The Innocent

by John Argus

  Zoe felt hopelessly light-headed. A mixture of shocked alarm, embarrassment and wonder gripped her. She felt a tingly heat spreading across the surface of her skin, which felt strangely, deliciously flushed. She did not know what to do, how to react. Mr Erasmus was such a prominent public figure, so influential and so wise… his fingers eased upwards and her eyes widened, the pencil motionless in her grasp, as they skated fleetingly against the underside of the silk cups snugly encasing her breasts. She felt a kind of electricity fork through her chest, and her nipples tightened within her bra. She felt a dizzying surge of sensations, and gasped softly as the pencil snapped between her tensed fingers.

  Steven Erasmus tutted. ‘You’ve broken your pencil,’ he observed kindly, and his hands slipped away from her so smoothly she wondered if she had merely imagined their intimacy. ‘Go sharpen it,’ he instructed, nodding towards the corner where an electric sharpener sat atop a table.

  Unable to speak, she slipped off his lap, almost stumbling as she did so, and hurried over to the sharpener, her emotions a blur and her face blazing. She stared at it for a long moment before placing the pencil into it and activating the mechanism.

  Her mind was in turmoil as she tried to decide what to do. A part of her wanted to run from the office, but another part of her – the part that desperately craved recognition as a mature, thinking adult – would not let her. What she had to do was take his dictation, but under no circumstances could she return to such close proximity, and certainly nowhere near his lap. Yet she had no idea how to insist on not doing so without being rude and accusatory. And then there was the part of her that had experienced a wicked excitement in being in such close proximity to a sophisticated man like Mr Erasmus.

  As her mind spun the pencil was ground down further and further, disappearing into the relentless maw of the machine, until she suddenly realised there was nothing left but a useless stub. She jerked it out and stared at it, swallowing anxiously as she turned towards him. ‘Um, is there… is there another pencil I could use, sir?’ She cringed as a frown of impatience crossed his face that made her feel extraordinarily incompetent and foolish.

  ‘In the bottom drawer of the cabinet,’ he said irritably. She hurried to the nearby stationery cupboard and pulled open the lower drawer, her fingers fumbling among the supplies she found there. ‘Come on, girl, I don’t have all day,’ he prompted intolerantly.

  ‘Yes, Mr Erasmus.’ Her voice quavered as she thought about how to keep a respectful distance between them, but she turned with the fresh pencil in hand, and her feet moved tentatively back to his chair.

  He snapped his fingers to indicate she was to resume her former position, and she eased stiffly onto his lap. Then she put pencil to paper again as he began speaking. He continued dictating, not touching her, and she felt breathless with anticipation waiting and wondering and trying to guess where he would touch her next – if at all. Each time one of his hands moved she held her breath. Yet he simply continued talking without doing anything untoward, and confusion began to affect her concentration.

  Surely he wanted to touch her. He had done so before, had he not? Had her clumsiness with the pencil sharpener made her seem less appealing to him? A man like Mr Erasmus, suave and experienced, would hardly find a silly, clumsy girl who jumped at the slightest touch interesting.

  Astonishingly, Zoe found herself wanting him to touch her, to again lay one of his hands on her thigh or on her hip and begin caressing her. Yet he was not even looking at her. His eyes seemed bored as they scanned the far bookshelf while he talked, and occasionally he glanced at his watch. Clearly whatever interest he’d had in her was gone now. He had found her wanting, no doubt due to her lack of refinement. Nevertheless, she waited tensely, not wanting him to touch her improperly and yet at the same time desperately desiring he do so.

  He finished the letter, and still did not touch her. ‘Very well, thank you,’ he said, nodding his head for her to rise.

  She did so, intensely disappointed and confused.

  ‘Type that up, will you please, my dear, and bring it back for me to sign.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly, pouting a little.

  He reached for some papers on his desk, and after an awkward moment she hurried towards the door, her mind spinning as her whole body experienced a profound sense of loss.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Miss Quincanon, have you completed those expense forms yet?’ Ms Beacher demanded in a chill, disapproving tone.

  ‘Almost,’ Zoe replied as she looked up from her computer.

  ‘You will have to better acquaint yourself with the system and the policies of travel authority expense forms, Miss Quincanon. We haven’t all day to devote to each small claim. You were taught how to use this system, were you not?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And you understand the practical workings of a personal computer?’

  ‘Well yes, but—’

  ‘Do you believe the amount of work allotted to you beyond your capabilities?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then I expect you to improve the rate at which you complete these forms. People are waiting for reimbursement. Claims must be finished and sent on to Finance as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Beacher.’ There seemed no other way to deal with a person like Ms Beacher than to agree with her. The woman bore an eerie resemblance to one of her floor matrons at St Michael’s Academy, with her square jaw, challenging scowl and erect carriage. Even her voice, so firm and arrogant, evoked the mercifully absent Madam Leblanc. Madam Leblanc had taken a ruler to the palms of Zoe’s hands at the slightest breech of rules and regulations, and Ms Beacher seemed cast in the same mould.

