Jennifer's Resignation

Jennifer's Resignation

Jennifer Billings had a perfectly normal life, with a normal job in sales, a normal flat in downtown Kansas City, and a normal black cat named Frederick. She wore normal slacks, and normal glasses. Even her daily ponytail was an advertisement of monotony: a utilitarian statement of efficiency.

But some things about Jennifer were abnormal.

At work, her boss Jeremy tended to gravitate towards Jennifer's coworkers more than he did her. Jeremy was 45, tall and stocky, handsome. His favorite haunt was in front of Monica's desk, as he likely saw something in Monica that he didn't see in Jennifer. Both were equally competent at the (always-riveting) task of insurance sales, but Monica didn't dress how Jennifer did. Monica wore pencil skirts and low-cut blouses, and her dark hair was never styled in a way that could be described as utilitarian. Monica's visage was everything that Jennifer's was not. Monica was the office flirt, while Jennifer was a fantastic employee but otherwise a forgettable fixture in a mundane day.

But sometimes appearances are deceiving.

Jeremy likely would have spent more time in front of Jennifer's desk instead of Monica's had he known that Jennifer made a game out of mismatching her clothes to her underwear. More than once she had made it through an entire (slightly uncomfortable) day with stockings and garter belts under her slacks. Other times, the game would be to wear no underwear at all. Oblivious Jeremy had never noticed the cinched waist of a corset, or subtle bulge of Jennifer's lifted chest under her baggy sweaters. For Jeremy, the obvious choice was to focus on Monica. For Jennifer, it made the game even more delicious.

Jennifer loved the fact that this game was for herself and not for attention from other people. She would have been disgusted with herself if her physical appearance and not her work ethic were responsible for her career... After all, she was excellent at her job.

No, for Jennifer, the sensuality had to come in her own terms, and for her own purposes. It was a secret part of her life that she shared only with anonymous friends on the internet, and no-one else.

At least... that's how it started.

At home, Jennifer lived her life through a series of routines. She woke early, put fresh food and water into Frederick's bowls (which he would promptly ignore until her return in the evening), and performed rituals that she had timed down to the minute. 35 minutes for exercise and a shower, 15 for hair, 10 for makeup. Her walk to work was exactly 32 minutes long, and she listened to a podcast on her way. 3 days a week she chose topics of interest like personal or professional development. 2 days a week her podcast topics were sexual. In her mind, she took romance, dating and sex exactly as seriously as every other area of her life. She unabashedly researched topics that she would have flushed at the mere mention of years earlier. Life was short, and she only had 32 minutes per morning to learn.

The one unscheduled activity she maintained was her digital life and identity. Although a model of focus and efficiency in most aspects, she did fulfill her millennial stereotype of constantly having her phone out. It was unassuming, and her stare was probably perceived as being blank to the Monica's and Jeremy's of the world.

She frequented message boards about voyeurism, threesomes, and nudism. These things excited her, and the monotony of her day was frequently shattered with reading a scandalous post or typing a particularly raunchy comment. She loved surprising herself with how much she enjoyed commenting on other poster's bodies, making rhetorical offers of herself (often starting with "I'd let you..." or "I want you to...") and expressing how much she loved it all. For months, it was all fantasy. Eventually she saw no reason not to escalate her play.

Jennifer was keenly aware the effect of living in a routine could have on her mental state. Monotony can bring with it depression, so Jennifer chose to fight the monotony with her sexuality. She was the type to believe that orgasms were more efficient than therapy.

And Jennifer loved efficiency.

Thursday the 18th of September came along just as ordinarily as any other day. She woke up on time, and rolled herself out of bed. Frederick was still lying on the sheets, and hardly stirred with the commotion. Jennifer slowly made her way to the kitchen, and dutifully emptied a portion of cat food into his dish and changed his water. The area around his dishes was spotless; Jennifer's personality had rub off on her pet.

She yawned and glanced down at her phone: 53 notifications, all from anonymous social media. She pulled up the first one: Comments under a photo she had posted of herself. The photo was tasteful (Jennifer thought), although the comments under it ranged from tasteful and flirtatious to completely depraved and ravenous.

She smiled, and scrolled to the top.

