Adam dropped the buff folder down on his desk before easing into the chair. It was official; the case was his. He didn't open the folder but sat and stared at it for a time, thoughts drifting off somewhere beyond his partitioned surroundings. The plain appearance of the file said little about its contents except for the neatly printed label on the front that said: Radford - Confidential.

Casually, slowly, he reached out towards the file. He had raised the cover only a little when a shadow fell across the desk and caused him to glance up. 'Oh, Megan, hi,'

The girl stood with her hand resting on the partition, gazing at him with green-eyed intensity. Her face was framed and fringed by bronze hair, falling below her shoulders and curled up at the ends, iridescent in a low October sun that slanted light through the thickly carpeted, traditionally furnished offices of Willard, Smedley and Rooke, solicitors.

'Hello, Adam,' she said with a hint of irony, 'working late today are we?'

As she spoke, her gaze fell upon the file. It was too late to hide it as she must already have seen the name on the front. Had he known she was going to look in on him, he would have placed it straight away out of sight after the meeting with Mr Rooke. Now he had to behave as though it didn't matter. He had to appear innocent, as indeed he was, at least in regard to the Radford case. His fingers remained where they were, tapping lightly on the buff cover.

'No,' he answered, 'I've got a phone call to make and then I'm off to a meeting.'

Megan folded her arms and leaned against the partition, a slight though contrived smile on her lips as she regarded his fair haired, blue eyed attempt to maintain an expression of normality. For long moments he studied her figure, almost a silhouette. Megan was slim, curvaceous and at just twenty - some four years younger than himself. Hers was a body he knew well. There was little of it with which he had not become familiar in the most intimate manner. Above all he knew how sensual, how easily aroused she was - but not yet how vindictive.

Today she wore a white, long-sleeved blouse through which could just be made out the shape of her brief, lace bra. Her brown suede skirt ended just above the knee; not out of an inclination to modesty but because anything shorter would have been frowned upon at Willard, Smedley and Rooke. Mr Rooke would have adjusted his spectacles. Miss Tasker would have dabbed her nose with a white lace handkerchief. Mutterings would have passed between them.

The smile remained but Adam looked at her eyes and perceived a different message altogether. It said she knew he wasn't going to make a phone call and knew he wasn't going to a meeting unless it was a meeting just with Donna, who had some time ago left the office. Her look told him he had no right to have accepted the Radford case when everyone knew it was the project she wanted so much to work on. It told him he was without any doubt a bastard.

Adam shifted in the seat. Perhaps it wasn't fair. He had only worked at Willard, Smedley and Rooke for a little over two of months. Megan had been there over a year; ever since she had graduated from college.

'I'll let you get on with your call then,' she remarked almost absent-mindedly, avoiding further eye contact with him as she turned and walked off to disappear from view beyond the partition.

Yes, he could see that, from Megan's point of view, it wasn't fair that he had been handed the case, though he wondered why she seemed so put out in this particular instance. It was almost as if Megan had more of an interest in the affair than a purely professional one. Anyway, it wasn't his fault. It seemed that old Mr Rooke - pallid, brittle and bald as an eggshell, had not considered it appropriate that a female employee should become involved in the Radford case, bearing in mind the nature of the client's business. Mr Rooke seemed unconcerned, however, by the fact that the client was female. Adam could understand his reasoning, sort of, but times had changed since Mr Rooke's day, whatever epoch that might have been. As for the other two - Willard and Smedley - they and their predecessors existed only as varnish-cracked old portraits - tombstone faces peering down from various places about the offices and the small reception where presided Miss Tasker. Regarded by some as a part of the furniture, Miss Tasker sat in tight, thin-lipped correctness behind the reception desk, light glinting from rimless spectacles. God, thought Adam, if she'd ever returned to the premises after hours when he and Megan were - ! The mere thought of it made him press knuckles against his lower lip and gaze upwards into space. Fortunately, she never had - not that it any longer mattered. Not anymore. Nevertheless he recalled what had happened between himself and Megan during that first month in the rarefied, please-keep-your-voice-down atmosphere of those musty, French-polished offices.

