FILF_Fireman I'd like to...

by Savannah May

“My assistant’s desk is outside,” I inform her, taking my seat and leaving her standing in the ocean of office space.

  She gulps down a jolt of shock at realizing this is my office. I’m the boss and she just got herself off in the chair I’m now sitting on. She regroup quickly though.

  “No one was there,” she says with a snip.

  This girl has some balls on her, she’s not remotely intimidated by me finding her in here. “And no one has told me what I’m supposed to be doing today.”

  Can this be the new intern? Janice mentioned we’d taken in a new one from the women’s criminal rehabilitation scheme. I set it up to offer employment to women who would otherwise be ostracizes and probably on the streets. Surely not. This girl is too perfect, too beautiful to be from that class of society.

  “What’s your name?” I demand, in my gruffest voice.

  “Grace,” she says, staring me straight in the eye with a hint of challenge.

  Game on then.

  “Grace what?”

  “Grace Hart. I’m temping here for the summer.” Jesus. She is the new intern. This girl would be great at closing the deal – she has all the qualities necessary. I always figured success in business and crime were similar. The guys locked up in prison just missed a lucky break. I wonder what she was incarcerated for. B&E most likely. She’s so comfortable rifling through my office.

  Or public exposure maybe. Christ, my cock starts unfurling and prodding at that unbearably illicit memory. Thank fuck I’m seated behind the barricade of my desk. A surface I’d like nothing more than to fling her down over and ravish her.

  “What’s yours?” she says with a dollop of cheek that makes me laugh.

  “Mister Grady.”

  “Well, Mister, I’m here for the summer and I’m supposed to run around for your assistant Janice.”

  “Miss Markle,” I correct her. She really is a brazen little thing and as my eyes are drawn to travel down the length of her body, I notice how her nipples are as hard as I am. Little bullets pushing through fabric clinging to them like something out of a men’s fantasy mag. It strikes me that her clothes are stuck to her because they’re damp. She was caught by the downpour.

  “Jesus, you’re soaked through,” I blurt out.

  “And there’s the reason you make the big bucks,” she half snarls with a good dose of sarcasm.

  “I’m smart enough to know you’re likely to catch pneumonia if you don’t get out of those wet clothes soon,” I reply, ignoring her snark and returning it with my trademark humor.

  Her eyes stretch wide as if she cannot believe what she just heard. The electricity in the room is starting to charge. Surely she can feel it too. What the fuck would I give to tear that soaking, crappy cheap outfit off her perfect curves.

  “So let’s be open about the elephant in the room,” she says pulling herself up with a pouty stare that’s beyond challenging.

  “There’s an elephant in the room?” I repeat, looking around.

  “Actually, how did you make all that money? It means the unspoken but obvious thing between us.”

  She enjoys instructing me but that’s going to change.

  “There’s a thing?” I say, acting confused so she loses a little confident ground.

  “Maybe you don’t even remember me from yesterday..” she stutters.

  “Oh, I remember you very well,” I tell her.

  She looks surprised, maybe a little pleased, at my response. Good thing I don’t tell her I’ve thought of almost nothing else ever since.

  “Right, so to be clear, I’m here to work only. Not to provide extra curricular office service.” “I never thought you were,” I reply. “Whatever that is.”

  “Good because I’m not interested in any more dangerously subversive office kisses,

  “Dangerously subversive?” I burst out laughing and she frowns haughtily at my teasing.

  “Yes. You keep your hands and your mouth off me from now on, for the rest of the summer and we’ll get along just fine.”

  At that moment Janice arrives, shaking out the water lodged on her shoulders. She dashes into my office when she sees Grace. She’s still holing her collapsed umbrella, dripping on the carpet.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she says, glaring at Grace. “This is Miss Hart, the new intern. I didn’t know you’d arrive so early,” she snaps at me.

  “She seems to be eager to make a good impression on her first day,” I tell Janice. “I think it’s the least we can do to find her some dry clothes,” I add, then; “New ones.”

