HARDER: An Erotic Romance

by Jorja Tabu

  Just to see.

  Instead, she nodded stiffly and gathered her purse, fleeing the room. He watched her go in silence, not moving a muscle, not even as the door locked shut behind her.

  She wasn’t entirely able to keep her promise, but then, she didn’t really consider looking up dirty pictures on the internet ‘work,’ either. After the kids went to bed Lisa did some more research; she wanted to know why her experience with Yamamoto had been so different from her expectations. As she moused over picture after picture of tied up women, men in scary masks, and cruel looking sex toys, she realized that only trust had prevented her from certain misadventure. In his new guise Mr. Yamamoto seemed, if anything, incredibly kind, even protective--of course, he was still all the things he was infamous for: exacting, demanding, rigorous, and a perfectionist. But when he didn’t like her clothes now, he thrilled her body into throes of such ecstasy she’d curled up exhausted in his lap....As if they were lovers, instead of just a boss and his secretary. She pushed the thought away.

  If he’d wanted to do any of this stuff, she was sure the day would’ve gone much differently. After another picture of a woman in handcuffs trying not to look bored, Lisa almost gave up. Maybe he wasn’t a Dom--no, she thought, cutting herself off. He was more Dominant than this guy who couldn’t show his face, that was for sure. He didn’t need a whip to make her obey virtually every command. So where were the people like him?

  She googled ‘spanking.’ That was a little more like it. Perusing some of the messageboards that popped up, Lisa saw the phrase ‘Sensual Dominant.’

  That was it.

  Perfect.

  The way his hands felt on her body... He’d massaged her, teased her, ripened her. Lisa felt a brief glow inside when she thought about it again. He was sensual, a word that never would have occurred to her before; when Lisa thought of Mr. Yamamoto, her boss, she thought the words hard, exacting, difficult, cold. But Mr. Yamamoto, the man...He was sensual. Still utterly dominant, exacting, and precise... But even his usual nit-picking was slightly less incisive than usual today. Of course, that might be because they spent half the afternoon... Doing what they did. Moist heat flushed between her thighs again, and Lisa got up to take a bath.

  She tried to concentrate on remembering her original idea as the water filled the tub. It will be easier to understand when he’s in Dom mode if I actually see it first hand. Logical. Alright. So was that what was still happening? She knew exactly what kind of Dominant he was now; she was beginning to suspect what kind of submissive she was, as well, even if she couldn’t make herself phrase it that way. Lisa dangled her fingers in the bathtub and wished she had some bubblebath.

  Better yet, a massage.

  Better still... Stop it, Lisa, she snapped at herself.

  That was the problem, now: it wasn’t that her fight with him about clothes had almost cost her a job, and then sent her on a journey to help him accept his sexuality--waking up her own along the way. It wasn’t even necessarily that she hadn’t known how much she would love bending to his seductive whim. It was that this was her job.

  She was turning into a professional submissive.

  The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably--was she really getting paid to be spanked? In a way, yes. But it had been her idea, because she’d wanted to understand the way his mind worked--well, not the spanking, specifically, but the submitting. She hadn’t known it would be so different...

  And that was the problem underneath the problem: she didn’t mind being Mr. Yamamoto’s submissive, she realized. She would let him feed her and undress her and play with her for free.

  But he wanted to pay her.

  The emotions she’d been ignoring came roaring to the surface as she sank into the bath, and tears welled in her eyes. Mr. Yamamoto had been the only man she could count on for four years, and she’d lost him. The steadfastly annoying, bossy, demanding supervisor who also made sure she got her Christmas bonus in advance and had all the time she needed for her kids was gone. In his place was a man... A man she felt herself growing attached to in a very frightening way. A man that knew more about how to make her feel good than she did, but wiped his hands of her at the end of the day. A man who took no lovers.

