Dr. White's Code of Sluts Ch. 02 Pt. 02

"Fine," he agreed, a tangle of nerves. "But don't do... anything," he warned her. She nodded, and a small bit of pride filled him that he'd gained full control of this twisted situation. She took another step forward, but he stepped back in kind. She again held up her hands as a peace offering, trying to tell her she was coming in peace.

"Listen, if you want to leave, fine," she began, still clearly annoyed with him that he'd turned her generous offer down. "But you're no fool, and you know you're in no condition to drive."

Frankly, he felt completely sober, his mind clear, the shock of what he had been doing sharpening his dulled senses. But if it came to it, he doubted he'd pass a blood alcohol test, so he opted to hear her out.

"We have a driver service," she began calmly. "We typically use it for clients, but they are on-call 24/7, and they are ready for moments just like this. Let me get you in contact with them. I can set it up, and they'll drive you and your wife home. And you can even call them up in the morning to drive you back and pick up your car. How does that sound?"

Still leery of her, he couldn't deny that it sounded like a good idea. Despite coming from her, this woman who'd taken him to the limit without breaking, the logic was sound. Taking another step back, he nodded. She smiled at this.

"Alright... follow me. Let's get their number," she said, gesturing for him that her intentions were genuine. "Nothing will happen," she added, hands raised in surrender. Again, wanting to see the best in people, but with nonetheless guarded senses, he nodded again, opting to follow, falling into step behind her as she led him to her office. And as he did, his mind began to reckon with what he'd done, ignoring the sight of Stacy's firm, juicy ass as it swayed side-to-side while he walked behind her.

He'd never cheated on a girl... ever! Not even close. Not till tonight. And not to get into semantics, while he hadn't fully cheated, he didn't not cheat. He'd gone back and forth with Stacy in what he now realized was some flirting, mostly on her part but some inadvertently on his. He'd certainly checked her out, and stole glimpses at her ridiculous body. He'd held hands with her, however briefly that was. He'd danced with her. He'd allowed her to grind her perfect ass against his manhood, wearing him down where he was rubbing himself against her lewdly, dry humping her in the middle of the office. And lastly, with her guiding hands, he'd squeezed her big tits, his fingers forced to dig into them through her tight dress, feeling their softness, their perkiness, feeling a hint of the bare, smooth skin in the process.

He was no innocent in all this. He'd let things go way too far, falling victim to her voracious feminine wiles, letting himself get lulled in. He'd done some very bad things, and even though he'd bailed at the last minute, he still had some explaining to do. He had to reckon with what he'd done. Of how he'd betrayed his wife.

Elizabeth. Poor thing. She'd had a bad night even before her husband began dirty dancing with her boss. And even though she'd embarrassed herself, that was no excuse. He'd done far worse in her absence. He could see now the flaws in his little plan to win over Stacy. What an idiot he'd been. But the worst part was that it was rooted in some level of distrust in his wife, that she was maybe blowing things out of proportion. And his damn hero complex convinced him that he could swoop in and fix everything. Idiot! He should have trusted his wife. He should not have pushed her into coming here even though he knew she didn't want to. He knew she was shy and introverted, and he often tried to push her out of her comfort zone in life. But perhaps this was an occasion where he should have just backed off as she said, because he'd underestimated who he was dealing with in Stacy. He should have trusted his wife's judgment, and because he hadn't, he'd fallen into this huge mess.

He didn't know how he was gonna fix this, but he had to think of something. Part of him, a cowardly part of him, had kinda hoped he could just push past this and never have to confront if full-on, hoping to have learned his lesson and know not to make the same mistake twice. But that wasn't a viable option. Elizabeth would be crushed when she heard from her officemates what her husband and Stacy had been up to together in her absence. But she would be almost as crushed to hear it directly from him. He could pass off some of the blame on Stacy, but the blame wasn't all hers. Even though he'd eventually stood up for his wife, doing so at the moment of truth, he'd done a lot of bad stuff before that point, stuff he'd have to own up to. Knowing Elizabeth, this momentary mistake would eat at her for a long, long time. He'd fucked up big time, and he didn't know if his marriage would ever fully recover. There was no easy way out. The only thing he hoped for was that the trust and love between him and Elizabeth was strong enough to create a level of understanding and forgiveness that could withstand this horrible night.

