[6.5 minute read]
Melanie scrolled through several texts, the frown on her face marred her usually sweet features. With a toss of her long chestnut hair she dropped the device back in the bedside drawer to concentrate on her make-up. She dabbed and blended her foundation and contoured her cheeks, before using a steady hand to draw an eyeliner flick.
Her new dress hung on the wardrobe door so she shrugged off her dressing gown to reveal she wore a pretty set of claret coloured lingerie. Melanie had already clipped glossy, flesh coloured stockings to the straps of the suspender belt which now framed the triangle of lace and satin which snugly cupped her labia. Her pale flesh almost glowed above the nude stocking tops. Her breasts were cupped lovingly by deep red satin adorned with eyelash lace.
She examined herself in the mirror, hands on hips, satisfied that her recent attendance at Slimmingworld had whittled down her waist. As if strapping on armour, she stepped into the dress to zip it up, its fabric squeezed her breasts together, creating a shadowy cleavage which looked good. She imagined Marvyn from PR gazing at her with ill-concealed lust and gave a shudder of disgust.
Slipping into high heels, Melanie pulled a matching pashmina around her bare shoulders then took a final look in the mirror. Dressed to kill. If that was the brief, she had achieved it.
She popped her mobile phone and a lipstick into a tiny clutch bag and locked the house. Gary would be back from the pub later so she’d left the kitchen light on and a ready meal in the fridge. Scrambling into a cab shared with her workmates, she felt determined to shrug off her troubles and throw her energies into celebrating Christmas at the ZIP dinner and dance.
When the cab pulled up at the golf club she and her girls spilled onto the gravel, already giggly from the bottle of Prosecco they’d shared on the journey. In the foyer they made a beeline for the tall glasses of fizz set out for them. Melanie looked around, admiring the festive decor and thinking how different all her colleagues looked dressed for a party.
Marvyn from PR made a beeline for their group, causing Melanie to roll her eyes at her friend Carol.
“What a bevvy of beauties!” Marvyn exclaimed. “It’s like a night out with the Spice Girls,” he quipped, imagining he was on-trend. “I hope you’ll join me on the dance floor once the disco gets going.”
His eyes were darting about, settling on a bare shoulder here, a skirt revealing some thigh there and (as predicted) goggling over Melody’s plunging neckline. Why HR had not previously reprimanded him for his un-PC attitudes was a puzzle. In order to discourage his attentions, she grabbed Carol’s hand and dashed to the ladies’ bathroom.
“Ooooh he’s such a letch!” she griped, re-applying lipstick in front of the mirror.
“He likes you,” Carol teased.
“I don’t want him to like me! I have a boyfriend.”
“Well, as much of a shit as Gary is -”
“And he is!”
“True.” Melanie agreed, aware Carol didn’t know the half of it. “But Marvyn is not my type.”
Several ladies from Accounts pushed their way into the bathroom so, privacy gone, it was time to vacate and find their tables. Unfortunately Carol was not seated on her table, so Melanie would have to go through the motions of socialising over the meal. Her appetite was nil and for some reason, she couldn’t get a buzz on despite consuming several glasses of wine. Wesley from IT was seated to her left and he struck up a conversation. They hadn’t worked together before, but he was funny and self-effacing, telling great stories which made her laugh til her face ached. She found herself wanting to engage with him while the urge to touch him was startling in its intensity.
When the servers came round with coffee and mince pies their MD got to his feet to make a speech about the company’s performance in the last year.
“Just kill me now,” Melanie groaned quietly.
“Shall we get out of here?” Wesley whispered with a twinkle in his eye.
“We can’t!” Melanie acted scandalized. A warm tingle started between her thighs at the thought of being alone with him.
“We can,” he countered, “you head off as if to go to the ladies’ and I’ll follow in a minute and we can meet in the foyer where we had welcome drinks.
“Someone might notice. I can’t be the subject of office gossip.”
“You can. Nobody will miss us.”
So saying, Wesley snatched her raffle tickets and stuffed them into the top pocket of the buyer sitting next to him. As she got up to ‘fake powder her nose’ Melanie heard Wesley saying,
“Have them on me mate, Happy Christmas!”
She got to the door in time to hear the MD quoting recruitment figures and the old saying that there’s no “i” in team. Shaking her head, she pushed open the door, her heartbeat picking up as she strode into the deserted lobby.
[To be continued …]