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The Festival

By: Maldoror



This article may be published unaltered electronically, or via paper provided it is 'Not for profit'. publication via charging media only with the express permission of the author. No alterations allowed to this document, including this message.

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Ok, now that is over, enjoy!

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Brian Reese hopped on the Boonton train for Hoboken. He had heard that the Cinco De Mayo Festival in Manhattan was exciting and wanted to experience it for himself. The latin music, the food, the women in skimpy J.Lo’ish shorts and tank tops appealed to him. He wasn’t Spanish or Hispanic or the prevailing PR term popular these days – his dark hair and deep set brown eyes spoke of his Middle European decent- but that did not mean he couldn’t enjoy what they had to offer.

Brian was meeting a friend of his that was not Latino either but had more experience with the culture than Brian did. And he spoke Spanish. And Brian figured that an interpreter was an interpreter, and a friend was a friend, and that both properties rolled on in could come in handy.

It was when Brian received a voicemail message from his friend as he left the station that opened into Lower Manhattan that he heard the news: he would be solo in Manhattan at a festival he knew little about because of a problem about which he knew: Car trouble. 

However, it was not as much of a problem as he had thought. He was not a virgin to New York or to festivals in general, and once he was on the main street, with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clamor of hundreds of people walking and shopping and bouncing to drums and a rather silky female singer, Brian forgot all about his friend bent over somewhere fuming over a flat tire.

It was hard for Brian to focus on anything for too long; as soon as something caught his attention, something else would catch his eye. Finding his way to a vendor singing the praises of a long dead Spanish hero, Brian found himself pulled toward the sight of a shirtless man showing off tattoos on his body and those he created on other people that hung as pictures on blocks of wood. (Apparently Foreheads and necks were his preferred choice of medium, with death –usually thin skinned- and women –usually thick skinned- his chief form of expression.) There was the woman selling large embroidered quilts emblazed in green and purple, and the balding, explicitly refined man who offered the only true hair restoration gel in existence with a horse-dung base. “Lather it on the problem areas and you will clamp your feet in excitement.” 

And the food: The air was alive with a mixture of spices, meats, and sauces all designed to entice and attract Brian. He didn’t want to eat so soon, yet he quickly relented to the aroma of fried chicken and rice coming from a small square cubical between a demonstration of a car-wax product and two women in bikinis selling cd’s. A makeshift menu hung slightly askew below one of the flimsy support beams by string. It read in part: 

CHURROS

AORROS CON PULLOS

ARAZCOS

FRIJOLES

He wasn’t quite sure what most of the words meant; The Spanish he knew amounted to what a person could gleam from one year of Spanish in High School, which amounted to “ponga la mesa”, “?donde esta la biblioteca?,” and “su pero esta muy grande.” The curse words fellow students surreptitiously taught him in class would add to his repertoire greatly, if only in whore houses or dark alleys in Mexico. As it was, the only word he was able to surmise was Frijoles - which was close to fries in for, and thus meant fries in function. He was studying the sign – slightly tilting his head to better align to it - when the large man that stood underneath it spoke.

“What are you looking for, friend?”

“Well I’m not sure. Something smells good here, but I can’t figure out from looking at the menu what it is.” 

“You cannot read Spanish?” The gruff man said while scratching his round belly. His shirt, coupled with colorful stains, was worn around his stomach. 

“No”

“Ahh,” the man smiled, scratching away. His eyes glinted for a second and he quickly started talking. “I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I will make you an ‘iro with chicken and a special sauce that will make you think you are in Mexico. Ok?”

“Sure.”

The man went to work and within seconds handed Brian a hero wrapped in tin foil. His grin was larger than before. “You will feel like a true Mexican after you eat this my friend”

Brian thanked him, walked, and took a bite, staying clear of the foil. He bit into chicken, a tangy sauce, some lettuce, tomato, and something that squished and flooded his mouth with hundreds of tiny lit matches that wouldn’t burn out in a vacuum of a closed mouth or to - Brian’s dismay - Pepsi.

He remembered some of the more virulent Spanish curses but they came out as gasps. His eyes welled up with tears. 

Just then a woman’s hand came to rest on his left shoulder, startling him. 

“That guy gave you hot peppers huh? The woman turned to the man who was now scratching his belly under his shirt and shouted in Spanish. The man yelled back and his fingers quickened their frantic pace.

“Common tall, dark and fiery, I can fix you right up.”

Her hand slid down his arm and came to rest on his tricep. Two sensations vied for his attention: the fire in his mouth and the cooling warmth of her skin on his. Brian tried to focus on her but all he saw was a female figure. One that morphed every time he blinked. She brought him over to a vendor and spoke quickly in Spanish to the figure standing there. The figure giggled, and after another few seconds of pain, Brian felt something cold and damp touch his finger tips. 

“Here. Drink this. Milk counteracts spicy food while soda just whishes it around.” He never heard “Whish” sound so sexy before. He quickly wrote it off as the Nightingale Syndrome. He was just in love with his nurse. His protector, his “knight in shining, hip-hugging armor.” He was able to eek out his gratitude.

“That guy’s a bastard for doing that…” she held back a snicker, “but it’s kinda funny seeing your eyes bulge out like a reptile’s”

“Very funny” Brian replied, feeling the milk sooth the heat and pain. First she eases my pain, then she laughs at me? She must be the devil in disguise. He wiped his eyes and saw what she really was. She was smaller than him and he first looked at curly dark hair. It ended shoulder length in coils, like soft ice-cream in a cone. Or snakes that vigilantly slept.

He wanted to touch them. Watch them bounce. Constrict around his fingers in their softness. They framed her beautiful face like cedar wood framed a photograph. Her eyebrows were set above eyes so blue they were almost black. He couldn’t help to think about the movie Dune when he looked at them. He nervously looked away and found his eyes on a tight grey t-shirt that didn’t leave room for a bra. If he were a lingerie salesman, he would not have to use a tape measurer. They were large and full, and he would have given up his friends to caress them and kiss them on the spot. He heard that nipples were unique to the woman that carried them and had different sensitivities accordingly. He hoped hers were very sensitive. The rest of her was full bodied and she was able to carry her breasts well: Full hips and buttocks filled in tight jeans followed by open toed shoes and blue nail polish like the ones wrapped around his arm. 

Brian’s penis pressed against his boxers. He blushed. He tried to turn his leg up and over his hard-on but didn’t want to broadcast this effect to its cause. She moved her fingers, tapping them on his arm, and he snapped his eyes back to hers. If he projected this internal battle outward, she didn’t show it. Her smile expanded and he smelled lavender and spice. He didn’t want her. He needed her. Her presence and touch made his masculinity vibrate and hum like a machine. 

“My name is Marie.” She answered the question drawn by his eyes. 

***

For the next two hours they walked around. They also talked: he of his job, his goals, and what he wanted in 5 years. Of his dog Dizzy; how he loved Metallica and Jimmy Buffet, and how that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. She spoke of her family, her apartment only a mile or so away and of living alone for the first time. The low paying job that she couldn’t, wouldn’t give up because it was so enjoyable and rewarding, and how his job would be better if he treated it like a passion. She loved her cats, and was astonished how they seemed to plan ahead when they attacked each other around corners, under the couch, and around every legged piece of furniture. Her words were melodic, her laughter, applause. He was intoxicated. He tried to get her to teach him some Spanish and purposefully fumbled on the r’s, making Marie roll her tongue and purse her lips repeatedly. `

She made him tell her about skydiving. She hung onto his arm and stared at him when he got to the plane’s platform: “I was scared. Very scared. But then I noticed that if I visualized all my strength, all my courage, rolled it into a ball of energy, and then placed that ball directly in front of me, I could jump. I didn’t jump out of a plane, I jumped into me.” Marie had hung there suspended. She almost tripped when Brian moved out of the way for someone in an electric wheelchair. She didn’t speak until he offered her a sip of Pepsi moments later. 

All this time his erection ebbed and flowed like the tides. It subsided for a while until she strummed her fingers on his back or neck, or would talk of the passion she had for something. 

Brian felt that the feeling was mutual. Marie leaned into his arms and cooed when they looked at ten dollar watches with names like Bovado, Prade, and Timec. She pressed into his arm and his felt that she was hard. When she moved away he felt her nipple run over his arm slightly like a passing thought. He put his arm around her waist and squeezed, then ran his hand up and down her lower back. She smiled back at him.

This is when he felt a drop of water run down the back of his neck. He laughed at himself, thinking that the phrase sweating over someone was now a true statement. Another drop corrected him as it hit him directly on top of his head. 

It began to pour. People ran around, trying to find protectio. Brian enjoyed the sudden excitement and the adrenaline rush it provided. Marie seconded his thoughts and started running along side him, yelping and laughing all at once. 

“Where should we go?” Brian yelled, weaving around those that suddenly got in his way. Marie, holding his hand, lagged slightly behind. 

“I know where to go… Follow me!” She pulled him down one street into an alley, making a hard right forcing Brian to follow suit. Her hand clamped around his, and Brian felt his own hand react accordingly. They slithered around a large brown dumpster and strewn boxes with names like CHANG DYNESTY and COSMOS ELETRONICS. Marie’s fingers etched the brick inlay as they she hugged the side of a building. She stopped underneath a canopy. She leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily, her face turned toward the overcast sky. Brian faced her and placed his free hand close to her side and leaned toward her. His breath came in sharper, quicker, but soon matched hers.

The building jutted out on top and a gargoyle hung overhead, its gaze fixed forever toward the future as Brian’s was now fixed on Marie’s soaked grey shirt. His erection throbbed. 

He felt dizzy. He turned his gaze toward her face. She now looked at the large pole that jutted north toward her legs. She looked up and Brian saw his reflection grow until he was a hair’s width away from her. Their noses touched and she tilted her head slightly, drawing her breath in anticipation. 

He wasn’t about to let her down. The cock that pressed against his shorts demanded what her body now ached for, that filled her eyes with dark lust and heat from within. 

Nothing was said.

His fingers circled hers and pushed against the brick. He ran his tongue over her trembling lips, tasting rainwater and strawberry gloss. His free hand came to rest on her breast. He pushed in, feeling her tenderness mold to his touch. 

Marie moaned. Her legs parted slightly. She opened her mouth and pushed her tongue between his lips; he sucked on it slightly and returned her sounds back into her mouth.

His cock urged him on. It goaded him, talked to him in a language that existed before the first mammals left the security of the small niche afforded by those who shadowed above. It was a language not of things or objects or ideas. It was a language of verbs: touch, caress, suck, lick, fuck. It was syntax free of punctuation for the sentence never ended. It could end only when his cock finished its thought in a climax no exclamation point could emphasize.

Brian’s fingers closed around Marie’s nipple. They formed an upside-down pyramid and slowly revolved around it. He pulled them, squeezed them, and finally pulled her shirt up over her breasts and licked them. Marie pulled his head in and hung her leg over his butt and pawed at his back, fingers alternately squeezing and biting into his skin in tune with his manipulations. He sucked on her nipples, first the left, then the right. His lips popped when he removed them. They began tearing at their clothes like over anxious teenagers new to their overwelming urges.

He leaned, whispering to her in heavy breaths and muffled words audible only to her. She started pumping his cock. There was no priming. He slightly lifted her off the ground and buried himself in her. Marie’s walls gripped him like a vice. Fear entered his mind: Will I ever be free from her? He realized she could effortlessly hold him like that forever.

“Fuck me…Common, that’s it” She grunted to him, grabbing his hips, guiding him in and out. “Common honey, take me. Mmmffff.” She guided him until his body took control. He gripped her arms and pushed them over her head.

That’s it lover, take me how I am.” She balanced herself on her left foot while her right one pulled at his lower back. Her eyes smoldered, quickening Brian’s pace faster, harder, lifting her off the ground with every thrust. 

They didn’t hear the people only a hundred feet away; they didn’t hear the laughter or the music or the vender’s songs of better soap or quicker buffing car wax as rain drizzled down their bodies from fabric holes in the canopy above. The rain struck Marie, ran down her cheek, and followed the impressions in the nape of her neck. It would stop there when Brian sucked it off or it would continue down her breasts to stop on her erect nipples. Finally falling, adding to the lubrication of sex. 

They also didn’t hear the older couple that ran into the alley looking for what Brian and Marie did before falling under their mutual hunger. The couple said nothing but watched for a few seconds, transfixed. The older man leaned toward his wife and kissed her tenderly on the side of her mouth and told her that they should leave these people to their passion. She agreed and they disappeared around a corner. Brian and Marie continued, wisps of mist drafting over their bodies, unaware of their intimate exhibition.

Marie griped Brian’s balls and felt them first expand, then contract, setting off a chain of reaction that would end in flashes of light and energy behind their eyes: Completion.

Brian, first lost in the haze of his Steel cock nestled in her warm softness, became aware of everything around him that was Marie and himself: his Cock and her Pussy; the rain on his back and her fingers alternately draped and clenched on his back and ass; the odor of sex mingled with rainwater and the jasmine; the rays of light that shone on his muscular back and the sapphires that were languidly affixed on his face; finally the need the give everything to her in one last gasp and her utter, complete acceptance of it. 

Marie came first, digging her nails deep into his back - making sure not to draw blood - her walls first tightening around him and then releasing the wetness over his cock and balls. Her spasming grip pulled him toward the cliff that separated being and nothingness. 

Marie felt his need, and in one single movement, broke the bond between them, knelt and swallowed his cock, using her hand to bring him over the precipice. He fell long and hard, pumping five times into her mouth until there was no more to give, and then he kneeled down, drew Marie up against him and held her. He kissed her deeply, tenderly, and then whispered into her ear. Warmly, like a gardener tending to his most prized rose, Brian Reese pressed his hand against that which held him to her moments before.

She came again.

***

The rain stopped, and the sounds of people returned to the streets from under umbrellas and storefront awnings. Sounds of people shouting, singing Spanish love songs and negotiating came back to the festival. Everything bristled and moved again.

Brian and Marie walked back toward Main Street and reentered the crowds unnoticed. They still were within themselves. They did not notice the man who called for them to knock down milk bottles for a lovely prize for the lovely lady or the couple who passed them by with knowing grins. 

“Are all German men as passionate as you?” Marie asked

“I don’t know. I never have been with a German man. I’ll let you know when I have.”

They walked slowly for what seemed like hours down the streets until they came upon a townhouse apartment on a side-street. 

“We are coming up to my apartment” Marie said, motioning toward a window pane that held potted plants, and a brown-tailed cat who playfully pawed at an ant climbing up the glass on the other side.

“Really, oh” Brian replied. He removed his hand from around her and first looked at some children that ran down the street and then drew his eyes toward hers. He remembered her soft lips on his and tried to burn that sensation into his synapses.

“Marie… I … uh” her soft fingers pressed against his lips and he stopped trying to find the words that were lost. She smiled. “Brian,” she said to him “I can’t see you go back home” she looked him over sternly “…all wet and dirty from the rain, and I do have a shower, a dryer…” She leaned in close and whispered “…and a dozen or so walls.” Brian’s eyes lit up and, with her hand firmly replaced in his own, followed her up toward the large cedar door.

The Festival



The festival was loud and beautiful, and so were the guests. Everyone's colors were vibrant as they flowed across the dance floor, gowns and masks shimmering in the torchlight. Villetta moved across the floor like spun silk, her every move graceful and measured, catching the eye of every man and woman alike.

She glanced towards the entrance to see the arrival of even more highly regarded guests. The party went on, everyone dancing and drinking, as the room grew full. 

After at long last the torches began to flicker, Villetta made her way towards the staircase, to make the long climb to her quarters. Halfway up the lengthy flight of stairs, a noise behind her made her turn. Suspiciously she squinted in the dim light, seeing nothing. "Hello?" she called anxiously, "Is anyone there?"

The only answer was silence, so she resumed her climb. A few short seconds later, another noise, more pronounced and deliberate, made her stop.

As she turned again, a surprising blow to the temple made her fall to the uneven floor as she cried out in pain. In seconds, a large framed figure covered her, his breath heavy on her chest. "Hello, princess," he whispered.

She cried out, attempting unsuccessfully to throw him from on top of her. One of his hands moved to encircle her wrists as the other undid the fastenings on the bodice of her tight dress, exposing her heaving breasts. His mouth moved violently to a nipple, tongue working furiously as he sucked and licked. She cried out helplessly as the sensations hatched a warmth in her loins.

The hand that wasn't holding her hostage moved to her leg and up under the skirts of her gown. Moving the smallclothes aside, his hand stroked her with surprising skill and her feeling of anticipation grew even higher.

Giving her reddened nipple a final, painful nip, his mouth moved to her neck, kissing and licking as Villetta tried unsuccessfully to repress moans.

Suddenly, he stood and resumed the climb, dragging the breathless woman unwillingly behind him. However, when they reached the door of her bedchamber, they didn't go inside. He threw her rather roughly against the heavy wooden door and pressed himself up against her. His hands roamed her body freely, stroking her lower back and again torturing her nipples. Her hair was grasped and yanked from behind, jerking her head back. He kissed her neck and chest, running his tongue along her sensitive skin.

Releasing her hair, he pushed the door open behind them and backed her inside. In the light of her room, she could better see his defined features and elaborate clothing. He was rather unexpectedly attractive. She heard a giggle behind her and turned to find a naked girl lying on her bed, propped up on her arm.

He placed a large hand on her chest and shoved her backwards, not too roughly but hard enough that she went sprawling on the floor. Looking up at him with tears in her eyes, she realized much too late that her tower was out of hearing range of any of the guards or her brothers, all of which would be drunk anyway.

He crossed his arms as the girl rose from the bed and padded softly over to Villetta. She removed Villetta's clothing and kissed her beautiful body softly all over. Her mouth lay to rest on her still-red nipple, which she took into her mouth and sucked with quite some force. Her hand, also surprisingly deft, moved to the wetness between her legs, stroking quickly with practice.

Villetta's eyes closed as the pleasure racked her body increasingly. Her hands grasped for something, anything around her. She found nothing but the cold, hard floor.

When she could not hold back the moans any longer, they ripped out of her like wind from the sky, getting louder and louder.

The girl's mouth released her tingling nipple and replaced the hand between her legs. The pleasure was even more intense than before, and it was all Villetta could do to stay conscious, but before her body surrendered to the pleasure, the girl stopped.  

The strange man picked her up and tossed her onto the bed as if she was weightless. Ripping strips of satin from her dress on the floor, he tied her wrists and ankles to the four posts of her elaborate bed, leaving her spread-eagled, naked, and exposed in the center.

He climbed onto the bed and settled himself between her already-quivering legs, lowering his mouth onto her as his fingers roamed the region. Two large coarse fingers roughly pushed inside her as she screamed. She had not yet lost her virgin-blood! She couldn't, not to this stranger! His hand worked in time with his mouth and, after the pain had subsided to a dull ache that almost felt good, she was closer to climaxing than she had ever been before, the moans rising in her throat until she felt she must be loud enough to wake the whole kingdom.

His fingers still thrusting inside her, he kissed his way up to her throat and, after lingering there for a minute, made his way to her mouth. His kisses were now gentle and loving, not at all like she'd imagined. He tasted of mint, and of what she assumed was her.

His fingers slowly pulled out of her and made way for his very large, fully engorged member. She cried out again as he entered her, her aching loins exploding with sensation and pain.

The rhythm was slow at first, until she adjusted to his thickness, and then got faster as her breathing got harder and more ragged. His mouth moved once again to her nipples, alternating between left and right and then returning to kiss her lips once more.

The girl suddenly reappeared, using her slender fingers to pinch and pull on Villetta's nipples. The man's hand slid down to pleasure her as his thrusts ripped at her core. His kissing ceased just long enough for her to whisper, "Don't stop," breathlessly.

The pleasure finally got the better of her as she came, screaming. But the man didn't stop; he kept thrusting and stroking and the girl kept pinching until she came again, and then again, until it was too much and the world faded to black.

The next morning she woke nestled in the strong arms of the tall, dark stranger, surprisingly comfortable, with a feeling of happiness that she couldn't explain. She closed her eyes again and drifted off to oblivion in the arms of her prince. 



The Festival



I was in BrisVegas at the Caxton seafood festival one Sunday a few years back and a builder mate who knows the owner of Casablancas showed me this partially renovated building next door that they own and are looking to sell off an interest in. They were wanting to build a new bar/pub/nightclub. 

