Life as a New Hire Ch. 02

"Come by tomorrow morning and I'll finish the work," she offered.

"Work up five more suits for him," Buffy ordered in an off-handed manner. "We'll pick them up tomorrow afternoon."

"Two o'clock," the lady tailor nodded.

"How in the heck am I going to get here at two?" I whispered to Helena. She flicked my nose.

"Put it in an order with Executive Services, you Idiot," she mocked. "You know - where you work." Okay, I had walked into that one. I looked suitably ashamed. We were given my old clothes in a bag and headed out. Dinner with Katrina wasn't for a half hour so we decided to walk around.

My new shoes were killing me so, of course, we were taking a long walk.

"Why does Havenstone - a female-only company - have an account with a men's clothier?" I wondered.

"They do both men's and women's suits," Helena offered.

"How silly of me," I glanced her way. "It stands to reason they would have women's suits in my size, with my shoulder span and corresponding pants...and shoes."

"Be careful," Buffy snickered. "He's clever."

"So?" I prodded. The two exchanged looks. Apparently they decided I was never getting away.

"Most of the Havenstone 'men' can't be trusted to tie their own shoes, much less buy their own clothes," Buffy confessed. She gauged my reaction. I had little doubt I paled at the news.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. The two jumped. Maybe they thought I had changed my mind and was going to make a break for it after all. "My bike is at work," I informed them.

"How am I going to get to work tomorrow?" I groaned.

"Oh...I'll come by early and pick you up," Buffy slapped me on the back.

"I could stay the night instead," Helena offered.

"On the hobo bed?" I reminded her.

"Good point," Helena shrugged. "Buffy, on Day 83 we need to get him a new mattress."

"Nice," Buffy agreed. Day 83? Oh...fuck. My internship lasted 84 days; 3 times 28. For some now less arcane reason, Havenstone used a 28 day cycle for all their business. Two things usually kept to a 28 day calendar - the Moon and menstrual cycles.

There was no good way to inquire exactly when my officemates had 'that time of the month'. I was tuning into the fact that they might all do it at once - that whole female hierarchy thing. For a few days every woman in my section would be exhibiting a plethora of emotions, few of which were positive to my way of thinking.

I knew that not all women were 'on the rag' during that time period. Some had little reaction. Most times, I wasn't so lucky. There was spontaneous rage, tears, loneliness and, yeah, horniness. I'd been through them all. My favorites were the ones who randomly leapt through the kaleidoscope of emotions with no sense, or rhythm.

I've had a woman try to brain me with a vase then fuck me on the shards - all inside of twelve seconds. Maybe I shouldn't have slept with her roommate, or her dorm advisor. I repeat, I'm a great lover, but a lousy boyfriend. Hell, I've even had sex with a girlfriend's mother - within ten minutes of meeting her. While those two were having a screaming fit, I did her little sister too.

I don't think I seduced them. I looked at them. They looked at me. We both suddenly realized we wanted to have sex. That happens to me a lot. This is probably why I ended up at Havenstone - karmic payback for my promiscuous ways. Or, maybe I did get it right and Tessa Carmichael really did want to come across that interviewer's desk and fuck my brains out.

There I was thinking that ravishing my future employer's point woman would cost me the job. Wait...that's probably how they wrangled Khalid. They flashed him some smoking tits and ass, he went all 'jungle fever' on them and "Bang!" some girl was crying rape, and they had witnesses and footage. Khalid was looking at his whole magnificent life going down the tubes.

Then his boss agreed to help him because he was 'invaluable'. If he requested an out-of-country transfer, she could mislead the criminal investigation thus saving himself and his family's reputation. When it was safe to come back, she'd let him know. Now that smug, superior bastard was in Angola, or maybe Terra del Fuego with my penguins...wearing a shock collar.

Ignoramus. Seven to fifteen in a comfy US prison would have been paradise considering what he was about to go through. Run away? The moron probably still thought he was facing rape charges back in the States and that if he played along, his boss, who clearly thought the world of him, would call him home soon. I hoped I never saw him again.