  ‘Your familiar connections will not keep you in this position, Miss Quincanon, if you prove unable to function with the degree of efficiency we expect of our staff,’ Ms Beacher said uncompromisingly.

  ‘I will – I mean, I can,’ Zoe declared, somewhat flustered by the woman. ‘It’s just all so new to me and I don’t know how to—’

  ‘You have had sufficient time to familiarise yourself with the procedures,’ Ms Beacher interrupted impatiently. ‘I want those claims done and submitted within the hour. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Ms Beacher,’ Zoe said sulkily. The woman turned away and she heaved a sigh of relief. People like Ms Beacher always made her extremely nervous. They were staunchly demanding and unforgiving of error. Her supervisor was also being unfair; it was quite a complicated and inefficient system, and she had to keep pausing to refer to a rather obscure manual in order to try and understand it better.

  Normand Miller came out from behind his desk, walked up to hers, and winked. ‘Are you daring to criticise the Government Administrative Control and Payment System?’ he asked, with mock sternness.

  She pulled a miserable face. ‘It seems a little, complicated.’

  ‘My dear young lady, this system was developed by the finest government software designers after years of painstaking effort and millions and millions of pounds,’ Normand pointed out sarcastically. ‘I myself am so impressed by them that I have a framed picture of them on the wall next to my desk.’

  She turned and looked to where he indicated, frowned and leaned forward, straining her eyes at the odd sight. At first the photograph appeared to be that of a group of men in business suits sitting beside each other under the banner Design Team – GACP. As she looked closer, however, she saw that they were, in fact, chimpanzees all clutching cans of beer, the ground around them littered with more empty cans, and she giggled helplessly.

  Normand smiled. ‘Now, what is it about their brilliant work you fail to properly appreciate?’ he asked.

  Zoe sighed and pointed at the screen, where an error message was blinking. He nodded thoughtfully, and suggested a set of keystrokes. In point of fact, he knew very well what the
problem was, for it was a recurring failure with the GACPS, but he was in no hurry to remove his excuse for standing over and behind the lovely young creature. For looking down almost directly above her, he was able to see into her blouse to where her breasts were affectionately clasped by her white bra. He stared down at her cleavage with an unuttered groan of desire while imagining his hand, which currently rested on her shoulder, sliding down through the opening V of her blouse and cupping one of those exquisitely soft orbs. Even her warmth against his resting palm was causing his cock to stir and stiffen, so close behind her head, without her even knowing it. He pressed his thighs lightly against the back of her chair, feeling another hot surge of excitement as his fantasies played out.

  ‘Now click that,’ he said, a bit breathlessly, ‘the back button. Yes, and now page down.’

  If she turned around her beautiful face would be directly on a level with the erection that tented his trousers, and he would promptly release and feed it between her soft lips into her warm, cosseting mouth. He imagined fucking her that way, straddling the chair and impaling her mouth while running his hands through her silky hair, her lips enveloping his pulsing erection so deeply her forehead rested against his belly as she worked obediently…

  ‘So, do we start over then?’ she asked, concentrating intently on the screen.

  Normand cleared his throat a little. ‘No, now go forward and change the date.’ He imagined sliding his hand slowly down, and then easing his fingers into the top of her blouse, down into her bra cup and over her breast. He squeezed the luscious mound repeatedly in his mind as she stared at the computer screen, as with his other hand he removed his erection from his trousers and began rubbing it against her hair and the side of her face…

  ‘And now?’ she asked.

  ‘And…’ he had to clear his throat again, ‘er, now it will work fine,’ he said tightly.

  She tapped a few keys daintily, heaving a sweet sigh of relief, and he pulled his eyes from her cleavage and positioned the file he was holding in front of his inflated groin just before she turned and looked up at him with an appreciative smile.

  ‘Thank you so much, Mr Miller,’ she said with engaging sincerity.

  ‘No problem.’ He turned away to further safeguard against his incriminating erection being discovered, and hurried back to his desk. He imagined her naked, being fucked mercilessly by some muscle-bound young man, moaning in pleasure as she was ruthlessly penetrated over and over again, and the mere thought made him grit his teeth and clench his fists with irrational jealousy.

  Her phone rang, and he watched as she leaned forward, her delicate hand reaching for the receiver. He sighed with desire as her breast was outlined in silhouette within her thin blouse, and he imagined his hand squeezing the delicious handful of feminine flesh.

  Then she stood up, seeming a little uncertain. She picked up a pad and a pencil, hesitated, and picked up a second pencil.

  Zoe knocked and waited, but there was no response. She knocked again somewhat less timidly, and then again.

  ‘Come in,’ an imperious voice from within at last called.

  She took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked into Mr Erasmus’s office. ‘You wanted me, sir?’ she said.

  He gave her a strange look, and then snorted somewhat disdainfully. ‘Yes, come here,’ he said brusquely.

  She nervously walked across his capacious office, and paused beside his desk.

  ‘We’re hiring a new intern,’ he said. ‘He’ll be in the STP section downstairs. His first day of work will be Monday next. His name is Alfred Rollins. Contact the appropriate people and ensure he has a desk, a phone, a computer, and everything else he needs, set up for him. Make sure he’s… are you going to write any of this down?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Her face reddened as she hurriedly scribbled the instructions she remembered while he continued.