  “Yes, that would be a good idea,” Janice agrees, taking in the cheap cut of the clinging outfit on Grace’s gorgeous little body.

  I nod dismissively like I’m done with it and Janice leads Grace from the room. I watch her uplifted little chin and then the sway of her round ass as they leave. Janice tugs the door closed, abruptly enough that I guess she noticed my wolfish interest in Grace’s disappearing cute rear..

  I know it’s all kinds of fucked up wrong but that doesn't change a thing. This isn’t something I usually do. In fact I rarely do more than shake hands with the delinquents once they arrive and never see them again until they leave.

  But this one isn’t the usual kind of girl from the wrong side of the tracks. She’s smart and speaks up for herself. She set me straight with way more sass than is usual. I’m hooked and in big trouble.

  Chapter 7

  Grace

  Janice Markle leads me out of Hopper’s office and points to a pair of small desks facing each other, in back of hers.

  “You will sit there,” she says, not unkindly but not exactly BFF either. The other is unoccupied but it’s still early.

  “And what do I do?” I ask. An uncontrolled shiver runs up my arms. I’m going to blame that on the disgusting soaked polyester sticking to my skin and not the fact that Hopper Grady is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

  I knew his name before I asked. I mean the guy has a fancy plate outside his door. I just wanted to jerk him around. He may be the boss but that doesn't mean he’s going to get to boss me around. Or think he can put his lips on my body whenever he feels like it. It may be the only thing I want in the world right now but I’m staying firm in my resolve.

  No guys in my life.

  Certainly not until I can find some sort of equilibrium. They’re just a violent distraction if I let them in. They take what they want without giving anything back but the thrill of being wanted by them. And I have an idea that Hopper Grady could be the worst of the bunch. A man used to getting what he wants. Any woman at all. Then moving on to a new toy bimbo once he’s had his pleasure. Yuck, I hate the way that men do that. It’s so dishonest. They should be locked up.

  “You’ll assist me in whatever Mr Grady requests,” she answers, jolting me out of my rising anger.

  Oh that’s just peachy.

  “But first we need to get you out of those wet clothes. I think we have something in the lost closet.”

  “I’m not a waif and stray nor some hand-me-down charity case,” I snap, somewhat uncharitably but I get what’s going on here.

  More than my personal welfare these two douchebag Wall Street types don’t want me clashing with the swanky décor. I saw the way Janice looked at me when she first arrived. She immediately covered over the askance shock on her features, but it was too late. Grady saw it too but he was in agreement with her all along. I get it. I’m a loser. Pitiable.

  But what’s that saying about I may be lying in a gutter but I can still reach for the stars? That’s me – reaching. And I won’t let go until I’ve made my first million as well.

  I remember my mom telling me right before she died, “this is a whole new age, Gracie. Women can do whatever they want in a digital environment. Run a business, build an idea, create something out of their imagination.” It was like she was telling me a fairy story. Every woman I knew was married to a man. “There weren’t all these choices when I was young,” mom assured me. “I had idea
s and dreams but there was simply no opportunity to make them a reality. Don’t waste your chance. Be something. Do what you want and don’t waste your life serving coffee to some man.”

  Now Janice gives me another look. One of patient sympathy. I hate that more than anything.

  “Thanks, but I'd rather catch cold than wear some random lost clothes.” “I understand but...”Janice lifts a finger when the phone on her desk chirps, indicating I should hold that thought.

  “Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. They won’t be open until….Yes I can give the manager a call…. right away, Sir.”

  Janice hangs up the phone with a grimace. She goes to the personal coat closet at the back of her open plan office. When she opens the double doors I see a veritable design studio of coats inside, belonging to – I can’t imagine who. She pulls one from a hanger and passes it to me. I can tell immediately that it’s a designed brand, classy cut and beautiful fabric.

  “What’s this?” I ask, confused.

  “My Grady wants you to go out and buy yourself some clothes,” she says.

