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It all began when he walked into work, a fit, 6 ft tall man in his late-thirties, gym bag slung over one shoulder, wet, dark brown hair dripping onto his eyes, these soft brown eyes that looked directly at me the moment he stepped inside. He looked energetic, like he was a runner. Wearing a white t-shirt and sleek, gray athletic shorts, he did not look like he was my new boss, but I knew that he was. He smiled, this quick, easy smile with a mischievous curve, as he said, “Hi, you must be Lacy. I’m Jon.”
“Hi Jon,” is all I could manage staring up into his eyes. Fortunately, our director strode over from his office and interrupted this brief silence.
“Jon!” He yelled with arms wide open. “Come to my office! Busy morning at the gym?”
Jon, or rather Mr. Ellis, was ushered into the director’s office, and I suddenly remembered to breathe. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed this interaction, but the rest of the team looked oblivious, busy with other things at their cubicles.
Jon’s, or Mr. Ellis’s, room was behind my cubicle. When his blinds were open, he could see me at all times. The dirty part of my mind wondered if he watched me.
I was fairly new myself having recently graduated with a Master’s in Art History that got me nowhere. This was the only place that had even interviewed me. They seemed set to hire me before I had answered most of their questions. I wondered if it was the dress I had worn which accentuated my curves more than was probably appropriate for the interview. In its defense, it showed less cleavage than my other dresses. The interviewers, all older men, emphasized that they were looking for someone with a “can do” attitude, and I told them that was me, no problem. I tried smiling and nodding a lot. Mr. Seymore said he liked my personality when we walked out of the interview room, his hand on my lower back. To my own surprise, I let out a giggle. About 20 minutes later, I got a phone call that I was hired.
Later I told myself that I couldn’t help what I did. That it was Jon walking around in those shorts in the morning before he got dressed in his buttoned down shirt, long sleeved that he always rolled up to his elbows, pants, and thin tie. I told myself it was the way he smiled at me and sometimes tapped on my desk on his way to his room, the feeling of being watched by him, the way he would keep looking at me when talking to the group, the way he said my name, and how he already knew things about me. One day he asked me to come into his room.
“Lacy, come in.”
He got up from his seat to shut the door behind me, part of his chest lightly grazing my shoulder.
I breathed in his cologne before I took a step away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I think I should use your master’s in art to help me with my room,” he said, his voice and movements easy, confident, and jovial. “I need some serious help with these walls.”
Truly his walls were bare. I could feel my own disappointment as we continued to talk about art and wall decor. What had I been expecting?
I told myself that I couldn’t help it, that I just wanted an bursa escort outlet, something to get me through the day… I started reading things at work when I was bored. At the beginning, it was questions about office romance and how to know if he’s into you, articles written by mainstream magazines and popular advice websites, but soon enough, I was looking into illicit stories and erotica, diving deeper to feed this newfound hunger that I did not understand. What was wrong with me? Did I care? I started wearing mostly dresses and skirts to work, sometimes showing some cleavage or back, hoping that he would notice. Even if he did, he never said anything. I never caught him staring. Finally, I thought that it must be something wrong with me, as I typed in the question, “Am I addicted to sex?”
A few days later, he called me into his office. This time, he didn’t look jovial. His brown hair looked like he had been pulling at it. He stayed seated.
“Shut the door,” he said.
Unsure of what I had done, I shut the door and sat in the chair in front of his desk. The room was dark, the only light coming from the big window behind him.
His beautiful eyes looked hooded, but his lip twitched upward like he might smile.
“Lacy,” he said. “Thank you for meeting with me. Since you’re fairly new, you probably didn’t know…”
And here he stopped and looked like he wasn’t sure what to say. He stood up and started to walk as if he might pace, then stopped closer to my chair, one hand on his desk. His voice grew deeper, more serious.
“As managers, we can track… a lot of things. This includes, and has always been the policy before I got here, our employee’s search history. Basically anything that you’ve read or looked up…
He said the last two words very carefully. It took a second for the realization to dawn on me. When it did, my pulse shot up as I felt like walls were caving in. My search history…
“Like…” I said, unable to finish the sentence because I was having trouble breathing. I didn’t want to keep looking at him, but we had already locked eyes. He had read all of my questions… I thought back to the dirtiest ones, feeling naked in a way that I had never known before, everything about me open to a man that was standing above me, fully clothed.
He simply nodded with a close lipped smile, a manager’s smile. We stayed like this, me staring at him, as I felt myself die over and over again. Finally, he walked back to his desk.
“You’re not in trouble,” he said. “I promise that I won’t tell. But I just thought you might… want to be more careful with what you look up.”
He smiled like he had made a good joke, jovial Jon again, but there was something else in that smile. Something that made me shiver.
He didn’t seem to treat me any differently. The first few mornings after, the back of my neck would heat up when I remembered our conversation. I couldn’t get that smile out of my head. It had been so… had I imagined it… wicked…
But he would still say good morning to me before going to his desk, and his bursa escort bayan eyes were as direct as they had always been. They were kind, beautiful eyes with long lashes, but they had a laser focus. Looking at them always made me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
Sometimes, he would speak with another coworker right outside his office, and he would put his hand on my desk as he spoke to them, rubbing the edge absentmindedly or feeling the wood. Sometimes he would look at me and smile as if I might be listening to the conversation too.