Not because I hated him - I didn't - but because if I did see him it meant I'd colossally fucked up as well. I was sure Katrina was going to determine my fate at dinner. All of that came to a head when they showed me the door of a private dining club. The maître de recognized Helena and Buffy, but not in a way that suggested they were acceptable patrons (aka lackeys).

"Ms. Love's table?" I requested. Buffy patted me on the back again and wished me luck. The maître de was a man and a right snooty bastard, too. He looked down his nose at me from his elevated perch. He hand-motioned a female server over, gave her a table number and sent us on our way.

"Did they forget to remove his jalapeno enema again?" I teased the girl as we left.

She coughed, stumbled then shot me a wickedly happy look. This guy had to be a peach to work for because she clearly hated him.

"You can talk to me," I told her quietly. "I'm not going to freak out, or anything." She looked at me and smiled again.

"I haven't seen you before," she whispered back.

"I have a very forgettable face. I've seen you before," I replied. She seemed confused. "You are the girl of my dreams," I grinned.

"I'm married," she brandished her banded ring finger.

"He's a lucky man," I sighed. "I hope he appreciates this snobbish hell you work in on a daily basis." She studied me which was all the more remarkable because she was navigating the floor while doing so.

"I'm not married and I don't work EVERY day," she gave me a cute grin. "The ring is camouflage."

"Pen?" I asked. She grew nervous because we were at Katrina's table and Katrina was looking us both over. "Ms. Love is my boss. We are not romantically involved," I assured the waitress. The woman gave me her pen and I wrote my number on her palm. "If you feel like it."

"You don't even know my name," she tried to look upset yet settled on precocious.

"You don't know mine," I countered. "It is Cáel Nyilas, by the way."

"I'm Odette Sievert," she smiled. She took my drink order then sashayed away. I sat down opposite Katrina. The lady was smirking at me. In a flash, she grew deadly serious.

"How?" she redefined intensity for me. I wish it hadn't been in Hittite.

"Excuse me?" I responded. I was afraid I knew exactly what she was asking for me to both admit to and explain. Katrina's eyes were flinty and heartless.

"I really don't want to repeat myself, Cáel," she said in a chilling voice. "You trusted me this afternoon. Trust me now."

"How far am I going to get if I get up and walk away right now?" I sipped my water.

"What makes you think I mean you any harm?" Katrina asked.

"You are evil," I began to match her gaze. "You are all evil fucking caricatures of human beings - monsters really."

"The worst thing about you is that you don't think you are like the rest. You think you are somehow more humane yet you don't have a fucking clue what that means," I accused her. "The 'how' is really tragic. The woman who took my virginity, my first love, devoted her life to the study of Near Eastern Ancient cultures."

"Not the early city-states, or the well-worn Greeks; she spent her life delving into the first nation-empires including, obviously, the Old Kingdom and Neo-Hittites. She didn't care about ruins; she loved the literature, art and culture of those people. She would read me poetry in a dozen dead languages. Later she taught me those tongues so I could let her hear those words in a voice not her own," I continued.

"By the spring, we would walk around her house all weekend speaking only in voices long stilled by the passage of time. She loved that. To her, it was the closest she'd get to being in some ancient marketplace; Babylonians haggling with Egyptians over beeswax, Assyrians arguing religion with Phoenicians, and Hittites and Cretan lovers sparring with poetry," I fondly recalled.

Katrina's gaze had slowly softened until it became a mixture of wonder and envy.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman. Why did this not come up in your background search?" she questioned.

"I listed her as an acquaintance," I said.

"I never took any of her courses since that would have threatened her job. I didn't hide anything. If anyone asked me if I spoke any dead languages, I don't recall it," I softened as well. "You have to admit that it is rather bizarre that I am one of a dozen men in the United States that knows the language of the Amazons and I ended up in that board room."

"Amazons," she said in Old Kingdom Hittite. "You really figured it out."

