by Jorja Tabu
Lisa bit her lip, leaning against the wall for a moment, and thought. She had a lot of money saved up, she told herself, and she could always sell her paintings. She didn’t need to do this, if she didn’t want to.
But that was the problem.
She did want to.
She wanted Yamamoto to bite her tongue while she begged him to spank her. She wanted his long, elegant fingers deep inside of her as she straddled his desk, submitting to his carnal impulses. Lisa felt like she’d kept herself locked up for years--and she had. She’d had to swallow so much of her own desire, and need, and focus only on others. She wanted the firey gaze of Ken Yamamoto focused on her, and she wanted it bad.
Did she trust him? With her pride, her body?
With a start, Lisa realized that she absolutely did, with her whole self. Ken Yamamoto told the truth, whether people liked it or not, and he was extraordinarily loyal to those he held in esteem--his father, for example. And Lisa. When she looked back on it, every request she’d made of him was granted, even those she’d thought he’d turn down. Letting her take an extra week off to help Zoey shop colleges. Changing her hours so she could see the kids off to school. Letting her keep her cell phone on during meetings just so they could contact her if necessary. None of these were unreasonable, but she knew that the merry gossips weren’t given such consideration by their own supervisors. She trusted him, because she understood him, and even though he was a difficult, trying man... He was also a good one, in the ways that really mattered.
Whatever happens between us, Lisa counseled herself, and nothing may... I am allowed to enjoy it. And if I don’t, I am allowed to leave. At any time. No questions asked. If I want to crawl across the floor to him and beg him to teach me about handcuffs, I can. If I want to run screaming from the room, I can.
Her resolve hardened, and she stood up, smoothed her skirt one final time, and opened the door to the office.
And there he sat: Ken Yamamoto, lord and master of the realm. Today he wore a black raw silk shirt, primly tucked into his grey silk suit. His hair was neatly parted, he was cleanly shaven. In short, he looked the same as always, as if absolutely nothing were different than before.
Lisa felt the flush of embarrassment creeping up the back of her neck again, but she shrugged it off. Wouldn’t it be better if nothing were different? Wouldn’t that be a relief, if she wasn’t actually in danger of falling in lust with her obsessive, super model, half Japanese BDSM lover of a boss?
No, a part of her hissed, and she clamped her lips together as she sat down in her chair.
“You’re late again,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry sir,” she said automatically. She was. She was sorry for herself--sorry she’d gotten so stirred up she’d actually needed a minute to recoup in the quiet corridor outside. And she was sorry these ridiculous thoughts were affecting her stellar performance record. “It won’t happen again.”
“Four,” he said absently, his fingers lingering on the page in front of him, his eyes focused.
“Excuse me, sir?” Lisa blinked.
“Four minutes this morning, and three yesterday. That’s seven total.”
“I’m sorry sir,” she said again, the words coming out of her mouth as naturally as ever.
“We’re going to have a meeting about it today at four thirty, before you leave. Put it in the agenda,” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. The amber simmered at her.
“Yes sir,” she said, and pulled it out to write it down. A thought occurred to her. “Sir, we have our regular meeting scheduled for ten thirty, if you like I can add it to the existing agenda--”
“--That’s not what I asked you to do,” he said softly. “I asked you to schedule a meeting for us at four thirty.”
“Yes sir,” Lisa said, and returned her eyes to the desk. See? She told herself. Everything is just the way it always was. The way he talks is as annoying and presumptuous as ever, but it’s strictly business. No hint of perversion there.
“Stand up,” he said suddenly. When Lisa looked at him, she realized he’d been watching her the entire time she’d been writing. Something in his tone made her belly flutter--this was usually the lead-in to some critical comment about her attire. The spark for all this turmoil, the day before yesterday.
Maybe not this time, she thought. And if it is, well... It will be my first opportunity to see what happens when I... Fear struck her again. When I what? She realized she didn’t know what she would do. Slowly, Lisa stood.
