Good Pet

by Jamie Knight

  When I’m not thinking about that, I’m thinking about tackling him in the parking lot and dragging him back to my car. Taking the day off, and talking some sense into him. Convincing him to just drop his position at the office and go work somewhere else. Anything to keep him safe and out of Vanacore’s control and clutches.

  But I can’t. As much as I want to do this, he’s given me an order to stay here. He’s told me to wait until he notifies me. So, even if I want to, I have to obey him. Not only because he’s my boss, but because of the look he had in his eyes — that’s not something I’m prepared to argue with. Or have come back at me, because I may find myself in harm’s way, by trying to keep him out of it.

  So, I wait. And I wait, feeling sick or and more stressed each second that goes by. I send up prayers. Call-in “Favors” with any and all guardian angels I have, begging them to keep him safe. To resolve this situation. Make it go away so that he and I can just get on with our lives together.

  Finally, my phone buzzes with the text from Tommy. It just reads: Not in the office. Must not be here yet. Go ahead and head in. Remember: if your phone rings and you pick up, and there’s no voice on the other end, it’s me. If it’s me, just listen. Take notes of what’s going on, and then go as fast as you can to Kane. Charlotte in HR too.

  My stomach cramps relax from the first bit of his text message, they tighten up again with the second half. He’s brought in the phone again, what I’m supposed to do if there’s no answer from him or if I hear something bad.

  God, help me. And protect him. I admire Tommy for his bravery and bullheadedness. His dogged nature, but it could get him into some serious trouble. Trouble he doesn’t know how to handle, and a situation he can’t control. Thinking this, I crumple up my empty pastry bag and toss it in the seat next to me. I get out of the driver’s seat and out of my car a moment later, feeling even more sick to my stomach.

  I can’t put the feeling into words, but I’m filled with dread. Filled with the sensation of something being “off” this morning, despite the bright colors and calm atmosphere.

  For some reason also, my eyes keep drifting upward, toward the building. Toward the windows on the upper floor, where all the big-shot lawyers work. Though I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, or see anyone observing me, despite the overwhelming sense of being watched that I have, I’m still nervous. I’m feeling compelled to look up there. To study it, even as I make my way into the office and into the building, where my desk and Isabella await.

  As if it’s just me and my unknown “issue” with today, Isabella greets me with a smile. She has boundless energy, despite the dread that’s overwhelming me. I do my best to match her energy and give her some kind of happy greeting, but it feels fake all the way through. Like it’ll just flake off my face any moment. Isabella doesn’t seem to notice though and proceeds to ask me how my weekend was.

  If I wasn’t feeling so stressed and anxious, I would gladly tell her some details. The good ones about me getting to go shopping and all that, but not today. Not now. It’s all I can do to sit down at my desk and try to get to work. To try to keep from throwing up with the first ring of the phone, and every one after it.

  Out of discomfort, or a need to do something (I’m not sure which), I move Dennis’s picture down and away. I stow the whole thing in a drawer. As I slam it closed on him and my growing anxiety, Isabella notices and says, “Dang, Melissa! I guess you sure are over him to stick that boy in there and slam it like that.”

  I answer her halfheartedly. It’s so halfheartedly, I don’t even remember what I say exactly. Just something along the lines of, “Over a lot of things,” before getting yanked into anxiety again with another ring of the phone. I pick up, praying it someone other than Tommy, or silence on the other end.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Tommy

  After sending my text to Melissa, I turn on the microphone/record feature on my phone. After that, I get busy turning on all the lights in the office. But not before setting my coffee and donut on Vanacore’s desk. I intend that to be a temporary resting place, of course. But fate, it seems, has other ideas.

  Before I can move my coffee and donut from her desk, there’s Vanacore. She comes in, just as I’ve finished turning on the last of the lights, and the few other bits of preparation for the start of the workday. She grabs the coffee and donut and starts sipping and nibbling on them.

