the file in?" she asked.

"The b…b…bottom one," replied Stan, trying not to sound smug.

Emma dropped into a crouch to open the drawer, and her skirt sprang up over her bottom, revealing the top of her thong where it dipped in the middle of her back. Stan gaped, his heart pounding at an unhealthy rate. How he wished he'd brought his camera to work! He knew that when Emma stood up (assuming she did not fix her skirt in the process) she would be displaying virtually all of her thong, front and back.

Having found the report she was after, Emma closed the drawer, stood up and turned back around to face Stan. As she crossed the office towards him, reading the report, she absent-mindedly scratched at her pussy through the front of her thong with her free hand. Her skirt was now gathered around her waist, and still she showed no sign of being aware of this fact. She sat back down, but this time she did not cross her legs - in fact she left her knees about eight inches apart while she continued to idly rub her pussy.

By now Stan was ninety-nine percent convinced that Emma was fully aware of what she was doing, but he still did not dare say anything, partly because of the one percent element of doubt, but mostly because he was afraid that if he drew attention to her actions, she might stop. So he merely continued to stare at Emma's panties while she looked through the report. Finally, she looked up, and Stan's eyes snapped up to meet hers.

"Anyway," he said, "I t-tend to m-make minor adjustments to the c-customer address list w…w…w…where necessary. N-not that you'll have to d-do any of that," he added, "b-but if a f-freight record f-fails to show up a cost, the address list is a g-good place to st-start to f-find w…w…w…w…what's wrong."

"I see," said Emma. "Now, as I understand it you also monitor the hauliers' performance?"

"Yes that's right," said Stan. He opened a spreadsheet he had designed for this purpose. "I run off a report each w…w…w…"

"Week?" suggested Emma.

"Yes, thanks. And I p-plug the f-f-figures into this t-table. This g-gives me the graph w…w…which I print off and st-stick on the w…w…w…wall."

"Do you keep the old ones?" asked Emma.

"Yes, they're f-filed in the c-cabinet."

"May I see?"

Stan nodded. "Third drawer d-down."

Emma got to her feet again and walked over to the cabinet, Stan's eyes glued to her bottom all the way. She opened the drawer containing the performance graphs and bent over it, giving Stan an unparalleled view of her bottom and the thin strip of material nestling between her buttocks. When she finally stood up, she turned around, her expression quizzical.

"Is it me or is it pretty hot in here?" she said.

"Um, sorry," said Stan, "I k-keep the heater on higher than n-necessary, p-perhaps, but n-normally I leave the d-door open and it c-can get d-draughty. I c-can turn it d-down."

"Oh you don't need to turn it down on my account," said Emma, waving a hand dismissively. "But would you mind if I take my jumper off?"

"Sure," he replied in a fit of generosity. He hoped she might be wearing a nice skimpy top underneath.

Emma pulled her jumper up over her head, and Stan almost fell off his chair as her naked breasts came into view. She was wearing nothing under the jumper! His sharp intake of breath unfortunately took in a small amount of saliva, and he burst out into a fit of coughing.

Emma, who was nonchalantly draping her sweater over the back of her chair, looked on in concern. "You okay?" she inquired.

"Yup," he croaked, staring through watering eyes as Emma, now naked apart from a pair of shoes, a thong, and a skirt that was bunched into a narrow band a couple of inches higher than the top of the thong, took her seat once again.

Once he had recovered, Stan could keep his silence no longer. "Aren't you afraid s-someone m-might come in?" he asked.

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Emma innocently.

"C-come on," said Stan, "you're n-nearly n-naked. I'm n-not complaining, of course, b-but my boss could w…w…w…"

"Walk in at any moment?" suggested Emma.

"Exactly."

"Well you know," said Emma, "I'm just a temp - I haven't got much to lose. But perhaps you're worried for your own sake…?"

Stan nodded reluctantly. "A b-bit," he said. "B-but I'm enjoying myself f-far too m-much to complain or ask you to st-stop." He grinned.

Emma laughed. "Well that's good," she said. "Then perhaps you won't mind if I take off the thong? It's a bit itchy - I must have washed my whites with the biological powder by mistake at the weekend."

With a nervous glance at the door, Stan responded "No I d-don't mind."

Emma smiled, then stood up and took off not only her thong, but also the skirt. "That's better," she said with a sigh. She sat down again, this time leaving her knees more than a foot apart. "Now, I presume you keep figures to show the historical trend…?"

