As Seen by the Acorn TreebyKittenliz©
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, that would be all for today. Remember that your assignments are due next Tuesday." Karlien closely watches the Economics lecturer, a slight frown of concentration on her forehead. He starts packing away his books, and he switches off the computer after closing the Power Point he used to present his lesson. She takes it as a cue that he is well and truly finished, switching off her microphone in the sound proof interpreter's booth at the back of the lecture hall. She quickly moves outside to collect the headsets from the English students, commonly referred to as the users at the interpreting services. She clears her throat, smiling and telling the students to have a good day. Finally, the last loitering user returns his headset. She takes out the box of alcohol swabs to clean each before packing them away. As she is working, she stretches her head, easing her tense muscles. It has been a long day, and her mind and body is beyond tired. She is glad that it was Economics at the end of the day. She doesn't like to think of herself as a perfect interpreter, nobody is, but at least she knows Economic terminology like the back of her hand. It is her speciality. She knows the lecturers as well, she is familiar with their way of speaking, and she knows all their quirks.
"Can I have a word with you, Karlien?" somebody says behind her. She jumps slightly, having thought that everybody had left. Even though she is tired and focusing on her last task, and amidst being startled out of her thoughts, she immediately recognises the voice as belonging to Mr Zackary Dwayne. He is one of the younger Economic lecturers, and she has just spent the last hour and a half carefully listening to each syllable passing his lips. She sighs inwardly and plasters on her professional face. She is a very shy person, and she seldom says more than she needs to to anybody.
"Mr Dwayne, yes, of course. How may I help you," she answers in the friendliest voice she can muster, speaking Afrikaans, according to protocol, and as he had addressed her in that language. In the multilingual society she lives in it is easy to switch between languages without skipping a beat.
"Some of my English students had been telling me you have been getting terminology wrong, and I wondered how I can help you master the correct terms," he says with a sober tone. Karlien is completely dumbstruck, and she feels the cold sweat breaking out on her palms. She frowns, a million thoughts running through her head. As she is a linguist, she struggles with unfortunate perfectionist tendencies. She runs through every word she said, looking for the mistakes. She knows every word on the list that she had made, but had she gotten the context wrong somewhere? She never knew how to deal with criticism, and to avoid it, she made sure to be a straight A student right through to her Honours that she finished the year before.
"I don't understand, Mr Dwayne, which terms," she implores, after realising that she is staring at him like an idiot.
"There is a long list of which the students told me about in my office, if you wish to go through them. However, I am quite surprised. Mrs Viviers assured the Faculty that we would not have this problem, and if we did, we were to take it up with her," he states, making sure the weight of the reprimand sinks in. He nods his satisfaction as he sees the flicker of fear on Karlien's face. It almost makes him smile, but he knows it is too early in the game to allow that. Karlien is beside herself with panic. If Mrs Viviers, her boss, finds out, she would be in a very uncomfortable position indeed. Karlien doesn't actually know what happens when there is a complaint laid against one, her pride prevents her from ever wanting to find out. She does concede that it would not be the end of the world; she knows she can't get fired from one complaint, but it sure as hell would not look good for the raise she is hoping to get.
"Yes, of course," Karlien mumbles, speaking almost without thinking, merely following protocol. "The Interpreting Service does all it can to provide our clients with an impeccable service. This should never happen, and I will do my utmost best to ensure it does not happen again. Would you be so kind as to e-mail me the list, and I will make sure that I know how to use every word. Also feel free to contact our manager, Mrs Viviers, in this regard." As she speaks, she hears her voice trembling. She trains herself to take control of her tone, and the result is a professional-sounding statement. Zackary shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Oh no, my soon-to-be pet, he thinks to himself, you are not getting off so easy.
"Indeed I shall," he says vehemently, "if it appears to me that you are not making every effort possible." He pauses once again to see his words taking effect in a hopeful glance on her features. He had studied this quiet girl for a long time, and it pleases him immensely to know he has her all figured out. He knows he has attacked her most vulnerable spot since she was a very driven and focused girl. He also knows he would have it difficult if he tried to manipulate her in any other way. Anybody else would recognise his claim as entirely bogus, as she is an excellent interpreter, who is in high demand in the faculty. Everybody knows, everybody, except Karlien. Her insecurity about her performance is exactly what makes her perform so well. He would love to train that intense focus on him. She would make such a perfect pet.