  “But I don’t...”

  She again lifts that finger. Demanding silence. And then leans back to open her desk drawer and pulls out a gold Amex.

  “You’re to use this. Go to the Burberry store on Spring Street. I’m calling Shannan, the manager, she’ll meet you there.”

  “Burberry? With this Amex?” I take it from her outstretched hand as reluctantly as if she were passing me a hot barbecue coal. “Am I gonna get arrested for suspicion of grand larceny?”

  I can imagine that being something Hopper Grady might do to get me in line. Punish me for spurning his advances. Not that he actually made any more. I’m just glad he didn’t arrive at the office two minutes earlier. Or am I?

  “I’ll make the call and tell them you’re coming. Don’t worry you aren’t the first.”

  What the hell does that mean? Does he pull this Svengali stunt with every waif he takes in?

  “I don’t know where Spring Street is,” I play for time, making excuses while I work out the scam here.

  “You could take the bus straight up Broadway but apparently Mr Grady is concerned for your health. He said you should take his towncar. It’ll be waiting out front.”

  “What?” I splutter. I don’t even know what a town car is.

  Janice Markle's all business, ignoring my protests. She hands me the coat which is weighty with class.

  “But he said you’re to wear this to keep you dry out there. And take those wet clothes off.”

  “I’m supposed to go out naked?” I squeal. I’m not usually a squealer, not that girlish, but this is insanity.

  Janice shrugs like she doesn't get it either. Clearly her boss is a maverick.

  “And on your way back, he’d like you to bring him a double doppio from Clarence.” “What the he- what’s a double doppio? And who is Clarence?”

  “Coffee,” Janice says. “The way he likes it. Clarence is the craft coffee store on the corner of Wall and Broadway.”

  You cannot be serious. I’m about to inform the woman that I don’t get coffee but then remember my job here is to do whatever is needed. Time to suck it up.

  I go to the washroom and make sure the door to the stall is firmly secured this time. I don’t trust Hopper not to barge his way in, what with this elaborate ruse of getting my clothes off. They are soaked though and I have to peel the dank polyester from my clammy skin. Then I slip into the mac and instantly feel a thousand times better. Good clothes makes a good girl, right?

  I bin the cheap stuff and to prove my point, as I stride out of the office there are quite a few stares from the guys on the trading floor as I go.

  I get down to the lobby and realize I have no idea which car I’m supposed to use of the line of flash limos idling outside the building.

  “Excuse me, what’s a town car?” The concierge in his double breasted coat even fancier than mine. It’s wearing more brass than the door to Hopper’s office.

  He looks down on me snootily then his features soften.

  “Whose car are you inquiring after?” he asks, in a voice like the butler from Batman.

  “I have to go get coffee. For Hopper Grady.”

  “One day there’ll be robots for that right?” he says with a conspiratorial grin like we’re in this together against the fascist pigs.

  “For everything I assume. Humanity will be redundant.”

  “Or lying on the beach at those Bahamas. Grady’s car is the one right in front of the door. A town car is a small limo for running around the city.”

  “Oh, right. Special limo for every occasion?” “Something like that,” he throws me a wink and opens the door for me to step confidently through.

  The store Janice sent me to is the kind of place actresses and trust fund kids shop at. Not the likes of me. The displays are one of each piece hung like art, not thousands of units rammed on the rack. Although my shoes are a dead giveaway, the coat gets me through the door. The stare from the assistant that has just opened up specially to accommodate me is not too dismissive but we’re never gonna be besties.

  I rummage through the rack and find a pair of black dress pants, just perfect for business. Except for the bondage strap between the thighs, the buckles strapping the legs from parting too wide. Perfect! I grab those, trying to repress a smirk and allow the assistant to select a nice cream blouse with a huge bow tie neck. Like ironically huge. Like it’s laughing at people that wear the actual pussy bow blouses. I top it off with a nice girl cardigan sporting huge diamond crystal buttons.