It was Megan who had attracted his attention before any of the other girls. Megan had smiled at him first. Smiled several times, in fact. Megan had offered him a cup of coffee on that first day, before anyone else had thought or had the chance to do so. It was not that Donna had been offhanded, no; hazel-eyed, dream-figured Donna, long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, had been friendly in a correct kind of way. Yes, with those bright, alert eyes, her manner had remained correct even when she smiled. In office hours it still did.

You could, he thought, never describe Megan like that - correct, that is. Warm and approachable had been Adam's first impression. Warm and very approachable without a doubt. During that first week at Willard, Smedley and Rooke, they had taken lunch and a glass of Shiraz or two at a small, trendy wine bar where they would be unnoticed. The sort of place senior members of staff seemed not to care about since there were more traditional bars and pubs in the area. By the end of the second week, it had become a habit. Adam, thinking the time was ripe to get her on her own somewhere private - the time had been ripe for well over a week - was frustrated to discover that Megan still lived with her parents. His own situation, sharing a flat a twenty-minute bus ride from the office with two other males, was hardly more convenient. The end of the second week also witnessed their first evening meal together at that same wine bar. The rest he mused, as the scene replayed in vivid detail, had been inevitable.

***

'Look, why don't I buy a bottle of wine to take back to the office so we can have a chat. It's too crowded in here, don't you think?'

She looked into his eyes with a none-too-subtle smile. 'Yes, why not - I suppose it's all right - if one of us has our key, that is. I've never needed to use mine. Miss Tasker's always there when I arrive.'

'Oh, I have my key, and I doubt if anyone will be around at this time - no way. It's gone nine-o-clock. Did you ever hear of a solicitor's office being open that late?'

'I never heard of ours being open after five, unless the juniors were still hard at it.'

Earlier that evening she had hurried back home to change. Her choice of attire was no longer dictated by the rules of the office and her appearance played no small part in his desire that they should be somewhere private. Her short brown leather jacket hung across the back of her chair. Her vest-top dress, in deep red stretch-lycra, was sleeveless and low cut enough to confirm that her firm breasts were not, nor did they need to be, supported by a brassier. The dress fitted to the curves of her lithe body like a glove and was considerably shorter than anything he had seen her wearing before - except in his secret thoughts. The sheerest of black stockings and patent red high-heels showed her legs off to perfection.

Adam had fantasised about her on innumerable occasions, of course. About her and Donna. Megan was easier to fantasise about at first. Often in his mind she had been naked and spread wide before his eyes, waiting. And more. There were darker thoughts he dared not impart to her - not so misplaced as things turned out for Megan was a sexual animal. But even then, even before he had spent more than five minutes in conversation with Donna, it was she who stalked the deeper levels of his thoughts.

Right now, those green eyes were upon him and Megan was waiting to see his glass drained, for hers already was. For his part, Adam had one immediate and overwhelming desire, and that was to be alone with her, to feel the warmth of her thighs against his cheeks, to taste her passion and drive her wild. It had taken his mind off the wine. Had the wine bar been empty, he might have been tempted to express his urges there and then.

'Well,' she asked, 'are we going to make a move or have you changed your mind?'

'Changed my mind!' he responded, shocked out of the reverie and downing the remaining contents of his glass. 'Oh, no I haven't changed my mind - let's shift ourselves.'

The offices were but five minutes away and as they walked by the lighted shop windows, he held her hand and listened to the click, click, click of stiletto-heels on cold flagstones. At the heavy, wood-panelled door, by the polished brass plate on the stone-faced wall, they stopped and looked about. Both feared someone might recognise them even at this late hour as she waited for him to produce the key.

'I feel a bit guilty,' said Adam, delving into different pockets. He said it because he actually did and because he thought that she might feel guilty, too. Megan evidently did not, for she reached into her shoulder bag and produced her own key which she now inserted into the lock. 'I wouldn't worry if I were you, love. We're probably doing them a favour the way things are.' The door clicked and swung inwards. 'I mean, they're less likely to get burgled if we're around to keep an eye on the place.'

Adam reached by her to push buttons and cancel the insistent beeping from the intruder alarm panel. The sound stopped and the door thumped shut against the outside world.

Only a pale glow from the fanlight above the main door illuminated the short hallway as they moved along with unaccustomed caution. The hallway should have been perfectly familiar. It wasn't. On their right opened out the reception area, now in darkness except for a series of slanted, pallid stripes cast across the back wall where a street lamp shone through the Venetian blind. Below it, in the gloom, was an irregular dark shadow reaching down below the level of the desk.