Stan was a little thrown by this. "Um, yes," he replied, clicking on the tab for the next worksheet. "Each w…w…week I c-copy the f-figures into this table, p-pasting the values obviously, and I b-build up this g-graph. I k-keep a separate w…w…w…w…workbook for each year."

Emma nodded and leaned back in her chair. Spreading her legs even wider, she reached her right hand between her thighs and began to rub her clitoris with one finger. "So what mainframe report do you run off to get these figures?"

Stan, his cheeks burning bright red at the sight before him, stammered more than ever as he replied, "It's on the f-f-freight m-menu. Option th-th-thirteen - haulier p-p-performance report." Then, unable to take his eyes off Emma's clitoral ministrations, he said, "Emma, I'm t-t-terribly g-grateful to you f-for m-making this a v-very enjoyable d-day for me, b-but I must c-confess I'm p-p-puzzled w…w…w…w…w…why you're d-doing it."

Emma smiled as she raised her left leg and rested it on the desk. Her right leg she lifted up and placed it on the back of Stan's chair. He could now see her vaginal opening, and he stared in awe as she slid one of her fingers right inside. "I just love to do this kind of thing," she confessed with a mischievous grin. "I wouldn't do this in front of just anyone, of course - but I noticed you watching my skirt and figured you would appreciate it."

"W…w…w…well, th-thanks again," said Stan. "This is w… brilliant. I j-just w…w…w…w…wish I had my d-digital c-camera here."

Emma chuckled. "Why, so you could post pictures of me on the internet?"

Stan gasped. "How d-did you know I p-post pictures?"

Emma's eyebrows shot up and she stared at him, temporarily ceasing her masturbation. "I was joking!" she said. "You mean you actually do that?"

Stan's face fell as he realised he had just made a terrible mistake. "Um, n-no, n-not really, not often…" he struggled.

But Emma laughed in delight. "You perv!" she exclaimed. "Well you know, I wouldn't mind actually. Maybe you could bring a camera in tomorrow."

Stan looked like a condemned man who'd just been granted a last-minute reprieve. "Really?" he gasped. "You're s-serious?"

Emma shrugged. "Sure, why not? Where do you send them anyway?"

"A s-site called V-Voyeur Central."

"Ooh, sounds like something I should be a part of," smiled Emma. "Have you posted anything there recently?"

"Yeah," said Stan. "Last n-night in f-fact. I'd sh-show you but the I.T. department m-monitor our s-surfing activities."

"Allegedly," remarked Emma. "Oh come on - take a chance. I'm betting they just check through people's history files every once in a while, and if you clear yours out as soon as you've left the site, nobody will be any the wiser."

Stan shook his head doubtfully. "I'm n-not sure I'm p-prepared to take that risk," he said.

"What, you think they'll fire you? When your job's inadequately covered as it is?"

Stan had to admit that this made sense. With the recent staff lay-offs, the remaining employees were spread very thinly, and there was nobody who could take over from him if he left. "Oh okay," he said, "I'll ch-chance it." He opened Internet Explorer and his home page began to appear. He clicked in the Address field and typed "voyeurcentral".

But Emma was interested by what was currently on the screen. She stopped masturbating and leaned forward. "Hey, what's all that?" she asked.

"Oh, j-just some st-stuff I've written," said Stan, blushing. "It's n-nothing."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Emma, intrigued.

"B-bits and p-pieces," said Stan noncommittally. Then he shrugged and elaborated: "some p-poems, a sh-short story or two and a th-thesis on abiogenesis."

"On ay-bio-what?" asked Emma.

"Abiogenesis," said Stan. "It's the th-theory of how life evolved from n-non-living c-chemicals. B-but I w…w…w…w. I w…w… fuck! I w…won't b-bore you w…w…w…w-with the d-details. Excuse my F-French."

Emma shook her head. "Hey I don't mind - I love to hear people talk about things they are passionate about. Anything to give me a broader education. Um - you really have a problem with the letter 'W', don't you?"

Stan sighed. "Yup," he said. "'W' is the w…w…w… the pits."

"Can I read one of your poems?" Emma asked.

Stan blushed again. "Oh really, th-they're not that s-special."

"You," said Emma, "are too hard on yourself. Come on - there must be at least one you're particularly proud of."

"W…w…well … okay," conceded Stan. He clicked on the link to his poetry page, paged down a couple of times, then slid his chair back from the desk so that Emma could move in.