  “Shoes,” I tell her, with a humble shrug, like I just wore these old things out because of the weather. We decide on some five inch pumps with studs down the back of the heel. She discreetly calculates the charge of nearly seven thousand dollars and I nearly pass out. My car back home cost less than that. A lot less.

  I head back to the Hopper Tower, not in any rush to start filing although definitely glad to be doing it in style. I forget the coffee and have to double back for the second time today. Once again, I was day dreaming about Hopper Grady’s hard hands all over me again. Being in the back of his car sets tingles sparkling across my skin as I imagine how he’d cover me with his mouth, his hands, his...

  Janice isn’t at her desk when I return. I’m about to head to my own but remember that the coffee is cooling fast. I walk into Hopper’s office without knocking. He looks up with a flare of irritation that turns to a grimace of amusement when he sees me in my short spy coat. I tied the belt in a double knot, something I saw in some movie.

  “That mine?” he asks, indicating the cup in my hand

  “Sure is,” I say. “Double doppio. Just how you like it.”

  I set it on the table and turn to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to show me what I just bought?” he holds me back.

  His grin implies that he thinks he’s purchased more than just the four designer shopping bags. Like maybe I’m now part of the package.

  “You’ll see when I model the goods,” I snip in my chilliest tone. “Okay. Do that,” he commands.

  Is he setting me a challenge? Playing with me? I mean the guy has had his hands all over me so I guess it makes little difference if he sees what he’s already fondled. I’m feeling strangely confident which I credit to the high of shopping at a swanky boutique. And more than a little wanton. I’m curious to see what kind of reaction I can derive from the boss.

  With as much casual sensuality as I can gather, I hook my fingers into the knot at my waist and start to tug it loose. Hopper’s eyes go wide and he reaches for his coffee before casually leaning back in his chair. His gaze is mesmerized as I pull the coat open. Unfortunately I’m not rocking the sexiest underwear. Or even matching. I forgot about that part. But there’s not much I can do about that and it’s too late now.

  Tilting my chin a little higher, I pull the lapels open and push the coat back off my shoulders. It drops to the ground. I stare back at my boss w
ho’s taking in every last inch of me. I guess he isn’t that horrified by the underwear. Because if a man could slather his lips with wolfish hunger, that would be Hopper Grady right about now.

  Chapter 8

  Hopper

  I watch Grace go through an assortment of emotions as she decides to strip down for me in my office. When I suggest she model her new clothes for me now, her first impulse is obviously to strut her strong little body out of my office with her nose in the air. After informing me only a couple of hours ago that no way was I to be under any mistaken impression that her curves were mine to take at will, she clearly thought she ought to hold up that insistence.

  But then something wicked crosses her pretty features. Something buried but my radar for that kind of decadence picks it up immediately. The kind of rebellion that probably got her into trouble in the first place and had her in detention.

  I don’t know what she did to put her in there and I don’t even care at this point. She could steal me blind and it would all be worth it. Just to see her skin bared and her curves laid out so I don’t have to visualize them out from hidden beneath layers of tacky fabric.

  The way she tugs the knotted belt loose, her eyes locked on mine, is anything but submissive. The feisty little demon has fire in her stare as she looks directly at me. She could take on any professional pole dancer at Illicit, a high end club I frequent. Her full mouth pouts but with a hint of challenge that sends my cock straight for the stars.

  Thank fuck I’m seated behind my huge desk so she can’t see the bulge in my pants aching to be freed. Her tiny frown says she hates me but she’s all girl-power and confident in her body enough to expose it to me without hiding.

  For her it’s empowering, for me it’s intoxicating.

  And even though she claims to want nothing to do with me, her nipples are two tiny missiles poking through the fabric of her bra.

  I would ask whether the gran-friendly underwear is a feminine power statement also but then I recall where she’s just come from. I doubt that sexy panties are standard issue in jail. Possibly even a bad idea, what with girl envy and high hormones.