"It took me a while," I responded in the same lingo. Katrina jolted. It then occurred to me she'd never heard her native language spoken by a male. In English, "that's when I realized you were all raving psychotic lunatics and if I didn't play along, I was going to be murdered."

"So all that obedience and kneeling was an act?" Katrina studied me.

"The respect wasn't false. I do admire you. You are rather pleasant to work for, but it is telling that not one of your group realized that an outsider male wouldn't act the way I did," I related.

"I was hoping there was a foundation for my project," Katrina sighed.

"There is," I asserted. "Body posturing and obedience are normal, healthy male activities, Katrina. The military and Boy Scouts are built on it. All you have to do is create something males can believe in. Loyalty and obedience will follow."

"The problem is my culture takes a dim view of male martial activity," Katrina informed me.

"You only got away with your actions today because the others believed - mistakenly believed - you were obedient to me," she reinforced my view.

"What makes you think I wouldn't obey you again?" I countered.

"Would you?" she mused.

"Do I still have a job?" I gave a lopsided grin.

"Yes. Is that what motivates you? Pay?" she studied me.

"Katrina, you do not understand men," I chuckled. "There is not enough money in the world to make me keep this job." Katrina looked menacing once more.

"I'll show up to work tomorrow because if I make a run for it, the others will take it out on you," I enlightened her. "You saved my life today - twice. You risked your social position by intervening on my behalf and I imagine there are some freaking stiff penalties for not telling your sisters that I know Old Kingdom Hittite."

"Very true," she admitted. "My sisters would not be pleased. It is also nice to have confirmed my thoughts about the 'New Directive'. Men can be trained to be helpmates and stand at our sides, even if it is a half-step behind." She contemplated some things. "Why do you consider us evil?"

"You are holding onto a blood-feud for three thousand years even though the genetic descendants of those crimes have most likely died out eons ago. You use your hateful, paranoid religion to justify every atrocity under the Sun. What is even more insane is that your activities are no longer warranted. There are places around the globe where you can live freely, own property and have all the legal protections enjoyed by men," I stated.

"The majority of the globe is still dangerous for us," Katrina reposed. "Even in this country, women are enslaved, brutalized and murdered simply for being the 'weaker' sex."

"If you are waiting for a perfect world all I have to ask is 'when will it be my time?'" I regarded her sadly. It was obvious to both of us I was in a hopeless position. My fate was in her hands.

"Come home with me tonight," Katrina ordered.

"No," I replied. "It is against corporate policy. You'll have to wait 82 days like the rest."

Katrina snorted, snickered then laughed out loud.

"Remembering that we have to explain things to you men will be an exasperating experience for most of us," she chuckled. Katrina motioned Odette over, signaling our conversation was over for now.

The 16 oz. Porterhouse steak was heavenly and I made sure to keep the beer-drinking down to two steins. Katrina teased me about my appetite though she was no slouch. I explained that I'd need my strength - I was having sex tonight. She insinuated I was conceited. I laughed. Short of her embarrassing Odette, our waitress was going to be waking up at my side come dawn.

As we prepared to depart, the office called. I had a client appointment...with Rhada. She was going to pick me up at my place. I imagined that the addresses of the other employees was rather confidential. Rhada was a 'somebody' and I was only a male. I didn't bother asking Katrina to intervene. This was my job. She was respectful enough not to inquire one last time if I'd make a run for it.

A taxi got me home and I took the stairs three at a time, racing up to my apartment. My keys worked the lock. I heard the TV on and it was loud. I was moving through our cramped common area on the way to the bedroom.

"Timothy," I greeted my roommate, "I'm expecting a client to come by any minute, so don't be surprised if some bossy chick shows up and treats you like crap."

"Let me guess," Timothy mused. "A late teen/early twentyish, long black hair in a braid, the complexion of Southern India, clearly exercises with B-cup breasts and sweet ass."

"Ah...yeah?" I worried.

"Oh, she came by thirty minutes ago. She's bound up, naked and gagged on your bed, waiting for you."

"What the fuck!" I screamed. "I'm dead. Hell, you are probably dead too."