Sir_James_22 wrote, "I would give anything just to lick every inch of you" It was the top comment said. Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"This could be a marble statue" said AdgF77. Now that one she liked. She hit the reply button, and wrote "Thank you so much, you're too kind." She tended to return like for like.

She scrolled a bit further.

"Your pics are better and better with each post, I can hardly stand it. You are my GOAL!" Jennifer tapped on the user profile who wrote the comment. The user's previous posts popped up on the screen. Plenty of comments on Jennifer's photos, but some posts under the same topics. The poster's photos showed a curvy brunette who couldn't have been more than 25. Jennifer loved it. There was nothing like getting a compliment from a woman who was sexy herself... It was validating. The username, "CandyRose" was dorky, but Jennifer didn't think twice. Most everyone used random or nondescript alternate account names to post on these threads. Jennifer's was "BossB3," and she hadn't chosen it for any significant purpose, but rather because she thought the B and number 3 at the end looked sort of like a cute little face.

She flicked her finger and returned to the comment and replied: "OMG tysm. You're an absolute dream yourself, I stalked your profile ;)"

She scanned through a few more replies, and began to notice a familiar sort of feeling in her stomach. She glanced at her smartwatch to find a notification that her heart rate had quickened. Her eyes went back to her phone and she read on: More and more validation. More suggestive comments. She tapped a little envelope on her screen, and scanned through her private messages. She had dozens, and she scrolled through checking the usernames. She recognized almost none, and 3 had sent images instead of messages. She rolled her eyes as she tapped the first image: a mediocre dick pic at a bad angle. She deleted message and went to the next one. A veritable wall of text. She read through the first few sentences, but noted too many grammatical errors that irked her. She returned to the inbox, but didn't delete the long message. She may have the patience for it later.

She scrolled until she saw a familiar username and tapped on the message thread; she had been messaging "Krato$" back and forth before, and she re-familiarized herself with their conversation. Intros, pleasantries (he had a great sense of humor, and Jennifer trusted him and had been forthcoming with her age and career). She had caught his eye with a previous photo, and he had caught HER eye with lavished praise. It turned out to be a good decision, as he had a way with words that worked for her. She read up to their current messages, and saw that he had sent photos as well.

The difference was... Jennifer has asked for these photos. The images un-blurred as she tapped them. A selfie of a handsome, bearded face. Jennifer didn't like beards, but with the salt-and-pepper mixed in his trim black beard and the temples of his hair, she thought it worked. She tapped the next photo. He was shirtless, standing at the beach. Her eyes widened.

"Oh fuck."

"Krato$" was muscled and lean. He had a moderate tan, but his easy smile and simple aviator sunglasses gave an air of confidence and humor. He was a little older, but in great shape.

Jennifer's watch vibrated softly with another notification, but she ignored it. She shivered. She wore a tank top and sweatpants to sleep when the cool Fall air came, but the air wasn't what was making her nipples poke through in that moment. She sank into an armchair near her kitchen and threw a blanket over herself.

Almost absentmindedly, she let her left hand slip under the waistband of her bottoms.

She tapped on the third picture.

He was completely naked, sitting on the edge of a large bed. Jennifer drank in each detail of him: The muscled calves and thighs, the thick arms, the impossibly-puffed pecs and faint outline of 8 individual abs under just the tiniest bit of a belly. He had curly black hair and knowing smile. He had an ego for sure, but she thought it was earned.

Her watch buzzed again from inside her sweatpants. Her hand reached a spot of warmth between her legs and she paused just for a moment, and then stared at the photo intently. Whoever "Krato$" was (or whoever the pictures they had sent truly belonged to) had a huge, thick cock. It was soft in the photo, but Jennifer imagined how nice it would look in full glory. She gently teased her fingers across her clit and paused briefly. She was often wet, but she was particularly so. Something about these photos struck the chord she was searching for this morning, and she leaned into the sensation.

She reread their conversations, savoring each word. She looked at the photos longingly. Finally, she imagined his strong arms lifting her up, pinning her against a wall... Tearing her clothes away... She would struggle, of course, but she knew he was too strong and she'd be overpowered... And that cock! It wouldn't fit. There's no way. But she wanted him to make her try.

