Grace Saves Henry Ch. 05

It was Tuesday morning.

Grace had dressed in her other new slutty short short skirt and see-through top. This top was sleeveless. The armholes were so large that a sizable amount of side boob was easily visible. Sandals--either heeled or flat. Polished finger and toenails. Red lipstick. No bra, no panties, as required. As much as she loved being nude at home, today she felt awkward walking from Henry's truck to Building 10. Even wearing her pashmina shawl didn't give her comfort.

"What about Stephen? Could he be lurking nearby?" Henry whispered.

"I haven't seen him or his car yet. Look, if you hear from the detective, please at least send me a text. I don't care what I'm doing, I need to know."

"Okay." Henry walked her to the door of Building 10, a five-story building. He was carrying her things to put on her desk, but he let her keep her phone. A careful glance around, a gentle kiss goodbye, and Henry turned to walk to their regular building. He wanted to protect her. Right now he felt helpless.

The security guards cycled their shifts through all the buildings in the company's campus. That was on purpose, to acquaint them with most of the employees, at least visually. As much as she wanted to hurry through the doors of Building 10, she stopped first at the desk to check in. The guard Fred looked her up and down and asked, "Isn't that a new look for you, Grace?" Then he looked her up and down again.

He used his UV flashlight to scan the badge, saw the FU, and waved her through, thinking,She's one of the nice ones. I wish she was part of my job...

She smiled at him. "Hello, Fred. I'm supposed to see Mr. Douglas Fairhaven. Which way do I go?"

He made sure she was on the list for today. He found her name, who she was supposed to visit, then pointed to the elevator. "Fifth floor. Then turn right." He kept watching as she walked toward the elevator.

She turned right as soon as she stepped out of the elevator, and saw a set of double doors. She tried to open either door, but they wouldn't budge, so she knocked.

Instead of a voice calling, an actual person opened the door. A beautiful woman, minimally dressed, too much makeup on her face, which made her look older instead of prettier. Maybe that's what she wanted. Grace shrugged.

"Ah, the slut," was all the woman said. Grace ignored her. Obviously not a free use woman, who would never call another one a slut. Simply a receptionist.

Grace heard the receptionist make a call. "She's here," was all she said, and put the phone down.

Looking at Grace, she said, pointing, "Go through those double doors, turn left, walk to the end, wait. See you soon."

Grace had heard it all before.No you won't, miss judgy. You have no idea.

She walked to the double doors and heard the click of the lock opening. From the directions she had been given, and her knowledge of the layouts of the buildings on this campus, she knew that would put her just at the beginning of a large corner office. Just how large, she had no idea. When she got to the end of her walk, she heard this set of double doors unlock as well.

She pulled the right side door open and walked in. The office was huge. She looked for a large desk, and finally her eyes focused on it far at the other end, and then on the back of the man who, dressed in a suit, was standing in front of a large picture window, his back to her.

It took Grace twelve long steps to reach even the middle of the room. She took five more to get close enough so that, when he turned, she'd be able to focus on his face.My goodness, he is tall. He must be six-five at least. Wide shoulders. Imposing, even from the back. She wanted to go closer, but there was protocol to be followed.

"Mr. Douglas Fairhaven?" she questioned. He started to turn. It took that large body a few more seconds than she expected to completely turn. Then she looked up at his face and gasped, as a bolt of lightning struck her and the shock of recognition reached her brain.

"Alessandro? Alessandro, I've found you!"

She was no longer the refined stress reliever. Her phone fell from her hand. She ran around the desk, reached both arms to hug as much of his body as possible, and started to cry.

He let her cry for a few seconds more before he took both her arms and pushed her far enough away for him to look at her. She stopped crying, but that look of love in her eyes, and the smile on her lips, unnerved him. The bolt of lightning had hit him, too.

"How do you know that name?" He almost yelled his question, shaking her. "Answer me!"

Now she looked hurt, and confused. "I... I've always known that name. Ever since the first time I dreamed of you."

Now he looked confused.She dreamed of me? Bella?

She was hugging him again, and this time he let her.What if it's a trap? Someone from my past. My youth, could have... no... the only person who knew my plan was my mother.