"So, no," he continues, "I shall not e-mail it to you, because that would not ensure me of your effort. I shall go through the list with you personally and we shall discuss the translations in my office. Then you shall return there tomorrow afternoon for me to test your accuracy for myself."
Had Karlien been thinking straight, she would have smelt a rat at his insistence to go to his office. All she can think about now is proving to him that she is more than worth her salt and she starts collecting her belongings.
"I will meet you there in ten minutes," she croaks, "I have to put away my equipment." She feels tears burning just on the surface and she busies herself to hide her feelings. She hates herself for not being able to handle the situation better.
"All right," Zackary says slowly, as if he distrusts her. "I will meet you there." With that he turns on his heels to stalk out of the venue. When he is out of sight, he slows to a more leisurely pace, jingling his keys and whistling a happy tune. How he loves the chase!
Karlien packs away the last of the headsets. Her heart is racing and she cannot manage to think coherently. Never in her life had she fucked up her work. It is not such a colossal issue as she makes it out in her mind, but Karlien does not deal well with failure.
"Fuck," she mumbles, "the recording!" Of every interpreter in every module there is a recording of a class for quality control purposes. She vows to get a hold of it as soon as possible so that she can listen to it and hear for herself. She will even offer it to Mr Dwayne to assuage his doubts.
With this thought in her mind, she relaxes, knowing that it would erase all her doubts. It is something she can focus on, work on. It would help her fix the problem. She sighs, wipes away the threatening tears, and walks purposefully to Mr Dwayne's office. It is already nearly six o'clock. The School of Economics is deserted, and she has to swipe her card to get through the turnstile into the building. She walks up to the third floor, feeling slightly out of breath as she scans the directory to find his office number. It is way at the end of a dark hall, and she can see the light from his office streaming under the closed door. It looks foreboding, and she shivers, losing her short-lived confidence. She knocks timidly, biting on her lip and stealing herself.
"Come in," she hears him command, his voice muffled. She feels the cold sweat on her hands again as she touches the steel knob and turns it. For a moment, she just stands there, with the knob turned down, without opening the door.
"Oh for heaven's sake, come in! I haven't got all day," he barks and she hears his footsteps thudding closer. The door is wrenched from her hands and she falls into the office with the motion. She trips and lands on her knees, her shoulder bag falling to the floor with a heavy crash. He closes the door while thinking to himself how appropriate her position is. She would soon learn to love it. He is almost sure of it.
"Have a seat, it is more comfortable than the floor," he says, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. For a brief moment, as Karlien stands up and straightens her clothes, a look of annoyance darkens her face. What an asshole, she thinks, but then the mortification sets in. She must look a complete blundering fool. She blushes as she looks at his face, strict and no longer smiling. The thought flies out of the window as she remembers her predicament. She sits down gingerly on one of the seats in front of his littered desk, nursing the bruise on her knee. She opens her bag and draws out her extensive terminology list that she has been working on for the whole year. She hands it to Zackary without saying a word. He raises his brow quizzically, and takes it from her, scanning the page. He admits himself to be quite impressed. There are words on the page that even he does not know the translation of. He takes out the bullshit list he prepared and compares it. She did not make one single error, and in fact, added a lot more detail. He silently scolds himself for giving so little thought to the amount of preparation there must go into interpreting.
"Mr Dwayne," she whispers barely audibly, and he gives a glance at her impatiently. She almost loses her nerve to speak, but she presses on, "the Interpreting Service holds a... a recording... that you can... that we can use... to uhm, to assess my performance...". Her voice trails away into silence.
"I have listened to it, since they sent me a copy afterwards," he says. He can visibly see her face fall, and he gloats with the knowledge that he has knocked the wind completely out of her sails. He did listen to it, and promptly destroyed it. It was a perfect example of educational interpreting. He also has a friend in the Interpreting Service that made their copy accidentally permanently disappear. Of that he did not forget. "I was not very impressed at all, and it became very clear to me that if I value the education of my English students at all, something needs to be done," he states matter-of-factly.