Upstairs was all exposed old beams, tin roof - rusty, old furniture and the dirty, old style windows of an 18th century building in an advanced state of dilapidation and partial rebuilding. Through the grime on the windows, which ran to the newly installed upper floor, you could dimly view the street and activity there, while the participants were unaware of your observation. One window at my chest height above the floor was broken and through the shattered glass you could see the festival over the rusty roof of the neighbouring building, the sound of the band loud even up there. 

In other words, the space was erotic as hell. 

I was walking around the space with it's odd collection of old furniture trying to talk about syndicating some investors when I was thinking about taking some very sexy black and white photos of a semi clad and nude female form engaging in some self stimulation, or ideally said model in some mutual stimulation with a partner, of either sex.

So once in this frame of mind, and with one or 2 beers under my belt, I told my wife (lets call her Ro) I had to show her something. I dragged her and a bottle of wine upstairs and once we were up there I think she knew what I had in mind. Ro is a very fit 31 years old, 5'5" blue-eyed Brunette with a tight arse, sensational $10,000 full, firm, thrusting c cup tits with fantastic erect nipples and a dirty mind. Her face is perfectly proportioned and a little reminiscent of Jane Seymour, but with a mischievous cast that always makes you wonder what naughtiness she is contemplating. She is always tanned and keeps her pussy totally shaved except for a little strip above her smooth, bare lips. 

While she was looking out the broken window I started kissing her neck lightly while I stroked her breasts through her tight, stretchy midriff top and then slid a hand up inside to feel her soft skin and delicate lace bra. She turned her head to kiss me and I pulled the cups down over her breasts so I could feel her rapidly hardening nipples. While she pressed her light denim covered ass back against my erection I slid her top off over her head and unclasped her bra. She drops the bra and I have free rein over her naked skin, cupping, caressing and squeezing her full breasts while I was kissing her neck and slowly rolling her nipples which were as hard as hell now. 

So she is leaning there topless with one hand on either side of the window and I slowly undo her jeans, slide a hand inside and feel how wet and slippery she is already. She is gently letting her nipples brush and press into the rough brickwork, enjoying the coolness and texture. My finger slides past her wet lips and up inside her while she moans and her hips begin to grind. I slide her pants down her legs, taking her g-string with them. She steps out of them and there she is, naked but for a pair of strappy shoes, pubes shaved to a neat little strip and lips bare, wet and glistening as I slide a hand up her thigh and slowly insert 2 fingers pushing them up into her deeply while I kiss and nibble her ass. She slid her feet apart a bit and leaned her bare tits into the rough brick, letting it stimulate her sensitive, hard nipples as I slid my fingers in and out of her clasping, slippery pussy, which was getting wetter and warmer as she groaned and shut her eyes, concentrating on the feelings my hand and the cool bricks were evoking. 

I stood up and she turned around and leaned back against the wall as I kissed down the front of her body, sucking her nipples as I slowly fingered her until I got to her inner thighs, kneeling in front of her and then slowly slid a finger into her while my tongue explored her wet folds. She was playing with her breasts with one hand and had the other in my hair. I made her come like that, sucking her clit and fingering her as the sound of the band and a warm breeze washed in the window and mingled with her passionate cries, gasps and moans. 

When she was slightly recovered, she pushed me back onto a dusty old couch, savagely pulled off my clothes and knelt between my thighs to take my throbbing cock into her wet and talented mouth. Ro loves sucking cock, and she matches her enthusiasm with significant skill. I laid back and enjoyed the site of her pretty face and red lips wrapped around my shaft, her blue eyes on my face and her perfect tits bobbing and swaying. When I thought I was getting a little too aroused I pulled her up, told her to lie on the floor near one of the old floor to ceiling windows and masturbate. She loves touching herself, and I love watching her do it. The dirty, smeared windows let a filtered light in to highlight her toned physique. 

So she walks over to the window, tight, bare little ass wobbling tautly and stands in front of the windows with her back to me and feet apart. "I can see out," she says as she leans one hand beside the window frame. "I wonder if anyone can see in." Her other hand slips down her body and I watch her fingers slide between her legs and caress her smoothly shave pussy lips slowly, before her middle finger slips inside as she sighs. "I hope so. I hope they can see me." 

I watch her hips move as her finger slowly slips in and out of her increasingly wet pussy. Then she turned around and with feet slightly apart cupped one breast, squeezing it and pulling on the rock hard nipple while she fingered herself with the other hand, her hips thrust forward so I could see it moving in and out. 

"God, I'm so hot and wet. I love you watching me touch myself. Watch me make myself come." She dropped to her knees, still facing me and leaned back on one hand to arch her chest upward, her thighs apart as she fingered her pussy more quickly, and started to rub her clit. Her body was as taut as a bow and she started sighing and moaning as her fingers rubbed her pussy. Her tits were wobbling tautly and her hard nipples pointed at the ceiling as she started to pant and grind her hips. My view was up along her body as she continued to finger herself and rub her clit, getting more vocal and aroused. Then she lay down on her back in the dust, side on to me, right in front of the old grime covered window. The light is diffused as it falls over her naked form but you can see movement and colour on the street below as her hands begin to roam over her body, her legs falling wide apart and her fingers tracing her lips then slipping past them. She really got into it and was rolling around, getting into different positions at my direction and her initiative to offer me different views of her body, fingering herself, rubbing her clit, pinching her nipples and when she came it was pretty spectacular and noisy. She was lying on her front, one hand around behind her fingering her pussy with 2 fingers as she lay half twisted, one knee pulled up, the other hand down along her front rubbing her clit as her breasts pressed into the dusty old timber floor, her cheek on the floor too, eyes closed, mouth open, arse thrust up and wailing. The fact that I could see people walking around on the street under the window as I looked over her naked, writhing body was a real turn on too. 

So by this time I was pretty right to go and told her I couldn't wait any longer to fuck her. I was about 10 feet away sitting on the couch and she got onto hands and knees with her ass to me and just said "So come and fuck me."

I did of course and it was pretty wild. I had had a few beers so the gentleman known as Marathon Man was "visiting". I fucked her from behind on the floor right there in front of the dirty old window and when my knees got sore I flipped her on top and she rode me to a thrashy, noisy orgasm. I fucked her on the couch with her legs over my shoulders and then I bent her over an old table, stood behind her and fucked her from behind, face down, her sweaty body slipping across it's slightly cracked vinyl surface, her tits pressed outward by the weight of her body as she hung on to the edge to steady herself. The site of my throbbing shaft piercing her pussy lips as I lightly thumbed her puckered arse was fantastic. I turned her over and fucked her on the table face up while pouring cold wine over her tits and licking it off her bullet hard nipples. I fucked her through a number of screaming orgasms and her verbal encouragement was imaginative and blue. 

While she was lying on her back on the table with her legs spread, rubbing her clit and pinching her nipples as my cock slid in and out of her tight, wet cunt, my motion causing her tits to wobble back and forth, I looked up for a second and saw that where the table was had a clear line of site through a side, not quite so dirty window to an office window in the second floor of the Gambaro's building across the street, and an attentive face was watching us with some interest. I told her, without pausing in my rhythm, that we had a fan and she tilted her head further back to look, then gasped "Let him look," so we kept fucking that way for a little while, ignoring our voyeur but getting more worked up because of it. 

Ro really loved the idea someone was watching. I asked her if our perving friend turned her on and she grunted assent. I told her he was probably masturbating as he looked at her naked body and watched her touch herself. She started pulling harder on her nipples. I said he would be stroking his cock watching her get fucked, and she got more worked up. I told her he would probably love to come across the street and stick his cock in her mouth while I fucked her, to see her taking it at both ends, and she went off. While she grunted and cried out, starting to come, screaming and gasping (thank God the band was REALLY loud outside) I told her he would be thinking about fucking her himself, that he would be imagining it was his cock buried in her, pumping in and out of her wet pussy, feeling her slippery heat gripping his shaft and watching it slide in and out. I told her he would want to come all over her tits and face. She really went for it. When I finally came she was on the table on her back, gripping the edge to stop from slipping off, while I hung on to her hips and fucked her like there was no tomorrow, the oblivious crowd below and our voyeur watch avidly through the window across the street, her body writhing, covered in sweet sweat, wine and dust and on the end of my dick. She was screaming, telling me she couldn't, begging me to do something, but never getting past "please" and orgasming again. 

I was about to come as well when she gasps "Come in my mouth – come on my tits like that guy wants to," and drops in front of me and starts deep throating me with enough suction to make me weak at the already exhausted knees. The sight of her nude body squatting in front of me and sucking cock so hungrily, together with the feel of her wet, warm mouth was too much and I exploded as she wanked me with fast hard strokes, making my come spurt onto her face and then on her tits, spurt after spurt. I don't think I ever came so hard in my life, and watching it fly out all over her body as she squatted bare naked in front of me on the dusty, unfinished floor in the semi constructed old building was hot. She started sucking the last drops from me, then gripping the shaft of my still throbbing cock she rubbed and smeared it over her come streaked face and tits, licking it and moaning while she fingered herself and stroked me and rubbed my cock over herself and herself over my cock, smearing the white come around with this amazing abandon. It was so unexpected, the way she rubbed my cock into the come on her lips, face and body, around her rock hard, come coated nipples, over her come smeared cheeks, back down her throat, while she rubbed my juice into her tits with a free hand, wiped clinging dollops of come from her cheek with her fingers then licked it off and sucked them clean and massaged her clit again pushing 2 fingers into her dripping pussy, getting worked up all over again. 

I didn't start to soften and thinking "what the hell?", pushed her on her back and started fucking her tits which were so slippery, getting turned on at the thought of coming all over her again. It was hard to get the stimulation I needed like that so I moved her into the center of the room (where the guy across the road could see us, and he was still keeping a keen eye out) and put her legs over my shoulders and she just went off in that position while I fucked her there on the floor with just a couch cushion under her. I told her our friend was watching again and she grunted out "Can you tell if he's wanking" 

I checked and although he was a ways off and I could only see him from the chest up his right arm was very busy. I said "He is going for it babe." 

She said, "I want to see," so I spun the cushion around 90 degrees so the window was to our side. What followed showed how into the fantasy she had gone. She turned her head, spotted him and grunted, and as if speaking to him went into the hottest monolog I had ever heard: 

"You like watching me get fucked do you? Like a live porno hey. I bet you wish it was your cock in me right now. Can you see my pussy getting fucked?" (Spreads her legs wide and rubs her clit with one hand while pinching and pulling on her nipple with the other.) 

"Would you like to come over here and fuck me too?" (Stretches hands over head, arches back, looking straight at him) 

"Wanna kneel over me with your dick in my mouth, feel me suck your balls, watch my tongue lick your nob and my mouth swallow and suck you? Want to fuck my mouth and watch his cock sliding into my wet, slippery pussy while I squeeze my tits? Watch my naked body take both your cocks while I moan and writhe like a slut?" (She's getting more and more worked up) 

"Do you wanna fuck me from behind while I suck his cock? Bury that thing in my cunt and feel me squeeze it, feel my hot slippery cunt grip your cock while you fuck me! Watch your cock spreading my pussy and push up into my tight slippery cunt as you bury it in me, see it slide up into me, fucking PENETRATING me?! Do you want to hear me beg you to fuck me harder? Watch my body getting banged while you two fuck me faster and harder, tits wobbling, ass shakin', oh fuck yeah, hearing you slapping against me while you fuck me faster and make me scream. Do you want to listen to me slurping on his cock? Should I talk dirty? Would that turn you on? 

As if he was right there doing it she says 'Oh yeah, fuck me harder, your cock feels so good, deeper, fuck me like a slut, I wanna feel your come spurting inside my cunt, come in me. I wanna feel that big throbbing cock blow your load in my cunt'. 

"Do you want to come inside me? Do you want to grind that cock right up inside me and pump your hot come deep in my cunt, or maybe, I bet you want to come ON me, see your come spraying my face and tits, watch me lick your come off my lips."

She asks me to fuck her from behind and kneels facing the guy. As I hang on to her hips and fuck her hard she looks straight at him and plays with her tits with one hand while she talks to him, "Would you like to fuck me from behind like this so you can see your cock inside me, or maybe get in front of me so I can suck your cock. Can you read my lips? Come over here now and I will suck your cock and let you fuck me anyway you want." 

She starts fingering her ass and continues "Want to fuck me in the ass too? That's ok. I love having my arse fucked. You can blow your load deep in my tight ass if you want. It's all slippery from my juice. Push your throbbing cock in there, fuck me in the ass and come inside me. I love it in the ass, it feels so fucking good, do you want to do that? Come on, I'm serious. Get over here now so I can get it from both ends like a slut. Read my lips stud, get over here and put that cock inside me. One chance only. I want to get fucked like a slut from both ends and you're Johnny on the spot. I want two cocks spraying come on me, 2 cocks inside me." 

"He can't lip read," I told her. "If you really want a 3 way, you better wave him over." She asked my breathlessly if I was serious. 

When I told her I was, she groaned "Oh yeah," and, pressing back on me and raising her body up, cupped one breast and as she squeezed her nipple she looked straight at him and with the other hand motioned him that he should come over. He pointed at her and she nodded and motioned again. 

The guy across the street saw his chance and we watched him hurry to the door, buckling his pants as he races to fulfil Ro's invitation. She spun off me and started slowly licking and sucking my cock, with her arse pointing to the stairs he is going to come up. "You really want this?" I ask. She stops sucking me and as I stand up she looks at me and says "Just this once, the wine, the music, this setting, the sex, I may never even want to again, but right now it's turning me on like I can't believe. You sure you're cool?" I nod, "Yeah, same reasons. The thought of watching you getting fucked like a slut is turning me on and I never thought it would. Look at me, I'm hard as a rock. And I was. My cock was twitching and swollen. Ro soaked the festival t-shirt she had bought in water from the old basin and wiped her body off, her skin raising goosebumps at the cold wetness and her nipples contracting further. She looked so hot standing there, naked in the unfinished mess of the old building come construction site, squeezing cold water over her bare skin and wiping her body clean. I was so turned on by what was about to happen. 

Ro was stroking my cock, telling me how she doesn't know if she wants us to come inside her or on her when the guy walked up the stairs and into the room. He was panting lightly and smiling as he saw us. "Ok," he said, "lets get it on!"

Ro turned, gloriously nude, and walked over to him, tits bouncing, ass wobbling tautly. "Oh fuck yeah," he said, "you're even hotter up close," while he pulled his shirt off, she dropped his pants and released his throbbing cock. His hands went to her hair, guiding her mouth as she licked, sucked and swallowed his rigid shaft and throbbing head as he moaned his appreciation. Without saying anything further she pulled him to his knees, dropped to hands and knees and started sucking and licking him as I slipped into her from behind again. 

He looked at me and said, "You're so lucky man, thanks." 

I just smiled and asked Ro "How does it feel babe, 2 hard cocks." 

She was too busy moaning and sucking to answer me. As she was getting more excited she stopped sucking him, slipped off me, pushed him on his back and started rubbing her tits and nipples over his cock while she looked at me and said, "Time to watch a while babe." I sat on the couch and they went at it in profile to me, almost at my feet. She slowly licked and sucked his cock until he pulled her around into a 69. I watched his tongue slip inside her, lick along her lips and as he sucked her clit she repeatedly deep throated him with noisy slurping suction, moaning and groaning the whole time as she knelt over him, grinding her hips onto his face. 

She took her mouth off his cock long enough to scream "Oh FUCK!" and come again, panting, crying out and moaning, as she wanked him rapidly, her hand flying up and down his shaft. 

His hips started to pump upward and he cried out "I'm gonna come!" so she started sucking again, drawing him into her mouth. 

Then resumed wanking him as she said, "Do it, come on my tits!" He gasped one last time and then cried out gutturally, his mouth centimetres from her pussy lips, as she directed a hot, powerful stream of jism onto her chest, spurt after spurt, then rubbed her tits across his throbbing cock in abandon, smearing his come over her skin. 




The Festival



Then she spun around, straddled his prostrate form and impaled herself on his still hard cock, sitting upright and beckoning me over. As she sensuously felt her own body with one hand and ground her hips onto him, his cock buried up inside her, she took my shaft in her hand and started sucking my cock, saying "I want them both. Don't you go soft," she told him, "You're not done yet. Both of you fuck me on the table. One at each end." So we did. She lay on the table on her front again, him between her legs and me at the front. She used the table basically to hold herself up. I could see his cock sliding in and out of her as she sucked my cock and she was going off, absolutely abandoned to the moment. 

With unspoken consensus we flip her over to her back, and her head hangs down over the edge of the table. I move between her legs and he slips his cock into her mouth as we rock her body again, the music pumping up from the street below and mingling with the sounds of our passion. We move onto the couch with Ro lying on her side, his cock in her mouth as he kneels on the floor by her head. I lift her leg over my shoulder and plunge my rigid cock into her hot, slippery pussy. With one hand she runs her fingers over her clit and as I fuck her harder and harder she gasps and moans around his cock while he fucks her mouth. Her body is writhing and slippery with a sheen of sweat as her tits wobble and bounce. Then she gasps "When you come you better come on my tits." 

He said "I'll come wherever you want babe." 

When I hear her shrieking with her mouth full of hard cock, another powerful orgasm ripping through her, I can't control myself any longer and as I groan gutturally and lunge into her, come spurting deep inside her pussy, the passion at the other end spills over as well. He is squeezing her tits, pulling on her nipples and fucking her mouth and then boom, he pulled out and sprayed all over her tits, neck and face. She then rubbed his cock all over her face, neck and tits, slowly wanking him as the last drops oozed out and dribbled onto her lips and tongue while she was lying there moaning and gasping like a landed fish, one hand between her legs, rubbing her clit and feeling where my cock was still in her pussy, covered again in come, sweaty and a bit grimy. He kneeled there above her face and she sucked his cock slowly, deeply, took it deep in her mouth, down her throat with her lips wrapped around it, and as I watched her rub the second load of come into her tits her eyes were closed, she was moaning and sucking his softening cock and it was amazing. We slowly come down like this, my cock slowly deflating in her pussy, her body relaxed now, splattered with come, another softening cock in her mouth, satiated, and a little amazed.

After he left we used the shirt again, cleaned up, got dressed and went back down to the festival. We went upstairs at 2.30 pm and got back down at nearly 5pm. Crammed quite a bit into a couple of hours.



The Festival



"Fionaaa! Please hurry! We'll miss the opening ceremonies!"

Daubing a final coat of rouge on her nipples and labial lips, Fiona ran to the doorway where her sisters were waiting as the shuttle glided to a stop and they scurried on board and found seats. This was her first Festival since reaching the Age of Consent when she could be a participant and not an observer. The shuttle was filled to capacity with women all gossiping and chattering with excitement in anticipation of the forthcoming events.

When the shuttle stopped at the Festival grounds, she and her sisters linked arms and strutted proudly onto the field. Since she was the tallest, Rachel was in the center, hips swaying and firm breasts bobbing, proud and confident in her beauty. To her left, Angela and Rebecca strutted along, caroling the Song of Welcome in loud, clear voices; to her right strode Violet and Fiona, flaunting their charms in unabashed pleasure.

'It feels wonderful being without clothing' Fiona thought. She felt so proud being with her older sisters, knowing they all had inherited their mother's looks and body; that she had been Festival Queen for five years running before retiring to raise a family gave the women even more confidence.

They reached the center of the field and joined the other women forming the Circle of Acceptance, the scent of female arousal wafted over the stadium as trumpets heralded the Entry of the Bachelors.

As they marched onto the field, the men began to flex their oiled bodies in anticipation of what was to come. Many were already fully aroused, their manhood bobbing before them as the women watched with growing excitement.

Fiona's sisters had told her repeatedly of the many sensations she would experience in her first Joining, but she could not help but feel a thrill of fear at the sight of the randy males, wondering which one would choose her for their Festival Mate. Following her sisters directions, she had lubricated herself for ease of entry and could not resist teasing her clitoris until she experienced an anticipatory orgasm.

As the men drew near, they began chanting the Homily of Acceptance as they encircled the women who were whispering excitedly among themselves. Fiona shivered as a tall young man of her own age began eying her with interest and she wondered if he would fit inside her. Had she performed enough strengthening exercises? Would it hurt as some of the older girls in her class told her it could?