He sat in the large office chair, and she climbed onto his lap. She was talking, saying something, but his mind was trying to focus on memories. His hands automatically started stroking her hair. Long, lustrous tresses of deep red, reminiscent of his dream.

Next his hands easily slipped under her shirt, grasping those breasts, thumbing those nipples.I wonder, if this body of hers gets as wet as in... he had to check.

This wasn't how I wanted to start this, but she sat in my lap as though she was used to it. He lifted her skirt, cupped her mound, and pushed a finger into her.

She stopped talking and moaned, still smiling, obviously happy. And very wet.

He pulled his finger out and brought it to his nose, recognizing the scent instantly. He tasted it, and started to believe. She pulled her top off and she pressed against him. Like a good little free use girl.

"You are Grace, are you not?" His voice had calmed. She nodded, so he continued.

"Tell me of this first dream you said you had." He still wasn't sure.I'm the one who had the dreams. She couldn't know anything about me.

She looked up at his face, sniffling. "I had an argument with my father that evening, so I went to bed early, crying. Some time during the night I started dreaming about a handsome, tall, dark man, who was in a costume, probably acting in a movie or tv show. He looked right at me and his face looked shocked or something. Then he smiled at me. That was all. But someone called his name, Alessandro, and he turned and went to his mark in the studio. Isn't your name Alessandro?"

"Yes, my mother named me Alessandro. I changed my name much later."

"Those dreams made me want to take lessons, and learn about whatever you were doing, so you would notice me. When I would wake from one of those dreams, I would try to draw you, to remember you. I kept all my drawings, but of course the first ones were terrible, since I was no artist. I kept them all. I can show you some of them now."

She jumped nimbly from his lap and picked up her phone. Swiping quickly, she started the group on the first sketch, and showed him, as she climbed back onto his lap. He quickly swiped through the first few, since they were poorly drawn and could have been anyone. But then he slowed as he noticed that the technique was slowly improving. They got to the point where he could recognize his own face, and even certain backgrounds.

He pointed to one, recognizing a bridge in the background. "Where is this?" he asked her.

"That's in Italy. Tuscany, I think. In my dream you... I mean he... said something about being on a honeymoon. I'd love to go there someday."

"And this?"

"Oh, that's Half Dome. Yosemite. See, this is you. Down here. You didn't do rock climbing. You just liked to hike and take pictures." As soon as she said that his eyes focused, seeing it correctly.

"Have you ever been there?"

"Daddy said we went tent camping there once when I was about nine, just after we moved back to the States. But I don't remember it. So maybe I didn't like camping so much.

"Oh! Oh! I love this one. You were acting in a sitcom, and people were congratulating you because they said you won an Emmy. Did you?" She looked around the office, almost expecting to see the statuette.

He remembered that, of course. He didn't dream it, though. He lived it. "Yes, I did."Wasn't she with me when that happened? Or was that part of my dream?

She snuggled closer to him. He sighed, picked her up, and carried her to his sofa. He put her down and went to his desk, picked up his phone, punched a button and said, "No calls." Then he came back and sat again with her, pulling her close.

"Continue, Grace." It felt good, having her close to him. Familiar.

"Those dreams were always about you. You were always doing something, usually something you liked. One time you were singing in another language. It was an aria, from some opera. Is that correct? Do men sing arias, or do they call them something else? I woke, sketched you, and spent hours, days, listening to opera until I found the one you sang in my dream."

"You found it? What was it?"

"It's called Nessun Dorma; from Puccini's opera Turandot. I've heard it a million times since, but I thinkyou sang it the best. Even better than Pavarotti. I have a picture from a magazine when the opera was at the Met in New York. Dreamy!"

He started to sing it, quietly, but stopped because that's a song that needs volume. Not now.

"Yes! That's the one!"

She hugged him again. "I learned the story of that opera. I even read the whole libretto. In English, of course. It's a sad story."

"It is. Please continue."

"Oh, in my dreams you sang many more arias. I learned to love opera, because of you. I even went to one, expecting to find you there. Sad when I didn't. Then, guess what? I dreamed of you winning a golf game. On TV! You didn't sing in that dream. But it made me want to learn how to play golf, thinking I would find you that way. Do you really play golf?"

He smiled. "I do. Not so much any more. I'd like to see you play."

She smiled back. "I'm pretty good. For a while I even thought of joining the LPGA."