'Jesus Christ,' breathed Adam, 'I thought it was her sitting there for a moment.'

'You're kidding,' said Megan, 'our Elsie will be parked in front of the telly with a cup of weak tea and a plate of dry biscuits. And guess what we don't have - '

'Oh, damn!' responded Adam, 'the wine. I forgot it, didn't I?'

'Never mind,' said Megan, pulling off the leather jacket and dropping it across the reception desk, 'we can always go for another drink later if you fancy.'

'Right - later,' he answered, slipping an arm about her waist, feeling her warmth and breathing her perfume. For a moment, they stood and sensed the utter quiet and heavy stillness of the place. Then Megan slipped her arms about his neck and kissed him, her lips soft, her breath a furnace of burning desire.

The metal tab shimmering between her shoulder blades, fell easily into his fingers. It whirred down softly as their lips met again and the dress pulled apart in a narrow V to the base of her spine. No time was lost before his hands were inside, running up the naked flesh of her back and pulling the dress away to free her breasts. The dress slipped part way down and Megan hastened its progress by easing it quickly over her thighs. As it fell about her ankles, to be snatched up by her and tossed over the small, heavily upholstered leather two-seater opposite the reception desk, Adam had already removed his jacket. With eyes adjusted to the dark and fixed upon her curvaceous form, he tugged off the shirt, seeing that she wore not tights, as he had expected, but stockings held up by slim, lace garters tensed about the tops of her thighs. Tiny black briefs, sheer as the stockings, stretched over her flesh like a fine skin as she turned back towards him.

Moments later Adam, naked except for white cotton briefs that strained at the front with his arousal, stood facing her. He without his shoes, she still wearing the high-heels, made them both the same height. Megan reached out to touch his face and kissed him. As though by instinct, Adam's hands and mouth fell to her breasts, fingers cupping soft heat, lips closing in turn about each of the florid, swollen nipples. Hesitating in his play to press kisses upon her face and neck, he felt Megan shiver as his hand slipped down her spine and under the elastic of her briefs to stroke part way down the hot cleft of her behind. Again she shivered as fingers slipped down the front to caress the smooth flesh just above the vulva. She was shaved. That both surprised and excited him greatly. Her sigh breathed into his ear as the invading hand pushed further and the flimsy material stretched, gaping at the sides to accommodate it. Megan sighed again, a longer sigh, as his finger entered to find her hot and moist.

They disengaged for only as long as it took each to divest themselves of their remaining clothes. Seeing his cock spring free, Megan at once reached out with cool fingers to caress and close about the generously proportioned shaft. Now it was Adam's turn to gasp and shiver as her hand began voluptuous manipulation. When Megan dropped suddenly to her knees he already effervesced in mind and body, in anticipation of the final act. His groan arose into the dark shadows her hand slipped under his testicles and burning lips slid over to enclose the cock-head. For a time he was paralysed in a grip of ecstasy. Her tongue coiled and twirled about the twitching organ with a practised artistry that made him groan aloud. When she stopped and looked up at him, her fingers lightly stroking the wet shaft, he had all but forgotten where they were.

Now Adam took the initiative. Pulling her to her feet, he manoeuvred the laughing Megan towards the two-seater and eased her down onto it. No sooner was she seated than he was kneeling before her, hands under her knees, grasping steel-smooth nylon, lifting and spreading wide her thighs until the goal of his lusts was displayed before his eyes in the gloom. At first he teased, nibbling at the flesh just above her sex, feeling her tense repeatedly in anticipation. This tormented her, he knew, but it was all a part of the game. Then he moved in, his tongue spreading the sex-lips, tasting her passion and caressing with exquisite touch the pearl of carnal pleasures.

For a time she moaned softly and he continued with the play, but when her moans became hoarse and irregular, he knew the time was close, very close, when she would altogether lose control. And his own need - his own impatience - was becoming too much to bear. He was on his feet before Megan knew what was happening, legs akimbo and back arched, lifting her legs over his shoulders and leaning forwards to support himself with hands gripping the back of the two-seater either side of her head. As Megan crossed her feet behind his neck, her shoes squeaking together, she felt the cock-head butt against her sex and ease inside a little, ready for the final strike. Adam lunged, driving in to the root, sheathing the lance deep within ecstatic heat.