  I’m staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her, wanting to say something about those being not for her, not an act of kindness toward her, but I can’t say anything. She’s already sipping and eating happily. And she’s also just begun to thank me for getting breakfast for her. “So nice of you, Tommy. So sweet of you.”

  I smile awkwardly through it, knowing I can’t say no. Instead, I have to play along with her — pump up her ego even further. So I say, “Of course, ma’am. You’ve been so kind and nice to me lately” — Vanacore’s eyes catch a glimpse of my new, fancy clothes and widen — “well, I thought I should get you something nice. Get you some breakfast, since you’re always working so hard.” I finish this with the sweetest, most sickening smile I can muster. One that makes me feel like I’m going to have to wash in holy water for how sinful and beguiling it feels.

  Vanacore takes a sip of my coffee and says, “Looking good, Tommy! Those look like nice, new clothes you’re wearing this morning. Are they?”

  “They are,” I say, trying to sound easy and then concerned. Not liking that she’s going to be digging around in there. Praying that she won’t.

  Vanacore just smiles indulgently. Puffs herself up. “You bought those with the bigger, fatter paycheck I gave you, didn’t you, my boy?”

  “I did,” I say, knowing it’s exactly what she needs and wants to hear. Everything has to be about her, or about how much I idolize her, anyway. “I gave some thought to what you said about first impressions and everything, so I figured I had better dress a bit better than I have been.”

  Inside, I’m grimacing and feeling like I’m bleeding out my eyes for having to lie and stroke her ego that much, but it’s unavoidable. It’s part of the game I’m playing with her, no matter how much it disgusts me to do it. After all, lying is probably the least dirty thing I will be asked to do with this mouth before the week is over, given what the rest of my “mission” entails.

  Vanacore eats up the lie I just fed her, looking like it’s sweeter and thicker than the donut of mine she’s just eaten. “Very good! Very good, my boy. Exactly the kind of good behavior I want.” Here, her eyes brighten and fog over. “Especially with all of the other good work I expect you to put in for me this week, to keep getting those kinds of paychecks.”

  To this, I just grin. I make myself blush and look shy and available. “Yes, ma’am.” I make it a point to look down at her crotch. I study the zipper and fabric there as if she’s got a meal I’m really looking forward to eating. I meet her eyes, seeing exactly what I was hoping for: hunger. That particular shine to her eyes, like a hyena in the bush.

  “Are you hungry now?” Her voice is misty, floaty.

  Covertly, I check my pants pocket for my phone. It’s still there. Now I can only hope that the barrier between my phone and this conversation is slim enough to catch some good soundbites.

  “Well, Tommy?” Vanacore asks. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat me?” Whereas her initial question sounded innocent and curious, these questions sound a little crazed, hungry, and intense. As if she might tackle me with one wrong answer.

  I look back up at her, covering the movement of my hand away from my pocket with an innocent, blushing smile. “What would you feed me, ma’am?” I ask, hoping this will get her to say a juicy word. “I haven’t had breakfast, so I want to make sure that I’m going to get full of whatever you’re going to feed me.”

  Vanacore unzips the front of her slacks, and slips them down her hips, quickly followed by her panties. “Me,” she says, cockily. “If you’re hungry little mouth can take i
t.” As she speaks, she pushes her pussy at me. It’s one of the grossest things I’ve ever seen. While I am probably twice as big as she is, her whole stance and energy makes her frightening and intimidating.

  I swallow thickly, trying to play this off as the interested man she thinks I am. “I won’t learn how to eat it if I don’t start practicing,” I say, walking to her and getting down on my knees. As I do, I’m right at eye-and-mouth level with her pussy. Which is already fully wet and red. It’s even dripping a little from excitement.