  And if he did, she knew it wouldn’t be NaLisa N’Chante Tyrell, a single black mother of two from Southside with a GED, that turned his head. Even though he’d said her output was beyond reproach, her ethic impeccable, it would never work. Most importantly, he hated himself for the impulses that had woken a complimentary light in her; she would just remind him of everything he despised when he looked in the mirror.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks, leaving damp tracks along her throat. It made her remember the moment she’d turned her head, burying her face in his neck as he offered her extraordinary pleasure in the guise of punishment; the smell of his sweat, cologne, and desire mingled in her memory, and a sob caught in her throat.

  Everything else he’d asked her to do--no matter the language, she knew at any time she could refuse, and the outcome was ostensibly for him. Tucked inside each command was a question--will you take your clothes off? Will you let me feed you? Will you try? Will you let me caress you? Even when she’d touched his cheek to comfort away the look of dismay on his face, it was to reassure him.

  But when she’d inhaled his scent, pressed the skin of her face into the hollow beneath his chin, and closed her eyes to imagine she was safe from everything, cherished, adored... She’d taken that feeling for herself.

  If she was honest, what she really wanted wasn’t a job, money, or a sexual reawakening--it was a partner. What Lisa wanted couldn’t be bought, bargained, or bartered for; what she and Mr. Yamamoto were doing made her no better than a whore, but still felt better than being the lonely sleepwalker she was before. Was she a whore if she liked it?

  Lisa sobbed again, and clapped both hands over her mouth so the children wouldn’t hear; it made her think of the apple, sweet and sour on her tongue, and only made her cry harder.

  Lisa didn’t know what to do.

  She stood in front of her wardrobe, indecisive about everything. If she wore hideous old granny panties and a sweatshirt, that might make this whole problem go away. She could go with her hair pointed in every direction, cheesegrits in her teeth. Perfect.

  No, she sighed, she’d never do that. She was still proud, even if she was taking money for...for whatever, and Lisa couldn’t bring herself to look worse than her best--for her own pride as always, but also, a sly voice stung her, for Mr. Yamamoto as well. Angry with herself, she chose red--bright red shoes with a hot pink underside, red garter belt with sheer thigh highs, red thong panties, red bra, red top. Bright red suit jacket and fitted skirt, everything, head to toe, a bright, blazing red. If her figure hadn’t stayed small in the middle she would’ve looked like a fire hydrant, but she knew she could pull it off. Feeling braver, she went off to work.

  “Hi Lisa!” Chatty Kathy stopped her in the aisle as she walked towards Mr. Yamamoto’s office. “You look really, um, bright today.”

  “Oh, thank you, you know I just wanted to shine today. It’s so pretty outside.”

  “Well you really do,” Kathy said awkwardly, looking around like something was missing. “Shine, I mean.”

  “Thank you,” Lisa said again, and started off towards the office. She was already sitting at her desk when she realized she hadn’t brought in coffee today. It was the first time she’d ever forgotten. “Oh, no,” she said, standing up immediately and rummaging through her purse. “Oh no, oh no, oh no...”

  “What’s wrong?” Mr. Yamamoto look up at her from his desk, concern washing over his face. He stood and started towards her, his eyebrows low, eyes aflame.

  “I forgot to get them coffee,” Lisa said, fluttering around her desk and practically running to the door. “I forgot, I walked in without it--”

  “--Lisa, stop,” Yamamoto said.

  She did, as if his hand were on the brakes. “You don’t un
derstand, if I don’t--”

  “--If you don’t buy them coffee for the first time in four years, they’ll buy their own.” He crossed his arms, his face suddenly blank.

  “No, Mr. Yamamoto, if I don’t--I’m dressing differently, forgetting the coffee, moving in to your office, you don’t know how they talk, the awful things they say about--”

  “--They can say whatever they like, Lisa.” Once again, he looked like an archangel as the liquid sunshine behind him cast his stern profile in gold. “They can make whatever accusations they like to HR, as well, because all of them, every single one, go through me.” She realized he was telling her he would protect her, and it took some of the weight off of her chest. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, putting a finger against his lips as if he were considering something carefully, “have you noticed any correlation between increased kindness and your continued beverage purchases?”