Then the dancing began and her fears were carried away on the music. The flutes trilled, the lyres strummed and the drums thundered as she and the other women capered and twirled, leaping high and pirouetting before their potential mates who murmured among themselves admiring the women's charms on such wanton display.

A final rumble of drums and a clash of cymbals signaled the end of the dance and the trumpets blared once more. The women's bodies gleamed with sweat and the scent of their arousal enveloped them all like a cloud. Trembling in anticipation, they stood motionless as the men passed among them, caressing their bodies and smiling as they made their initial choices.

Fiona sighed as the young man who had been studying her earlier stopped before her speaking the Words of Greeting. Her voice quavered as she replied with the Hymn of Acceptance and they embraced. They kissed tenderly then sank together onto the soft grass and she opened herself to him.

He entered her gently and it barely stung when he breached her maidenhead and they began their mating in a smooth rocking rhythm. Fiona wrapped her arms and legs around his muscled body as he thrust deeply into her as she gripped him tightly savoring each shock and thrill of pleasure. Grunting and moaning in a frenzy of passion, they became as one, their bodies slapping together as she matched him thrust for thrust. It was more wonderful than she had ever dreamed and she briefly wondered if her sisters were experiencing the same ecstasy she was feeling. His hips churned as he buried himself in her warm depths and she felt as if she was floating on a fleecy cloud. He began to shiver and she knew he was close to cumming. She had already had one orgasm, but she knew she would have another when he came in her. Crying out in their joy, they came together and remained in an embrace, breathing heavily as they recovered from their exertions.

She moaned in delight as he bit her neck, leaving his mark for all to see. She would mate with others, but at the end of the day she was his if she would have him. She answered with a bite of her own on his neck and he hugged her tightly in thanks.

He helped her to her feet as the music began again and they smiled at one another before separating for the second Choosing. The sun was low in the sky when the Festival came to an end and the participants left the field. Fiona was sore and exhausted, but happy when Randall scooped her up in his arms and carried her triumphantly away to his own bower in the forest. Fiona snuggled against his broad chest and thought he had the most magnificent horns she had ever seen on a male.

Hooves crunching on the carpet of fallen leaves, Randall laid Fiona gently onto the grass mat he had woven and they kissed. Her pink skin, full breasts, flared hips and long legs captivated him and he thought she was the most gorgeous Nymph he had ever seen. She gazed at him adoringly and thought his broad chest, muscled arms and hairy flanks made him the most handsome of Satyrs'. Soon he would play his pipes, she would dance for him in the moonlight and they would make love until dawn.

End.



The Festival



Author's Note: I am making fewer mistakes. Tim413413's life as an editor is getting easier. Of course, he may just be fixing the blatant errors without telling me. I prefer to think I am growing as a writer, so keep it to yourself Tim. And my thanks as always.

*****

The Festival 

I was already tipsy. The rum was well disguised in a slurry of tropical juices. We started with an orange-pineapple-coconut concoction a little before ten. Now, barely noon, everything was wonderful. I thought I would regret my girlfriends talking me into this trip. Now, I loved them both. We were the three amigos. 

Sandra was the adventurous one. She dreamed up the kinky adventure, booked the airlines and ocean-side villa. She always wanted to push the envelope to see how far we could spread our wings. She wanted to fly, and I was an official member of her flock. 

Kendra had a multiple personality disorder. When she was working, Kendra was a straight-laced accountant with starched underwear. She gave one word answers, and they were always correct. She looked more like an evil school teacher with a ruler always within reach. When she was off the clock, the mask was removed and a vamp emerged. It was an amazing transformation. 

I was the shy one. Well, not shy, but more the follower. I didn't have Kendra's cleavage or Sandra's bubbly, driving force. If three men vied for our attentions, I was the consolation prize. It didn't bother me. I fed off their energy. Without the pulling and cajoling, I would have spent my vacation at home with a good book. It was so much nicer practicing to be an alcoholic on the beach. 

Sandra had talked me into a bikini. I had never worn one before. My tummy wasn't the favorite part of my body. I had a small pooch, and was reluctant to share it with the world. Sandra enlisted Kendra to outvote me. I conceded to the peer pressure, finding a bright green two piece that at least covered most of my ass. 

"It's sexy," Sandra said and smiled when I came out of the dressing room. I stood before the mirrors, shifting my hips to see my backside. The basics were covered, which was a good thing. I was glad I shaved before we flew down. My dark red hair would have looked nasty sprouting out of the green. My tummy protruded, but less than I imagined. I had envisioned it hanging over like walrus blubber. I actually did look sexy. Maybe it was the rum-filtered mirrors fooling me. 

"It looks good; buy it," Kendra said. I always ignored her advice on clothes. She didn't need to worry about anything below her chest. Men never looked lower than that anyway. I straightened the top, tucking what little I had deeper into the cups. The fabric was thin. It was a good thing the temperature hung around the mid-eighties. The air conditioning was already doing a number on my nipples. 

"Should I?" I asked Sandra. She smiled again and nodded enthusiastically. I felt her excitement. The rum was excited too. It would be the most naked I had ever been in public. The thought earned me my own smile. It felt so provocative. It was only for a week. Let loose - go for it; I deserved to be wanton. Key West had me in its thrall. I bought the bikini and a short, translucent wrap I could wear if my courage faded. Backup plans are important for brave chickens.

Lunch was a fun affair. We found a restaurant in an old house on Duval Street. It had most likely been someone's summer mansion at one time. It was a light grayish wooden structure with bright white trim and accents. It fit well with palm trees that surrounded it, almost as if it had grown there as well. I had the blackened shrimp wrap which I needed desperately to soak up some of the alcohol. Sandra bought a trio of rum runners to make sure we stayed well plied. She said she had a surprise of us. The look in her eyes meant I probably needed more liquid courage. 

I loved sitting back with no work gnawing at my heels. The conversation was humorously racy and so much more enjoyable than the past year had been. I really needed this vacation. Work was basically hell. About a year ago, I made a decision I regretted. HR had asked me if I wanted to move up to a new position with better pay. I jumped from a general secretary in a pool that handled multiple account reps, to a personal assistant to a full partner. One of the most successful partners. I was told he was difficult, a warning I ignored when they offered a twenty-percent raise. 

Timothy Griffin did not smile. I learned that the first day on the job. He burned through assistants at an incredible rate. I lasted the longest when I had my eight-month anniversary of service to his royal highness. He always frowned when he walked in and was frowning when he left. He worked a horrendous number of hours and generated large revenue for the brokerage house. Every dollar he earned cost me a small part of my happiness. Nothing I did was ever right. He was simply a nasty, unforgiving and exhausting man. 

Mr. Griffin, to call him Tim or Timothy would generate a trip to the unemployment line, had a way of criticizing that would tear at your soul. It wasn't just a mistake - it was an error that only the lowest form of imbecile would make. He corrected my wardrobe, making me spend that raise on clothes that he approved of. Skirts of certain length, blouses closed with a scarf and shoes of an exact heel height. He had approved color schemes I could not deviate from. Image was everything to him. I was made part of that. 

I never met anyone who would call Griffin a friend and he certainly had no romantic entanglements. I scheduled all his appointments and booked many dinner reservations for one. He didn't seem to care about the rest of the world. It was all beneath him. I was lower than that, the part of the world he could control. The rest of the office took pity on me. At least that brought me the cooperation I needed to avoid many of Griffin's scoldings. This sunny intermission was a necessary breather. No stiff black pinstriped suit to set my nerves on end. 

"So what's the surprise?" Kendra asked Sandra. 

"You'll see." Sandra smiled. "And no chickening out." She meant that for me. I took another sip of my rum runner. 

"You do it, and I'll do it," I said boldly. In another week I would be back playing slave to an asshole. This week, I was going to absorb Sandra and become fun. Rum was a good motivator - so pliable with its sweet, racy promises.

We were looking forward to the Fantasy Fest parade that night. People-watching at its best. I had never been to anything like it. Sandra had tried to talk me into Mardi Gras a few years back, but I chickened out. Not this time. Not after a year of Timothy Griffin. Deep inside I wanted to let loose, throw my inhibitions to the wind, grab my inner strength and enjoy everything. 

The sun was magnificent. We walked down the street looking in windows and absorbing the warmth. It was getting cold back home, but not here. This was shorts weather. The sun's rays lightly baked my arms and legs, almost a caress and not strong enough to generate sweat. A wonderful, comfortable warmth.

Sandra knew where she was going. We followed at a leisurely pace. We talked about Kendra's lost love, Kenny. He had almost been perfect. Her eyes swooned as she hinted about his prowess in bed. He was a really good looking guy, not that you would expect anything less for Kendra. I harbored dreams about him that I kept to myself. Kenny's big mistake was not knowing when to turn off the charm. He flirted constantly, which Kendra initially tolerated. She was secure enough to survive the flirting and even enjoyed the envious eyes of Kenny's targets. He just overstepped when he flirted with someone at Kendra's office. He never understood her dual personality. Kendra laid down the law and Kenny bailed. 

I had no such lost love. My affairs had always been brief things, none lasting more than a month or two. The men I attracted seemed to never understand me. What made it so difficult was that I also didn't understand me. I never felt truly comfortable in a relationship. The boundaries were undefined, my shyness always interfering with how I thought things should be. I would follow along at first, quickly tiring of the man's lead and not knowing how to grasp it for myself. It was all one-sided, tilting the wrong way. 

It wasn't that I didn't like the sex. It was pleasurable. It just wasn't everything. I listened to Kendra talk of her dalliances, the way she almost shivers as she describes the feelings. I found sex enjoyable, just not exceptional. I was sure I was doing it wrong. Kendra certainly knew how to do it right. At least she talked a good game, and her partners were always smiling. 

Sandra pointed down the street to the left when we reached a corner. We headed west, past an ugly light-blue building, dodging the crowds the festival attracted. Key West seemed to have a lot of dropouts. People who looked like they didn't reside on planet earth. We had to split up for a man, dressed in an old poncho, who was straddling the whole sidewalk as he walked. Shifting his weight left and right in a most inefficient manner. Kendra laughed when we met back up behind him. 

"That's your next conquest," Sandra said to Kendra. That brought an inebriated smile to my lips. 

"I thought you had the poncho fetish," Kendra joked at Sandra. 

"I think he was naked under there," I added. They both looked at me like I was a perv. Then started laughing when my face flushed. Sandra's eyes became serious as she read the address of the pink building we were passing.

"Here we are," Sandra said excitedly. She grabbed the door and opened it for us. At first I thought it was a tattoo parlor. I was about to renege on my you-do-it, I'll-do-it statement. I looked closer at the pictures lining the walls. It wasn't tattoos - it was paint. Body paint. The artist was very good. There were cat faces, eyes that looked like sunrises and other carnival-like art. A whole section was devoted to super heroes, a Green Lantern with good abs looking especially nice. 

What I thought were costumes, at first glance, were not. A lot of the pictures showed people painted from head to toe. The pictures were more shocking than I had first thought. Wonder Woman cast a whole new impression. 

"Face painting?" I asked with a hopeful smile. Sandra's eyelids flickered high. 

"You dirty girl," Kendra said with one of her vamp smiles. 

"You must be the Peterson party," a man said as he walked through a curtained doorway from the back. He was older, his brown hair speckled with gray. His skin was leathery from years in the sun.

"Yes," Sandra answered.

"Come on back," the man smiled. Laugh lines burst on the outside of his eyes. "I have another appointment right after yours, so we have to move quickly." I obviously hadn't had enough rum. I was scared to death. Sandra grabbed my hand and pulled me into the back. Kendra followed willingly. 

The paint studio was an organized mess. A long canvas had been hung from the ceiling in one corner and continued folded along the floor. It was dusted with many different colors, like it had been backstopping paint for years. A compressor was under a table next to the canvas. The table held a myriad of white, plastic containers. Paint, I suspected. The man flipped a switch, and a series of bright lights illuminated the canvas. I took a deep breath. 

"Did you have anything particular in mind?" the man asked Sandra. Sandra, without hesitation, moved onto the canvas and removed her t-shirt. 

"I heard you were the best, Carlos," Sandra complimented, "I leave it to you." She unclasped her bra and handed both items to me. My eyes were wide, my hands shaking as I accepted her clothes. Carlos walked up, without reservations, and examined Sandra. Sandra was smiling at me. She knew this would be pushing my limits. I jumped a bit as Carlos reached up, and tested one of Sandra's breasts. It wasn't sensual, just clinical. I assumed he was checking firmness, and how it would take the paint. 

"Flowers," Carlos smiled and turned to the table and pulled some of the paint containers forward. I looked back at Sandra's chest and didn't see anything flower-like. Her breasts were bigger than mine, but nothing like Kendra's. I was nervous for Sandra since she didn't seem bothered at all. Carlos tied an apron around Sandra's waist to keep paint off her shorts. 

"Do you have any pictures or samples?" Kendra asked Carlos. There was excitement in her voice. She harbored none of my inhibitions. 

"Those books over there," Carlos said, pointing over his shoulder. "The green folders contain chest and face. We don't have time for the full body, so skip the red books." Kendra moved quickly. I stood, still shocked, holding Sandra's bra and t-shirt. Sandra's eyes were laughing at me. 

Carlos went to work. His hands moved with practiced precision, never seeming to waste a single gesture. The compressor was louder than I had expected, eliminating comfortable conversation. Quickly, both of Sandra's breasts became red roses. Carlos switched between paints constantly, rarely touching Sandra's skin. Below the roses, he sprayed stems, then grew them up through her cleavage to add accent flowers above her breasts. He painted a red ribbon below her breasts to hold the stems together. Carlos smiled when he added a small white tag hanging off the ribbon. A note card that simply said 'Love.' It was a beautiful bouquet. I wanted that. I should have gone first. 

"Let that set for a moment," Carlos said after he turned off the compressor. "I'll apply a clear coat later to make it more durable." He untied the apron from around Sandra.

"It's beautiful," I said, sounding more awestruck than I intended. Carlos smiled.

"He's the best," Sandra repeated. She stepped away and walked to a full-length mirror in the front corner of the studio. "Can I touch it?"

"It's best to wait for the final coat," Carlos said. "It's durable, but why take chances?" Sandra nodded as she admired his work. 

"Who's next?" Carlos asked, looking at me. Kendra jumped ahead with one of the photo books. 

"This," Kendra said, pointing at one of the pictures. Carlos looked from the picture to Kendra's chest. 

"I'll have to modify it a bit, but it should work," Carlos said, as he pulled the album away and set it on the worktable. He gestured for Kendra to disrobe. Kendra handed me her t-shirt, followed by her bra. It was amazing how much her bra shrank her chest. It was a wonder she didn't have constant backaches. Carlos reached out and examined her breasts briefly, then loaded one of the paints in the sprayer. He put the apron around Kendra and fired the compressor back up. 

I watched Carlos go back to work. It was amazing how unerringly he created art. He had Kendra raise her breasts so he could paint underneath, making sure no breaks in the paint would exist to detract from his art. He examined the beginning of his work with a thoughtful pause. I saw him smile and reach for the compressor off switch. 

"I could do it like Minnie with hands like Mickey's," Carlos said to Kendra.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Kendra said, her smile matching his. The compressor went back on, Carlos switched colors and went to work. His confident talent continued to amaze me. Sandra relieved me of the t-shirts and bras I was holding. 

"What are you going to have done?" Sandra said into my ear, over the noise of the compressor. My turn was coming up. Carlos's work was excellent. My apprehension was replaced with anticipation. 

"I don't know," I mouthed through the compressor whine. I moved to the table with the samples. A lot of the samples seemed to demand fuller breasts. I had to find something that would fit my chest. I quickly scanned some of the designs on male bodies, and discounted them as too manly. I wanted something akin to the flowers. My face warmed as I realized I was excited about spending the evening topless. It was so not me. 

There were a lot of designs that were, well, designs. Psychedelic patterns with funky blending of colors. They were interesting, but not lovely like the flowers. There were comical ones, tits painted into headlights attached to a Volkswagen beetle. There was one where the breasts were painted like many - faceted dice, the number twenty at the nipples, with the words 'All Natural' painted below. I didn't understand that at all. Many superhero, lacy bra, bikini and torn t-shirt types. Nothing that really jumped out at me. I wish I would have gone first and gotten the flowers. 

I turned from my fruitless search when Carlos shut off the compressor. Sandra was laughing, and Kendra was all smiles. Carlos had painted a red shelf bra with white polka dots on Kendra. He added some sexy lace trim and an large bow of the same color scheme. The shading made the bow look almost real, the ribbons floating above her tummy. Her breasts had two comical white cartoon hands, one grasping each breast. Three fingers with the thumbs covering the nipples. I was sure Walt was rolling over in his grave. It was scandalously adorable. 

"Did you find anything?" Carlos asked. Kendra moved over to the mirrors, admiring his work. 

"Um, not yet," I responded hesitantly and went back to the books. Nothing looked like me, or the me I wanted. 

"You could always trust me," Carlos stated. He sounded like he was in a hurry. I wasn't sure if I wanted a drive-thru paint job. 

"I trusted him," Sandra added, moving toward me. She leaned into me. "He is the best." I sighed. There was nothing in the books that came close to the flowers. 

"Okay," I capitulated softly. Carlos smiled again, obviously trying to sooth my apprehension. I removed my shirt. Hesitated, then removed my bra. Goose bumps rose on my arms as Carlos examined his canvas. His head tilted this way and that; I could almost see his brain churning. Finally, he looked up from my breasts, deep into my eyes and smiled. I was suddenly uncomfortable. I was naked from the waist up, and it was his look that bothered me. 

Carlos covered my hips with the apron and pulled forward a bunch of different colors. He sporadically looked back to my eyes. His intense gaze was nerve-wracking. If Sandra and Kendra weren't there, I would have run. Not that I could accurately define my perfect mate, I just knew Carlos wasn't close to it. 

"Put your arms behind your back," Carlos commanded. I did. More exposed. His eyes kept digging into mine. The compressor started and he began. The paint slightly tickled at first, before I got used to the sensation. He was spraying quickly, his hands moving in practiced motions, his eyes moving rapidly between my chest and eyes. 

I closed my eyes to avoid Carlos's eyes. He stopped painting. I opened my eyes to see if he was done. His eyes were waiting for mine, more intense than before, with a smile added. I was running dialog through my head, kind ways to put a man off. He was too old to begin with. I had no interest in moving to Key West and becoming a body painter groupie. I wished he would stop looking at me. 

I sucked in my tummy when Carlos's spray hit it. It surprised me. He paused a moment to let me relax and then continued. He continued his brief flirting, eyes on mine matched with a little smile. I knew Sandra saw it. She was watching Carlos like I was her little sister. Strength from her would make leaving quickly easier. 

A woman walked in, more Carlos's age. Her tanned face had the wrinkles of a sun worshiper. Her eyes were carefree, little balls of happiness. She moved like this was her place, not like his next appointment. She stood behind Carlos, looking intently at my chest then lingered on my eyes and then back to my chest. She bent down. Carlos noticed her and they shared a quick smile and a brief kiss. She held up the a bag of take out, obviously used to not fighting the compressor with words. Carlos nodded and she left after taking a quick look at Sandra's and Kendra's art work. Wife was my guess. So why was he back in my eyes?




The Festival



Carlos finished and turned off the compressor. He stood back admiring his work. 

"Oh my," Sandra said, staring at my chest. I moved quickly to the mirror. Carlos had created a pair of beautiful eyes using my small breasts as the center of each. Seductive eyes over a partial rendition of a soft nose, mostly just the bridge. Soft eyebrows, sensual lashes. I didn't know how comfortable I was walking around with eyes. 

"Eyes!" I said, some of my apprehension coming through. 

"Honey, those are your eyes," Kendra said smiling. Can't be. My eyes aren't that sexy. 

"You should sign that one," the woman yelled from the front of the store. I looked at my eyes then back at my chest. I couldn't see them at the same time. I looked desperately at Sandra. 

"They're beautiful," Sandra sighed. She wanted my eyes; I wanted her bouquet. I turned sideways to the mirror. My green irises protruded slightly from my chest. It was a surreal vision as I turned back. Unblinking bedroom eyes. 

"May I sign it?" Carlos asked. The woman came in from the front of the store. 