"Of course, Sir," she replies and hangs her head. Just hearing the honorific sets his skin tingling. He has her just where he wants her. He laces his fingers, deciding how to continue. He nods to himself, seeing his way forward.
"This list of yours seems to be in order, it is beyond me why you aren't using it," he says in an accusatory tone. She presses her lips together, as if to say something. He waits for her to speak.
"Please, Mr Dwayne, I know every word on that list," she blurts out. He smiles.
"Prove it to me," he says. "What's the Afrikaans word for 'indifference curve'?" As he hoped, she is caught completely by surprise, which gives him a couple of seconds. Furthermore, she usually interprets from Afrikaans to English, not the other way around, which would give him just a split second or so more. She stares at him gaping like a fish. Just as he sees her drawing breath to speak he says, "Clearly you do not know every word on this list." He stands up abruptly. Karlien has the word on her lips now, and she plans to say 'onverskilligheidskurwe', but she is startled by his determined movement around the desk.
"It is 'onverskilligheidskurwe'. Hold out your hand," he says, before she can say anything.
"What? Why," she asked, completely baffled out of her irrational fear and professional politeness. He narrows his eyes at her and grabs her limp arm still cradling her knee. He takes a metal ruler from his desk and smacks her hard over her upturned fingertips. Now the gamble comes in. He watches her reaction closely. With the initial impact, the shock makes her try and pull her hand away, but he is ready for that. He grips tightly and watches, waiting. He sees her eyes, big and round, with shame and guilt and tears in them. Her lips tremble.
"I do this in order for you to learn. I do not think you would forget again," he explains. "Also, I do not appreciate your tone." Actually, I am testing to find out if you are as submissive as I think you are, he retorts to himself.
"I am sorry, Sir, I will not forget," she mumbles half inaudibly after what seems like a life time of crashing silence. Zackary wanted to dance on the spot. She could have said a million things. She could have gone with 'you fucking bastard', or 'take this up with my manager, but I won't stand for this' or even, 'take this up with the police'. Instead she says that.
"I know. I will make sure you don't. 'Gross Domestic Product'," he continues with her palm still firmly gripped, without any resistance, the metal ruler hovering menacingly above it. He silently counts to three. He knows she has not recovered enough to answer him yet, but he does not want to allow her any time to think at all. He slaps her again, and she jumps in the seat, swallowing a small groan.
"That would be 'Bruto Binnelandse Produk'," he says to her, as if he is talking to a slow ten year old. "You really are a stupid girl," he chastises, knowing that the words would cut her like nothing else he could do, and he sees the tears finally spilling over her cheeks. "'Government expenditure'?". He smacks her again. He knows she would soon catch up with him. "'Nash equilibrium'?".
"Nash ewewig! Nash ewewig," she cries out, before he can spank her already smarting hand again.
"Good girl. But one out of four is not very satisfactory. I am very disappointed. Stand up," he commands, and when she does not immediately obey he pulls her of the chair with such a force that she falls forward over his desk. The sound of the ruler falling to the floor reverberates in the quiet room. For a brief moment he sees her round ass cheeks peeking out underneath her black skirt. By professional standards it is not too short, but the motion has dishevelled her, and it quickly falls back into place. He takes comfort in the idea of sorting her wardrobe out later. He grabs her hair and forces her awkwardly to the corner of his office against the wall. She struggles very little, but he sees her breathing increase.
"I don't think..." she gasps with her face pressed tightly against the wall, but suddenly she feels his hand around her throat.
"Yes, you slow-witted wretch, that is the problem," he growls with his lips next to her ear. Karlien suddenly realises the absurdity of the situation. This should not be happening, and I should not be accepting this so calmly. Even though his words sting her, she begins to understand that this is well beyond her performance in class. Motherfucker, he is playing a game with me! He wants me to feel this way. He feels the change in her demeanour as she subtly tries to untangle herself from him. He allows her to turn around and face him, but he does not move away from her, and he keeps her close against the wall. She stares at him, searching his face, and she finds that she cannot keep his gaze. His eyes are demanding, it is willing her to accept. She cannot shake the feeling that she wants to please him, she wants those eyes to look at her with approval. She takes stock of how she is feeling, how her body is reacting. She is shocked to notice her nipples poking against her bra, and a dark attraction is present that moistens her pussy lips as she unpuzzles his motives.