"Fuck."

Immediately waves of warmth went throughout her body. A slow, gentle wash of pleasure came as she slid her fingers back and forth. She knew how to make herself orgasm easily, but this was something else, almost effortless. Her breath quickened. She stopped feeling so chilly. She took a few deep breaths and smiled to herself. She tapped a quick message.

"I get serious daddy dom vibes, and I may or may not have just touched myself to those pictures... Wow."

She hit send.

She paused for a moment, but something just didn't seem right. She had just had a moment, and her words seemed hollow as she reread them. Assuming "Kratos$" was a real person (and not just stolen photos from some model), she liked the idea of keeping him engaged. He had made her heart race, and she wanted to make his race in return.

She threw the blanket back, frog-legged her legs apart, and held her left hand over her dripping sex. She tapped a camera icon on the messenger, and took a photo. All it showed was her smooth thighs, her lower stomach, and her hand completely obscuring her privates. There was just the glimmer of moisture still on her fingertips, clearly visible, clearly suggestive of what had just happened. Perfect.

She hit send, and slowly got up. She glanced at her watch to see the time. 15 minutes (of her allotted 35 minute time window for exercise and showering) had been eaten up with her hand between her legs. She had no regrets, but rushed through the rest of her morning. She hit the Start button on her coffee machine.

As the coffee machine came to life, Jennifer walked to a corner of her living room wherein she had set up a large mirror and a yoga mat. She lowered herself into a plank, glancing over at the mirror to check her form. She straightened her back a little until she was satisfied. She had a tight, rounded ass, and she admired how much better she looked in her sweats than in years prior. It had taken her quite a bit of effort to build it, as she was naturally very flat back there. She shifted her weight and glanced at herself again. Her chest hung heavy through her tank top, almost touching the yoga mat below her. THAT part she didn't have to work for: Natural G-cup breasts had always been the feature she was most proud of, but in truth she went through great length to obscure them when she dressed for work. She wanted to be known for her excellence, not being the girl with the big tits.

She dropped down, and started in with pushups. Frederick crunched noisily on his breakfast.

The rest of her morning routine was completely uneventful. She skipped washing her hair, and showered very quickly to try to make up lost time.

Yes, September the 18th started as a fairly average day.

Jennifer walked to work shortly thereafter, and started a podcast. She still had a lingering warmth in her stomach; she so wished today would have been a day for a sexual podcast, but she kept to her normal rotation. Professional development. Work. She listened to a business guru drone on in her ear and she stepped through the Fall air. Her hair was pulled back into her typical ponytail. She wore a black pea coat, a knee-length skirt, and a burnt orange blouse. She had settled for simple satin lingerie, and the game of the day would be trying to keep her nipples from poking through her shirt visibly once her coat was off in the office.

She took long strides when she realized she was a little behind her normal pace. She wasn't particularly tall, only 5' 7," so she tended to wear boots with a few inches of heel so she could see eye to eye with her coworkers. She wanted to be seen as fierce. She felt fierce today.

Her podcast was briefly interrupted by a text message. She glanced at her phone. It was from Monica, her flirtatious coworker.

Jennifer didn't stop walking, but she did pause briefly. She and Monica were not close friends, and it was odd to get a text right before they'd both be in the office anyway. She read the message:

"Hey! Getting coffee for the department, what would you like?"

Jennifer thought for a moment, and then realized it would probably be best to just ask for something. She replied: "Brown sugar oatmilk espresso, please!"

In truth, Jennifer never had more than one cup of coffee per day because it made her jittery and kept her heart rate up too fast, but in this situation it seemed like the safest thing to do.

She tried to focus on the podcast as she walked the rest of the way to work, but she couldn't.

In the office, Jennifer's desk was near a tall glass window. Her department was on the 15th floor, high enough to see the horizon. She was absentmindedly staring (something she rarely did) when Monica walked by carrying a coffee tray. Monica was short, curvy, and her long, dark hair went down well past her shoulders and almost to curve of her lower back. Her hair was shiny and straight. Jennifer had often thought it must take her hours to wash it.