  “That’s right, my boy,” says Vanacore putting a hand on the back of my head. While she’s done her best to make the gesture soft, the energy behind it is anything but. It’s pure domination masquerading as a gentle thing. Much like Vanacore as a person. A monster, masquerading as a southern woman. “Think of this as practice. Training to be a good assistant.” Saying this, she slowly pushes my mouth toward her. My lips touch her lower lips, getting slimed on by her tip. Something I’m grossed out by, but I have to keep from showing on my face or body language. “Stick out your tongue,” she says. “I’ll do my best not to smother you.” There’s an evil humor in her voice as I open my mouth and fight every instinct I have that tells me to close it and run and lean in to lick her clit. “But I’ve got quite a monster, so I can’t make any promises.”

  As I start to lick back and forth on Vanacore’s big, sour-tasting pussy, I flee in my head to memories of Melissa. Of what our time was like together this weekend. What and why I’m doing all of this for. So I can have a future with you that doesn’t involve Vanacore making everyone’s lives a living hell, I think as Vanacore grabs my hair, and starts rubbing me back and forth on her, barking praise at me. She says what a good boy I am, what a silky, slippery tongue I have. How she’s going to make sure to pay me really well for this good work. How it’s going to turn into lots of good, billable hours for me.

  Over this, I have but one thought. I’m not doing this for you, but for me. For every young man who’s ever been in this position, and never had the ability or strength to fight back. I increase my tongue flicks on her, imagining I’m tightening the noose on her legal career. Enjoy this while you can, fucker. It’s not going to last for long. This is going to be your downfall. Something that’s been a long, long time in coming.

  Under my tongue, I feel Vanacore pulsing. She’s about ready to come. Or will be, in mere moments. She grunts, filling my mouth with sour-tasting pussy juice. I sit away from Vanacore’s pussy, gasping and choking. Not only was her pussy a mouthful, but she unloaded (and practically forced me to swallow) three giant squirts. Which is why I’m feeling dizzy and sweaty and doing everything I can to get away from her before she decides she needs to put me through any more work this morning.

  I get to my feet, feeling like throwing up. However easy I thought this was going to be, or however strong I thought I was going to be able to be after something like this, I’m not. I’m feeling anything but strong or brave.

  “Sorry. Got out of control of myself there for a moment, Tommy,” she says. “I just get like that when I get hungry. When I wait for so long to have what I want, but it was worth the wait, my boy. Let me tell you.” She soothes back her white hair and pulls up her pants. When she’s put it away nicely and securely, she adds, “Don’t want you running to HR with any of this, now. Any claims that I’m being unfair for doing something rough or unwanted.”

  I curse in my head. Somehow, it’s as if she knows I’m recording her. Or her trying to do just that to her. But I can’t let on. I can’t show anything like that on my face.

  I shake my head, clumsily making my way toward the door. “I won’t,” I whisper, opening the door to escape out into the hallway.

  “Good,” says Vanacore, as I hear her settling into her big, swiveling office chair. “I knew you were my good boy that way.”

  I don’t answer her. I just run for the nearest bathroom, hoping I got something worthwhile on my phone from the encounter. And that I can throw all of this up and pretend like it didn’t ever happen.

  In the bathroom, I duck into the nearest stall and throw everything up. Feeling sweaty and weak in the knees, I sit myself down on the toilet after flushing down the contents. There, I check the recording. The quality is good. Amazingly so for being in my pants pocket, though some of it is distorted by the movement of the fabric around the speakers, but it’s better than nothing.

  Satisfied with the quality of my evidence and the pain I had to go through to get it, I spend a couple more minutes in the bathroom trying to get myself together. I splash water on my face, take a few extra deep breaths, and try to come up with what my plan is going to be for the next few days. Until the end of the week, when I plan to bring the evidence to Kane and his crew and put a stop to all this.

  After five or so more minutes of taking care of myself and trying to organize my thoughts, I decide that this morning’s work should satisfy her for at least the next couple of days. She’ll probably want one more. If she does, I’ll make sure that my phone is somewhere else besides my pocket. Perhaps even out and recording. That would be best.

  But I’m going to have to make it sound like I’m one of those guys. One who doesn’t mind performing on camera, or keeping these kinds of things as salacious trophies. My stomach tightens. Curdles again, and I almost go dashing into the stall again, but it passes almost as quickly as it came, and I leave the safety of the bathroom.

