by Jamie Knight
“I’m hoping that this will help me do what I need to do, but I’m not going to lie. It makes it harder to do the job I’ve already decided needs doing.” He pauses, growling into the phone. “I hate myself for even feeling anything for her, but I do. I feel sad, but if I used my past as an excuse for my present the way she does, I wouldn’t be working as someone training to be a lawyer. I’d require a lawyer.”
I bring the glass up to my mouth and murmur assent, knowing what he’s getting at. That “dark” part of himself I started to see come out that day he was harassed on the legal aid’s floor.
“What now?” I ask. “And why don’t you want to get together for lunch? Why did you immediately shoot that down?”
I take another sip of my wine, legitimately curious, though I already know it has something to do with Vanacore. With Tommy’s “evidence collection” he plans to start on her.
“Vanacore. She’s going to be watching me like a hawk, now that I’ve gotten her thinking that I really am into her and was just playing hard to get. So, I can’t take any chances that she’ll see me with you.”
I understand that, though I don’t really like it. I’ve been hoping we would be able to use the cover of lunches to discuss how things are going.
“Fine. Seeing as she despises us lowly receptionists,” I say, “but just for that, you are staying over this entire weekend. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Tommy laughs sweetly.
“Nothing would make me happier, pet.”
I move the phone closer to me and wander back into my sitting room from the kitchen.
“So, you’ll call me like this tomorrow after work, too, right?”
“I will.” I hear a door closing, something thumping and creaking around him. “When I can.”
“Good.” I flop down on my couch. “If you don’t, I’ll worry.”
“I know,” says Tommy softly. “You’re the worrying type, but I like it. It lets me know you care.”
Dennis would’ve never said anything like that. In fact, he said the opposite. Quite a lot. Whenever he wanted to remind me how much of a “hassle” I was for him to put up with.
“I’m glad you know that I care. Unlike some people who found that annoying, you have the heart to appreciate it. Thank you, my love.”
I hear Tommy gasp around this. I hear the smile around his next words.
“You’re welcome, my love.”
After that, he hangs up, I get ready for bed.
As I do, I pray that I make it through the rest of the week to Saturday, when I finally get to spend more than a few hours with him.
Chapter Thirty-Six - Tommy
Since my “confession of love” to Vanacore on Monday, and her subsequent confessions from her early life as a young, bright-eyed law clerk, the next few days pass smoothly. For Tuesday and Wednesday, nothing extraordinarily intimate happens between Vanacore and me. Except for maybe a few more stolen kisses here and there.
As I give them to her and take them equally, I keep track of the number, making sure that I give Melissa at least that many.
Aside from these little displays, it’s mostly actual work that Vanacore and I get to. Which is fine by me, as that’s what I was hoping to create by making myself vulnerable in the way I did at the beginning of the week. To assuage her desire and pleasure at forcing me into uncomfortable situations, so that she “backs off” of trying to make me submit, and instead spends time trying to gradually expose me to her secret, lustful desires and her plans for me.
It’s on Thursday, though, that things take a turn in a more intimate, heavy direction. It’s just as we are going over case notes from some recent appearances in court. Notes dealing with a client who’s been slandered by her previous employer for indecent photographs and indecent content, though she was hired for a photoshoot dealing with more scantily clad models.
In the process of going over these notes, we also go over the pictures of the evidence in question. They are of young women, of ages ranging from 18 to 25. These girls look like they are the victims and the muses in a fever dream. They’re naked and posing in a very classical setting. A studio of some sort surrounded by roses and lilacs.
It’s as we’re going over these pictures that Vanacore begins to fiddle with herself.
Blatantly she asks me, “Which one out of all these young women would you like to fuck if you could?”
Her question is so sudden and brash, I’m taken aback and startled. But not as much as by the sight of her leaning back and pulling up her skirt. She isn’t wearing panties. Her pussy is red. Her lower lips are already slightly engorged. It’s definitely gaining in color and warmth.
I quickly grab the picture and stare at it in place of Vanacore’s pussy. There’s pink and pretty (what I imagine maybe Melissa’s pussy to look like), and then there’s just big and mean. Which Vanacore’s slit certainly fits.
I don’t really want to answer the question of which of these nameless young woman I would fuck if I could, but I have to. So, I pick a young woman who looks older—definitely over the age of 23 or so— and that I think looks the most like Melissa: Dark-colored hair in a bob, sparkling green eyes, and curvy features. Big, luscious lips. A pleasantly sized pussy and breasts, too.
I clear my throat and pass Vanacore back the picture.
As I do, I point out my pick and croak, “That one.”
Vanacore looks at the photo. She strokes her pussy thoughtfully. Her eyebrows knit together, and she smiles hungrily and maliciously, though she’s torn between two energies.
“You really like that look, don’t you? Looks a bit like Mary Poppins on the executive floor.”
The way she says “Mary Poppins” is more mocking than the fact that she’s used the completely wrong name.