"Hi Jen! Brown sugar oatmilk, right?" Monica smiled. Her teeth were white, straight. They contrasted well with her tanned complexion and dark brown eyes. Jennifer smiled.

"Thank you! What's the special occasion?" Jennifer took the cup and sipped without hesitation.

"Oh, just Thursday! But we've gotta' survive until the weekend somehow, right?" Monica beamed and playfully tapped Jennifer's shoulder.

Jennifer flushed. She took a second sip of coffee just to have something to do. Monica seemed completely unbothered by the pause, and continued: "Anyway have a great day, let me know when you're done with the SafeZone account and I'll package for billing, okay?"

Jennifer swallowed and immediately recovered. "No problem. Thanks for the coffee."

Jennifer couldn't help but feel like the day was somehow different. She was completing tasks as she normally would, but she couldn't drop the feeling that Monica was looking over at her more often than normal. Once, Monica clearly smiled at Jennifer, and Jennifer smiled back awkwardly. Monica had put her desk up to standing height, and had leaned slightly in Jennifer's direction, almost as if to angle her cleavage toward her. She didn't know what to make of it, other than she felt like she was being flirted with.

Jennifer loved getting attention from women, and often found them beautiful. She hadn't dated a woman before, and her sexual experience with women limited to kissing strangers at college parties. Sex with one truly just hadn't come up outside of anonymous messages, during which she entertained a lot of things she wouldn't normally think of doing.

What had come up was dating coworkers, and that was a line she knew she would never cross. Whatever Monica's intention, Jennifer had no plans on reciprocating her game.

Her watch buzzed, and she looked down. Her heart rate was up again, but she wasn't sure if it was the coffee or Monica.

The rest of the day was (thankfully) routine. Jennifer did her work, and tried to make herself as invisible as possible. Jeremy had stopped by earlier and seemed pleased with the progress the team had made with a large client, and although he seemed to pause after looking at Monica, he didn't linger. He said something about a dinner meeting, and left early. At 4:40PM Monica waved goodbye, and Jennifer felt herself relaxing. For as sexual and flirtatious she was behind her anonymous moniker, she liked her job to be the palate cleanser. She liked the structure, the routine. She also liked her games.

As the last one in the office, she freely looked at her phone and responded to more messages. "Krato$" had posted exclamation at how much of a tease her photo was. "Sir_James_22" waxed eloquent in his usual worshipful tone, and "Candyrose" heaped more praise on Jennifer's body. It felt hot, safe, and controlled.

Once 5PM hit, Jennifer packed away her belongings and prepared to leave. She stuffed her phone into her purse, and picked up the old coffee cup. She knew it would be cold, but she threw back the last dregs and walked over to a trashcan. Just before she tossed it in, she noticed something.

Near the rim of the cup was scrawled in black marker: "BossB3."

Her anonymous name. She turned the cup over in her hands. It didn't say Jennifer anywhere.

She started to hyperventilate.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, her watch buzzed.

Monica knew.

Jennifer tried to come up with some sort of scenario in her head, some way that the name could be a mistake. Boss B. could be just a cute nickname, but the 3... That stupid 3.

Jennifer immediately starting thinking about how much she might know. How much of her body Monica had already seen. She pulled out her phone and scrolled back and back and back through her post history.

"Oh no."

Immediately she sent a text message to Monica:

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, Jennifer could see Monica typing a reply. No text appeared. Jennifer swore and stared at her phone. Again, three dots appeared, indicating Monica typing. Jennifer's heart was pounding. She waited. Finally the message came:

"Yeah, we better. Come over tomorrow morning at 10AM. Jeremy and I will be waiting."

Immediately Jennifer's head began to swim. Jeremy knew too. They both did.

She was still anxious, dizzy even, but she packed her things and headed home. She made it as far as the elevator when her phone chimed. A text thread that she didn't have silenced. Her stomach dropped: It was Jeremy, Monica, and her. Jeremy had reactivated an old three-way text from month back; their last conversation had been work related. Jennifer had a feeling this one wouldn't be. She looked at the text:

Jeremy: Hey Jen, it's really all going to be ok.

Jennifer couldn't believe what was happening. How? How had they figured it out?! She had to know.

Jennifer: What is going on? Why are you two doing this?!