“Come here,” he said. He was using his usual brisk tone, and his face was expectant. Maybe this wasn’t going to be about-- “Your clothes,” he said, interrupting her thoughts as she halted in front of his desk. “Your clothes are... Different.”
“Yes sir. I told you they would be, sir.” Lisa crossed her arms, taking her defensive stance and letting it show on her face. “Do you remember what we decided, Mr. Yamamoto? That I would wear what I wanted?”
“From what I remember,” the tall man answered, his eyes burning into her, “you said you would do what you wanted, and that I would do what I wanted.” His voice was like frayed silk, tattered yet smooth.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. Her pussy was answering for her, even though he couldn’t see; moisture appeared inside her lips, and her nipples hardened and pressed into the satin bra. She was glad her arms were crossed.
“I don’t think you would like it, if I did what I wanted to right now,” he said slowly. “I don’t think you would like me to get up, come over there, and tear your skirt off of you.” His voice had lowered into a growl, but he was slowly swirling the lime in his glass of ice water. Slowly, slowly, slowly.
She gulped. “No, sir,” she said, making herself say it in her normal voice. “No, I would not--”
“--Then take it off, and I won’t,” he said evenly. His eyes were flame bright in the early morning light. “Now.”
This was the moment, she realized. This is when she decides what happens next--she can chastise him, and point out that this is exactly the kind of thing they’d agreed was inappropriate... Watching his face, she realized that was exactly what he was expecting. It was as if he’d only really registered what he’d said to her after it was too late; the shadow of misery she’d seen on him as he confessed to her was there again. I can chastise and humiliate him, Lisa thought, and help him the way he asked me to...
Or I can help us both. Her breath caught, but she made herself say it, and thanked God she’d worn nice underwear. “Yes, sir,” she said evenly.
His hand froze. The lime floated to the bottom of the glass as she watched, taking her time to reach back and unfasten the zipper. Lisa felt incredibly frightened. She was now officially crossing the line she’d drawn in the sand with her own words--would he understand? Would he trust her? Or would he demand she stop, get her things, and get the hell out of his office?
The slow creep of the zipper sounded louder than church bells in the silent office.
Mr. Yamamoto didn’t move at all. He simply watched her, his eyes unblinking. Lisa took a deep breath as she latched her fingers into the waist band and began to move her hips to pull the skirt down. Don’t be chicken, she told herself. How is he supposed to have confidence in what you’re doing if you don’t? She met his eyes.
No one had ever looked at her as hungrily as he did in that moment. No one had ever spoken so much while saying so little. As her skirt hit the floor and she stepped out of it, something hardened in his eyes--a new resolve formed there, glistening under all that heat. In that moment, Lisa knew she’d made the right choice, for both of them. When she stood up to her full height again, he leaned back in his chair as he had yesterday, and this time as his eyes flickered over her they lingered on her breasts, her thighs. “Your shirt, as well,” he said softly. “It’s lovely, really, but looks ridiculous alone. Better to just have you...” His voice trailed off as he met her eyes again.
“Yes, sir,” Lisa said, and pulled it over her hea
d. They looked at each other for a long moment before he turned back to his desk.
“Meeting at ten thirty,” he said, his voice cool. “I need status updates on the Becker profile, and the Martin’s.”
“Yes, sir,” Lisa said, and sauntered back over to her desk. Something told her he was watching, but when she sat back down, his head was bent low over his work. Should I be disappointed? Lisa wasn’t sure about that, but she felt she’d done the right thing--hadn’t she?
She opened a word document on her lap top and titled it ‘To Consider.’ Then she carefully documented the time and what had just transpired, before making a single brief note to herself: ‘there is always the option to refuse.’
Was she sending him mixed messages, or did he understand why she had consented? Was she fooling herself, or would making him more cognizant of the implications of his requests also make him more careful--instead of continually suppressing them, and acting like a dick as a result? Lisa almost typed that as well, but instead she decided she’d better review the Martin account.