Before he knew it, Stacy was leading him through the darkened entrance room where her secretary sat and into her office proper, standing by the door and allowing him to pass by. He made sure to keep his distance as much as possible as he entered the dim office, the only light coming from the dim lights from the party. He remained guarded as he stepped away from her into the office, keeping at least one eye on her at all times. But she respected the truce they'd made, not approaching him, instead closing the door behind them and quietly locking it before moving towards her desk on the opposite side of the room. Flicking on a lamp on her desk, filling the dark office with a single warm, incandescent light, she glanced at him and pointed at the couch he was standing nearby.

"You can sit down," she said, her tone empty and disinterested. Still on guard, he took a seat, not relaxing in the slightest. The blue light of her computer screen lit up her face as she leaned over and booted it up. "It'll be a minute till I find the number." Judging by her voice, it seemed like she had truly accepted her defeat.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. For the first time in hours, the Christmas music was being drowned out, muffled by the walls of her office, leaving a heavy silence between them. He could feel the tension in this quiet corner office weighing on them both, leaving an awkward silence between them. Now that he'd successfully defused the moment between them, part of him felt the urge to cut the tension. Always the people pleaser, even in a moment like this. And the perfect opportunity for this came moments later. The light of the lamp on her desk glimmered against something on the wall opposite, something above the door, and when he saw what it was, he couldn't stop himself from speaking up.

"Whoa!" he called out. "Sweet sword!" Above her door was a katana, displayed on a plaque, looking like the real deal. Exposing himself as the sweet hearted nerd he truly was beneath his masculine outer shell, he couldn't contain his excitement at the sight of it, speaking out without thinking.

She looked up at him, giving him a withering look. Instantaneously, he regretted what he'd said. It was as if he'd told the hottest girl in school about his baseball card collection, something he knew she could care less about, the type of awkward moment from back then that resonated deeply with him, having experienced it once or twice. His excitement betrayed him, and the only thing he could do was try to bail himself out with a joke.

"So..." he began, looking back at her, playing it cool. "You study the blade?" he asked, deadpan. For a few awkward moments, nothing changed. Then, she smirked and shook her head. Phew... he'd escaped that one!

"When I got hired, one of the board members thought it'd be a totally cool, and totally not racist congratulation gift to give me," she explained, rolling her eyes. "But frankly, I'm used to it..." she trailed off, and for a moment, his kind heart was sympathetic to her, sympathetic to the perils she faced as a woman in a heavily male industry. But then he remembered that she'd tried to aggressively seduce him and break up his marriage, so he couldn't muster that much pity for her plight.

"What's your phone number?" she asked, not even looking up, typing on her computer. Ryan paused, unsure if he should give his phone number to her without thinking twice. Sensing this, she continued. "It's for the driver, so they can contact you when they're downstairs..." she explained in a withering tone, as if she wouldn't be so shameless as to believe this would work if this was a scheme of hers. Sensing that she was being honest, he relented and told her his phone number, which she typed in along with him before continuing to work.

A silence between them fell again, and as it did, Ryan realized something. This was the moment he'd been waiting for all night. A quiet, private moment where he could finally talk things out with Stacy in regard to her treatment of Elizabeth. And after what she'd tried to pull with him, he figured he had a bit of leverage over her for once. Working up the courage to go through with it, he spoke up.

"I wish you'd be nicer to Elizabeth," he said firmly, ready to stand up for his wife completely, just like he'd promised himself. "She is always so stressed out, and she's told me about the way you've treated her, and... I can't imagine that's the best way to do business. To lead your employees..." She looked away from her screen and stared at him, her expression blank for a few tense moments as she took in his words.

Then, she grinned.

"Hahaha!" she laughed to herself, shaking her head, resuming typing at her computer.

"What?" he replied, unamused. "What's so funny?"

