Consumerism Ch. 11-15

13. Central Office -- Unisex Bathroom -- New York City

I lock the door and turn on the light. Finally, bathroom privacy. This morning he was so bossy over me. Wouldn't give me any mirror time by myself. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, swallow obviously, tense my arms, and glance around uneasily. Finally, I sigh and turn around. My hands reach underneath my yellow dress, tug down my pair of panties, and my eyes close. I slump my shoulders, turn my head around, and open my eyes. I stare mesmerized.

It's purple, blue and yellow like a sunset on a beach. As I stare at the welts he feels so out of reach. They split us up this morning, supervisors, and support. I'd so much rather sit next to him and work on our rapport. It would make it all so much easier to bear. The terrible pain sitting all morning in that chair.

I melt.

14. Tiffany & Co. -- New York City

My yellow Toury Burch heels clack against the wood paneled floor as I follow him. The whole time, I keep looking around ogling at the store around me. The entrance has a very high ceiling and is surrounded by luxurious hexagonal quartz counters topped in opulent glass display cases. Most of the walls appear to be windows but they're fake. LED screens that make us look like we're up at the top of a skyscraper instead of on the first floor. The room is lit by a massive rectangular light in the middle of the ceiling resembling a skylight cut with diamond like patterning.

He leads me to an elevator. I wrap my arms around his left arm, cling on to him and hang off his left shoulder. The elevator chimes, closes its doors, whirs, and gently hums as we ascend. The door chimes again and we exit, his arm around my shoulder. My heels clack on the wooden floor and we look so attractive together. Me in my yellow dress and black stockings. Him in his handsome Brioni blue blazer. Up the spiral staircase he takes me. He steadies himself with the handrail while I steady myself with him.

A young saleswoman, wearing beige blouse and slacks under a long brown designer coat, greets us on the fourth floor. She herself wears a gold necklace and diamond earrings. "Good afternoon, you two look like locals or do you happen to be visiting us from out of town?" she asks.

Mr. Bentley's hand rubs my lower back. "We're visiting, actually," he answers. "But I'll take you mistaking us for locals as a compliment. My secretary and I try to stay fashionable. In a city like this, that's a high standard to live up to. Anyways, I want to buy my assistant here some jewelry. A little reward for the good job she's been doing recently. What do you have here that I could purchase for her?"

"Well, most customers tend to gravitate to the fifth floor where our signature silver jewelry is," she explains. "We display a lot of out gold items--"

"Yes, yes, I know all that," he interrupts, shakes his head, frowns, and lets out a loud breath. "Solid gold is fine."

The saleswoman shows us several items. Finally, he settles on a solid gold bracelet that catches his eye. He holds it up with hand and asks me to try it on for him. I slide it over my left wrist. "Chief," I whisper. "Did you see the price of this? It's over eight thousand dollars. I can't accept something like this." He ignores me, takes his credit card out, and I end up leaving the store with him while holding a teal Tiffany and Co. bag containing a solid gold T1-bangle worth about half of what I still owed on my student loan debt.

"Before we leave, let's stop in there for a second," he says and gestures towards a garish tourist shop nearby. It displays all sorts of souvenir type items, postcards, statutes, knickknacks, and T-shirts referencing all the typical New York landmarks you'd expect it to. I clack my heels against the city sidewalk as I follow him, mouth open, blinking and biting my lower lip. Inside, he selects a cheap blanket depicting things like the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and the Brooklyn Bridge. When the Korean clerk rings it up for $10, Mr. Bentley scoffs, "I'll give you five."

The clerk sighs and accepts a crisp $5 note from Mr. Bentley's Tom Ford wallet.

15. Inbound Flight

I lean up on my heels and unzip the suitcase him and I share wedged in the overhead bin. I slide my Amazon Kindle out of the bag, and I feel a hand grab at my right thigh just below my bruised ass. I wear a black dress over a garter belt, dark stockings, heels, and my Tiffany and Co. T1 gold bangle around my left wrist. "Yes Chief?" I respond, smile politely at him, and obediently nod my head.

"Sweetheart, would you mind grabbing that blanket?" he asks, smirks, and gleams his eyes at me. "The one I bought from that tourist shop."

I retrieve the tacky blanket. At least it feels soft and warm. My hands zip up the suitcase and close the overhead bin until it clicks into place. I shuffle across his lap, hand him the blanket, and clack my seatbelt back into place. The view from the window to my right is blue sky and cream puffy clouds. I snap open my Kindle, swipe my finger, pull open the erotic novel I am reading, and part my lips.

He unfolds the blanket and covers our laps with it. I flick at the Kindle and turn the page. My ears hear a zipper being pulled. The screen shimmers. His hand rubs at my left thigh. My right eyebrow raises up at him. His grin is toothy. I spread my legs. His hand goes under my dress. My right pointer finger rests up against my bottom lip. He takes out my hard penis and strokes it under the blanket. I gasp and turn the page of my book.

My gold bangled left hand reaches under the blanket, and I grab him. His penis is warm, hard, and already hanging outside his trousers. I stroke him under the blanket, squeeze his large shaft, let out a moan, and read my book as he does the same to me. My mouth closes and I bite gently on the finger resting atop my pouty lower lip before sucking it.

We stroke each other. I read as I rub his hard penis up and down. He smirks and looks around the plane while he squeezes my own smaller penis. He let's go suddenly, stares at me intensely with probing eyes, pants, and opens his legs slightly. His hand travels further inside of my panties, his finger rubs my raw hole, and he wiggles a finger inside of me.

I wince, lean back, withdraw my pointer finger from my mouth, and move my right hand under the blanket and attempt to spread my asshole open for him. It stings when I grip the right side of my bruised ass. His finger pushes further inside. Soon it rubs up against it again. My own personal control panel. I shiver and try to suppress a moan. It's not going to work. I nuzzle against his hard chest and use his pinstriped blue jacket to absorb some of the sound. The way his fingers swipe and press on it inside me. It reminds me of when I come into his office and his face is buried in his iPhone. His fingers are always pressing on it, swiping it, his eyes absorbed. I tend to pay attention to people's fingers.

I stroke his fat penis, pinch its taut skin, gasp, and lick my lips. Sounds of soda cans opening can be heard in front of us. He massages me inside my tender asshole, pulls his fingers out of me, strokes my cock with his sweaty musky fingers, penetrates me again, and wiggles his fingertips against it. A cart rumbles in the background. I try to read my book, my penis throbs, my body trembles and shivers. I'm not sure. Is the plane hitting turbulence or is his probing fingers inside me giving me vertigo? When the flight attendant asks us what we want to drink, we both turn in complete unison and respond, "No thanks!"

I've never had a flight like that pass by so quickly. When we landed, it felt like I had just moments earlier boarded the plane. Chief was smart buying that tacky little blanket for us. I'll never fly with him again without it. Hopefully it won't be too hard for him. Getting all those stains out.