  She took another deep breath. “No, sir.”

  He nodded his head one last time. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, turning around and walking back to his desk. “If it makes you feel better, from this day on you may buy them exactly the same number of coffees they’ve bought you.” He raised his face one last time. “No more, no less.”

  Lisa felt as if she’d been slapped, the epiphany was so blunt. She felt...stupid. Used.

  They’d never bought her a single coffee. They’d barely invited her out to lunch, in four years--they’d never even taken her out for lunch on her birthday.

  Mr. Yamamoto did. Every year. He let her choose any restaurant in the city. Lisa felt her lip tremble; there were too many layers to why she was upset this morning, and too many of them had to do with Mr. Yamamoto--because he wasn’t cruel, or forgetful... Because, when she thought about things in light of what had happened recently, it made her heart seize. “Yes, sir,” she said, and realized she might cry. What was wrong with her? She turned her back to the door and went to go hide behind her desk.

  Before she could find her tissues, he was there. “Lisa,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. I should’ve just let you go.”

  “No,” she said, and to her horror, a tear slipped down her cheek. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Anger grabbed ahold of her and she curled her fingers into a fist. “I think they’ve complained to HR about me before--do you remember--”

  “--What they say has never mattered,” Mr. Yamamoto said firmly. “Not in my office, not on my floor, not in my father’s--which is to say, my--company. They’re here to do a job, which is too much for them most days, and they have nothing on you.”

  “They think you have some kind of crush on me,” she whispered, and it broke her heart to say it out loud. “They think I’m some kind of slut, and that’s why--”

  “--That’s atrocious.” His nostrils flared, and he suddenly looked dangerous. “Have they actually called you names? Is this documented anywhere?”

  “No, no sir, they just...” Lisa sighed heavily. Atrocious. The word was bitter, since he clearly also meant there was no way he could be attracted to her, but she was so grateful to have someone indignant on her side. Atrocious. That’s right. The way they’d treated her had been atrocious. “They imply things. It was another good reason to wear such bland clothing.” She gave him a weak smile, and his face immediately softened. He kneeled down beside her and used a tissue to wipe her face as he listened. “I know you don’t like bright colors, but I always have...I dress as blandly as I can, because it discourages them. They’ve never been blatantly rude to me, for the most part,” Lisa said, getting embarrassed. “They just...They tend to stick together, and it can be hard when I know they...they deliberately exclude me, and judge me for things I can’t help.”

  He watched her face, and she couldn’t quite piece together what she saw on his. Was it pity, or something else? He took a deep breath, and Lisa saw the embers deep in his eyes begin to glow as he looked at her. “Do you know what obsidian is?”

  “A--a stone, sir?” Lisa wasn’t sure where this was going.

  “A very unusual sort of stone, yes. It’s black, viciously sharp, but fragile. Made from magma--scientists call it volcanic glass.” His eyes roamed over her face. “My father’s family is from a place that knows volcanoes. Obsidian is very rare, extremely precious. Singularly beautiful--one could say exquisite.” His breath caught for just a second, and then he was standing up, looking down at her. “When you wear bright colors--purples, yellows, and reds especially--that’s what always comes to my mind. Your skin, in the sunlight, looks exactly like obsidian.” He turned around and walked back to his desk.

  Suddenly, the morning didn’t seem so bad after all.

  Things were quiet until the ten thirty meeting. “Ms. Tyrell,” Yamamoto said quietly, playing with a pair of paper clips in his hands, “I believe you forgot the office order yesterday.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry--” I got so distracted when you were making me come... “I’ll do it as soon as the meetings over.” He simply nodded, bending the slight black metal further apart, and then held up a single finger. One. Lisa gasped--in fear or blind lust, she couldn’t tell. Mr. Yamamoto seemed unconcerned.

  “Your clothing is inappropriate,” he said softly. “I believe we covered yesterday that I find that color on you... Quite provoking.” His eyes left the toys in his hands and lit on her face, and the fire in them almost scorched her. “Take them off. All of them.”