Had Mr Rooke appeared, moon-faced from his office - had Miss Tasker risen spectre-like from the shadows behind the reception desk - it could not have stopped them. Nothing in those following moments mattered. Quickening breath echoed about the shadows, about the small switchboard, about Miss Tasker's untouchably tidy desk, about the boxed envelopes and writing paper, the serried ranks of gold blocked legal volumes and dry old files. Adam and Megan were locked together in writhing passion, frenzied gasps becoming louder by the moment. When the climax seized, they shook as though racked by convulsions, Megan's cries rising to a long wail, Adam's groans chasing hard after them through the still air.

***

Adam was back in the world of now, flushed from the very recollection of that first evening with Megan. Opening the briefcase at the side of his desk, he lifted up the buff folder and placed it inside, realised he would not have time to look at it until tomorrow and so slipped it instead into his desk drawer.

Yes, that first evening had been a memorable one. However, the following morning, he recalled, had been a time of trepidation. He could not help but worry that some evidence of their nocturnal visit had been overlooked and left behind. Megan's diminutive briefs, perhaps, or stains on the leather couch. Miss Tasker, in early as she often was, her ferret face staring at him from behind the rimless spectacles as he entered, started the day off badly. It came as a huge relief when she croaked, 'Good morning Mr Pascoe,' in her usual, mechanically formal manner. Had there been anything amiss, she would have said not a word and no doubt the lace handkerchief would already have been on display as a danger sign. Even so, it had not been possible for him to walk past the two-seater without an anxious glance. That mark! Had it been there the previous day? He imagined that had Miss Tasker been aware of what had happened, she might have suffered an apoplexy. With Mr Rooke, it would have induced a spasm of coughing followed by a heart attack.

Megan had glanced at him knowingly once or twice during that day but said nothing. And in spite of, or perhaps because of the risk they felt they were taking, it had happened again. It had happened several times, in fact.

Well did he remember the third occasion when they had barely crossed the reception and Megan said, 'Let's do it in there. Let's fuck in the old man's office!'

So they had; on the Indian rug in front of the empty, black-lacquered Victorian fireplace. Megan had rested on all fours whilst Adam entered her from behind, one arm wrapped around her with fingers teasing the clitoris from beneath. She had been uneasy, adjusting her weight, looking over her shoulder at him and seeming as if she was about to speak but not quite knowing how to express herself. He had worked slowly, rhythmically, thinking this position might not be to her taste and that she might wish to turn over. At last she had expressed herself.' Adam, have you ever tried it up the other way? I mean have you - you know - ?'

He had hesitated but said nothing, then withdrawn the lance, flushed and glistening, from her.

'Try it, Adam, it's not difficult,' she had breathed. 'I'll relax. Try it - go on.'

He did try it, pushing the well-lubricated head against her anus, gently at first as he listened to her sigh, then harder. Megan had spread her legs further and pressed her face against the carpet. 'That's it, Adam, love. That's it!'

Holding apart the cheeks of her behind, he had entered slowly, firmly - pushing up her like a ramrod. Pushing hard into her rectum whilst Megan writhed and thrust back against him to gain deeper penetration, all the time calling out, 'Oh, Adam! Oh - Adam!'

She had cried out louder, her hands gripping the rug and pulling it into ridges. Squirming hard, her face a mask of ecstasy, her cries had almost become screams. He had worked quickly to bring about his own release, for hers had approached like a whirlwind and she had wailed aloud, her voice carrying into the furthest, darkest corners. Adam had withdrawn to the sound of her sighs, looking about anxiously at portraits that hung in obscurity. The two had spent their lust in semi-darkness, under the granite gaze of old Willards, Smedleys and Rookes who never flinched at the sight of it from within their gilded, overwrought frames.

Then there was the sixth and last time. That last time. Adam snapped shut the small locks on the briefcase and squirmed uneasily in the chair. It had been the one night-time visit too many.

Often, he had thought about it and tried to see it through her eyes; the eyes of the one who he was shortly to meet. Her memories of the occasion must be at least as vivid and probably less confused than his. Adam glanced at his watch, took hold of the briefcase and, not thinking to lock the drawer as he should have done but rarely did, left the office.

