Heritage - Collaboration

by np_complete [Reviews - 2]

  • Teen
  • None
  • Fluff, Het, Humor, Romance, Standalone

“What about … at work?” said John, his voice a little tinny over the receiver.

“Really?” she said, into the phone, settling more deeply into the easy chair in her sitting room, preparing to enjoy herself. Ideally, John would be right in front of her, looking back at her with his bright eyes, ready to be pounced on. But, since he was in Stockholm for the next three days, the phone, and a few classes of wine, would have to do.

“Why not? Haven’t you ever considered it?”


“Not even for a fantasy? Haven’t you ever thought about it, imagined it?”

“Well … not really.” It didn’t sound wise, and she was hopelessly realistic in her fantasies. “It sounds too … perilous to be sexy to me.”

“I bet I could make it sexy.” John’s voice held promise.

She took a sip of wine. “Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm.” Even unvoiced, his tones were assured, almost smug.

“All right. Give it a try.”

Thus it began.

“You’re wearing a suit–” John began.

“Is something going on? Why would I wear a suit?”

“Today you are. And it has a very short, tight, skirt.”

Some response seemed to be called for, so she said, “Ooh!”

“You’re bending over in front of a filing cabinet–”

“We don’t have filing cabinets,” she felt obliged to point out. It was true: they had a strict no-paper policy in their office. Everybody compensated by keeping their own file boxes under their desks.

John sighed, sounding a bit put-upon. “You know that tallish bin-thing over by the coffee machine?”


“You’re over there. You were getting coffee, only you dropped something in there. Your watch fell in there. And you’re bending over to reach the very bottom.”


“And suddenly you realize there’s someone standing behind you.”


“You can hear them breathing, but you’re not completely sure who it is.”

This sounded more unnerving than exciting, actually, but she felt like she’d interrupted enough. “Mm-hmm?”

“They reach out, and … grasp the hem of your skirt .. and slowly lift it up.”

Well, that was interesting, as long as she imagined John’s face as he did it, and didn’t really pretend there was an unknown man behind her with a hand up her skirt. “Mm!” she said encouragingly.

“They put their hand … on your backside …”


”… and hook their fingers … just under the waistband of your knickers …”

“What pair?”

John’s voice, when it came, sounded disoriented. “What?”

“What pair of knickers am I wearing? What do they look like?”

There was a pause, but, from the tiny, intrigued sound he made, a thoughtful one. “White,” he finally decided. “With tiny flowers.”

So John liked girlish knickers? Good to know. “With lace?” she inquired.

“With lace,” he agreed, decidedly. More feminine than girlish, then.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“They … peel them off.”

Nice. “I can feel the air on my bottom,” she suggested.

“Definitely,” he said, sounding glad for the input. “You have a magnificent bottom, by the way.”

“Thank you!”

“Not that it’s big or anything!” he hastily amended. “I didn’t mean to imply that!”

“Well, no —”

“It’s not out of proportion. No part of you is out of proportion!”

“Good to know,” she said, and added, “Thank you.”

“I … sometimes want to smack it,” he confessed.


“Just … you know, in passing. Just saying, hello, Penny’s Bottom, it’s nice to see you.”

Hmm. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought. But there were standards. “Don’t do it in public,” she warned.

There was a pause. “Could I? Please?”


“Just once?” She didn’t think he was serious, but she couldn’t quite tell.


“Just for that,” he warned her, voice provocative, “I will smack it next time we’re alone together.”

Hmm. “I’ll smack you back,” she warned.

“You’re welcome to try,” he said.

Well, well, well. But there was still a more immediate matter at hand. She shifted in her chair. “I’m still standing there with my knickers down,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes,” he said, sounding as if he were returning to a favourite narrative. “The man behind you … he’s taller than you are …”

“Of course,” she murmured. John was, which was what mattered..

“He’s got one hand … between your legs–”

“He has?” That hadn’t been where they’d left things.

“He moved while we were talking,” John said, sounding testy.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You hear a zip … going down …”

“Excuse me,” she said. “But I’ve got my head down a waste bin. I don’t think I’m in the mood for penetration.”

She could hear fuming over the phone. “What did you think I was getting at?”

“I thought at some point I’d get out of the bin!”

“I need you in — I need you bent over if I want to get your arse in the air!”

So that was the goal? “You could have bent me over a desk,” she suggested.

“Oh, yes — a stranger would walk in and just find you bent over a desk!”

Whose fantasy was this supposed to be, anyway? Several things came to mind, like “Why does it have to be a stranger?” and, more provocatively, “Maybe I’m expecting you to walk in!” But, into the silence, she said, “Maybe I’m … trying to keep something from rolling off the far side of the desk.”

There was a silence, as he considered that. “That could work,” he conceded.

“It’s … something you gave me. A pen.”

“A pen,” he said, thoughtfully. “Does it write?”

It didn’t exist: what did it matter? “It writes,” she told him.

“You’ve never done anything naughty with it,” he said, warming to his topic.

“And I’m not doing it now,” she warned.

“I might gag you with it,” he suggested.

That sounded bad for the pen, actually, being held in the teeth. She reminded herself it didn’t exist. “You want to gag me?”

“I don’t want you to scream.” He coughed. “When you come.”

Well, that was still a distant prospect. But at least she was out of the bin. She settled deeper into the chair, and took another swallow of wine. “Go on,” she said.