"He doesn't sign many," the woman said as way of a compliment, "he only shows off his best." Some of my reservations were flying away. Somehow the signature made me feel better about it. My eyes aren't that pretty. 

"Okay," I smiled. I moved back to the canvas. I saw a small spark of jealousy from Sandra and I liked my eyes even more. Carlos fired up the compressor again and a minute later I had Carlos H signed in the lower left, just above the pants line. It was then I realized I wouldn't be fending off unwanted advances from Carlos. His interest was strictly art. He was giving me a sly smile as he winked and put his hand around his wife. Art and teasing. I smiled brightly back.

We left after our sealing coats dried. Sandra and Kendra walked out of the shop boldly topless. I stalled for a moment, glancing through the windows. People were everywhere. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and followed. When my eyes opened to the afternoon sun, the world did not end. Sandra and Kendra were waiting with horribly teasing smiles. I laughed, a topless laugh that moved more parts than had moved in public before. They created a spot between themselves, a place they knew I would want. Unnecessary fear needed a fearless buffer. I quickly filled in the slot, absorbing their strength. 

We owned the sidewalk. I went from embarrassed to willful exhibitionist in the space of two blocks. It was freeing. People I didn't know, and would never see again, gawked with wide eyes. Men with plastered smiles, women with a mix of shock and envy. We passed other painted people. Few had works of Carlos's caliber. Pride cloaked me. I tugged my shorts slightly lower to better emphasize the signature. 

"May I?" an older gentleman asked. He was pointing at his camera. I was in a euphoric haze and answered yes before Sandra and Kendra even processed the request. I dropped my bag, wrapped my hands around Sandra's and Kendra's waists. A second later, we were digitally frozen with silly smiles. 

"That's going to find the Internet," Sandra said, poking me in the side. I hadn't thought of that. I shoved it aside. I wasn't going to let the future ruin today. Besides, it wasn't exactly illegal. At least I didn't think it was. They would have to arrest half of Key West if it was. 

"Then we're going to need more drinks," I announced. Kendra laughed. We continued to the beach house to drop our extraneous clothing and packages from the morning of light shopping. I spent some time in the bathroom straightening my hair and fixing up around my eyes - the real ones. I was anxious to get back out again and show off. I wasn't quite sure why I enjoyed it so much. It wasn't a sexual feeling, more a sense of power. I felt stronger inside and I liked it. Timothy Griffin be damned. 

We headed out again with the goal to find food and drink. There was no hesitation this time. I was out the door first and no longer needed to be between Kendra and Sandra. We bounced our way down the street. We posed for more pictures, dodged some seedy requests and laughed. The crowds slowly increased as we neared Duval Street. We were not as unique as I had first thought. No matter, I was wearing a Carlos original. At least I was impressed with myself. 

We were able to squeeze into a patio bar. It was a timing thing. One couple left, and we just sort of slid in. It didn't look like we would be able to get in for a sit-down dinner. The whole world had shown up sometime after lunch. We feasted on appetizers washed down with frozen margaritas. There was guy behind the bar who was doing nothing but margaritas. They disappeared as fast as he could crank them out. One hell of a party. 

"That's beautiful," a man dressed in some kind of Great Gatsby getup said. Black shirt, fat white tie and topped off with a white fedora trimmed in black. His eyes were directly on my breasts. The margaritas were strong. I arched to display my second set of eyes better. "Carlos signed it?"

"Yes," I said proudly, thrusting the signature out. He was kind of margarita cute. "It's an original." 

"You should be out on the street," the man commented, waving his hand along the avenue, "the world needs to see it before it disappears." He looked up into my eyes, "Carlos sure knows how to paint." He had a kind smile. 

"I'm Sandra," Sandra said. Big sister to the rescue. I wasn't sure I wanted to be rescued. "And you are?"

"Doug...Doug Fuller," he answered. His eyes moved to Sandra's chest then widened on Kendra's. Kendra laughed at the attention. Doug flushed and tried desperately to keep his eyes up. 

"This is Victoria and Kendra," Sandra said, making Doug fully aware I was not alone. I wasn't sure I needed the protection. I knew I didn't need Kendra's breasts butting in. 

"These are all Carlos's work?" Doug asked. His eyes once more surveying the art. It was a license to stare at our tits. 

"Yes, they are," Kendra replied. She raised her glass and sucked up some of the green slush into her mouth. 

"Simply beautiful," Doug repeated, "you interested in being in the parade?" 

"Hell yes," I answered loudly. I couldn't believe it came out of my mouth. A few hours ago I would never have considered it. Now all I wanted to do is show off. I wanted to be in the center of the party. I felt Sandra elbow me lightly. I was moving too fast for her. I relished the change. 

"There is a float that follows mine," Doug continued, "they are doing a beaded skirt thing. Sort of a surreal luau with painted ladies. They would take you in a heartbeat. You'd have to hula for a few miles." 

"We didn't bring our beaded skirts," Sandra said. She wasn't smiling. Kendra seemed indifferent. 

"They have a trunk full of them," Doug argued, "they're just plastic that glow in the lighting." 

"They sound lovely," I responded, maneuvering in front of Sandra. Doug smiled. 

"You've had too much to drink," Sandra whispered into my ear. She tried to pull me back, away from Doug. I set my weight and stayed where I was. "Help me," Sandra pleaded with Kendra. 

"This was all your idea," I lashed out at Sandra, "and now you're the one with cold feet. I want to ride on the float." I liked being the outgoing one for once. There was a power in it. 

"Not a good idea," Kendra added from behind Sandra, "you sure you want to go that public?" One thing about alcohol, it doesn't have a strong understanding of the concept of tomorrow. Today, people wanted to check me out. I loved the attention. Half the city was half naked. I wasn't even close to the most brazen. 

"You're not coming?" I asked Kendra. I had already decided, and Sandra was obviously a party pooper. 

"You can't," Sandra jumped back in. She grabbed my hand and turned me toward her. "This was a silly idea, just for a laugh. You get on the float and half the world is going to see you and they'll tell the other half." I ripped my hand from her grasp.

"I can and I will," I said stubbornly. I was tired of people telling me what to do. Twelve months of Timothy Griffin had taken its toll. The tequila was surging courage through my veins. "Let's go," I said brightly to Doug. He took my hand and led me through the growing crowd. I heard the tail end of a desperate plea from Sandra. I turned back to see neither following me. I smiled. Who's the chicken now?

I pulled up next to Doug as we walked. I didn't like him pulling me along. A few steps more, and I was leading him through the crowds. He pointed once in a while to keep me going in the right direction. Other than that, I was leader, the driving force. It was exhilarating not to follow. This was exactly where I wanted to be - in front. I smiled back at Doug and increased my pace. He followed willingly - yes, he followed me. 

The float was as surreal as Doug had said. Neon palm trees, glowing with internal light, growing out of tiered platforms covered in bushes constructed of many different colors of flowers. Anywhere else, the term garish would apply. Here, it was wonderful. 

Tammy, the float's organizer seemed excited to have another rider. Carlos, it seems, had a cult following. His signature bought me a lot of goodwill. I was given a skirt constructed of strings of red beads that glowed in the hidden black lights that bathed the platforms. Like the flowers, each girl had a different color. The artwork on the other girls was as amazing as mine. I was one of two who hadn't had her face done, which made me slightly jealous. We practiced a simple synchronized hula routine which was more sexy than correct. Tammy was leading us through the choreography, her wide hips doing a much better job than my slender ones would allow. 

While we waited for the parade to begin, we partied. The whole parade was one big party. Doug and his similarly-dressed bros brought over jugs of cocktails. I no longer had any idea what I was drinking. It was all camouflaged so well with sugar. Knowing my tolerance, I slowed, but didn't stop. For some reason, the strength I was feeling gave me power over the booze. Tammy, obviously, was of a different opinion. About fifteen minutes before our float began to move, she handed me a bottle of water. My glass of whatever-it-was mysteriously disappeared while I was opening the water. It didn't matter, I didn't need the liquid courage anymore. I was invincible. 

The parade was glorious. I couldn't remember when I had had a better time. My glowing skirt, my painted chest and all the cameras flashing. I should have been in theater. I was right at home on my traveling stage, swinging my neon skirt in sync with the others. Tammy had told us to smile, a useless request. I couldn't not smile if I had wanted to. Deep down, I knew the cheers and applause were for the float as a whole. On the surface, I felt it as private adulation. I was disappointed when the parade ended. I wanted my audience back. 

"Was it all you hoped for?" Doug had come up behind me as I was handing in my skirt of beads. 

"That and more!" I smiled. "I am so glad I ran into you today." I handed my skirt to Tammy who thanked me sincerely for participating. 

"The night is just starting," Doug said, "a bunch of us are going to a beach bash - should run until the sun comes up." He looked younger suddenly. I felt older. I don't do all-night parties anymore. The booze began to weigh heavier on my mind. 

"Not for me," I said warmly, "I have to catch up with my friends."

"Those losers?" Doug continued, "come on, join me. I'll show you all that Key West has to offer." 

"Not tonight," I replied. I really disliked having to say no twice. Doug surprised me by taking my hand. 

"There's no 'no' on fest night," Doug said, walking backwards, pulling me along as if I were a dog. I snatched my hand out of his. 

"I said no!" My voice was louder than I intended and some people turned. Doug's eyes shifted around the crowd then back to mine. 

"Look, you owe me," Doug said, his face no longer held a smile. Where was my big sister? He somehow got hold of my arm.

"Let me go!" I cried out, this time I meant it to be loud. A tall guy in the same kind of Gatsby dress as Doug broke through the crowd. Fear shivered about my skin. I took a step back, feeling highly outnumbered. The tall guy grabbed Doug's arm and freed me.

"He's drunk," the guy said, "put a shirt on and get out of here." He gestured with his head off toward the main street. I moved quickly. Put a shirt on? Now I felt naked. I didn't have a shirt. I no longer liked the looks people were giving me. Behind all the eyes, I saw the word slut. I moved quickly, I needed Sandra and Kendra. Why did I ever leave them?

"Bitch!" Doug shouted. I moved quicker - shame and fear pushing me along. 

It took me a long time to return to the patio bar where I left Sandra and Kendra. Panic set in when they weren't there. Not that I expected them to be after I ditched them. I wanted them to be there. I leaned against a wall and pulled out my phone. People passed, my shoulders hunched, arms and elbows covering myself as much as possible. I sent a text.

help

I waited as the alcohol began to wear me down. Doug had slaughtered my courage, and I was replacing it with shame. Nothing had changed but me.

where r u

Sandra responded quickly. My heart lifted at her text. 

same patio bar

stay - 5 mins

I nearly cried. The day came slamming back on me. I wasn't strong. Doug thought I was weak. I hated not being strong. I was on a float, topless, challenging the world and now I was trying to hide my painted breasts. I wallowed until I saw Sandra and Kendra jogging toward me. Then I did cry.

Sandra handed me a t-shirt; they were both covered as well. I tried to speak, but shame kept me silent. I didn't know how to apologize to myself, much less them. They hugged me. 

"I'm sorry I didn't go with you," Sandra apologized. 

"I'm sorry I didn't listen," I slobbered. 

"Let's get our sorry asses back to the house," Kendra added. I nodded and walked between Sandra and Kendra. I needed them there. I loved them both, which was good because I currently had a very low opinion of men, especially one wearing a fedora.

The next morning was hard. The coffee machine was too noisy, and my stomach wasn't happy to be alive. It took the better part of three hours before I could handle solid food comfortably. I didn't receive the I-told-you-sos I deserved. Just friendship and a mutual hate of men in fedoras. We spent the afternoon on the beach sipping iced tea. Between the waves and the sun, I was feeling worlds better. 

The rest of the week passed in virtual harmony. We went sightseeing, walked the beach and ran up our credit cards shopping for stuff we really didn't need. My brief moment with Doug had been forgotten, and only the pending return to Timothy Griffin weighed heavy. I let it slip to the back of my mind as we enjoyed our last sunset in Key West. Just the three of us, a bottle of wine and a hundred million colors reflecting off the gulf. A picture just wouldn't do it justice so we just greedily memorized it. Not to be shared with anyone else. My new bikini never did see the sun. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Monday I was back in hell. I arrived at EL Corcoran Brokerage fifteen minutes early. I had no desire to be late. Mr. Griffin would have a week's worth of stored anger to throw my way, and I would prefer I didn't get it all Monday morning. I was surprised to find Frank, my temporary replacement, sitting at my desk. He looked incredibly nervous, and nearly burst when he saw me. 

"He's not happy," Frank started. Not even a hello, how was your vacation. "I screwed up his calendar somehow and ended up with two overlapping meetings. I was supposed to call this account." He held up a notepad with a number written on it, "and cancel his Tuesday appointment. I don't know whose account it is and there is nothing scheduled on Tuesday." I saw the panic in his eyes. He wanted out. "He also wanted last month's numbers, what the hell are those?"

"Didn't you asked him?" I smiled. 

"I asked him one question on the first day," Frank replied, "I'm never doing that again. That's everything - I think. Oh, wait - pick up dry cleaning. I was supposed to do that Friday, but I didn't know which dry cleaner - he didn't give me any receipts." I smiled again. Maybe a week of Frank would lessen my inevitable admonishments. At least I was used to Griffin's tirades and suffered through the necessary questions. 

"I'll take it from here, Frank," I said calmly. A week on the beach had done some good. 

"Thanks," Frank moved quickly to the door, trying to leave before Griffin arrived. He turned as he exited, "Oh, and welcome back." I gave him a gentle wave and my smile. 

I received my welcoming frown at exactly eight o'clock. An immaculate black pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie. Griffin rarely deviated. I would have considered him fairly good looking, if he ever took the time to smile. His ever-present gloom detracted from his whole appearance. At least I no longer cringed when he walked in. 

"Good morning, Mr Griffin."

"You left me with an idiot," Griffin said crossly, "next time train them better or I'll find someone who can." He didn't even slow down. Whipped right past my desk and headed into his office. I didn't respond to his threat of replacing me. I had decided early on to let those comments go. I had become somewhat immune to their effect. 

The morning went as expected. I cleaned up Griffin's calendar, received another verbal scolding for scheduling a Mr. Corey before a Mrs. Sampson. Only a moron would schedule them in that order. I made the necessary calls to switch the appointments and was promptly abused for making the change. Twice the idiot on my first day back. 

I fetched Griffin's dry cleaning at lunch. Figured out the who and when of his Tuesday meeting and canceled it. I dreaded that call. Mrs. Pritchard, a widow, was always trying to meet with Griffin. He handled her sizable account, very profitably, but preferred to not meet with the old woman. He would create appointments to appease her and then have me cancel them. She was a sweet lady, obviously bored, who wanted a reason to get out and talk with other humans. She had yet to realize that Griffin wasn't really human. It took twenty minutes of chit-chat to once again cancel one of her meetings. I was beginning to think Mrs. Pritchard knew more about me than Sandra did. 

So went my first week back. One failure after another as graded by the mighty Griffin. Twice during the week, I had letters I developed returned to me with scathing verbal commentary and the most irritating red marks. There was rarely a true mistake. It was all subjective bull that had little to do with the letter accomplishing its task. I developed a strong hatred of that damn red marker of his. The color was chosen specifically to remind me of grade school. He was the learned teacher; I, the adolescent with the learning disability. 

My weekend consisted of laundry, housecleaning and a good book. I should have raked the leaves, but another week would just add more. I wasn't much of a landscaper, and purposely bought my small red brick ranch because the yard was small. I was lax in its care. The hedge needed trimming, leaves raked and the mulch weeded. I was still recovering from my vacation. At least that's the feeble excuse I used to put off the yard work. 

My next week was much the same. At least until Thursday evening, just before close. I was busy building Griffin's special, labor intensive, anally designed month-end report. Most brokers would just accept what came out of the system. Not Griffin. I had to import the data, correlate it with the previous four quarters, develop pivot tables and trend graphs. It was just complicated enough and always contained enough data holes and changes to disallow me from automating it. I knew he did it on purpose. Generate work just for the sake of work. Just so he could tell me how wrong it was. 




The Festival



My in-box chimed, which allowed me to break from the tedious task. I opened the email, expecting some other duty that would keep me late. Instead, a complete disaster. My heart thumped hard as I saw the pictures. A series of shots of me on the float in Key West. Under one was the only text: Victoria the Bitch. My eyes began to pool when I saw the cc line. It contained EL Corcoran main information address off the website. My first thought was Doug. My only thought was Doug. How did the asshole find out where I worked? I was pretty drunk, maybe we talked while we waited for the parade to start - I couldn't remember. 

Griffin walked out of his office. I quickly closed the email, panic coursing through my veins. I shifted in my seat and looked up at him, guilt flushing to my face. 

"Where's the monthly?" Griffin grumbled. 

"Just about finished, Mr. Griffin," I stammered, shifting pages uselessly around my desk. 

"Don't make me stay late," Griffin ordered. In other words, I wasn't going home until it was done. I took a deep breath and tried to think. I opened the unfinished worksheet and began finishing the report. My mind kept drifting. I had no idea who the public email address went to. Maybe more than one someone. I had to hit undo a couple of times; I wasn't on task and making mistakes. I was able to finish the report a few minutes before closing. I emailed a copy to Griffin and created two hard copies as was his desire. It was quite possibly the last report I would do. Topless on a float - not even close to the company image. Not within a million miles of Griffin's image. I looked at the pictures again - so brave, so stupid. I was going to be unemployed. 

"The asshole sent photos to my work," I cried into the phone as drove home.

"Oh, no," Sandra said. I was so happy she didn't I-told-you-so. "Who's seen them?"

"It was the public email address," I whimpered, "I don't know who gets it. It will ruin me there." 

"You weren't exactly topless," Sandra argued, "paint covered the basics. It was your vacation, what can they really do?"

"They'll fire me," I admitted. In my mind it was already done. I was just awaiting my walk up the gallows.

"It's all my fault," Sandra said, "I never saw it going this far. I'm so sorry." I could hear the pain in her voice. It helped. It helped a lot. 

"I did this to myself." I fed off Sandra's sorrow. "My boss is an asshole, and treats me like dog shit. Maybe this is the push I needed." Sandra's guilt somehow ignited some strength in me. 

"You deserve better," Sandra said, sensing the change in me. If you can't fight the wave, you might as well go with it. 

"I do," I agreed. "It's time I took control and pushed for something better."

"What can I do?" Sandra begged. 

"Just love me as always." I smiled into the phone. It would be hard starting over again, but at least I had friends. 

"That's the easy part," Sandra laughed, "if you need anything, anything at all, you call."

"I will," I sighed, "I'm sure I'll need you and some wine this weekend." 

"Call me," Sandra said, "as soon as you know anything. Maybe it will all blow over. If not, I'll bring two bottles of wine." I so dearly loved her. 

"Kisses," I said sweetly. An old parting we used in our college days. It warmed me to use it again. 

"Kisses," Sandra repeated back. I smiled and disconnected. I felt better about my coming demise. 

I went to work early. If I was going down, it wasn't going to be due to my job performance. I brought the instruction file up on the screen, the one I had developed for Frank. I edited it, adding parts that my replacement would need. Things that seemed obvious to me, Frank had found daunting - I made them obvious to the next person who would occupy my desk. I included tidbits that would help keep Griffin in his office working, and not berating my replacement. It took longer than I expected. When it was done, I renamed the file - The Griffin Bible. My most monumental work. I was strangely proud of it. 

"Good morning, Mr. Griffin." I received my morning frown.

"Appointment next Tuesday morning," Griffin wasn't even looking at me. "Cancel it, reschedule it for the following week." He continued into his office.

I brought up the calendar and wasn't surprised to find Mrs. Pritchard on Tuesday. I almost picked up the phone before a little trickle of courage surged in. I smiled as I thought about it. My replacement would pay for it and pay dearly. It would most likely be a temp at first anyway. Mrs. Pritchard deserved her one-on-one with Griffin. I didn't make the call, I didn't reschedule, I mutinied for her sake. The idea of Griffin having to politely endure the sweet lady was a very pleasing thought. 

I received a call from HR just before lunch. I was to see them at four, just before closing. They lied and said it was routine. I knew it was my last day. I spent the afternoon cleaning up all unfinished business, even the stuff I would have normally put off until next week. No one would be able to say my leaving was due to incompetence. Promptly at four, I was down in HR as requested. 