Emma got up from her chair and leaned over the desk, her bottom inches away from Stan's face. She spread her feet apart, and Stan found himself looking straight at her anus and vagina. He was tempted to reach out and touch, but he resisted the impulse, afraid that she might turn against him as a consequence. Instead, he simply contented himself with staring, eyes unblinking, at Emma's most intimate parts.

"That," said Emma, standing up and turning around, "was amazing! You have an incredible talent there, Stan."

"Th-thanks," said Stan awkwardly.

"You should really get something published," continued Emma. "You deserve some recognition."

"Actually I d-did, once. I g-got an article on pseudogenes p-published in a popular science m-magazine a c-couple of years ago. As f-for my p-poetry, oh I d-don't know. I s-suppose I'll have a go, one of these d-days."

Emma stared at him appraisingly. "You need to get some self-confidence," she told him. "Why didn't you touch me when I was waving my arse in your face?"

"Um, I w…was w…w…w…w…"

"Worried?"

"…that you m-might react b-badly. Yes."

Emma sat down in her chair. "I suppose it must be hard to get taken seriously sometimes," she said, "with your stutter. Do you find that?"

"All the t-time," replied Stan, rolling his eyes. "I'm a p-published author (k-kind of), b-but do they c-call me St-Stan the Writer? No," he continued with resignation. "I'm St-Stan the St-Stutterer, or St-Stuttering St-Stan on occasion."

"That's so unfair," said Emma sympathetically. "If they had half your brains, they'd realise…"

But she got no further, for at that moment the door opened. Emma's arms flew to her chest to cover her breasts. Stan's stomach plunged to his shoes and he turned, fearing it might be his boss.

It was not, however. It was Connie Fields, a petite brunette who worked in the same office as Emma. Her mouth gaped in shock as she took in the sight of Emma's nude body. "What the hell?" she said.

"Oh for heaven's sake, come in and close the door," said Emma.

Connie quickly did so. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"It's hot in here," explained Emma.

"But Emma! I mean … really!"

"Couldn't you have called?" asked Emma politely.

"I tried … Stan, your phone's on 'Send' - I just got your voicemail. So I had to come across you see. Emma, Walter's been on for you - he wants to know whether Sam's given you an answer or not. I think you'd better call him."

Emma frowned. "I told him I wouldn't have a definite date until tomorrow. Very well - I'll call him from here."

"Okay," said Connie. She continued to stare at Emma.

"Was there anything else?" asked Emma.

"You'd better get some clothes on," said Connie. "Anybody could walk in here at any time. Anybody!"

"Thanks Connie," said Emma. "I'll bear that in mind."

Connie shook her head in disbelief as she walked out of Stan's office. What was Emma playing at? Was there something going on between her and Stan? But they'd only just met! Should she tell somebody? She didn't want to get Emma into trouble, but … what the heck was the girl doing??

Rather flustered, she hurried back to her own building. On reaching her desk, which was at one end of a small open-plan office, she sat down and busied herself with her work. One of her colleagues, Jill Hughes, looked at her strangely.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," replied Connie, but for several minutes she found it almost impossible to concentrate on her work.

Later that day, Emma returned to the office, by now fully dressed, and she gave Connie a look as if to say 'You didn't tell anyone, did you?'. Shortly afterwards, Jill left the office to go to the toilet, and Connie hissed at Emma, "Well? What was all that about?"

"All what?" Emma asked innocently, but her smile was playful.

"You know what. Are you trying to get yourself sacked?"

"I like to take off my clothes and live a little dangerously sometimes," explained Emma with a smile. "Reaction against my upbringing. Sometimes I get into trouble, but mostly I just have a lot of fun."

Connie struggled to get her head around this. "You just took off your clothes … for kicks? Jeez!"

Emma smiled but said nothing more. Then Jill came back and Connie was unable to continue the conversation. Trying to take her mind off the matter, she began to browse the Web as it was a slow afternoon. Her home page was set to a site for local news, and she idly glanced through the headlines, which included "Man Saves Duck from Drowning", "Tropical Storm Reginald Set to Strike Mainland on Saturday", "'Horny' Hypnotist Arrested" and "Fire in Town House Kills Eight". She opened the article about the storm and read that it had decreased in strength and was not likely to cause major damage once it arrived in the British Isles. Most of its fury had been spent in its journey from the Caribbean across the Atlantic.