Part of me is tempted to correct her, but I smooth over that part of me and say, “Well, you asked me which one I liked, ma’am.”
I lean forward and deciding I’m going to try to bewitch her in the same way she’s been able to do to me. As I capture her with my gaze, I send forward the intention that I truly captivate her and make her see what she wants to see in me. Whatever sexy, depraved fantasy she has.
“Aren’t you going to ask me which one I like?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Which one do you like?”
As I ask this question, I lean close enough to put the front of my pants on her desk, my cock and balls, though they are still clothed, and I have every intention of keeping them that way until Melissa has gotten to have them all to herself.
Vanacore puts down the photo and says, “You.”
It’s an answer I’m not terribly surprised by. But what she follows it up with, I’m not initially sure how or if I’m going to be able to get out of it.
She adds, pointing to her snatch, “now give her some attention. A long, full-mouthed kiss, Tommy, before I have to reprimand you.”
Saying this, she brings her hips up closer to my junk.
I lick my lips.
Vanacore sees this and says, “I knew you were starving for her, Tommy. Why not get your fill?”
As she says this, she leans back a bit in her chair and spreads her legs open. If I wasn’t disgusted by her before, I certainly am now.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to get any more grossed out but I am.
I’m not going to lick her pussy. I’m not even going to like it. Not until Melissa and I have done at least that much, and I let her know that I’m going to be doing something along those lines to appease Vanacore. To play it up.
Sweat gathers on my upper lip, but I don’t bother to wipe it or anything.
Vanacore wants me to taste her, and I don’t want to.
How do I get out of this and satisfy her at the same time?
Under the heavy weight of these thoughts, I watch as Vanacore starts to really stroke herself. She goes so far as to put some of her fancy-smelling lo
tion on her hands and then rub it down her labia and press her fingers inside her pussy.
Finally, as if I have some guardian angel of the Risqué looking after me, a thought comes to me and I offer, “Would you like a picture of me?”
For a moment, Vanacore doesn’t seem to put two and two together. She’s too busy experiencing the bliss created by her hand and her snatch. She hums in confusion, looking at me. I take out my phone and wave it at her.
“A picture, ma’am? Would you like one of me?” I let my eyes wander to the discarded photo on her desk. “As you don’t like any of the girls in that one, and you just want me?”
“I want your cock in my pussy,” she groans, pressing her fingers into her slit a bit more. Causing the lotion to squelch.
Internally, I completely shut that request down. The only pussy my cock is going into is Melissa’s.
“I can’t, Ma’am,” I beg. “I’m not ready.”
Vanacore huffs.
“Fine, then just watch.”
I try to block it out and just think of my pet. But through the thin walls of my thoughts, I hear Vanacore beginning to sigh and moan. She growls and hisses with growing tension and pleasure as she keeps touching herself, but I imagine that it’s Melissa making some of those noises. Her own version, surrounding them with a beautifully sexy accent.
I stop myself before I get too riled up though, remembering my promise of celibacy.
It’s just then that I hear Vanacore cum. I act like I’m doing something similar, though my cock is going to be completely clean. As is my underwear.
As I finish my bit of acting, making her think that I’m having just as good of a time as she is and that she is the center of my world, I think, Shit. And here I thought this was going to be the perfect solution. For keeping her out of my body and space, but not for keeping my promise.
I grit my teeth. I then pull at my pants, neatly tucking my package away, so it looks like my boner is satiated, and take a small Kleenex from her desk. I have nothing on my hands, but I make it look like I do. I then throw it in the wastebasket and make a mental note to tell Melissa about this tonight.
When I turn back around to face Vanacore, she’s looking pleased. Satisfied that she seems to have finally molded me into someone obedient and happy to watch her. She’s also succeeded in cleaning herself up, packing away her pussy, and pulling down her skirt. If you looked at her now you wouldn’t even know she’s just gotten off.
She says to me, “Did you like that, boy?”
I did, but not for the reasons she thinks, but reasons I’m going to be happy to let her hold onto.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, making myself sound drunk and blissed out.
She leans forward in her chair, bringing himself back up to her desk; where her pussy was once so stably arranged, she now has her hands neatly folded there.
“Would you like to do this tomorrow, Tommy?”
I know this isn’t an offer.
It’s in order, phrased like one.
And I already know the answer I’m going to give her.
I don’t even have to think about it.
As I move back to my desk and pause before the little privacy screen I say, “yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Melissa
Just after 3:30 PM on Friday, I see Tommy walk by my desk. He looks as happy as I feel the moment I see him. I’m fluttery, excited.
I really want to wave to him, to tell him I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow, but I don’t. I can’t.
Isabella’s right nearby. While I don’t think she would mind the fact that Tommy and I are officially an unofficial item — this company has practically become known for encouraging and fostering relationships between subordinates and their superiors — but our situation is a little different.
Different because, as of this week, Tommy is secretly “involved” with his boss, but not with the same love and care. It’s to expose Ms. Vanacore as the predator she is. And that’s all the more reason I can’t let anything slip.