***

Donna, sharp-eyed, high cheek-boned Donna, with looks just as sensual as Megan's but managed with more discretion, had arrived earlier than planned at the wine bar. It was only a quarter past six but Adam was not due until around six-thirty. This had never been a favourite spot of hers because of loud, intrusive rock music pounding from the wall speakers. But it was a great enough distance from the office for her to be confident that none of the other members of the firm would spot her there. The place was moderately busy - mainly with people left over from office meetings - but Donna had found a table by the window. There she could watch the anonymous forms coming and going on their way from nowhere to nowhere in the twilight canyon of the side street.

Adam took her very seriously; she knew that. Knew she was perceived by him as well as others as less approachable than Megan. To Donna, Megan seemed much younger than either of them, even though Donna herself, at twenty-two, was only two years and a few months Megan's elder. Certainly, Donna was more astute, more observant, more worldly-wise than Megan and in spite of her looks and figure, and in spite of her many admirers, she had formed no close attachments to any male.

Oddly, though, she liked Adam and secretly always had. He was good looking and well-meaning if a little naive, and she had begun to harbour the notion that he might be a good lover. The events of that evening some weeks back had done nothing to dispel her feelings, though for a while it had made things awkward, mainly for Adam. She felt sorry for him because he was afraid she might disclose what she had witnessed. But she did not feel animosity towards him. He was only human after all. As was Megan. As was she. And now it was Donna who had power over both of them and that felt good.

She peered through the window at the brightly lit, double-decker buses passing the end of the street. Adam might be on one of them, unless he brought his car to the office and walked from there. Smiling to herself, Donna recalled vividly the events of that evening.

***

Pushing the main door shut as she entered the hallway, she raised her hand to the light switch. Silence. Why had the burglar alarm panel not activated? Whoever was last out should have made sure it was set. She moved her hand away from the switch, waited and listened. The reception was quiet and empty, as she expected it would be. This was not the first time Donna had returned to the offices of Willard, Smedley and Rooke after hours for she sometimes liked to go over her notes undisturbed by the presence of others or by chirping telephones.

Something was different. There were currents in the air - a hint of perfume - surely not the aftermath of Miss Tasker. If there was anything of her lingering in the place, it would more likely be mothballs. No, there ought only to have been the dry paper smells of the office and those old books. Then a noise - and voices. Donna moved cautiously toward the main area. Again sounds - this time laughter. A girl's laughter. Megan's laughter!

What was Megan doing here? She never worked late; not when she could be out enjoying herself. There was no other voice to be heard. Could she really be alone? Donna had a choice. She could retreat in silence to the door by which she had entered or she could go on. On the other hand, why should she leave? There were things to do and her work was important. Also, there was no way she could reach her desk without passing through the main office. No way she could avoid being observed. The laughter changed to moaning, as though Megan was too much under the influence of drink. Maybe that's what it was. Everyone knew Megan was fond of her drink. As the fluorescent tubes of the main room flooded the whole area in stark illumination, she saw them.

Except for Megan's stockings and shoes, both were naked - their clothes draped carelessly about nearby desks and chairs. Adam lay upon the carpet with Megan crouched astride, her behind over his face, her thighs gripped by his hands and spread wide so that he had full access to her pussy with mouth and tongue. Megan leaned forwards, eyes closed tight in lustful abandon, one arm stretched out to support herself whilst her free hand worked the engorged cock rapidly and her red lips formed a circle about the head.

It was Megan who realised they were discovered. Her eyes started wide in horror and she at once released her quivering charge. Adam, so voluptuously occupied, was quite oblivious to the light or to Donna's intrusion but for him it was too late. His pelvis had begun to jerk even as her hand left him and his muffled groans arose to break the momentary silence. Megan cried out and attempted to rise as he ejaculated, spurting the seed of his passions wildly about her breasts and stomach. Megan wailed in despair, gazed in disbelief first at Donna, then at the semen oozing translucent white against her flesh and seeping inexorably downwards. From a still prostrate Adam, at last aware of the bright lights and the presence of another, there came a long groan of anguish. When he saw it was Donna, he looked about to faint.