"I'm sorry, Ms. Paddington," Rob Thaxton, Director of HR said, "this type of activity is against company policy. The same policy you agreed to when you were hired. The employee manual clearly states..."

"I am aware," I interrupted. I wasn't going to sit there and let him ease his conscience by blathering on. "Am I fired?"

"I am afraid we have to let you go," Rob said, almost like he meant the sorrow that leaked into his voice. 

"Fine, let's get it over with," I said. Rob passed me documents including a dismissal letter signed by Mr. Corcoran himself. Some information about my rights, insurance information and the appeal process if I felt I had be wronged. I took them all with a sigh. Another chapter of my life was over. I just had to write a new one. 

"Charlie will escort you to your desk so you can collect your things," Rob said, indicating to one of the building's security guards. So, shame and embarrassment were part of the package. I would be escorted like a criminal. I stood, more defiant than I felt and walked out of HR without a word. My uniformed shadow followed.

I wasn't sure what I wanted. There wasn't much of mine on the desk. Griffin didn't really approve of much decoration. I had a framed picture of my parents. I would take that just so it didn't end up in the garbage. I had plenty of copies at home, so it wasn't needed. I opened a couple of drawers. Some backup makeup, stain stick and an extra phone charger. Most of my life was at home. 

"What the hell is this?" Griffin said gruffly. He was looking at Charlie standing over me. 

"I was fired," I said, surprised he didn't know it was coming. I opened the last drawer. It held nothing of mine. 

"In my office," Griffin commanded. I looked up and smiled. He wasn't my boss anymore. I ignored him and began collecting my meager belongings into a pile I could carry. "Now!" he commanded louder. I moved out of habit. I had strength, but after a year I was well trained. "Not you, idiot," he pointed at Charlie when he tried to follow. Charlie stopped in his tracks. 

"I left instructions for my replacement," I said, when the door closed. "A hard copy is in the top drawer." Twelve pages - my manifesto to slavery. 

"You go and get yourself fired," Griffin went into tirade mode, "knowing how it will screw up my process. Do you ever have a coherent thought running through that skull of yours?" I almost lost it. Something about burning bridges held me back.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin," I said. "The firing wasn't office-related; nothing to do with my work for you. I was hoping I could still use you as a reference." It was a dream. I knew it when it came out of my mouth. I was handing him the whip. 

"You leave without warning, and expect me to relish it," Griffin whipped hard. "It will be months before I'm back to any semblance of normalcy. I wouldn't recommend you for crossing guard." He lit the match, I just threw it at the bridge. Such an old dry wooden structure. 

"You are the most arrogant, selfish, pig-headed asshole I have ever met in my life," I screamed strongly. I wanted the whole building to hear. "Nothing's ever good enough for you. You've belittled me for over a year, yet here I stand." I straightened my shoulders and stared daggers into his eyes. It was unfortunate he was a good deal taller than I. 

"You contemptuous..." Griffin began. It was flamethrower time. 

"Don't you dare!" I interrupted, "I have bowed and scraped at your feet." My hand came up of its own volition. I jabbed my finger into his chest. "I am the best assistant you ever had," poke, "I deserve more," poke, "a measly little angry shit like you will not ruin my life." Jab. Griffin was speechless. He was staring at me in shock - maybe the beginnings of a heart attack. I smiled as he shuddered under my wrath. I turned and left his office, useless pride driving me on.

"Leave it," I said to Charlie as I walked past my desk, "I don't want anything to remind of this shit hole." Anger was my strength. The bridge was burning brightly. I smiled at the appalled faces as I was escorted out of the building. 

The adrenaline drained quickly when I exited to the street. Shaking began. I sat at the corner, on a bus stop bench. I had just shattered my resume. I would really be starting over. I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. 

I heard my name being called and looked up. Charlie was moving quickly toward me. I was done with EL Corcoran Brokerage. I rose and headed away toward the parking garage. It was time to go home. Charlie called again and increased his pace. I ignored him.  

"Ms. Paddington," Charlie panted. He wasn't in very good shape. "Mr. Corcoran wants to speak with you." Charlie held forth a phone. I waved it away. Like I wanted to have him ranting in my ear. I added a little fuck-off finger to my wave. 

"She doesn't want to speak with you," Charlie said into the phone. I moved away quickly. I needed it all behind me as quickly as possible. 

"Yes, sir," Charlie said and put the phone in his pocket. "Mr. Corcoran is on his way down. He asked if you would please wait for him." I stopped walking. The word please was, well, pleasing. 

"What's this about?" I queried. My leaving was the only power I had now. I wasn't convinced I should give it up. 

"I don't know," Charlie shrugged his shoulders, "they never tell the idiot anything." I almost laughed.

"Don't listen to Griffin," I said, letting my smile form. Charlie certainly wasn't my enemy. "He calls everyone an idiot." We shared knowing smiles. I decided it was for Charlie's sake that I waited. 

"Ms. Paddington," Mr. Corcoran was puffing when he caught up to us. His balding head was sweating, his suit clung weirdly on his bulk. He wore a smile, a salesman's smile. It caught me off guard. "Thanks, Charlie," he said, dismissing Charlie to return to the building. Charlie winked at me as he retreated - at least I had some weak emotional support.

"Mr. Corcoran," I acknowledged. If he was looking for an apology or even a clean exit, it was too late. My opinion of his firm couldn't be any less.

"It seems we were hasty," Corcoran began. "The photos were a bit shocking, and we acted too quickly. It was your vacation after all, though we wished it was a little less public." He shook his head like he had lost his train of thought. "I would like to undo this afternoon. Pretend it didn't happen. We'll let the pictures go with a verbal warning." There was that salesman smile again. 

"Ah.." His words staggered me. Griffin wouldn't allow it to be undone. "I'm not sure I understand." I stalled.

"We don't want you to leave," Corcoran continued. "It was my fault really. Please, accept my apology and we can put it all behind us." I stared in disbelief. The CEO was apologizing to me for my actions. I felt like I was being conned. 

"I'm sorry, Mr Corcoran," I said, shaking my head, "Mr. Griffin and I kind of had it out. I don't think there is a comfortable way to take any of it back." My back stiffened with my resolve, "I appreciate it, I really do. Maybe it is best for all if I move on." I turned away before I sunk myself back into the slave pit of EL Corcoran Brokerage. 

"If it's money," Corcoran pleaded, "I can offer more." I stopped. From firing to a raise. I turned back. 

"I just called my boss an arrogant, selfish, pig-headed asshole and you want to give me a raise?" I asked in exasperation. His expression changed from salesman to contrite. 

"If you're not back on Monday, I lose Griffin," Corcoran confessed. 

"What?"

"He's twenty percent of the business, Ms. Paddington," Corcoran continued. "He is everything you said and more, but he produces. For some reason, he wants you to stay on." My mind was reeling. Griffin backed me? Nothing was making any sense. Corcoran looked at me, his eyes trying to deduce my thoughts. 

"I don't understand," I said, my confusion evident. 

"Either do I," Corcoran admitted, "Griffin hates everyone." He paused for a second, "Look, I can offer a twenty-percent raise and five more vacation days." My eyes widened. "I know what it must be like working for him. If you stick it out, I will make it worth your while."

"I yelled at him pretty good," I said, more to myself. 

"Take the money and apologize," Corcoran said, "you keep him happy and I'll make sure you have a good future." His salesman smile was back. 

"Okay," I said, "but I can't promise happy. Tolerant is the best I have ever done." Corcoran laughed. 

"Monday then?" 

"Yes, sir," I answered, my future no longer completely dismal. Corcoran slapped his hands together in glee and returned to the office. I watched him walk off, dazed by what I had just agreed to. Monday would be hell. I would pay for every word I said. I smiled. The asshole had fought for me. I was the best assistant he ever had. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"You called him that?" Sandra's eyes were alive as I explained the day's events. She had brought over a couple bottles of wine to soothe my sorrows. We toasted instead. 

"And I poked him the chest," I said. I animated my jabbing finger. "You would have been proud of me." It was much better sharing the weirdness instead of my unemployment. "I had thought I had sealed my doom. I had no idea he would threaten to leave the company."

"You must be quite the assistant." Sandra tipped her glass to me. "Have you been...handling his stress?" She bounced her eyebrows to emphasize her joke. 

"God, no," I laughed, "I question if he's ever had a woman. He's too ornery." I imagined him critiquing some poor woman for the blow-job he just received. The image made me laugh all the more. 

"A raise and more vacation. You've done good, girl," Sandra said. 

Sandra and I ordered in some pizza, spent some of my new raise on pay-for-view movies and knocked off the two bottles of wine. A wonderfully relaxing night of watching movies made for teens, just so we could ogle some tight abs. Sandra was greatly relieved that her body painting idea didn't screw up my life. I failed to mention that it was mostly the margaritas. I actually enjoyed her feeling like a guilty older sister. It was selfish of me, but I loved her for it. 

The doorbell rang at eight in the morning. Sandra and I had passed out well after midnight, never quite making it past the couch. I stood, trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head. My mouth tasted like a sewer. Sandra just grabbed a cushion and covered her head. The irritating bell rang again. I moved slowly, scratching my ass. The whole room smelled of stale wine. 

"I woke you up," Griffin said. I was stunned. Had I known, I don't think I would have opened the door. He was in jeans with a pullover sweater. I had never seen him not in suit. The whole image was surreal. "I should leave," he said. I closed my mouth. God. I was in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I had no idea the direction my hair was going. I shivered in the cool morning air.

"Too late now," I said. I opened the door wider and moved to the side. "Good morning, Mr. Griffin," I said loud enough for Sandra to hear. She popped up as he entered. 

"I should have called," Griffin said. I nodded, wondering how he got my address. I nearly fainted when he smiled. "I lost my assistant who usually handles these things." A joke. A piss poor one, but a joke nonetheless. I gave it the half smile it deserved.

Griffin handed me a letter on company stationery. I took it, while trying desperately not to scratch my itchy ass again. Sleeping on the couch had left it all tingly. I walked over to the wall and switched on the light as Griffin and Sandra regarded each other. No hellos, just eyes and a nod. 

The letter was a glowing recommendation from him. Five paragraphs singing my praises. It was beautifully written. The prose he used was concise and stated fact. Naming projects I had been instrumental in. I was choking up. I didn't know he even remembered half of what I had done. I didn't understand.

"So you don't want me Monday?" I asked. Griffin's face contorted. He choked back his first response, which I would have recognized and continued with a second. This was new. 

"I want you back Monday," Griffin said slowly. "I owe you that." He said pointing at the letter. "I wrote it in case you don't want to come back." I could see him struggle with the words. He wanted so much to lash out. 

"You're apologizing," I said. The beautiful letter got to me. Unbidden, my eyes filled. He stood there looking at me with an almost imperceptible nod. I smiled. It was all I would ever get. From him, it was total capitulation - unconditional surrender.

"I'm sorry for the words I spoke," I said. Actually, I was sorry for how I said them, not that I did. 

"Deserved." was all he said. Another capitulation. "You won't do it again, in the office." It was an order, not a request. His normal way of communicating had returned. 

"Not out loud," I conceded. Damn, if he didn't smile again. In six months, I had never seen him smile. Now, twice in the matter of a few minutes. 

"I'm Sandra," Sandra introduced herself. I really hoped my hair didn't look like hers. 

"Yes, the bouquet," Griffin said. Sandra's hands instinctively covered her boobs. She flushed. Griffin looked at me. "I did some research on the festival. It seems well covered in social media. I assume you will be avoiding things like that in the future." More commands. Nothing was changing. Well, nothing but my pay and some acknowledgment. I really liked the letter. 

"It was a one-time thing," I admitted. I didn't like him telling me what I couldn't do, but the chances of me topless in public again were nil. Griffin nodded. 

"Then it's behind us," Griffin said as if he could dismiss the incident with his words. "I am yours for the day."

"Pardon?" I asked. I was sure I misunderstood. Sandra's eyes were darting between Griffin and me. 

"I have been informed that I create a stressful work environment." Griffin was speaking as if I was a little dull in the head. Nothing had changed. "I don't expect that will change. I also know that your work has improved mine." Another compliment. Why did I find it worth more than the raise? "Public outbursts and parades are out." Another small smile. I just stared. "Therefore, we must find a new way for you to release your stress. I am your employee for the day." 

"My work has improved yours?" I smiled, ignoring the rest of his analysis. 

"Seven percent increase on existing accounts," Griffin nodded, "you develop the numbers. You must have seen it." My smile wouldn't go down. I never really read the numbers, I just generated the reports and sent them on. "You have developed a rapport with my clients. A skill I lack." An understatement. 




The Festival



"You need me," I said out loud. 

"I am here, am I not," Griffin answered without answering. Even his compliments were wrapped in a superior tone. Sandra suppressed a giggle. Griffin's eyes flared. I was still smiling. 

"My employee?" I asked. 

"For the day," Griffin clarified.

"What does that mean?" I really wished I could get rid of my growing smile. It was glued in place. Griffin needed me. Corcoran needed me. I had value. I liked having my value clearly defined by others. I liked that it was documented. 

"I work for you," Griffin said. He dropped the superior tone, "whatever you need done. It will allow you to unwind in a sensible way." It was all math to him. He was willing to lower himself for a day to keep his numbers up. He was allowing me a modicum of revenge. It was totally unnecessary. I wanted it more than the raise.

"The yard needs raking," I said. I almost formed it as a doubtful question. I changed mid-sentence and turned it into a statement. 

"Where would I find a rake?" Griffin queried. My heart fluttered. I liked being the boss. 

"In the garage," I said, then added, "where did you expect it to be?" I used the Griffin you-must-be-an-idiot tone. I wasn't confident I had it down, but it was fun to say. Griffin didn't bat an eye. 

"Of course," Griffin replied, looking around the house, "which way?" I pointed to the door off the kitchen. He headed off to rake my yard. 

"Okay," Sandra said incredulously, once Griffin was in the garage, "that was bizarre." I ran to the window and watched as he started to rake the leaves. There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign he resented it. "You do know how weird this is?"

"With him, I think it's more normal than you know," I said, smiling. Griffin was putting effort into his swipes with the rake. He wouldn't even allow a single leaf to escape his gathering. Nothing out of place. It was his way - the anal, OCD way.

"You're enjoying this," Sandra observed. 

"Immensely," I agreed. 

"You like him," Sandra continued.

"Today I do," I admitted. It would take Griffin a while to gather all the leaves. I remembered my state of dress and probable smell. "I have to take a shower. Wait for me?" 

"Sure, that's what bouquets do," Sandra smiled. I hugged her and ran to the shower. Everyone needs a friend who doesn't judge her insanity.

Griffin had the leaves in a single pile by the time I cleaned myself up. He'd raked all the leaves, even the ones that had fallen while he had been raking. He had even pulled them out of the landscaping. At least he expected the same perfection out of himself as he did out of me. 

"There are some recycle bags on the second shelf," I said, pointing to the garage. Griffin nodded and headed off after them. I sat on the front stoop and watched. I couldn't believe what was happening. Sandra joined me, handing me a cup of coffee. It was a cool morning, but not uncomfortable. We watched as Griffin returned and started filling the bags. 

"You don't think this is weird?" Sandra asked, warming her hands around her coffee cup.

"Yes, wonderfully weird," I said, mesmerized by the man cleaning my yard. For some reason, I wanted to watch. Not helping like I should, but sitting idling watching Griffin work. He never even looked up at me as he filled three bags full of leaves. All the months of him yelling at me seemed to fade into a distant memory. 

"What about Monday," Sandra asked, "think he'll make you pay for this?" I could have sworn I saw a quick smirk on Griffin's face. He might have overheard. 

"Maybe," I responded quietly, looking around the yard, "but right now there are things that need to be done." I stood up and Griffin folded over the top of the last bag. "Those go on the left side of the drive. Don't block the driveway." It was a command. A wonderful, tasty, lovely, I-am-in-charge command. He picked up the first bag and headed toward the end of the driveway. My smile returned of its own accord. 

"Bitchy, bitchy, bitchy," Sandra whispered with a sly smile. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing. 

"A little more to the left," I called to Griffin. The bag was in a fine spot, but that red marker of his was eating at me. A little correcting was in order. He picked up the bag and moved it another foot to the left. "Too far," I corrected again. Sandra hit my arm. I couldn't help it, the whole situation was just too delicious. He moved the bag back about halfway, and I nodded to let him know it was perfect. 

"You're as weird as he is," Sandra smiled, "I can't believe he is just doing it."

"It's my day," I said proudly. I watched as Griffin moved the other two bags to the curb. I almost had him move them again, but thought that would be drifting too far to the dark side. Griffin took a good look at the three bags, twisted one a little and pushed another back about an inch. Definitely anal. He moved to the center of the yard, held out his hands as if I was going to nail him to a cross. 

"Next," Griffin said, a smile on his face. He was enjoying himself. I stared at that smile, a thing I didn't think existed a day ago. 

"The hedges need trimming," I said softly. Why was he smiling? 

"Is the trimmer in the garage?"

"Yes, the giant scissor thing," I replied, making motions with my fists like I was using it. He moved off to retrieve the trimmer. Sandra stifled a laugh. "What?"

"He likes you as boss," Sandra whispered. I felt a warmth rush to my face. "He really likes it." 

"Stop it," I said. 

"This is like sex to you two wackos," Sandra joked, "right now you're on top." I hit her arm. She laughed. 

"He's precise," I responded, "this is nothing but a means to an end for him. He likes his numbers." I smiled at Sandra. "I'm a really good assistant." I loved hearing it out of my mouth. Mr. OCD had quantified it. He put it in writing. Now he was going to trim my bushes. Heat ran through me. Yes, it was a little like sex. 

Griffin appeared from the garage with the hand trimmer. He moved to the bushes on the far side of the driveway, the line that marked the property line. He looked up and down the row, knelt a couple of times then turned back to me. 

"Just want it cleaned up or shaped?" Griffin asked. 

"Oh," I sighed, deep in my thoughts, "shaped would be wonderful."

"Foreplay," Sandra whispered with a little smirk, pulling me off my cloud. Griffin didn't seem to notice. His attention was riveted to the bushes as he went to work. I could almost see his mind working as the trimmer tilted this way and that, cutting precisely with aggressive intent. Each time the blades came together, the silvery sound of metal sliding against metal caressed my ears. It was an intoxicating sound, the way it almost echoed off the house itself, each cut severed leaf and branch for me. At my command. Yes, foreplay.

"Don't," Sandra whispered. Her face was cloaked in concern. "It would be worse than the float." I forgot that she could see through me. I gave her my innocent smile, the one that contained humor and confusion.

"You're imagining things," I said. 

"You can't sleep with your boss," Sandra said seriously. 

"No intention," I laughed in an attempt to relieve her worry. Power surged through me at the thought. If I had Timothy under me, sleep would be that last thing on my mind. Visions of him disrobing at my word made me close my eyes. I let them flutter away. No man would allow that much control, certainly not Griffin. Not Mr. Red Pen. I looked at him working feverishly on my hedges, his arms working back and forth, set on pleasing me. My breath caught in my throat.

"I mean it," Sandra continued. I just smiled.

It took the rest of the morning for Griffin to finish the bushes. He cleaned up the trimmings, adding another recycle bag at the curb. Sandra had gone inside to clean herself up. I stayed and watched. Griffin didn't seem to notice my vigilance, his intention upon shaping my bushes into uniform fence-like structures took all his attention. A year of fearing his appearance at my desk, and now I couldn't seem to break away. 

"Lunch," I called out when Griffin was returning from the curb. He picked up the garden tools and nodded. I went inside and practically ran to the counter. I sat on the stool at the end of the counter. It allowed me the best view. Sandra was giving me a questioning look, but her main attention was on her phone. She had been on a call when I came in. I smiled and mouthed 'lunch' to her. She rolled her eyes and submerged herself back into her phone. It sounded like a work call. 

Griffin came in with a neutral expression, pulled the sleeves of his sweater up his forearms, away from his hands, and went to the sink to wash up. 

"You'll ruin the sleeves that way," I commented, knowing that the wool would stretch and may not return to its normal diameter. Griffin looked at me with half a smile, reached down to his waist and pulled his sweater up and off his body. He folded it neatly and laid it off to the side. An old faded red Ohio State t-shirt now covered his torso. I had never seen anything that wasn't crisp and new on him. Everything was different today.