"You're the last person who should be talking," she replied. He looked at her, confused. She looked up at him again, shaking her head before elaborating. "One thing I was taught a long time ago... iron sharpens iron. Some people need a firmer hand than others. This is not a kind industry, and if your wife expects smiles and sunshine here, she's in the wrong line of work. It's not gonna get easier for her, so if she can't handle it, she'd better get out now."

"That just sounds like the excuse assholes make so they can act like assholes," he replied firmly. Not looking away from her computer screen, she smiled to herself.

"It's always funny seeing how people react to how I run things..." she said without looking up, her nails clicking on her keyboard. After a few moments, she turned her gaze to look directly at him. "Look... I am not nice. I am not merciful. I do not play fair. I will ride my employees... hard!" A strange shiver went down his spine at this statement for some reason. "I will take all credit for any good work my employees do, because that's the point of their job. To make me look good. And when they fuck up, I will throw them under the bus in a heartbeat. I bet people like you and your wife think that's all wrong, that I should be kind and supportive and ethical," she said, adopting a peppy, clueless tone. Then she stood up straight and looked him down. "But guess what? My bosses love me! We have never had higher profits, and it's not long before I'll be promoted out of here and onto the corporate board. I'll soon be making tens of millions of dollars a year, which is only a small percentage of what I make this fucking company. And all these idiots here will be left behind, making a fraction of that. Face facts.... I'm a fucking winner, Ryan, and I always will be," she boasted with such confidence that it was hard to deny her.

"My point is, some people see me at work, they see my success, and they hate it. They hate me. They whine and complain that it's so unfair that a bitch like me gets away with whatever I want. They get up in arms about the injustice of it all. They probably even go home and cry about it to their spouses," she said, giving Ryan a pointed look. "They don't learn from adversity. They don't toughen up. They don't work harder. They don't even have the guts to stand up to me for all the shit I put them through. They fucking crumble! They are losers! And people like that are nothing to me. They are less than the dirt on my shoe, and it's only a matter of time before I flush them down the fucking toilet!"

Ryan gulped as Stacy fully exposed the true her that she'd been hiding from him all night. She'd been playing nice, but now, with nothing to hide, she wasn't ashamed to expose her true nature. Standing behind her desk, hands on her hips, a sneer on her face, with the glow of her screen lighting up her dress making her glow in the darkness, it was as if she was emanating pure evil. Ryan was suddenly nervous just being in her presence as she slowly revealed that she was even worse than his wife described.

"But there's another way some people react to how I run this office," she resumed, smirking, as if savoring the next thing she was about to say. "They take my side! They respond exactly as I want them to. Instead of trying to oppose me, they hop on board behind me. They defend me! They prop me up. They kiss my ass. They let me do whatever the fuck I want. They live to impress me, and they would do anything to make me happy. Anything... You know Kendall?" she asked. He nodded slightly, enraptured by her evil speech. "She doesn't like me. Not really. I took her job, the one she was all set up for. I stole her spot. But... you know what? Game respects game. She was smart. She saw that I was fucking good. She saw how unwise it would be to try to oppose me. So... she took my side. Now we're besties, working together for my success, because she knows that good things for me mean good things for her. And she's not the only one whose attached themselves to my star." She paused, walking around the desk till she was standing in front of it, continuing to speak as she moved. "People like that... those are the ones that know how to play the game. Those are the ones that are gonna get ahead in life. They don't try fighting back. They just... surrender..." she finished, her ass pressing against the edge of her desk as she leaned against it.

"You're crazy," Ryan replied simply, marveling at how huge of a shift there was now that she had no reason to be nice anymore. He knew even from the start that she'd been putting on a performance for him, but he didn't realize to what degree she was faking it until now. She merely smiled at his response before continuing.

"But you know what the funny thing is?" she began. "Your wife is clearly the first type I described, a total loser who crumbles any time she's faced down with me, but you..." she paused, pointing at him. "You're the second type! As much as you hate to admit it, you're on my side! You've taken my side all night!"

"What are you talking about?" Ryan asked, baffled. It was as if he was a lifelong Christian, and this stranger was telling him out of nowhere that he was actually super into the dark lord. It was craziness.