  ‘Make sure he’s placed on the rolls properly and is on the appropriate distribution systems for CAT workers.’

  ‘CAT workers,’ she murmured, having no idea to what he was referring.

  ‘Contact Ms Beacher if you have any doubts about what must be done,’ he concluded. ‘That is all.’

  She continued to write hurriedly, still trying to catch up. She sensed him looking at her impatiently, and in trying to write faster she dropped the extra pencil she had with her. She finished at last, and squatted to pick it up before quickly heading for the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said, without looking up.

  ‘Yes, Mr Erasmus?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘As long as you’re here, you can fetch the media files Ms Beacher was after.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Um, where…?’

  He poked his thumb up at one of the tall bookcases lining one wall. ‘The blue folders.’

  The blue folders were up on the top shelf, far above her reach, but there was a ladder affixed to a rail running along the top of the bookcase. She set her pencils and pad down, and gripping the ladder uncertainly, placed her right foot on the lowest rung.

  ‘Can you manage?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ she said determinedly. She gripped the rungs and lifted her left leg. Her skirt was tight, making it difficult, and her high heels functioned poorly on the narrow rungs. But if she couldn’t even manage to climb a ladder, whatever would he think of her?

  She moved up another rung, and saw him at last raise his eyes from the document he was perusing to glance at her. She stepped up another rung, and the ladder clattered alarmingly against the rail overhead.

  ‘You’re sure you’re all right?’ he asked, in a more solicitous tone.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she insisted.

  But he rose from behind his desk anyway, walked over to the foot of the ladder, and reached out to grip one side of it. She found this reassuring, and continued climbing slowly upwards. She did not look down at him, intent on securing her grip on the unsteady ladder as she ascended. Had she looked down, she would have seen Steven Erasmus gazing with interest at the back of her legs just beneath the hem of her skirt. She might even have seen as he reached up and lightly held that hem between sculptured fingers, easing it back and away to better display the soft flesh of her inner thighs, the underside of her buttocks encased prettily in white panties, and the gentle curve of the silk crotch where it moulded against her pussy.

  ‘Oh, they’re just out of reach,’ she squealed in frustration, unaware of what he was doing or where he was gazing. She had neglected to position the ladder directly beneath the specified folders, and now she could not quite get to them.

  Erasmus noted how she was propped unsteadily on one foot, leaning far out to the side as she strained to reach the folders, and then abruptly he pushed the ladder towards them and then cunningly jerked it to a halt. Zoe gave a squeal of alarm as she fell off the rickety old frame, straight down into his arms. She stared up at him in surprise and relief that he had caught her, her eyes wide with gratitude.

  ‘Are you quite all right, Miss Quincanon?’ he asked drolly.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she gasped, suddenly aware that her skirt had ridden up to reveal her panties. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She smoothed it down frantically as he set her back on her feet.

  ‘Difficult to climb in high heels,’ he observed.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed breathlessly.

  ‘Perhaps you should remove them.’

  She gulped, but nodded. Slipping off her shoes, she turned determinedly back to the ladder. She eased it directly beneath the designated folders, and began climbing again. It was somewhat easier without her shoes, but the narrowness of the rungs caused them to press up rather painfully into the soft soles of her feet. She persevered, however, reaching the top of the ladder and grasping one of the folders. It was heavier than she had expected, and s
he almost unbalanced herself again before drawing it in tightly against her chest. She thought to hand it down to Mr Erasmus, but he made no effort to reach for it, so instead she had to slowly ease her way back down the ladder, clutching the side with one hand, until she reached the floor and could set the folder down on a nearby table. She sighed, returned to the ladder, and began climbing again.

  As she reached for a second folder there was a quick rap at the door, and she glanced uncertainly over her shoulder to see Ms Beacher entering the office. The woman looked disapprovingly up at her, and Zoe turned her eyes quickly back to the folder, easing it down into her clutches.

  ‘Yes, Ms Beacher?’ Mr Erasmus asked pleasantly.

  ‘Have you any input on the telecommunications policy paper sent around last Tuesday?’ she asked in clipped tones. ‘George wants to get moving on it.’

  ‘Yes, it’s in my outbox.’ He moved to his desk while Zoe slowly made her way down again, only to find herself standing directly before the censorious gaze of Ms Beacher. She bobbed her head slightly, turned, set the folder down on the nearby table, and then climbed back up, all the while feeling the woman’s unwavering stare upon her.

  ‘The media files you were looking for?’ Mr Erasmus’s tone implied he was being the soul of helpfulness.

  ‘Quite,’ Ms Beacher replied coolly.

  Zoe returned with the final folder, and quickly stepped into her shoes.

  ‘I’ll send a messenger for them,’ she barked. ‘Come, Quincanon.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Beacher,’ she said, hurrying after the woman. Then she paused, rushed back, gathered up her pad and pencils, and practically ran to the door, where Ms Beacher waited impatiently.