"Is that better, Ms. Paddington?" Griffin asked. His smile was back again, fighting with mine. He started to wash his hands. 

"Yes," I said and risked much by adding, "Timothy." Not even a shimmer of disapproval. My lungs were barely working. He had just given me more power. 

"What would you like me to prepare?" Timothy asked, looking around the kitchen. It was the most wonderful question. He was truly mine today. Sandra ended her call and was heading toward us. Three's a crowd, came to mind. 

"Sandwiches would be nice," I said, half comment, half command. "There's bread in the box over there." I pointed at my lovely wooden bread box with the large box letters that said 'Bread.' I was about to say there was sandwich meat in the fridge, but I was hit with a better idea. "There's a can of tuna fish in the cupboard above your head; mayo and pickles in the fridge." I saw a tiny bit of confusion on his face. "I even think I have a hard boiled egg in there as well." I watched as he deftly collected all the items and put them on the counter. He stared for a moment then looked up at me. 

"I'm at a loss," Timothy admitted. I had him.

"I can help you with that," Sandra said, and started to move toward the other side of the counter. I grabbed her wrist and held her back. Three was definitely a crowd. 

"Timothy can handle it," I said, pulling Sandra toward a stool next to mine. She gave me her are-you-insane look. "The mixing bowl is in the cupboard above the stove," I told Timothy. He brought down the bright orange plastic bowl. "Cutting board," I added, pointing to the other counter. He brought it over. "Knife and can opener are in that drawer." He added the implements. Sandra looked like she had bitten into a lemon. "There's a mixing spoon in the other drawer." 

"Two cans of tuna in the bowl," I instructed as if I was talking with a young child. Timothy smiled, took both cans, unopened, and put them into the bowl. Smart ass. "Open the cans, idiot." I was unable to keep the humor out of my voice. Sandra nudged me with her elbow. She didn't understand. Damn crowds. 

Timothy opened the cans and dumped the contents into the bowls. The smell of fish filled the kitchen and wafted toward the rest of the house. "You have to drain it first," I chastised. This was way too much fun. Using the mixing spoon as a dam, Timothy drained the tuna into the sink. 

"What are you doing?" Sandra whispered. I could tell Timothy overheard, something in the way his eyes moved. 

"Teaching Timothy how to make tuna salad," I told her. 'Foreplay,' I told myself. I knew that wasn't what she was asking. She was wondering why I was subtly torturing my boss. Because he was allowing me. I felt like I was topless on a float daring the world to object. Because it felt so damn good. 

"I have to talk to you," Sandra said and moved toward the bedroom, beckoning me to follow. 

"Add a couple of dollops of mayonnaise," I told Timothy, "mix it up until it's spreadable." I made useless stirring motions with my hands. "Be right back." He nodded as he opened the mayo. 

"What the fuck?" Sandra said quietly when I entered the bedroom. 

"What?" I feigned ignorance. It would have taken a year to explain it to her. I couldn't even explain it to myself. I held power willingly given by one of the most powerful people I knew. It was everything I ever wanted, even though I had no idea I had ever wanted it. A drug. A very addictive drug. 

"You two are nuts," Sandra commented. I smiled and nodded. "This will end badly," she added. 

"Maybe," I said, my mind traveling past the million possibilities, "maybe not." I shrugged my shoulders. 

"I have to leave soon," Sandra said. My heart leaped. Two's company. "I have to go to work for a few hours. A meeting was rescheduled from Wednesday to Monday and we aren't ready. I can come back tonight," Sandra offered. 

"I'll call you," I said, not wanting to come out and just say 'no' to my best friend. 

"You're insane, but I love you." Sandra smiled. 

"Me too," I said hugging her. Sandra sighed and we headed out to the kitchen.

"It was nice the meet you, Timothy," Sandra said sweetly, "I have to hit the grindstone for a few hours." Timothy shocked me, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and coming around the kitchen counter to shake her hand.

"The bouquet was lovely, Sandra," Timothy said nicely in parting. I could swear Sandra blushed. Unwarranted jealousy, green and awful, gushed through me. I tried beat it off. I had no right. I wanted the right. Sandra smiled to me and headed out with a friendly wave. 

"The eyes were lovelier," Timothy said with a smirk, once the door was closed. My blood pressure returned to normal. I turned to thank him, but he had already headed back to the kitchen. "What's the next step?" he queried, tilting the bowl so I could see the spreadable tuna. My eyes were lovely. I had lovely eyes. He just complimented my eyes, well a painting of my eyes. My breast eyes. Are my breasts lovely too? 

"Ms. Paddington?" Timothy asked, trying to get my attention. 

"Oh," I said, snapping out of it. I quickly returned to my seat. "Dice the egg and add it to the tuna." About a second later, "Take the shell off first," I corrected and Timothy ceased sawing at the egg with the knife. He was playing with me. Where did his humor come from?

I had Timothy add some chopped pickles to the mix and declared it done. I had to yell at him when he attempted to spread it on non-toasted bread. What kind of moron has tuna salad on non-toasted bread? He wouldn't make that mistake again. It was a very therapeutic lesson. Stress relief by revenge. 

"What would you like to drink?" Timothy asked as he cut my toasted tuna sandwich in half. 

"Ice water," I answered, "glasses are over there." I pointed at the cupboard. Timothy filled two glasses with ice and water. He slid my sandwich to me and placed an ice water next it. I sat there for a moment, just staring at him like he was stupid. 

"Napkin?" I asked, when his ignorance was fully recognized. He hid his smile. This time I made him search the kitchen to find the napkins. It took three drawers before he struck gold. He folded the napkin in half and placed it gently next to my plate. He fixed his own sandwich as I began on mine. He made a slight face when he took his first bite. 

"You like tuna fish?" I asked as Timothy took his second bite of his sandwich. 

"I hate it." I smiled at his words. More power.

"Why are you eating it?" I asked. 

"It's the best damn sandwich I've ever had, Ms. Paddington," Timothy said. He was looking through me as he said it, sucking power from me. I let a little go. 

"It is damn good, Timothy," I flirted back. I just couldn't be as cold as Griffin. I wield my power differently. A compliment now and again wouldn't weaken me much.

When Timothy finished the dishes, I had him clean the garage. It was a mess. I had him bring out a chair for me so I could watch more comfortably. He never showed any signs of disliking my orders. I did not tire of giving them. He was beautiful to watch. He worked in well-defined patterns, completing one sub-task completely before starting the next. Nothing was done twice and everything was done to perfection, or what represented perfection in an old one-car garage. He even hosed down the concrete pad to remove the stubborn dust. My garage was probably cleaner than my bathroom. 

We retired to the great room. The room wasn't really that great. It needed a coat a paint. Another day. I had Timothy open a bottle of wine. Not that I really wished to drink any. I just wanted him to serve me some. He did so in his normal impeccable manner. He sat on the other side of the couch, back in his faded Ohio State t-shirt. I pushed. I really wanted to push. I had never had a day like today. I wanted more. 

"Shoes," I said, lifting my feet up on his lap. His eyes moved down my feet, along my legs, up my torso and into my eyes. He smiled as he began to untie my pink tennies. I felt every movement of his hands, each finger as it tugged at the laces. He cupped the back of my ankle as he tenderly removed the shoe from my left foot. Heavenly. He repeated the process on my right foot. So wonderful. "Socks," I pushed. Somehow, he made it tickle horribly as he slowly removed my socks, the white ones with the pink stripes across the top. I struggled to look firm, unperturbed by his manipulations. He placed the carefully folded socks on top of my shoes. I am sure the left sock was with the left shoe. It was his way. 

I was about to demand a massage. Lousy slave, he acted without orders. I melted into the couch as he worked the pads of my feet, firmly with an unexpected tenderness. His fingers finding the little grooves between my toes, not forcing, just inching gently along. He found a spot just below my ankle, one I didn't know was there. I lost all my power - a small moan escaped. Oh, God, he heard. His fingers concentrated on the spot as my legs turned to jelly. "Don't stop," I demanded, regaining some strength, more drug. Damn his lovely fingers. 

Suddenly, Timothy stopped. He lowered my feet to the floor, his smile very sly. "It's five o'clock," he said. I looked at the clock - closing time. My day was over. Griffin stood. I wanted Timothy back. He picked up and donned his sweater - he was planning on leaving. I was speechless. He moved deftly to the door, a typical Griffin silent goodbye. 

"Timothy!" I ordered. He froze. Sweet wonderful power surged. I've had to put in overtime before. Why not him? I moved in front of him. Damn his height - I was weakened by it. "Knell," I said quietly, a pleading command. My heart surged when he dropped to one knee, looking up at me. I carefully filled my hand with the hair on the back of his head and tightened slightly. His eyes changed to wonder, a lost boy's eyes. 

"I want next weekend," I demanded, my lips so close to his. He shuddered. I felt it. I saw it. I was everything at that moment. I wanted to be everything. 

"Yes," Timothy replied. I molested his lips with mine. I took, he received. Heat surged through me. My insides tingled with him. I would have him, in time. I released him and took a step back. He staggered for a moment, flushed with the same heat I felt. It was rum and margarita mixed with fire. 

"I will see you Monday, Mr. Griffin," I said with a stuttered confidence. Griffin stood.

"Don't be late." Timothy was gone. I missed him already. It would be a long week. 

I woke early, my clothes pressed, color palette adhered to, and not a hair out of place. Mr. Griffin demanded perfection, and I intended to give it to him. Monday through Friday were his days. Walking in to EL Corcoran Brokerage on Monday was exhilarating. Eyes followed me, shocked to see the lady who had been escorted out of the building on Friday. As I neared my desk, the surprise grew. These were the people who had heard my verbal tirade on Friday. I barely looked at them. I had work to do. 




The Festival



My desk was as I'd left it, a mess. I quickly stashed my personal things into their drawers. I fired up the computer and went through the weekend's correspondence which was thankfully light. There was an email from Mr. Griffin. 

Subject: Miami Trip

Meeting with Halstead, Wednesday 2PM at the Thompson.

Early morning flight preferable. 

Return flight Thursday evening.

Need rental car. 

Itinerary on my desk by noon.

-Griffin

Nothing like short notice. I took a deep breath, let it out and began my research. Booking the Thompson turned out to be the easy part. I reserved a meeting room for two hours, complete with coffee, iced tea and a selection of light snacks. The flights were more difficult. Nothing in first class available on Wednesday morning. I reserved the Wednesday seat and a first class seat on Tuesday night. The rental took a while. I had to find one that was least problematic, one where the in and out was smooth without lines. Mr. Griffin hated lines. I found it odd that he wanted a rental at all. Usually, a ride to and from the airport was all that was necessary. 

"Itinerary?" Griffin grumbled. I looked up as he walked past the desk. Timothy was inside that gruff exterior somewhere. 

"Good morning, Mr Griffin," I said offhandedly. "First class Tuesday night or coach Wednesday morning?" 

"Coach - next time call sooner," Griffin chastised. I smiled as he disappeared into his office. There was no recognition of our Saturday in his face. I knew it was on his mind. I held his head and watched him quiver because of it. I wanted that power again. 

I committed on the Wednesday flight and canceled Tuesday night. I researched the surrounding restaurants and made a list, complete with maps. I included a list of the walking and bike trails in the area. Griffin always had me include these. I assumed they were to help him unwind from traveling. I never asked. Griffin just wasn't the sharing type. 

I assembled all the information into a single document and printed it. I placed it all in a folder, most pertinent information on top. I emailed a copy to Griffin and then entered his office. It was only ten, two hours early. I was on an efficiency roll. The best assistants always are.

"Your itinerary, Sir," I said as I placed it on the corner of his desk.

"I still have a Tuesday appointment on my calendar," Griffin said, not looking up from the papers he was reading. My breath caught. My little bit of revenge was now going to bite me back. I almost fell into Saturday. Almost demanded that he meet with Mrs. Pritchard, and allow the sweet lady some time. I sucked it back. It wasn't my day. I didn't relish the idea of breaking the woman's heart again. Griffin was an asshole. My asshole. 

"Yes, Sir," I conceded, "I will reschedule it right now." Silence. A dismissal without words. I retreated slowly with my nasty task. I should have canceled it on Friday. Now I had to do it with even shorter notice. 

I sat at my desk staring at the phone. Last time I rescheduled, I could almost hear the pain in Mrs. Pritchard's voice. She was such a sweet woman. I bit my lip and picked up the receiver. I could feel the tension in my chest. As painful as it was, it had to be done. I began dialing. My email flickered a new message.

Subject: Mrs. Pritchard

She doesn't want to speak with me. 

Good Morning,

Timothy 

I read it four times. I wanted desperately to run into Griffin's office and tackle Timothy for the 'good morning.' I held myself in check. There was no way Griffin or Timothy was this inciteful. I thought back to all the cancellations and reschedulings. The hours of conversations with Mrs. Pritchard. She knew more about me than my own mother. Only Sandra knowing more. I had never met Mrs. Pritchard, but we had inched into a friendship. No wonder it hurt so much to reschedule. 

I restarted Mrs. Pritchard's number, forgetting where I left off. It rang twice before she picked up. 

"Good morning," Mrs. Pritchard greeted me with her unwavering friendliness.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pritchard," I started, "this is Victoria, from Mr. Griffin's office." 

"Are we going to have to reschedule again?" I could hear the humor in her voice. I hadn't noticed it before. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin is tied up tomorrow," I answered, "how about sometime next week?" 

"Of course, my dear," Mrs. Pritchard continued our dance, "I sure hope you had a nice weekend." The conversation turned. This time I listened to what I was saying. It wasn't the small talk I had imagined. She delved as deeply as I would let her. Real curiosity and caring drove her questioning. My questions were always answered then turned back on me. 

"So you met a man," Mrs. Pritchard verified. I had let it slip, she was very good. "What's he like?" 

"Something completely different," I answered truthfully, "caring and so...he seems to know me."

"Is he good looking?" I closed my eyes and remembered Timothy on his knee. Those lost boy eyes staring at me. A shiver sailed through me. 

"Oh, yes," I said, with more passion than I intended. I quickly looked around. No one had seemed to notice. At least I wasn't talking loudly. Mrs. Pritchard gave me a soft chuckle.

"I remember my first husband," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "he was 'oh, yes' too." I had to chuckle back, covering my mouth so the rest of the office couldn't hear. 

"When did you know?" I asked, forgetting Mrs. Pritchard was a client, "I mean, that he was the one." 

"That first kiss," Mrs. Pritchard sounded lost in a memory, "it took him three dates to work up to it. I wanted to kiss him on the first date, but I was too much of a chicken back then." More giggles. "Everything seemed right and I knew I wanted a lifetime of his kisses." My heart gladdened at her words. "Alas, his heart gave out after twenty-five years. Best years of my life." I felt her sadness. 

"He sounds wonderful."

"The men we love always are," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "difficult, pain-in-the-backside, but oh so wonderful. Do you have another date planned with your new beau." 'Beau' sounded silly coming from her. Almost like she was trying to sound young. I let it be. 

"This weekend."

"Will you indulge an old woman and call me next week?" Mrs. Pritchard asked. She knew I would. I would have to reschedule her again. "I'd like to hear about what I'm missing these days."

"Of course," I said, looking forward to it. We ended the call with some banter about the rain that had been persistent all morning. When I put the phone down, I realized Mrs. Pritchard never asked me for Timothy's name. I would have lied, but it was a curious omission. Probably slipped her mind. At her age, it was the actions that counted, not the names and places. 

Griffin walked by my desk, his eyes never drifting to me. He tossed the itinerary folder on my desk. "If you'd spend less time on the phone, your work wouldn't be so sloppy." I watched him exit for his eleven o'clock meeting upstairs. Infuriating. I opened the folder to find all my work had been attacked by his red pen. It was an itinerary, not some doctoral thesis. Of course that's a sentence fragment - it was meant to be simple instructions. Under the list of restaurants, he had commented on the lack of sample menu items, and they were listed alphabetically instead of by distance from the Thompson. Bastard. I really hated that red pen. 

I spent the next hour cleaning up the itinerary. The sample menu items were difficult to obtain, not all websites had a menu, not all restaurants had a website. I had to make phone calls. I turned to the last page as I finished my rewrite - trying to make sure I hadn't missed any other frustratingly useless corrections. On the bottom right of the page, tucked in the corner, in the very last position Griffin was able to write in, there was a tiny, hand-drawn red smiley face. Timothy thought it was funny. I knew then, that I was being baited. 

My mind worked feverishly as the smile grew on my face. I would have to dream up something special for this weekend. The punishment must fit the crime. It was going to be a very long week waiting for my power to return. I closed my eyes, imagining Timothy kneeling at my feet once again. Foreplay. A week of tortuous foreplay. I would have him under me, paying dearly for this week. A shudder traveled up my spine. I had never wanted someone so much. 

I printed and assembled the new itinerary, sent the revision to his email and placed the hard copy on his desk. I stopped when I saw his red pen. Unlike the two Montblanc pens rising out of the marble holder at the end of his desk, this was a cheap over-the-counter thin red marker. I lifted up my evil nemesis, and a lovely idea formed. The weekend would be delicious.

I headed down the street, wrapped in the heavy coat I finally broke out of the closet that morning. The rain had stopped, but a taste of winter was in the air. I pulled the coat tighter around myself, moving quickly to my favorite sandwich shop. Griffin was off eating with the partners, not that he ever joined me for lunch anyway. Griffin didn't fraternize with underlings. I smiled - Timothy did.

"Victoria!" I stopped and turned to see Susan jogging toward me. She worked in the secretarial pool I had left a year ago. I waited for her to catch up. Her cheeks looked as red as mine felt. I really wasn't ready for winter. 

"Lunch?" Susan smiled.

"Sure," I agreed as Susan moved along side. "I just heading over to Krockner's Deli."

"Sounds good." We walked together, trying to stay warm as the wind whipped between the buildings. "So, you're like the talk of the office," Susan said, smiling. I could see she was dying for information. 

"What do you mean?" I said, my own smile felt silly. 

"Come on, give," Susan said, bouncing her shoulder into mine as we walked. "You were escorted out of the building on Friday. Half the office heard you lay into Griffin. Now, here you are back at work like nothing happened." It was fun being a mystery, but I wasn't sure if I wished to be the main topic of conversation. Who knows where the speculation would lead?

"Sandwich first," I offered, holding the door to the deli open for Susan. She seemed satisfied to wait for a few more minutes. I needed the time to come up with the half truths I wished the office to know. Susan was a nice person, but secret keeper was not in her job description.

"I kind of let loose during my vacation," I started while unwrapping my half tuna salad sandwich. I really liked the pickle spears the deli added in the meal. I moved it off to the side to save for desert. "HR found out and terminated me." I had Susan's complete attention. 

"How loose?" Susan interrogated. 

"Nothing illegal," I hedged. There was no reason the office needed to know I was flashing my painted breasts on a float. "Just not the image EL Corcoran wished to display." 

"Continue," Susan prompted, realizing I wasn't going to go any deeper into my violation of company policy.

"Before I left, I asked Mr. Griffin if he would give me a letter of recommendation," I continued, "I knew it was a long shot, but I tried anyway." I paused for a moment to sip my iced tea. I should have gotten something warm to drink. It was too cold for iced tea. "When he refused, I kind of lost it. I gave him a piece of my mind...loudly." I remembered poking him with my finger. His shocked expression. The shudder that went through him. It was the same shudder when I had taken that kiss from him. He liked it. He liked my power. I felt a wonderful clarity at the revelation. I yelled at Griffin and Timothy emerged.

"So?" 

"Huh?"

"How did you end up with your job again?" Susan pushed. I had lost my train of thought. 

"He stuck up for me," I smiled, thinking of the risk Timothy took. 

"Who?"

"Mr. Griffin," I answered. Susan's eyes grew. 

"Griffin doesn't like anyone," Susan pointed out. 

"Turns out I am a good assistant," I said proudly. I had it in writing so I knew it was a fact. "He told Mr. Corcoran that if I wasn't back on Monday, he wouldn't be either." I was bragging now. I kind of wished I hadn't let that last part out. 

"Whoa," Susan sighed. I took another bite of many sandwich as she digested what I had said so far. "You must be very good." I was and I had it in writing. I loved that I had it in writing. It was Griffin who wrote it down. It was Timothy who handed it to me. A wondrous gift of power. Only four more lunches to go. 