"Really? Why didn't you?"

"Several reasons. All those ladies are mostly in it for the money. I make enough money, and if I joined the LPGA I would have to practice all the time, and there are too many other things I want to do with my time."

"Wise decision. That's why I never joined the PGA, as well. In that we are alike."

"After the golf dreams I dreamed you were hiking. With a backpack and two of those walking stick things. No one else with you, just you, walking alone. You seemed happy. I had just one or two of those dreams, and I continued to sketch you. My sketches were getting better. More realistic."

"Grace, I'm finding all this hard to believe. I thought these dreams only went one way. But, it appears that while you were dreaming of me, I'd been dreaming of you. Learning about you all the while."

"You... you dreamed of me?"

"Yes, I did. Possibly around the same time, too. You're smaller than I expected. In many of my dreams you were larger than life! My first dreams of you were as a girl wearing roller skates. So many of those dreams I wondered why."

She laughed. "I roller skated at a skating rink near home almost every weekend. It's closed now. I still have my skates. I want to get different wheels so I can skate outside. I may be small, but my Mom was even smaller. Shorter, just five feet. I'm five four. What else?"

He chuckled now. "In a later dream, you were riding on a motorcycle. Your 18th birthday. Hair blowing in the wind, like a goddess." He didn't mention the naked part.

"Never driving. I was always behind, a passenger, holding on to my boyfriend's waist. Fun. Al, are you still an actor? I've dreamed of you, in some strange costume, like scifi."

"No. I used to be. Hence the Emmy. I gave that up, though."

"Why did you change your name? My dreams became confusing, perhaps after that. I counted on those dreams to keep me sane. Some people hate redheads, did you know that?"

"Yes. People learn to hate what they don't understand."

"You gave me a nickname. Aren't you Italian? You... he... called me Belle. No, that's not it... "

"Bella Mia. Mostly just Bella."

"Yes! That's it! What does it mean?"

"It's Italian for My Beauty. And sometimes in my dreams I would call you Cara Mia, meaning My Darling, after the song by Jay and The Americans. 1965. Before either of us was born. I love you, Bella. I've been looking for you for seven years."

"Oh, I love you, and I looked for you, too. But I never expected to find you here. I'm wondering if you're the reason I decided to become free use. I love fucking an awful lot now. Would you like to fuck me? Please?"

"Very much. I think I have never wanted anything more. I wanted this company, Wakefield Engineering, to embrace free use, so that I might find you. Much later my dreams of you always showed you without clothes. A beautiful body. Many times you were with another man. Not me."

"Really? Sometimes while dreaming of you, another man would be in the dream, too, nearby. His name was... let me think..."

"Larry." They both said the name at the same time. Looking at each other now, shocked.

"Who is he?" She asked.

"I have no idea. Someone we've not met yet, obviously."

"May I undress you? Don't you have a tribal tattoo on your right forearm?"

"Yes, you may undress me. You can find out about that tattoo for yourself."

She stood. He pulled her skirt down and watched her naked body, as she unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled at the arms, removing it.

"There it is!" she was triumphant. "I love that tattoo. It is Samoan."

She ran her fingers over his inked forearm, causing goose bumps to run up his arm. "That line of triangles, almost like arrowheads. Once I looked it up. I think they are for hunting."

"I thought it appropriate, since I was always hunting for you. Bella, I have dreamed of you being painted. I even found a painting similar to one in my dreams, and I bought it. But the artist had moved so I still didn't find you."

"I modeled for Mr. Maalona for almost a year. He has a lot more tattoos than you do. But some are similar to yours. Unless you got some more." He shook his head, no.

"I have three paintings, gifted to me from Mr. Maalona, that all have me as the central point. Impressionist style, but you can still tell that it's me. Is yours like that? Is it here?"

"Yes. I have it at home, in my bedroom." He was naked now, and his cock was rigid, and the largest she had ever seen. Thick, and at least nine inches long. She couldn't take her eyes off it. She was anxious to get started, but suddenly afraid that it would be too big.

"What would you like, Mr. Maroni, oops, I mean Mr. Fairhaven? I still can't deep throat, or do anal, and I'm not into anything that is painful. But I know lots of positions, and fucking me, from what I've been told, is always very pleasurable. I... I've never taken one this large. Please don't hurt me."