People liked him, and he liked them. He started taking on more leadership roles fairly quickly, and our director treated him like he was a rising star. At team huddles, women laughed when he told jokes. Women of all ages stared at him longer than was necessary, but he never seemed to notice. Often, after he told a joke, he would look at me as if to get my reaction.
One day one of the directors, Mr. Seymore, visited his office. I was wearing a dress that showed a lot of my back, clasped at my neck and had my long hair up in a messy bun. I heard them talking in low voices as if sharing a joke and then louder, Mr. Seymore said, “Looks like you’ve got the best office in the building.” I turned to look at what he was referring to and saw them staring at me through Jon’s window. I looked away quickly. Jon changed the subject.
That was all that happened until late one afternoon, a few weeks after our discussion, when he called me over to the warehouse behind the building.
“Lacy,” he said, “Can you try something for me?”
The warehouse was dark as most of the lights were off. Almost everyone had left for the day, and Jon and I were alone.
“Sure, Mr. Ellis,” I said, knowing he liked me to call him Jon but also afraid to say it.
Like always, he corrected me. “Jon.”
“The company is thinking about buying a few of these chairs for stress relief and putting them beside the break room. Someone needs to test them out, and I thought about you.”
“Oh,” I said, not sure why he thought of me. “Sure, I’d be happy to.”
“Great! Have a seat.”
The chair was large, black leather which enveloped me when I sat in it.
“A little big for you?” He said, smiling, one hand on the top of the chair and the other on a remote control device that was attached to it.
“It feels very comfortable,” I said, looking up at him.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s see how far back it can go.”
He pressed a button, and the chair slowly and steadily reclined backwards. My dress started riding up as my body started lying down. I tried to keep the dress pulled down. I could see him standing over me as the chair finally stopped, almost completely 180 degrees. I found myself breathing more heavily, but he seemed not to notice.
“That’s pretty far back. Still comfortable?”
“Uh huh,” is all I could say.
“Now tell me how these seat warmers feel,” he said after pushing a button.
My hips, pelvis, and butt started to feel warm, a sensation that only enhanced how I already felt. I was still trying escort bursa to get my bearings. I could tell that I was visibly breathing and having trouble swallowing.
“Mmhmm.” I nodded.
“Good, good.” Then he leaned in, his tie almost touching my chest. Smiling that same, wicked smile that I had seen in his office, he said, “Would you like to try the vibrators?”
“What?” I asked.
“Well, it’s a massage chair. What level of vibration should I set it to? I’ll start with lowest setting.”
And then it started, the buzzing beneath me. My mouth slacked as he changed it to medium, my whole body feeling the vibration. Lying down, warm and buzzing with him standing over me, I could tell that I was getting wet. My breathing worsened. Was this my worst nightmare or my best dream? When he pushed it to medium high, I shut my eyes. My dress had ridden up to my panties, but my hands were gripping the armrests. Then he changed it to the highest setting, and my mouth opened wider. I could tell that I looked like I was orgasming, but I couldn’t stop as the feelings rushed over me in waves, my whole body held and shaking. Still completely aware of him, my back started to arch.
An eternity later and yet too soon, he turned it off and brought the chair back up again silently. I wondered how long he had been watching me. I pulled my dress back down, ashamed to meet his gaze.
After seconds of excruciating silence, his voice was deeper and a little hoarse when he said, “Yeah, we’ll be getting one.”
The following day, he forgot to say good morning as he passed my desk and walked to his room. He shut the door. He had never done that before.
I fought the urge to look at him behind me. I fought the urge to call in sick.
He sat on the other end of the table at the team huddle and stayed mostly quiet. When I finally got the courage to look his way, he was staring at me. Had he been staring at me this whole time? I thought he might look away, but he didn’t. He had an unfocused look in his eyes, so different from the sharp, energetic eyes that I was used to. He bit his lip. Then someone asked him a question that forced him to look away and focus. He responded with something funny, and the whole room chuckled. He didn’t look at me to see my reaction. I wasn’t laughing anyway.
We were often two of the last people to leave. I went to refill my water in the break room after almost everyone had left. Jon walked in a few seconds later and shut the door.
Before I could turn around, he had pressed me up against the counter with his body, and I could feel his hardness. He pressed his face in my hair as he breathed me in. I stood motionless, afraid the moment would end.
“Lacy,” he said.
He placed his hands on my hips and slowly moved them down to my thighs and up my dress, pushing the dress up above my butt. We were both panting as he pulled my panties down and pressed his fingers into me. Without saying another word, he rubbed me back and forth as he unzipped his own pants and took his dick out. I was soaking wet when he pushed it in, and I gripped the counter as he thrust himself against me. He was more forceful than I would have expected, an electric energy that charged and pulled at my body, my arms taut with tension, a hot sweat blurring my eyes. Finally, he came inside me, and I thought I might fall to my knees. He held me as we breathed heavily, completely spent.
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