"It was a really nice compliment," I admitted. I saw a new respect emanate from Susan. 

"So, any good boy stories lately?" Susan asked, changing the subject.

"Nope," I lied, "you?" The rest of the lunch was instantly filled with Susan's love life. Some guy she met online. My opinion was suddenly invaluable. I could tell it was a whirlwind Internet romance fostered by her intense need to be liked. I gave her the normal online relationship warnings, but conceded that was where a lot of couples met now. I really couldn't warn her off. I had ignored Sandra's warnings out of hand. So I listened, which seemed to make Susan happy. 

The week crawled. Griffin was gone Wednesday and Thursday. On Tuesday, he assigned me more work than could be humanly done in three days. I wasn't human, so I got it done. I was a really good assistant who worked overtime to please the unpleasable. Somewhere in that disagreeable man was my Timothy. In my mind, he was mine now. I don't know how I found him hiding in that cantankerous shell. I don't know how he knew what I needed. I knew he needed it too. I saw it in his eyes when he kneeled at me feet. Such a beautiful man.

Griffin walked in Friday morning with an urgency, again not acknowledging me, or anyone else, with his eyes. If fact, he avoided my eyes. "Breakdown Report?" he growled as he passed.

"Good morning, Mr. Griffin," I said, "it's on you desk next to the quarterlies." I watched him enter his office, smiling at my camouflaged Timothy. One more day. 

Griffin spent the day in his office. I expected the reports back on my desk with red graffiti all over them. Nothing. I was practically swimming in red on Tuesday. He had never accepted the first draft of anything. Even perfection needed his improvements. I waited until four, then, like an idiot, I went to seek out his abuse. It is strange what you can get used to. 

"Mr. Griffin," I said, knocking on his open door, "do you need me to redo the Breakdown?" Griffin immediately spun around his chair, facing away from me, and started playing with the fax machine behind his desk. 

"No, they're fine," Griffin said in an unfamiliar tone. The number he was dialing certainly contained a lot of numbers. I moved forward, to the side of his desk. 

"Are you okay?" I asked. I knew Griffin and I knew Timothy. The man that was fumbling with the fax machine was new. I took another step forward when he didn't answer. His shoulders slumped when I neared. He gave up on the bogus fax and turned toward me. The upper part of his left cheek was swollen, a painful mix of green and purple marked the area. I sucked in my breath inadvertently. 

"I'm fine," Griffin spat. I was hurt by his tone. It never really bothered me deeply before, but it had never been accompanied by physical injury. "I'm fine," Timothy repeated, in his softer voice. I wanted so much to make it better - it looked like it hurt something awful. "Ignore it," Griffin ordered. 

"Yes, Sir," I replied and stepped out of his office. I wouldn't ignore it tomorrow, though his change in demeanor frightened me. I wondered if tomorrow was in jeopardy. Something terrible happened, and I wasn't sure how deep it went. I wondered if he was mugged in Miami. Maybe he fell. I really knew so little about him, such a guarded man. Maybe a traffic accident. Does he even wear a seat belt? The rental car!

I moved quickly to my computer and looked up the rental company. I called and lied, my anger rising as thoughts ran through my mind. I told them our company tracked all vehicle mileage. It took them a few keystrokes to tell me it was 357 miles. I was livid. I waited until the clock rolled to five. Work day was over, everyone was leaving. The weekend had started. My time!

I slammed the door closed, a little louder than I had intended. Griffin looked up in surprise. I pointed at him trying to get words out, but I couldn't think of where to start. He stood, taller, intimidating, which only angered me more. 

"You drove to Key West," I accused him. He visibly shrank. I knew it was true. "There wasn't a meeting at all, was there?" 

"How did you..."

"You never get a rental car for such a short trip." I pointed out his idiocy with all the Griffin tact I had learned in the last year. "I don't need protecting!" I sometimes did, but not by him. It granted him too much. I wanted everything. 

"No one calls you a bitch!" Griffin countered. His fist slammed down on his desk. I felt the vibrations along the floor. I was losing him. My hands were shaking as I closed the distance. I wasn't sure how much I had lost. 

"Kneel," I whispered. Slowly, Timothy dropped to his knee. My heart leaped, my smile grew, my lost boy was still here. I reached for the hair on the back of his head and gripped it snugly. "What did you do?" I asked, my smile ruining my anger.

"I had a talk with a Doug Fuller," Timothy answered, his smile grew with mine. He was the one shaking now. So much power. 

"I did not ask you to," I scolded. 

"You'll never have to," he answered. 

"I don't want you fighting for me," I insisted. 

"Then leave me," Timothy said. His smile was gone. He meant it. I knew I could never do that. 

"You're mine," I admitted. I took his lips once again. He shuddered as I parted his lips with mine, my tongue delving into his, my hand gripping his hair tighter. The surge of heat was stronger than before. All mushy, with little waves rippling across my skin. I forcibly broke the kiss. 

"Eight AM" I reminded him, "don't you dare be late." I turned, a power turn, and sauntered out of the office. He watched in silence. I had lost nothing. If anything, I had more. Timothy was a most wonderful drug. 

I grabbed my purse and left for home, silently hoping Doug was living off aspirin and cold compresses. 

I was nervous waiting for eight o'clock to roll around. I had barely slept, the last day's events rolling around in my head, mixing with the fantasy my mind was anticipating. I wanted to look and feel sexy. I didn't want that look in Timothy's eyes to fade. I had never spent money on provocative lingerie, never having a boyfriend I deemed worthy of the effort. Now I felt my wardrobe was woefully inadequate. 

I did possess an almost see-through robe. It was a gift from Kendra when she returned from a trip to the far east. Soft white silk, mid-thigh in length with a flower design embossed throughout. If the light caught it right, you could see shadows of what lay beneath. I went through my underwear drawer, trying to match bras to panties. All my bras were comfortably functional, nothing frilly or exciting. I wasn't brave enough to start out topless - it was way too early for rum. 

I moved to my summer drawer; maybe some shorts. I had thrown the green bikini from Key West on top of my shorts. The labels were still attached. After Doug, the bikini didn't appeal to me so it never saw the sun. Its appeal was returning. I stripped and stepped into the bottoms. I wrapped the strapless top around me, connecting it in the front, then shifting the clasp to my back. I pushed the cups over my breasts and looked in the mirror. I think it looked sexy. I would have to shave more than just my legs. I wished I had bigger tits. 

I threw the robe on and turned back and forth in front of the mirror. It looked more cute than sexy. I was too short for sexy. I grabbed some heels out of the closet. I shifted a bit away from cute, but nowhere near sexy. I would rather be short, the business heels made me look goofy. I stood in front of the mirror, opening and closing my robe. I believe I was thinking of confronting Timothy in a swimsuit in November. I tried to step back and think like a man. An objective view of my look. Impossible. I barely knew what made me tick. 




The Festival



I almost bailed on my look. Jeans and a t-shirt would be safer, less overt. No, I wanted overt. I wanted Timothy naked. It was best that I started halfway there myself. The warmth crept up on me again, a convincing warm blanket accompanied by visions that promised to take me to heaven. The smile in the mirror was sexy.

I disrobed, showered and overworked my razor. After I dried, I cut the labels off the bikini and put it on. I spent some time on my hair, added some light makeup and a few squirts of a body spray titled White Musk - another gift from Kendra. I was about as sexy as I could get at seven in the morning. I straightened up the bedroom, changing the sheets in hopes I would have to do it again soon. 

I waited in the great room. Sitting on the couch, not really watching the morning program that was insisting the country was in dire straits. When the doorbell rang, at exactly eight, I nearly hit the ceiling. Every decision I made came back to haunt me. My clothing was the first thing I lost confidence in. I turned off the TV and moved to the door. I opened the door with trepidation, half hiding behind it, wishing I would have opted for the jeans. 

"Good morning, Ms. Paddington," Timothy said. He wore a pair of faded jeans with a well-worn long-sleeved, collared shirt. He was ready for labor. My clothes were all wrong. I felt my face flush, my power drained. I was no good at this. He stepped into the house, ignoring my idiotic silence. 

"Did I wake you?" Timothy asked, looking at my robe. His smile made me wonder if he knew what I was thinking. More power drained. His smile was replaced with concern. "Should I come back later?" 

"N..no," I lied. Where was my strength? I had let slip everything I envisioned. Timothy should be quaking before me, begging with those lost boy eyes. I could see it in his face now. I put doubt there. I was horribly uncomfortable in my bikini. 

Timothy bent down, his hand wrapping softly around the back my neck. There was too much strength in it. His head lowered, eyes leading the way for that poor bruised cheek. His lips were tender on mine, so light a touch I almost cried at the weakness of it. He slowly lowered himself as my lips sought more. My hands gradually moved up his arms as his shoulders dropped below my eyes. He ended on his knee, kissing upward at me. I realized then, I could never take power from him. I was granted power by him. 

I whimpered into his mouth as my hands combed into his hair. I pushed my lips into his, grabbing a fistful of his hair and holding him there. He shuddered, giving me what I wanted. 

"I am yours," Timothy whispered, our mouths sharing the same air. I smiled as I felt the strength he gave me. The intoxicating drug of control. Heat seared through me. Doubt flew away on frightened little wings. I separated my lips from his and stared into the eyes I now controlled. 

"Take your shirt off," I ordered quietly. I didn't even question the possibility he would decline. His hands moved deftly to the buttons that ran down his chest. His eyes never left mine. My hands holding him there, grasping his hair to guarantee compliance. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, blood coursing in waves. He pulled the shirttails out of his pants to get to the last button. I watched him pull his arms out of the sleeves, leaving him in his Ohio State t-shirt.

"Favorite t-shirt?" I asked, releasing Timothy's hair. He smiled while nodding. "Off," I commanded. I loved it when he complied. His muscles were tauter than I expected, obviously the result of some anal workout schedule. Doug may have been hospitalized.  

I walked around Timothy, examining him as he knelt before me. I let my right hand trail behind, lightly caressing his skin as I moved. Inadvertent shivers traveled across his skin. They were exciting to see, my pulse quickened in response. I lowered myself along his back, the silk of my robe against his skin. I pulled his head back and looked at his upside down eyes. 

"We're going to break some company rules today," I informed him. 

"Rules don't apply to us," Timothy gasped as I ran my hand lightly around his exposed neck. We were going to create our own rules. My lips followed my hand, kissing skin, smiling when he twitched. So excitable. So strong. So obedient. So mine. I moved slowly in front of him and opened my robe. I saw him swallow hard.

"Oh, yes," Timothy sighed softly, his eyes scanning down my form. I dropped the robe and moved close, standing before him. He looked up and waited. I smiled at his patience. 

"Touch me," I ordered. I almost swooned as his hands ran up from my ankles, following my calves, caressing my thighs. A lovely tingle formed between my legs. I sucked in my breath as his hands ran up the back of my thighs and along my butt cheeks. There was no hesitation in his moves and his hands drove higher, almost tickling my sides. They reached the sides of my breasts, just off the fabric of my bikini. His fingers lightly outlined the fabric sending shivers through me as I looked at the intense pools of wonder staring up at me. I cradled his face in my hands.

"Stay," I said, stealing a passionate kiss. I moved away, Timothy's hands reluctantly let me go. I moved slowly, a graceful power taking the time she owned. The drawer in the end table held my target. I bent slowly knowing his eyes would be enjoying the view. I retrieved my revenge from the drawer, rose and strolled back with my hands behind my back. He was waiting, unmoved from where I had left him, his eyes drifting across my body. I knelt before Timothy, our smiles meeting as I descended. His hands began to return to their tempting caresses. 

"Arms down," I ordered. Timothy's hands reluctantly returned to his side. "Don't move," I added, as I brought my hands forward. His sharp intake of breath when he saw the red marker was so yummy. His eyes widened when I removed the cap. "Hmm," I hummed, deep in thought as I examined his chest. A little above his right breast, off toward his armpit was a slight discoloration, a freckle-like mark. An imperfection. A cute one, but one nonetheless. I brought the marker forward and watched his body retreat. 

"Still," I commanded. Timothy stiffened. I circled the freckle slowly with the marker. He emitted a low groan, almost as if the felt tip was a blade, as I drew. I looked up from the red circle into his strained eyes. I was pushing him, and it pleased me. For a year I had been receiving red pen corrections, and it was liberating to give them back. My eyes returned to the red circle. I leaned forward and kissed the freckle. Timothy sighed out the breath he had been holding. I could feel him surrender. I reached up and stroked the side of his face.

"There are so many errors," I said, watching the panic rise in his eyes. I found another blemish, smaller than the first, below his rib cage on the left side. I circled it slowly, his skin trying to retreat from the marker. Again, my lips found the circle, this time lingering to taste his skin. It was a sensitive spot, and my tongue sent shivers up his side. 

Nine times I found errors on Timothy's chest. I corrected each one with my lips. Each time he sighed longingly. I pushed harder, teasing by bringing the marker toward his face. I had expected him to flinch or pull back. He surprised me by closing his eyes and forcing himself to still his movements. He was serenely calm, marred only by a drop of sweat that appeared on his right temple. Full surrender. My hands were trembling as I lowered the marker and replaced its cap. His trust overwhelmed me. My lips found his temple, removing the salty sign of his inner tension. I felt his smile form as he realized his trust was not misplaced. My lips moved to his ear.

"Remove my top," I instructed, not wanting clothes between us anymore. Timothy's hands moved quickly, tracing the bikini fabric under my arms until they found the clasp in the back. I felt his heat rise as my top found the floor. His eyes were not shy. My reservations were long gone as I let him take me in. It was my own impatience that forced me to grab a fistful of his hair and pull his face to my breast. When my nipple disappeared between lips, I gasped. I felt a soft, warm prickling in my breast. It flowed down my tummy and between my legs. I pulled him to my other breast, doubling the sensation, creating an incredible need. I had never wanted someone so much.

I rose slowly, Timothy's lips caressing down my tummy, his tongue leaving a moist trail. My hand firmly disallowing his lips' retreat.

"Bottoms," I ordered. My desire had grown, weakening my legs. Timothy once again ran his hands slowly up my legs, causing a luxurious chill to burn through me. With lips lightly biting my tummy, his fingers sank into the the elastic of my bikini, and lowered it slowly down my legs. I closed my eyes as my scent filled the room. It was incredibly strong, musky and driven by desires I never knew I had. I stepped out of my bottoms as they neared my feet, using my grip on Timothy's hair to steady me. His hands returned to my hips, grasping my butt and holding me steady. He defied my grip and looked up at me with desire in his eyes. I pulled his head down, my legs trembling as I spread them. He submitted with a smile. My lovely, lovely man. 

Timothy's kisses traveled over my soft down, teasing my cravings to a fever pitch. I shifted my hips like a lustful animal, exposing more of my sex to his ministrations. He tilted his head uncomfortably, and let me guide his mouth. I nearly fell when his lips graced my vulva. If not for his strength, I would have collapsed. When his tongue began to explore, I shuddered and pulled him tighter. He needed no encouragement, but I wanted the control and held him tightly. 

I looked down at the man between my legs, my hand forcing him deeper. Timothy was my willing toy. Something so new. Something so perfect. My steering had his tongue finding places no man had ever found. A massage of my insides sending wonderful sensations through my body, forcing air in and out of my lungs. He was so determined to please me. I was so determined to guide him. I pulled him forward, his lips gracing my clitoris. A spasm forced my hips into him while my legs wobbled. He dragged the flat of his tongue across my swollen bud, causing small convulsions to roll across my tummy; visible waves of uncontrollable pleasure traveling along my skin. 

Timothy's lips closed around my pearl, the tip of his tongue teasing mercilessly. I no longer held his hair, my hand floated around his head, my legs failing. A wave a pleasure forced its way through my body and escaped as a drawn-out moan. I was falling into him as the next wave washed over me, electric tingles emanating from my core and spreading across my skin. My hips were driving my sex forward, Timothy was forcing me upright. A third wave slammed into me; a tidal wave of bliss that distorted my sight. I was falling, no longer able to hold myself upright. Timothy was my pillow, catching me gently, wrapping me in his arms. 

Timothy held me while my rubbery muscles regained their usefulness. My breath slowly returned to normal as a I snuggled into my warm pillow of a man. My greed sated, I let my hand slowly wander south. His jeans were soft and thin from many years of washing. I lifted up and tucked my hand under, toward his crotch. My intent was to encourage him, bring him to complete arousal. I was thwarted by finding his manhood straining, attempting to burst through the seams. To him, it had all been foreplay. My previous experiences were worthless when dealing with him. Most had considered my pleasure a necessary duty. I crawled forward, my uncontrollable smile became even with his. 

"You want me!" I said stupidly. It was obvious and I wallowed in it. It seemed so important to tell the world. 

"More than anything," Timothy agreed. I continued to rub his erection, while my eyes searched his. I found the lust I was searching for, the animal need I had just experienced. It was so incredibly wonderful. I was a sex goddess for the first time in my life, and the man still had his pants on. It was worth every red mark, every condemnation of my work. I loved the power. It excited every particle of my soul. I rose, turned and sat on his stomach with my butt facing him. A trail of moisture followed my sex, coating his skin with an oily sheen. I had never been so wet. 

I quickly undid Timothy's belt buckle and struggled to get it off its loops. The top button was stubborn, but not as much as I. I lowered the zipper and began tugging his pants down, anxious to see what I had been caressing. He raised his hips without prompting, as I pushed his pants and boxers to his knees in one quick effort. His erection sprang forth, pointing directly at me. So proud. So very excited. I folded my hand around it. Timothy jerked and followed that with a strange guttural sound. He was extremely sensitive. I twisted my head back, one hand around his penis, the other stroking the side of his face.

"It's mine," I said. 

"Yes," he responded, and his unbidden twitching agreed. I almost just rose up and sat on it. Then I thought it would be more pleasurable to watch his face; to see the moment when he lost all control. I was giddy with the thrill of it all.

"Stay still," I ordered. The control was intoxicating. His body wanted so much to move, to just take me. It was my will that kept him immobile. I moved to his side on my hands and knees. I lowered my mouth and engulfed his erection. His legs trembled while still tangled in his pants. I moved my legs, slowly circling my body to straddle his legs. My tongue was working hard to moisten his shaft, to tease him as mercilessly as he had teased me. I sat back on his thighs when I finally arrived, my hand replacing my mouth as I rose. 

"When I put you inside me," I said as I stroked Timothy softly, "I want you to just let it go. Don't you dare hold back." He nodded in between weak grunts. I wanted to see him in the throes of orgasm. It was important that it was his and his alone. I had mine and I intended to have more. I lifted my hips, bringing them above his cock. His face contorted as I dragged the crown along my opening, prolonging with teasing agony. When I saw the first signs of his torture, I guided him into me. Not all at once, but a slow entry replete with my own moans. My hand left his shaft, when it could shrink no smaller. I lowered my pelvis and shifted my hips until he was fully in. It was heaven looking down at Timothy, my red circles littering his torso. He looking up at me, begging me with his eyes, to move. I did. Slowly at first, feeling every inch of him heat my insides, pushing me open in a most pleasing way. 

Twice, Timothy tried to rise. Twice he tried to reach out. Twice I forced him back, relishing the smile on his face as he struggled for more contact. I would give him that in time. This time, his orgasm would be my gift. I moved with more purpose, my hips rising and falling with an increasing rhythm followed by a wonderful grind on the down stroke. He began to breath in concert with my efforts, his face flushing with every grind. His hips moving of their own volition. I had him. God, he was beautiful. 

I reached behind me, between Timothy's legs and lightly tickled his scrotum. His tangled legs forced his hips upward; a growl, deep and guttural, met my ears. His face warped into a mix of pleasure and pain. I ground into him, our pelvises merging into one, as bliss took over his body. His spasms were intense, lifting me higher than I thought possible. My womb flooded with hot seed as I watched his face wonderfully reflect the pleasure I had given. I leaned forward as it subsided, still fully impaled and snuggled into my pillow. His breathing slowly returned to normal while I held him. 

"No more clothes for you," I said softly, "I want you naked for the rest of the day." Timothy chuckled with difficulty, still regaining his strength. 

"I will happily comply," Timothy replied. I tilted my head up from his shoulder to see his face. I was comfortable and had no immediate desire to rise or uncouple.