"I promise to go slowly. You will stretch. Let's do something where we can watch each other's face. Eyes are the windows to the soul, you know."

"Missionary! Or Cowgirl. Or both!" He laughed. She liked the sound of it. It was very melodious.

He positioned her along the sofa and kneeled over her. He had been hard ever since he saw her face when he turned from the window. He knew she was very wet. Still, he went slowly at first, testing her tightness and ability to stretch.

He was gratified when he soon heard her say, "Faster! Harder! Deeper!... Yes, yes, yes!"

Now he fucked with abandon, knowing she can take it. Pleased, grunting and groaning, watching her face and listening to her small noises that told him he was pleasuring her.

When she cried that she was cumming, his smile grew. He slowed a bit, waiting until she was finished, watching her body shiver and shake, and then he announced his own orgasm, shooting into her, bareback, shocking himself when he realized his thoughts turned to wanting her pregnant. But his own rules meant she was on the Depo Provera contraceptive.Damn, what am I thinking?

They were recovering, cuddling on the sofa when she asked, "How old are you? I could guess, but my dreams never told me. I'm 20. Almost 21. Another month."

"I'm 41. Old enough to be your father."

"Old enough, perhaps. But you are my lover. My number one. I have loved you for so long, I would try to move mountains to stay with you. But you are probably married." He opened his mouth to tell her, but she shushed him.

"Doesn't matter. I am yours. Oh sure, my job means I must fuck other men, but I always view that as being like a nurse, helping them stay well. You, I will fuck because I can't not fuck you. I must. I need to. I love you."

"What do you think of being free use? Why did you apply for the job?"

"I first became free use in high school as soon as I turned 18. I enjoyed it immensely, and the teachers who used me told me I was the most enthusiastic of all the girls. My first, at school, took my virginity. He had been my favorite teacher. He was so considerate, and gentle. He made my introduction to sex fun and extremely pleasurable. A good way to start. After I graduated I decided to continue being free use, and that's when Wakefield posted those job openings. Serendipity!"

"Not so much serendipity. I had a dream, one where you were already free use. Because of that dream, I convinced the Board to become a company in favor of free use."

He chuckled. "I can be very persuasive when I want to. It's been a good year, much of it because of free use. I've been thinking we need to hire 15 more girls. What do you think about that?"

"A wonderful idea. My engineers who use me have told me that their work output this year has been their best yet, and they thank me for it. They even nominated me for the first Best Free Use award."

"And you won! I know. But somehow, I never thought you were my Bella. After all, I was the one having the dreams. I didn't think you would be dreaming of me at the same time."

"Why do you hide? You never show your face, or lead the company meetings. Why?"

"It is a strategy I decided upon because of my previous work as an actor. And because of you. Now that you will be mine every morning, perhaps I can come out of this closet a bit."

So... how will my being free use for you work?"

He had already decided. "My idea is that every morning, I would like you here by 8:00 a.m. You will be here, naked, until 10:00. We won't necessarily fuck that whole time, but to be with each other, in the same room, is itself healing."

She was nodding, agreeing with that.

"From my dreams I already know that you bring something special with you, wherever you go. Some sort of mojo that most people don't have, or at least don't understand and don't use. You seem to have cultivated yours.

"Our calendars will indicate that our work day with other people will start after that. So you'll go to fuck your manager and the others on your list for that day, you'll do your administrative work, which, I have read, is exemplary, and after work we each will go to our respective homes. Yours is somewhat unstable at the moment. Tell me about that."

"Six months ago I moved in with my boyfriend, Stephen. Last Friday he told me, via text, to move out by six p.m. Our engineer Henry Offenbeck, a wonderful man, helped me to move out and offered me a room in his house. If it wasn't for Henry I would have been sleeping in my car. And Stephen would have thrown all my things in a dumpster."

"Isn't Henry the one whose wife is in a coma?"

"Yes. Mr. Cameron is a thoughtful manager. He told me to find and talk to Henry, who was sort of AWOL after lunch, and it turned out he was so depressed about Doreen, so long in a coma, he decided to kill himself last Friday. I'm happy to announce he no longer feels that way, and yes, we had wonderful sex, thank you very much. But... just now, yours was better."