A Surprising Silver Lining

The HR rep, Hazel, sits there with the dreaded script: sorry, this is tough, you’re being laid off. Fare thee well. And somewhere around the part where she hears “effective immediately,” Farah fails to get properly sad. She perks up, in fact. She even smiles a little, which is nuts given the circumstances. “Man, that stings,” Farah admits, “but if we’re all doing honesty hour—look, now I’m allowed to hit on you.” Hazel’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth for a solid second. “Wait.” The folder she’s clutching drops sideways. “This is—wow. You’re—you mean *me*?” Sure enough, Farah leans across the bright little conference table. Normally HR keeps an empty chair between them; not today. Farah nudges Hazel’s knee with her own, picks a slow path up her thigh with warm knuckles. “Never got to before,” she murmurs, and Hazel doesn’t pull away—just swallows hard and glances at the locked door like it might give her an opinion. That’s all the yes Farah needs. She stands, slips around, plants herself on the table edge. A short skirt rides up, deliberate. Her hand cups Hazel’s cheek, thumb grazing her lower lip. Hazel’s breathing turns quick and thin; she touches Farah’s bare knee almost by accident. But the hand stays there. Farah catches it, slides it higher, warm and slick under cotton. “Been wanting that. You can keep going.” So Hazel does. Two fingers under the slick strip of panties, letting the fabric snap back when she yanks. It’s noisy and efficient and Farah laughs breathlessly when she opens her knees. “Can’t wait,” she whispers, and Hazel bites her own lower lip the second Farah palms the crotch of her slacks. In record time the slacks are unzipped, panties sideways. Farah sits up on the tabletop, heels digging the back of Hazel’s thighs to tug her close enough for their slick cunts to meet. The edge of the conference table thuds into Hazel’s hip; neither cares. Their noises skate quick and messy—half laughs, half sucked breaths—while Farah drags Hazel against her, grinding until the legs of the table jitter. A stapler falls. A printed severance sheet flutters under their thighs. When Farah starts to come, she drags Hazel down to her mouth and kisses her through it. Hazel keeps fingering the whole way, gripping Farah’s ass with her free hand, holding her close like paperwork is the last thing on anyone’s mind. The room’s too bright and the cameras probably miss the shot, but neither notices.