"How did you know what I wanted?" I asked, holding him in place on the carpeting.

"I didn't really," Timothy answered, "it just happened. That day you were fired, when you told me off and jabbed your finger in my chest. It had a profound effect. I found you irresistibly desirable. I wanted you...like that." 

"I love this," I admitted, "I don't want it to ever stop. I just don't understand why you like it."

"Strangely," Timothy continued, "I think too much. I over-think everything. It's exhausting. Here with you, you do the thinking. I can just ignore everything but you. It's wonderfully liberating. And you're so damn sexy doing it." His words were like my favorite music. Soothing, encouraging and so very comfortable. 

I sat up, still joined with Timothy. I picked up the red marker off the carpet, from where it had landed when my orgasm hit. I popped off the cap and drew a small smiley face on his stomach. It was obviously a very ticklish area. 

"You trust me," I observed as I recapped the marker. 

"Of course." His hands roamed across my thighs and hips. I could tell he enjoyed being inside me as much as I liked him there. "I suspect that's a requirement." He said and paused for a moment, looking seriously at me. "I love this as well, I don't want it to stop either." No one was in charge of the kissing that followed. For a brief moment, we were on neutral ground, trust flowing both ways.

I stood up, leaving our shared fluids in my wake. "Come," I ordered, "you've made me sweaty. Now you'll have to bathe me." I loved his smile. Obviously he didn't think it would be a laborious task. I was thinking how nice it will be to have him wash my hair. I tried not to laugh when he got tangled in his pants trying to stand up. 

The weekend was glorious. I knew I would have to slow things down in time. The pace I had set would burn us out in time. It had been so long since I had fallen asleep satisfied. Satisfied and in the arms of another. Someone willing to fly to Florida and punch out an asshole who called me a bitch. 

I lost all my power in bed that Saturday night. Willingly. Timothy wrapped his arms around me as I tucked my head into his shoulder. His penis, still half engorged, resting along my thigh. I needed no protection, but I folded myself into the security he offered. I was changing him. He was changing me. I slept more deeply than I thought possible. Timothy returned my power in the morning. 

Monday morning was our breather. I beat Griffin to work, cleaned up his calendar and prepared the documents he would need for his morning meeting with the partners. I straightened the office, aligning papers, shifting trash cans and generally making sure everything was in perfect order. Mr. Griffin demanded as much.

Griffin entered as gruff as ever. He grunted at my good-morning, passing my desk without a look. "Reschedule my one o'clock Tuesday for next week," Griffin called out as he entered his office. I smiled at his act, remembering him naked in the tub with his hands full of shampoo and hair, making me feel so good. I dialed Mrs. Pritchard.

"How was your weekend?" Mrs. Pritchard asked. She knew why I had called and didn't seem to mind at all. She picked up our previous conversation without slowing.

"Truthfully," I replied quietly, not wanting the rest of the office to hear, "it was wonderful." 

"Oh, I am so happy for you, dear," Mrs. Pritchard continued. "Do you think he might be the one?" The question came quickly. I could hear her strong desire for my answer. I hadn't realized I had bonded so deeply with her. I analyzed the question, thinking of the weekend and falling asleep in Timothy's arms. His trust and the way he gave me everything even though he could ruin me with barely a thought. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine things going back to the way they were. It was an ugly thought. I wanted every weekend to be a Timothy weekend. I smiled when I remembered him on the floor with his legs twisted in his pants. Me giving him pleasure he could find no where else. We fit so well together. 




The Festival



"Dear?" Mrs. Pritchard prompted. My silence had been too long. I shielded the mouthpiece with my hand, desperate that no one would hear.

"Yes," I whispered. The truth of it amazed to me.

"How exciting," Mrs. Pritchard sighed, "have you told him yet?" I told him many things, but I hadn't told him that. I just figured it out myself. I could also be wrong. 

"No, it's too soon," I whispered. 

"How old are you, Victoria?" Mrs. Pritchard asked. I didn't want to say. I was going to be thirty next month. Encroaching on old maid status. I was content with that, until I met Timothy. Luckily, she accepted my silence. 

"You must have enough experience to know when it's right," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "you don't sound like a woman who lets others' rules decide for her." She was very pushy, though her logic was sound. The veiled compliment didn't hurt either.

"It's right," I said, then added, "but I need more time." There was too much to think about. To bare my soul to Timothy before he's ready to hear it was too risky. I didn't want to lose what I had. 

"You would know best," Mrs. Pritchard slowed, "just remember, the world is imperfect, don't waste your life waiting for perfection." My bath was perfect. Many parts of the my weekend were perfect. Maybe I shouldn't rock the boat. 

"I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Pritchard." I know I sounded like I was brushing her off. I was. I didn't mind the conversation, but she was trying to hurry my life choices.

"I guess my age is showing," Mrs. Pritchard laughed, "I have the wisdom of many misgivings. You just make sure you're happy. Okay?" 

"Of course," I answered, more comfortable with her tone. 

"You'll call me next week?" Mrs. Pritchard asked, her voice hesitant. Maybe she thought she pushed too hard. 

"Like clockwork," I answered lightly. This game of canceling appointments seemed important to her. Except for today's brief exchange, I enjoyed it as well. 

"I promise to keep my advice to myself," Mrs. Pritchard added. I smiled into the phone. She really liked our talks. In fact, I began to think I was the reason her substantial accounts stayed with Griffin. 

"I wouldn't miss it," I said. I paused for a moment, then added, "And I'll think about what you said."

"I'll look forward to next week," Mrs. Pritchard said happily. The call ended with us as friends. Just a minor tiff. I felt a little guilty playing the friend behind the guise of appointment shuffling. I liked her. I promised myself I would see about a personal meeting with her. A sit down where we could share some tea and talk face to face. Maybe I could hand deliver her monthly statement.

My email beeped. A list of Griffin to-dos appeared, enough to keep me busy all week. The deadlines were ridiculous. Possibly revenge for all the red circles on his chest. I held back my laugh, remembering the bath. The marker was more permanent than I had envisioned. The wonderful tortured-boy look on his face when it wouldn't wash off. He would have to walk around imperfect for a while, waiting for nature and time to do its thing. 

I tackled the first task on the list. I had to collect information on four companies Griffin was considering for investing clients' money. He wanted everything, plus a synopsis of the analysis and overlaid comparison charts. Some of it, like the charts, could be computer-generated. The verbiage had to be mine. I knew how he liked it done. Organized, with no single idea broken by a page break. He would spread it across his desk, charts and facts always starting in the upper left and the more subjective material trailing to the bottom right. He would just stand above it all, absorb, analyze and make a decision. 

Griffin was two hours into the partner meeting when I finally completed assembling the analysis. I received that wonderful feeling of completion, crossing off the first item on the list. I sighed at the length of the list before I moved to number two. 

"Ms. Paddington?" a male voice asked. I looked up from my work, my eyes filling with flowers. Pink and red carnations, spotted with pink roses all sitting above a bed of white daisies. I could barely see the delivery man behind them. I almost cried. No one had given me flowers in years. I nodded my head, not trusting my voice, and cleared off the corner of my desk. Curious heads popped up from their own work to watch the delivery. 

I thanked the delivery man while trying desperately to bring work decorum back to my smile. The smell filled my space, transporting my nose straight to spring, bypassing the coming winter altogether. I snatched the attached card quickly when I saw Susan approaching. 

"Who's in love with you?" Susan whispered, wearing a silly grin. Timothy had taken a risk. Then again, the rules didn't apply to us. 

"Lunch?" I said, stalling for time. 

"Lunch and details," Susan responded. I agreed, it gave me a good thirty minutes to come up with a story. I opened the note. It contained only the letter 'T.' I smiled at my bold rule breaker, too chicken to sign his name. The flowers were lovely. I wanted Saturday to hurry up. 

I returned to my list of to-dos. I read the next one twice. I wasn't sure the first read was correct. 

Analyze the four companies above, choose the best one for our clients' capital. Submit answer in writing with supporting reasons. 

I wasn't an analyst. That's why they tolerated Griffin. He was the best analyst in the firm. The clients weren't 'ours,' they were his. I read the task for the third time. It sounded like a homework assignment for a finance class. I took one, years ago, when I grabbed my associates at Sycamore Junior College. I shrugged my shoulders and cleared off my desk, leaving only my monitor and flowers on top. Like Griffin, I spread the analysis documents across the desk. Facts in the lower right, subjective material toward the top left. I was a rebel. 

It took me until lunch to reach a conclusion. It was not one I think Griffin expected, but it was the one that made sense to me. I collected the papers into a neat pile and reapplied the binder clip. I would have to do the write-up after lunch. Griffin hadn't returned, so I suspected the partners were calling in food. I gathered Susan and headed out for a quick bite. 

"So, who's the flower boy?" Susan asked as I poured sesame vinaigrette over my spinach salad. Half-truths always worked better than bold-faced lies. 

"A guy I ran into two a couple of weeks ago." I tore open a crouton packet and added it to my salad. "I knew him before, but...he's changed...a lot." I was trying not to smile. Changed was such an understatement. 

"Cute?" 

"Oh yes," I replied. He has lost-boy eyes and cute little red circles all over his chest. And a smiley face just above my favorite part. 

"I'm going to need a name," Susan prodded. So nosy. Strangely, I enjoyed the attention. 

"Tim," I said comfortably. There's no way anyone would connect Tim with Timothy Griffin. It was just too far out there. The man's work persona kept everyone at arm's length. 

"Tall, short, green hair or scars?" Susan asked jokingly. 

"Tall...well taller than I am," I smiled, "dark hair, cute and thinks only of me." I left out the only-on-the-weekends part. 

"Ask him to lunch so I can meet him," Susan said, lifting her turkey sandwich and taking a bite. That, of course, would be a problem. I just nodded a weak agreement and changed the subject.

"How's your Internet romance going?" I filled my mouth with salad, guaranteeing it was her turn to speak. 

"We traded pictures," Susan replied. I noticed a little blush. I wondered what kind of pictures. "He's always sweet, but sometimes pushy. One email I love him and the next I'm not sure."

"Email is a tough way to communicate. You guys talk on the phone yet?" I asked.

"Yes," Susan was shaking her head, "he has a nice voice, though I could tell he was nervous. Hell, I was shaking the whole time." I smiled in support. 

"That's a good thing. I would be worried if you both weren't nervous." I took a sip of my iced tea. "Are you planning to meet him soon?"

"It's the next step," Susan shrugged, "but neither of us has brought it up yet." 

"Slow is better," I nodded. We finished our lunch with useless gossip about the office. I felt that I successfully dodged Susan's curiosity. I wasn't sure how long Timothy and I could remain private. Griffin did have a way of making it seem an impossibility to most observers. 

I returned to the office and wrote up my analysis of the four companies, attached it to the top of the charts and other documents. I put it on the corner of his desk and received a grunt in reply. I returned to my desk and started on the next task. 

Around three, I texted Kendra. I needed her fashion sense. I had always ignored it in the past, but this time I needed her vamp eyes. It took a few texts before she understood. She would meet me at Sinful Angels, a downtown boutique, after work. It brought a smile to my work. I wanted to see Timothy shaking with desire this weekend. 

"In my office," Griffin demanded, pulling me from the task at hand. I grabbed a pen and pad and headed in. "Close the door." I did and sat in the leather chair with a silly grin. He was beginning to look like Timothy all the time. I saw right through Griffin now. His coarseness flowed right past me and dissipated in a mist. I controlled all that was left. 

"I asked you to choose a company," Griffin said, pointing at my analysis. He didn't ask. Griffin never asked. 

"No, you wanted my opinion on where to put our client's capital," I corrected. I had to get rid of the grin. All I saw was my hand in his hair, forcing him down. It was tough being this close. I was addicted.

"So you chose none of them?" Griffin pointed out.

"If you would have asked which one would lose our clients the least," I replied, "you would have gotten a different answer." I was cocky. This was Griffin's day, not mine. I really wanted it to be mine. I had visions of Timothy laid across the desk. The pending visit to the boutique had really gotten me going. 

"What's wrong with Tiberian Metals?" Griffin asked. I thought that was the one he expected me to pick. This whole thing felt like a test and I probably failed.

"The price is too high," I replied, "it's based on last period results which were an anomaly. They sold off two mines for short-term cash, thus the upswing. This quarter's results will be greatly diminished, and I expect the stock to slide. With the current glut in the metal markets, it will be quite some time before the price recovers." Griffin smiled. Not Timothy, but Griffin. It took me by surprise. 

"Back to work," Griffin said, waving me away. I rose, fueled by the smile. The door was closed, so I made sure my hips moved as I returned to it. I heard Timothy's intake of breath. I ignored it as I opened the door and continued, more business-like, to my desk.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Does this have to do with your boss?" Kendra asked as we walked along the lingerie aisles. 

"You've been talking with Sandra," I guessed. 

"You know it will never work out, right?" Kendra pointed out. I just smiled. The rules didn't apply to us. "Okay, what's the look you're going for?" she conceded.

"Sexy, of course, and," I blushed, "in charge." This time Kendra smiled. 

"Victoria the Dom?" Kendra whispered. Her eyes were alive with incredulity. 

"Don't tell Sandra," I requested, hopelessly. 

"Like whips and stuff?" 

"No," I answered quickly, "he does what I say. That's all." I couldn't imagine hurting Timothy. The red pen was far enough. And the hair, I really liked grabbing his hair. 

"Blindfolds?" Kendra continued. 

"No... but that sounds nice." I said, thinking out loud. The things I could do with him blindfolded. It would be another degree hotter. I was getting excited just thinking about it. Kendra laughed. "Just help me find something," I pleaded, trying to get the blood to drain from my face. 

Kendra was an expert in bedroom wear. She quickly eliminated a lot of the styles that required bigger boobs. Others for color and some for over-the-top slutty. We settled on a solid black leather corset with a lace-up back. It had a hidden side zipper that allowed for easy removal. I found some low-cut, black-lace panties and matching thigh-high stockings. Kendra wanted me to add high heels. I decided the stockings were enough. The heels would just get in the way, and make me less confident. Control would be awkward if I was teetering on stilettos. 

Kendra met me at the register after splitting off for a few minutes. I assumed she was shopping for herself. Instead, she placed a long, soft white silk scarf on top of my pile. Her smile was scandalous. I loved it. 

It was a brutally long week. I spent all five days wishing for Saturday to hurry up and arrive. Griffin kept piling on the work; things I had never done before, along with my normal tasks. At least the work helped in keeping my mind off the coming weekend. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I was hot, smoking hot. I looked at the image in the mirror, amazed at my transformation. The corset pushed what little I had into taut handful-sized bulges with cleavage and sucked in my waist. The skimpy panties barely covered me, and the lace tantalized my butt. The thigh-high stockings made my legs look longer. I had 'sexy bitch' going on. My stupid smile was the only thing interfering with the look. I was so pleased with myself, I couldn't get my lips to form a serious scowl. 

The doorbell rang promptly at eight. I was sure he waited outside the door, staring at his watch, waiting for the second hand to cross the twelve. I opened the door, hiding my body behind it. Timothy was in jeans and a really ugly green sweater. It looked like something an old aunt would give you on Christmas. He stepped in boldly. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Padd..." His words caught in his throat as I closed the door. I saw lust fill his eyes as he took in my new look. An exciting warmth grew from my toes and pleasantly filled my body. I merely pointed at the ground, and Timothy dropped to his knees. I stepped forward, his eyes moving back up to mine. I combed my hand into the hair on the back of his head, gripping tightly. I loved life at that moment.

"You were awfully hard on your assistant this week," I taunted. My damn smile was ruining the effect. I felt him quiver and something, almost a moan, escaped his lips as he responded. My strong, lovely man was a quivering bowl a jelly in my hands. Such pleasure.

"You...you're stunning," Timothy stuttered. It was the first time I had ever heard him slaughter a sentence. My breathing quickened. My role-play shattered. Our lips connected, powerful magnets refusing to break away. I fell forward, forcing him to the floor; tugging at his ugly sweater, trying to get it off his body. He rolled on top of me, lifting the sweater over his head and letting it fly past our heads. The Ohio State t-shirt followed. I no longer cared who was in charge. 

Timothy scooted back between my legs, staring at me while he undid his belt. I struggled to help him, nothing was moving fast enough. He crawled out of his pants, his erection stiffly fighting the effort. His hand moved quickly to my panties. I raised my butt and they were gone. I reached up to unzip the corset. 

"Leave it!" Griffin ordered. Oh shit, Griffin was going to take me. I shifted my hips, pointing myself at him. I let go of everything, willingly. 

"I am yours," I pleaded. I just wanted him. I didn't care how. 

Griffin guided himself into me. A single determined, yet not angry, thrust. I exhaled in a verbally dull thump as he filled me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pulling him deeper. He moved strongly, ignoring my death grasp, in and out of me in the most forceful manner. My insides were tingling, my breath gasping at each thrust. My stomach was curling as my orgasm neared sooner than I expected. It had crept steadily, climbing higher without pause. My fingers gripped his back, nails digging in as my muscles tightened. 

My insides let loose. All my muscles strained to ride the waves Griffin shot through me. Every nerve responded as I yelled. I was off the ground, latched to him, shaking as I felt him stiffen. His growl joined my wail. Warmth flooded, muscles failed, faces strained. He collapsed us slowly to the ground. Little wondrous tremors toured my body as everything slowed. Griffin, panting, moved his weight to his elbows and kissed me. A wonderful, languishing kiss. A lovers' kiss. When he parted from my lips I saw it in his eyes. My Timothy loved me. 

Somehow, Timothy rolled over, pulling my marshmallow bones over his. I smiled weakly from above. He reached up and pushed my sweaty hair behind my ear. 

"I'm sorry," Timothy said softly, "I ruined your day." I nuzzled into his shoulder, not wanting to use any strength to hold up my neck. 

"I would like it ruined more often," I responded. I could feel his smile form. His arms enveloped me, gluing us together. I could hear his heart slowing as did his breathing. I closed my eyes wondering if heaven was equivalent. "You liked my outfit," I whispered.

"Oh yes," he whispered, his hands tenderly moving along my back, finding skin around my corset. "I love the woman in it as well." A horribly perfect time to tell me. The emotion was too strong and tears filled my eyes. If he would have waited another moment or two, I could have formed a wonderful response. Instead I half cried, half blubbered a 'me-too' which made little sense as a reply. Luckily, he understood. Lips said it better anyway. 

Timothy returned the day to me. Not that I minded losing it, but it was enjoyable to have it back. Being spoiled by him was sheer pleasure. Spoiling me at my command, even better. I sat in the tub, his cocked legs a makeshift chair back, leaning my head listlessly back as he washed my hair for the second time. I loved how his fingers massaged their way into my scalp mixing with the warm water he kept lifting up. I wondered how long this man had been hiding in Griffin's interior. 

"Why did you push me so hard this week?" I asked lazily. It wasn't an admonishment, merely a question. Griffin did little that didn't have a purpose. 

"Just testing," Timothy responded, "did you know that the other partners thought Tiberian Metals was an excellent investment?"

"So, I was wrong," I admitted. Didn't matter, I wasn't a analyst anyway. 

"You're the only one who got it right," Timothy admitted, chuckling to himself, "those guys regurgitate the S&P 500 sheets and ignore logic. Investments are about the future, not the past. You see that intuitively." 

"Timothy Griffin, are you complimenting me?" I smiled. 

"Yes," Timothy continued, "you are the sexiest, smartest woman I know." 

Sex in a tub full of water is more difficult than you would imagine. There is a lot of slipping, shampoo in the eyes, smushed limbs and lots of laughter. I took Timothy there. I wasn't sure if it was because I was the sexiest or because I was the smartest. I think it was because I could. He was mine and looked so damned hot with those faded red circles all over his chest.

The problems with weekends is the word 'ends.' Monday came around before I was ready. We would really have to leave the house one of these weekends. Break up the time more, make it last longer in our heads. We had an unspoken agreement to not broadcast our office affair, but we needed some public 'us time.' I promised myself I would broach the subject next weekend. Mr. Rules-don't-apply would agree out of stubbornness. And because I asked. 

I was surprised to see Griffin enter the office a few minutes late. He was never late. Each of the secretaries he passed gave him the prerequisite 'good morning.' Instead of ignoring them, he nodded. There were more than a few open mouths by the time he came up to my desk.