I can’t show any bit of affection, even if Isabella and the rest of the company were ones to judge. A connection between Tommy and me would greatly jeopardize his mission to neutralize Vanacore — to move her out of the company and end her decades-long reign of secret terror in various law firms.
Even so, Tommy’s joy is infectious. It fills me with warmth and happiness, even if I can’t show or speak to it the way I’d like to. I can see it in the way he moves. The way he practically runs out of the office with his head held high.
I let my eyes follow him as far as they can out to the doors of the elevators. Once he is inside, I turn back only to notice Isabella. She’s followed me following him. She raises an eyebrow at me.
“That boy’s gone from nearly negligible, not worth much attention at all, to being almost everywhere I look.” She scrunches her eyebrows together, studying me. “He seems to be everywhere you look, too, Melissa.”
I chuckle, already ready to answer her question.
“Well, how could I not look after him?” I sigh a little too wistfully for my liking, but I can’t take it back. “After I helped him out with that interview a few weeks prior, it’s been really amazing to watch him step into his own. He’s getting out of the shadows and into his own limelight, though I don’t think he realizes how good he looks in it.”
After murmuring this, I shake myself out of my rather poetic and romantic mood.
Almost subconsciously/unconsciously, I move my picture of Dennis further back on my desk, but I still don’t unseat him completely. Some part of me still feels like an idiot for having paraded around my “invisible boyfriend” who lives in Paris.
What the hell was I thinking?
People probably thought I was completely making him up and now if I just take the photo of my desk, they’ll think their suspicions are confirmed.
Isabella simply sighs and says, “To each their own, my friend.”
After she says this, she switches off her computer, grabs her ginormous purse with stars and moons engraved on it — it looks like the back of a wearable tarot card to me — and scoots her chair underneath the desk.
“I agreed to help a friend get home a little early today,” she adds, noticing my unspoken question to her. “She’s been feeling a little icky, so I volunteered to be her ride home.”
I nod.
Things have been slow, and Isabella can take off as much time as she likes.
As Isabella leaves, I hear my phone ping with an incoming text. I dig out my phone, move to turn on the screen and get a glance at the text. It’s from Tommy, and it immediately settles my stomach and my nerves.
Stopping by the bank to get money out for our date, Melissa! Getting out enough to have some fun with! I hope you’re ready!
I giggle, pulling up the keyboard.
Oh, I’m so ready, my love!
At the same time, I type it out, I say it aloud. As I send this text, I immediately start on another.
But remember: I don’t expect you to spend all your money. You can spend some of mine, too.
I send this one as well.
The response isn’t immediate, but that’s okay. It gives me time to get myself straightened out. When a follow-up text finally does come in a while later, it’s just as I’m stepping out of the private bathroom for us receptionists, and back toward my desk.
The text reads:
Oh, no! You’ve already lavished enough of your money on me, pet. All those lunches and dinners. Not going to have any of it. Not this weekend! It’s all on me!
Hurrying back to my chair, I can’t help it: I’m giggling like a schoolgirl with her first crush. I might as well be, since Dennis never had this kind of effect on me. He was never so chivalrous, and he was older than Tommy is by five years.
Yes, sir, I reply, feeling my temperature and hormones spike, whatever you say, sir. I am yours to command.
I alm
ost lose the courage to do this, but I finish the text off with some kissy lips and a few hearts. Something that Dennis always said was childish and unnecessary.
And you are mine to protect and treat right, is the reply text I get back. As long as I’m around, no one’s going to mess with you or devalue you ever again. If there’s one thing I want you to get over this weekend while we’re getting my wardrobe upgrade, it’s that.
Teary doesn’t even begin to describe where I’m at after reading this text, but I work to keep from bawling outright. Still, tears drip out of my eyes, happy ones. Under these, I move Dennis’s picture a little more out of the way.
That’s a real man for you, I think toward the pompous eyes and lips of Dennis’s portrait. A real man will make you cry from the amount of joy he brings you, not sadness.
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Tommy
While running my errand to the bank directly after work, I’m kept happy and lighthearted by texting with Melissa, who’s still at work.
I’ve just let her know what I’m going to do: that I’m withdrawing money for our date tomorrow. I’ve also just told her that she is not going to be allowed to spend any of her money on me since she’s already done that to an egregious and unacceptable level with me.
I’m her boss.
Not her dependent.
If anyone should be getting a “free ride” on tomorrow’s date, it’s her. Especially since I’ve just gotten out of the bank and back into my car with nearly five thousand in cash in hundred-dollar bills mostly, with a few smaller denominations thrown in there — in case we want to go get some food or break a bill for some change.
The envelope of money in hand, I hurry home. It’s now only a few minutes before four, and I’m eager to avoid Dad.
Over the last week, he’s really been bugging me for money. He wants me to give him something to spend, though I know he’ll just spend it on garbage: lottery tickets, beer, and titty magazines.