"Look, we both know your wife's a miserable, dreary fucking loser," she began, as if this fact was undeniable. Ryan bristled at this statement, his fingers digging into the material of the couch. "She probably goes home, and whines and cries to you about just how mean I am to her. Right?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, and his non-answer was answer enough. "You coddle her, you treat her so nice and gently at home, and you don't toughen her up at all. And look what happened tonight? She embarrassed herself! She made herself look like a complete fucking loser in front of her boss, her coworkers, and her husband! Look at the woman you married, and see how weak she is! How she crumbled in the face of another woman. I put the slightest bit of pressure on her, and she fucking shattered! The woman you married fell apart! Because that's who she is. That's who she's always been, and always will be." Ryan looked away, embarrassed at hearing this, not able to find a strong enough defense to deny her words.

"And then look at how you reacted," she began, a smug grin on her face. "From the second we met, you stared at me. You took every opportunity to chat with me. To flirt with me..."

"No..." Ryan began, shaking his head.

"No?" she asked. "Ryan, I could feel your eyes on my tits all night. More than any other guy tonight, you could just not... stop... staring at them, hahaha... What a good husband you are!" He shook his head again.

"That's not true," he replied defiantly.

"Your wife probably complains about me to you every day, and what do you do as soon as you meet me?" she began. "You danced with me! You got in real close..." she teased.

"No..." he repeated again.

"I put pressure on your wife, and she shatters," Stacy said. "I put a little pressure on you, and what do you do? With this woman your wife hates? You ground your big fucking dick against my ass! You copped a feel of my big, perfect tits!"

"No... that's not what happened," he began. "That wasn't my plan. It just... it got out of hand. My plan... I was trying to talk to you about my wife, about Elizabeth. You... you did all that to me." Ryan claimed, slightly babbling. Stacy rolled her eyes, unfazed.

"You glued yourself to me all night!" she claimed with a knowing grin. "You could have left hours ago and taken your wife home after she got drunk! But you decided to stay, because I convinced you to... because you wanted to be around me for just a little longer..."

"That's not what happened!" He claimed, slightly losing his cool, this all sounding so much worse than intended as she laid it all out.

"You could have left when I first brushed my ass against your big cock, but you decided to dance with me instead!" she pointed out.

"I tried to..." he began weakly, not having any good defense for that.

"You could have even left a few minutes ago after humping that big, perfect cock of yours against me, after squeezing my tits in front of all your wife's colleagues, and instead you followed me into my office... alone..." she began. She then pushed herself away from her desk and slowly began to approach him. He pushed himself back into the couch.

"What are you doing?" he asked, panicking. This was all slipping from his control. Holy shit! Was this actually happening? He was frozen, unable to move as she stepped towards him.

"Just admit what we both know," Stacy began, slowly approaching. "You defended your wife for years as I ran her down, but as soon as you met me, you knew the score. You immediately realized that your wife is a total fucking loser, and that I am way better than her in every way, and that I'm completely justified in bullying the shit out of her."

"No..." he said, feeling like he truly was talking with the devil, this wicked woman saying such evil, heartless things to him. But she kept slowly moving towards him, sashaying confidently, her massive breasts wobbling heavily. He couldn't deny that the sight of her was hypnotic. On one hand, he was drawn to her... on the other... terrified of her.

"No?" she repeated again. "I am way better looking than her. I'm gorgeous, and I have a way better body. I mean, my ass is unreal, and my tits... just look at them!" she said, reaching down to cup her tits, bouncing them in her palms. His eyes went wide at this. "Your wife isn't exactly a catch. She ain't that pretty. She has no butt, and she's as flat as a board. I mean, every woman in the office laughs at her, even the really nice ones." He bristled at all these slights against his wife, so taken aback by how casually cruel Stacy was being that he didn't know how to respond. "Not only that, I'm not only way better at my job than her, but I'm a better match for you than she'll ever be. Look how easy it was for us to talk. Look at how much we have in common. You can't deny that there's something between us..."