Their first meeting was brief and, for Lisa, disappointing. In spite of the overwhelming feeling of freedom waltzing around the corner office in her lingerie gave her--an unexpected bonus--it was not enough to distract from the tedium of their ten thirty agenda. When he’d finished admonishing her for another ‘typo,’ however, he surprised her. “Eight,” he said, closing his notebook.
“Excuse me, sir?” Lisa realized she’d said this phrase more often today than she had in years. She wondered if he thought she was going deaf. “I don’t understand, sir--”
“--Four minutes today, three minutes yesterday. One typo.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “That’s eight.”
“Eight what, sir?” Mistakes?
“We’ll talk about it at four thirty.”
Lunch was also surprising.
Lisa pulled out her salad, per usual. She loved texture in her foods even though it always grossed her kids out--she was constantly adding nuts and sesame treats to her salads, and today was no exception. When she cracked open her container and rummaged through her desk to get a fork, she made too much noise to hear him at first. But the second her drawer shut, it was evident he had been paying attention to her schedule--“Ms. Tyrell,” he said in a loud enough voice to indicate it was the second time he’d called her name. She looked over at him. “Come here, and bring your lunch.”
Was he going to ask her to eat with him? Somehow, Lisa didn’t think so; Mr. Yamamoto rarely ate lunch at all unless he had something delivered for a meeting with a client. She walked stiffly across the floor, her heels clicking, the mid-day sun warming her skin. His face was expressionless, but he gestured for her to come closer to him. “Around the...Do you want me to stand beside you, sir?” Lisa looked for another chair; there wasn’t one, besides the white leather loveseat clients occasionally used. It was off to the side, though. She didn’t see any food on his desk, nor did there seem to be anywhere to put hers.
“I want you to kneel, on the floor, right here.” He pointed at a spot by his feet. “Just there, please.”
Lisa didn’t want to. She could feel it in her guts--this wasn’t sexy. This wasn’t interesting, or kinky. This was just bossy, and even kind of creepy. “Sir, I--”
“--Please, Ms. Tyrell,” he said, his eyes shining, his voice calm. “If you would be so kind.”
Okay. Fine. She’d do it this once, and then she’d add it to the document on her laptop with a big red ‘NO’ in bold next to it. But she’d make sure, first. Lisa eased onto the floor by his feet; the office looked very different from down there. It would actually be kind of cozy, if it didn’t made her feel like some sort of pet. The stone beneath her was balmy from drinking in daylight all morning. She moved to open her lunch container, and to her great surprise Mr. Yamamoto’s hand landed on hers.
It was warm. Not soft, exactly; there was a graze of callous on his fingertips, and one star shaped scar on his knuckle. They worked in an office--how exactly had these happened, she wondered? But after she realized his hand was on hers, she realized his face was just inches away, and stopped wondering about anything else.
He really was beautiful. This close, she could count the black lashes framing those fire-lit eyes. His full lips, always a curiosity in his disciplined face, were lush and slightly parted. “Ms. Tyrell, I’m going to feed you lunch today.”
Um...Okay. She didn’t say anything, because she didn’t want him thinking she was enjoying this...belittlement. Lisa wrinkled her nose once she wasn’t distracted by how handsome he was, and settled comfortably on the floor.
He turned his chair towards her, the container of salad open on his desk; he carefully speared some lettuce and a crouton and leaned towards her. His eyes were fastened on her every movement as she arched forward and opened her mouth, and when she bit down on the fork, he gently pulled it away. “I told you yesterday you chew too loudly,” he said quietly. Lisa crossed her arms, indignant, while he gathered another forkful. “I should have been more clear.” He leaned towards her again, and now she noticed that his voice was soft, his eyes almost tender. “You eat too much at once, too fast. I know I push you to work very hard. I know you’re hurrying.” Then he startled her; the thumb of his free hand rested gently on her chin for just a second, then moved along her jaw to push a stray hair behind her ear. His touch was so casually intimate she almost stopped chewing. “I don’t mean to hurry you through your lunch.” His fingers lingered on her cheek as his eyes searched her face, and then slowly moved down, tracing her bottom lip. That time she did freeze, and she didn’t just feel the flutter in her panties--she felt it in her chest. “Take your time. Small bites, as long as you need.” He watched her silently for the rest of the meal as if she were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, with only the occasional touch--another stray hair, a flake of lettuce, a drop of dressing that landed between her breasts. That time, she thought she might faint. He’d neatly scooped it up and made her suck it off the tip of his finger, and when she was done, he’d slipped it in his own mouth.