  I head back to the office I share with Vanacore, hoping for something to take my mind off of what I just did with my boss. What more she’s going to want with me, now that I’ve finally “give in” to her, her desires.

  ****

  It’s a little after lunchtime (I’ve decided not to go down to the cafeteria for anything to eat after my “breakfast” this morning) that I get anything remotely in the way of good news. Kane calls my phone directly.

  He makes this clear the moment I pick up. “Hey there, Tommy,” he says in his normally friendly and energetic way, “It’s Kane! Kane McKenzie!”

  Silently, I think to myself, what other Kane could there be? But I don’t bother to say anything of the kind. Instead, I say, “Why hello there, Mr. McKenzie!”

  As I say this, I see Vanacore’s eyes bug out. She immediately jumps up from her desk and comes to hover around mine. She whispers at me, “Kane McKenzie? Calling you?” I nod, focusing on trying to hear Kane. He’s begun to tell me something about Melissa. “What could he be calling you about, boy?” Vanacore wants to know, but I don’t have the availability to answer her.

  I politely put up my hand, and try to listen to Kane, “I’m sorry, Mr. McKenzie,” I say, “What?” Out of the corner of my eye, I look at Vanacore. “It’s hard to hear you, sir. Say that again?”

  “Melissa, my secretary,” he says, “you know her?”

  “I know her, yes,” I say, watching Vanacore gesture wildly out of the corner of my eye. She tries to get after me about what’s going on and why she’s being left out of it. So I finally take the phone down from my mouth and say to her, “Something about accounting. Something in regards to payroll.”

  Not the most serviceable lie I have ever told, but with being left out of the conversation, Vanacore’s beginning to foam at the mouth. She looks severely disappointed with this news, which is exactly what I wanted.

  I put my ear back up to the phone just as Kane says, “Well, she’s looking to have some legal representation, and I thought that while you can’t represent her, I thought maybe you could help her organize her case? Her thoughts, and then present it to Vanacore?”

  I have an immediate visceral reaction. Hell no, I’m not doing that. I’m not helping Melissa with her case only to turn around and feed it to this beast. If anyone’s going to represent her, it’s going to be me. I don’t say this to Kane. Both because he is the boss of my boss, and not someone you want to mouth off to, and because my boss is standing right there, waiting for any slip of more information.

  “I’d been worried
about a conflict of interest thing with her seeking legal representation from our office, but since Vanacore maintains some of her own ‘brand’ within our parent company, as do most of the other mergers, I thought it would be some good practice for you,” Kane explains. “A chance for you to really grow and develop. Vanacore had a lot of good things to say about you, Tommy.”

  I put on a smile I’m not really feeling. “I’d love to get some practice, Mr. McKenzie. I’ll do what I can for her,” I say, praying that Vanacore doesn’t ask who or what right now.

  “I’m sure Melissa will be thrilled to hear you are willing to help her,” he answers, and as he does, my stomach flutters oddly. Does he know about us? Have we been that obvious? “I’ll tell her the good news right now,” he says cheerily and hangs up.

  Numbly, I hang up the phone. If he knows about Melissa and me… My eyes dart to Vanacore, who’s still looking for me to throw her a bigger, juicier bone. Does that mean…?

  I’m too scared to finish the thought. Vanacore’s got that look in her eye again.

  “What reason does Kane McKenzie have to call you, Tommy?” She growls, obviously jealous. “He barely calls me, and never about anything to do with accounting.”

  The way her eyes peer into me, my brain is going to scramble the longer I go without giving her an answer. So I quickly move to shield myself with something I hope will help. I say, “He just wanted to congratulate me on my work. He wanted to see if I would be willing to help prepare someone’s case and check in with the billable hours submitted last week.”

  Vanacore licks her lips. “Case? What kind of case?”

  “One he wants me to prepare. Practice preparing,” I correct, “so I can pitch it to you for representation, ma’am.”