"Let me go, please," she requests, yet he can hear the determination in her voice.
"I will, on one condition," he replies. "Tell me you don't want me to rip your lacy white panties of that steamy wet cunt of yours, and fuck you over my desk. Better yet, let your body tell me." He smiles as she catches her breath, and as she subtly leans into him. His hand still in her hair to keep her in place, he slowly unbuttons her blouse. She watches him as if petrified, she watches herself break out in goose bumps as the air hit her near naked skin, she watches as her blouse hit the floor behind her in a puddle as she moves to allow it not to be caught between her body and the wall, sliding easily over her limp arms. His slow deliberate movements traced to the clasp of her bra, which soon follows suit. Her nipples grow harder, and she acknowledges more to herself than to him, "My body betrays me.". He laughs softly and swoops down to suck one small pebble into his mouth. She moans softly. He starts using his teeth, nibbling harder and she squirms under him. He twists the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He notes with pleasure that this slut would love breast torture before too long. She is so responsive to his ministrations, her hips is slowly humping the air. He stops and starts unzipping her skirt. He can already smell her arousal, he know he will find her wet, very very wet. He slips his index finger between the lace of her panties and her skin.
"Wait," she says. He stops, but does not remove his hand. He looks at her, and finds her lust filled eyes looking right back at him. "A crack whore's body wants crack. Doesn't mean you should give it to her," she moans, half pleading with him to persuade her differently.
"Depends," he answers moving his hand completely into her undergarment and cupping her warm and leaking pussy. "If you're the pimp, you'd get your whore some crack. Am I the pimp," he asks as he starts stroking his thumb over her clit. She groans deeply and humps his hand slowly. He inserts a finger into her slick folds and starts a rhythmic fuck, adding another when he hears the squelching sound. He watches her closely and helps her closer to the edge by biting her tits again, bruising the full inviting flesh just above her areola. She starts fucking his hand vehemently, and he allows this to go on for a moment longer, and then he withdraws completely. He smacks her face, and her eyes that had closed in ecstasy, flew open. He grabs a hold of her throat again, squeezing slightly and barks, "I said, I am your pimp, whore?"
"Depends," she says huskily, breathing deeply, tempting danger, chasing adrenaline. "Are you going to pay me? I charge extra for working overtime." He slaps her again.
"Fucking brat," he spits, half amused. "Do you want me to punish you? Me allowing you the privilege of cumming is payment enough. I don't think you deserve it anymore." She smiles coyly at him. He marvels at the change that has come over her. He did not expect this to go down this route. It occurs to him that she is not unfamiliar with the bdsm scene. Her training has just gone astray somewhere. He would question her about it later. Right now he has much more pressing matters, pressing painfully against the front of his pants, in fact.
"I think your smart ass mouth should learn what it is to be used for," he says, pushing her down to her knees in front of him in one swift push. He unbuckles his belt and watches her eyes looking knowingly up at him. It drives him crazy that he lost his edge. He unloops his belt and loops it around her neck and pulls it tight against her throat. He grasps it tightly and pulls her face against his groin.
"Undo my pants, and start using that pretty little mouth of yours for what it's made for," he commands. She looks so damn sexy with her hair dishevelled, he thinks to himself. Her cheeks are clearly flushed and her half-closed eyes are sparkling. She licks her lips and raises her eyes to briefly meet his. He is stunned by the desire he sees in them, but he can see the clogs turning. She is completely aware of what he is, and who she is. She is not considering that at all, he knows. He knows things would have gone in a completely different way if she was. She wants to do exactly as he commands her, but she seems to be fighting it. Her hands move toward his trousers, but she stops them in mid-air and lowers them to her lap again. She seems very comfortable on her knees. She does not try to move out of her position he notes. He waits for her to express what is going on in her mind.