"Good." My head of department looked up at me, and nodded, her eyes running over my body as I stood to attention.
For a moment or two, she just continued working, leaving me standing there, my cock semi-hard as though it wasn't quite sure whether to be aroused by all this or frightened. Still, the vacuum cleaner hummed outside, and I don't think it was only my paranoia suggesting that the sound was growing louder.
My heart pounded inside my chest.
Then she said: "Stand in the corner, Jones. You're very distracting when I'm trying to finish up the Philips proposal."
"Yes, Ms Schoenberg."
I did as she wanted. Hey, if my punishment for neglecting my duty over the weekend was to be a nice not-so-little ornament for her office, that was fine with me.
"Face the wall, Jones, there's a good boy."
I turned to face the bookcase, and started to count the books on the shelf in front of me to stave off the growing fear as the sound of the vacuum cleaner designated its location to be increasingly close to this office. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Zoey at the desk, just working away at her report, apparently completely unconcerned at the danger posed by the unlocked door.
Was she insane?
My head was reeling as I heard the vacuum now just outside the door, the pitch of the motor rising and falling as the cleaning woman whirled it around the floor not more than a few feet from where I was standing without a stitch on.
I tried to calm myself with the idea that this was merely my punishment. Somehow, Zoey had engineered it so the cleaning woman would know not to disturb us. She had instructed her that she needn't concern herself with this particular office tonight.
Then the door opened.
I gasped, but then tried desperately to stifle my reaction, fearing consequences.
Giselle said softly: "Oh, sorry, Miss Zoey."
I was gripped by blinding panic, white-hot heat swamping my entire body. Was the open door shielding me from the cleaning woman's eyes? I felt myself blushing, quivering with embarrassment even though I couldn't be sure I was seen. Even breathing was difficult - it felt as though the oxygen levels in that room had suddenly halved, like we were suddenly at high altitude.
"No, it's all right, Giselle, you can clean in here," I heard Zoey saying, and the horror overwhelmed me.
I heard the run-of-the-mill clunking sound of the vacuum as she brought it into the room, and then the door closed, and I heard the cleaning woman, Giselle, catch her breath at the sudden sight of this naked man standing in the corner.
There was a pause that seemed to go on forever as I knew her startled eyes were running all over me, no doubt rather confused at what she saw, and probably highly amused.
"I'm sorry, Miss..." she said.
But Zoey said: "Oh no, you just go right ahead. Move any... objects... if you need to."
I tried to focus on a single book sitting on the shelf next to me - Who's Who 1981-95, the driest of titles - and go into some kind of state of meditation. Keep breathing, block out the darkness around me, the thoughts that a young cleaning woman was sniggering at me as she cleaned the office.
I even shuffled a little closer to the bookshelf, as though it might somehow hide my brutally exposed penis from the intruder, allow her to see me only from the back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see movement, and then she was cleaning along my bookshelf, and I could see her trying to look at me without making it obvious what she was doing, and I knew how ridiculous it was for me to try to conceal myself.
Oh God.
I felt a little tingle in my loins at the prospect of her looking at me. Oh, this was a bad, bad thing. The thought that she had seen me, the question of whether she was impressed with me - my relatively athletic body, my cock - somehow prompted a tickle of early arousal.
Please, God, no.
I looked down and could see my cock twitch. Oh, that would be the worst.
I tried desperately to think of horrible, awful things to quell my burgeoning erection, but nothing could quite dislodge the full horror I was currently experiencing, and so I was left with absolutely no defense. I glanced down to see my manhood swelling even as I watched.
Then I felt a breeze behind me as though the cleaning woman had passed by very close, and I detected the crisp, overly sweet scent of perfume overlaid with cleaning products.
A soft hand touched my arm just above my elbow, and I visibly jumped.
"I'm sorry," she said in a quiet voice, "could you just move over a little?"
Her gentle European accent and close proximity brought me to full hardness. Oh God, what must she have thought of me?
I did as she asked, and as I moved to the side, to stand in a place in front of the bookshelf that I knew she'd already cleaned, our eyes connected, and a pulse of shame shot through my heart.