Lisa realized when she stood that she’d only been sitting down for eleven minutes; she’d felt like time had stopped.
There was something to be said for having a beautiful man feed you--a man whose touches were so soft, they felt like love. It was more intimacy than she’d shared with anyone in... Well, a lifetime, honestly. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she made sure to click her heels down as hard as she could on the way back to her desk.
How dare he?
How dare he make her feel like he cared about her? She knew what was going on--she was a stand-in for all the sexual situations he’d been depriving himself of outside the office. She was practically a whore! How dare he--how dare he... Make me feel like this?
Lisa sat down and took a couple slow, deep breaths. She’d known this was going to be difficult, because of the sexual nature of the arrangement that she’d previously believed all business--from Yamamoto’s end. What she hadn’t known was the emotional nature of the arrangement from her end. How could this be happening to her?
“Ms. Tyrell?” As if he were a mind reader, he called her name.
“Yes, sir?” She hated the tremor she heard in her voice.
“I need to leave the office, but I’m taking my cell phone with me.” He was gathering his coat, crossing the hard marble floor. Before he opened the door to the corridor, he checked the window and unlocked it. “Forward any calls from Patterson, please. I think we might need to extend that deadline.”
“Yes, sir.” He checked to make sure the door was locked and closed it quickly behind him.
The sunlight that had overwhelmed Lisa the day before proved welcome this afternoon. She stretched her arms over her head, unable to make a note about lunch for a long time. Technically, she still had about fifteen minutes to herself, but the wound she’d felt yesterday before coming in to the office was now wide open within her. Lisa shivered in the su
n.
What was happening to her? Was she just so lonely that she’d convinced herself this was a good idea? Lisa’s half-formed ideas about Domination and submission were all from second-hand scandals and scant online research; gentleness was never a term she’d associated with it. Certainly not tenderness. Not caring. She thought she’d be whipped before she’d be brought to tears by a home-made salad.
Lisa realized she’d slowly worked herself up to the idea of a sexual encounter with Mr. Yamamoto; the very idea still made her shiver--both with anticipation and fear. Putting Mr. Yamamoto and sex in the same thought was strange; throw in any of the feelings she was having now and the sensation was downright alien. She hadn’t understood the emotional component at all. Lisa wrapped her arms around her shoulders and hugged herself in--was she still okay with this? And what did it say about her that she had qualms about being fed, but not waltzing around in her underwear?
Lisa buried herself in her work for the next two hours. She began to dread the four thirty meeting, her hands shaking, a small bead of sweat rolling down from her temple. She had a million forms to sign for a big purchase order, but her palms were so slippery she decided to put the task off until tomorrow. Instead, she worked diligently organizing the Patterson account, even though it was moving down the priority list. Still, it engaged her more than listlessly writing her name for hours on end, and slowly Lisa was absorbed in her work and ignoring the ache inside.
Mr. Yamamoto arrived back at the office with a paper bag and a small ceramic bowl under his arm. Lisa didn’t look up at him, she was so intent on her work, so she didn’t notice that he was standing next to her desk until he placed the bowl on it. “Oh!” She gasped at the clatter, then felt foolish and caught her breath. It was the first time she recalled him coming to this side of the room since she’d inhabited it. “I’m sorry, sir, you startled me. Do you need something?”