  All of them? Lisa didn’t understand her hesitation; he’d seen enough of her yesterday so that nothing was left to the imagination, surely. Why was this different? He appraised her hesitation and pursed his lips.

  What was it? Lisa knew, then, as suddenly as if she’d been slapped with the words: she already felt naked in front of Mr. Yamamoto. Her emotions were so far beyond her control... If she took her clothing off now, there would be nothing between him and the fact that she was falling in love with him.

  Why did he have to be so kind? Why couldn’t he have simply stayed demanding and distant-- “You’re not doing it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you remember what I said I would do to your clothes yesterday, Ms. Tyrell?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lisa said. “It’s just...” His eyes grew cautious, softer. “I’d like to start with one piece at a time.”

  “One piece at a time,” he said, slowly rolling the words around in his mouth.

  “Yes, sir.” Lisa gulped, and she could tell her hands were shaking. In spite of this, her panties were now so slick with juice that she almost felt uncomfortable, and she readjusted the hem of her skirt.

  “Fine,” he said, watching her. “But I want to supervise you using the new phone protocol at three thirty; all of them are to be gone by then. Understood?”

  “Yes sir,” she said, and gasped again immediately as he raised a second finger. Two. Her panties grew even more damp.

  “Start now. I want...” He licked his full lips, his eyes hungry, and picked up his customary glass of water. There was no lime in it, this time. “Are you wearing panties today, Ms. Tyrell?”

  For some reason, the question made her blush. “Yes sir,” she whispered. Her nipples were so hard in her bra that she saw them through her shirt, tiny traitorous points of excitement, when she looked down at her lap.

  “Start with them.” Yamamoto waited.

  Lisa stood up, trembling. What do you want? She asked herself, taking a minute to really see if she could follow through with this today. What do you want, Lisa?

  Him, she answered, and a ripple of excruciating sadness and desire went through her.

  Too bad. But she could have this, if she wanted; she could have today. It didn’t have to end just yet, and she’d come this far. Lisa could enjoy this last day with him, and then she could quit and begin her lonely life over, somewhere else. Somewhere there were no bewitching, unavailable archangels with rough fingertips and eyes of gold. She carefully reached under her skirt and plucked the straps over her hips, slowly pulling them down. Yamamoto’s glass fr
oze, the ice swirling to the bottom. When her panties fell onto the floor, Lisa swiftly gathered them up and held them out to him by her finger, the red lace so light it weighed nothing. “Sir,” she said.

  He held out his glass. “In here, please,” he answered, his voice edged with restraint. She dropped them, and the sticky cotton that was soaked with her juices flattened on the surface of his water. His lips parted as he stared at her. “Thank you, Ms. Tyrell.”

  “Yes sir,” she stammered, and went back to her desk.

  Every hour or so, he would lift his head from his work and look at her, and every time, she made sure to remove something. The shining suit coat. Her blouse. Her skirt. When she was down to her heels, her hose, and her bra, she felt the same rush of nervousness, and each time she reassured herself. She would tender her resignation at the end of the day. She could enjoy this in the meantime--it’s not as if she could go back and unmake history. Lisa went through this three times, and then it was three twenty five.

  “Ms. Tyrell,” Yamamoto called from his desk. “I want to go through this on my line.”

  “Yes sir,” Lisa said, and began gathering up her papers. The apples gleamed, succulent and stark on the corner of her desk. After a second’s hesitation, she grabbed one and walked towards Mr. Yamamoto’s desk.

  Her heels clicked along; he hadn’t complained about them since the day before yesterday. As Lisa approached, she saw his eyes take her in--her legs, covered in light hose, her bright shoes, her breasts encased in red satin... And her bare pussy. As she walked, air wafted over the exposed lips, giving her a delicious chill that climbed inside of her and wandered up her spine. She felt incredibly care free. His gaze raked over her, the look she was coming to know so well plain before her; his eyes sizzled when they landed on the apple in her hand. “Choose,” he said softly, so she slowly reached behind and unfastened her bra, letting it fall to the floor.