"Nah," Timothy smirked. "This was how it was going to end up anyway. All I did was save you the anxious and pointless foreplay. Go in there and fuck her silly. You'll have to change the sheets - she's gushing."

I rushed into my room. Sure enough, Rhada was nude, her hands bound behind her back by black leather cuffs, as were her ankles. She had a bright orange ball gag, secured with black straps, in her mouth and her eyes were bombarding me with a deadly furor.

"Shit, Rhada, I'm sorry. My roommate doesn't know who you are," I pleaded. I crawled onto the bed and pulled down the ball gag.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," she screamed. "I'm going to cut out your heart and shove it down your throat. You are so fucking dead, you Asshole! I'm going to slice..." I put the ball gag back in place and staggered out to see Timothy. I tossed my coat and tie aside then sat down beside him.

"I can't begin to describe how massively screwed we are," I muttered. Timothy sidled down the sofa and put his arm around my shoulder. I wasn't worried. Timothy respected my life choices.

"Brother, trust me. That girl came over to be tied down and fucked. My Ex was really into that, so I recognized the signs," Timothy consoled me.

"You are worrying about nothing. Trust me. Hammer her the way you did that flight attendant on Saturday and she'll leave here with a bounce in her step," Timothy chuckled. "Oh, she'll act bitchy, but when she makes for the stairs, she'll look back and smile at you. I'd bet my life on it."

"We are, you knucklehead," I sighed. I returned to my bedroom. I wasn't a rapist. Power games were games, not something I got off on. Determining how to get out of my personal tragedy was short-circuited by Rhada herself. Her look was still as lethal, her body was still struggling against her bonds, and a teardrop of vaginal fluid was making it down the crease between her buttocks and thigh.

I turned around and walked back to Timothy, who looked amused.

"Did she bring any weapons?" I inquired.

"Yeah, this decent double-edged blade," he nodded. "On the counter." I went to the kitchenette, retrieved the sheathed knife - an early 20th century ceremonial creation, I guessed - and returned to Rhada. I shut the bedroom door and locked it.

"Well, Rhada," I leered. "Katrina is probably going to kill me for this. I might as well tear some enjoyment out of you before I die." I brandished the sheathed blade. Rhada's eyes grew wide with arousal and fear. I slowly stripped myself bare. Rhada's eyes feasted on my physique. She didn't even try to hide her fascination.

After I crawled over her body, the knife was unsheathed and the point pressed to her neck. Rhada moaned through her ball-gag. I leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Rhada, I am going to despoil you," I whispered, my lips only millimeters away. "I'm going to wreck your body." The tip of the knife migrated down her chest, between her breasts in an achingly slow process.

Four years of some serious sexual exploration told me Rhada was on the cusp. My free hand moved unseen until it hovered over the juncture between her ass cheeks and thighs, giving minute access to her dripping cunt. I rammed two fingers into her vagina, praying she wasn't a virgin. She wasn't, my intrusion sent her off into convulsions and I yanked the knife away to keep her safe from the blade.

As her orgasm spent itself a final series of tremors, I rolled Rhada onto her stomach and began spanking her. First she gasped then gave forth furious, but muted, declarations. The moaning started with a few stifled utterances. I broke off the beating long enough to sheath the knife and put on a condom before resuming my play.

"Now you get fucked, my slave - my prisoner," I taunted her. She moaned louder and sobbed. I pulled her up by her hips and unceremoniously shoved my cock into her love canal. It was snug, not tight. Her shudder of shame and pleasure pulsed throughout her body. A few rotations into her pleasure center and I realized the strain on her shoulders, neck and head had to be harsh.

I quickly decided that putting Rhada with her knees off the bed to make it easier on her. My withdrawal then rapid manhandling caught her off-guard. My penetration returned her to that state of bliss. I put my pinkie in my mouth, got it nice and slick, then began wiggling it against Rhada's sphincter.

Her protestations were more verbal than physical though she winced when I actual pushed in to the first knuckle. That accomplished, I began to mercilessly pound that pussy and tease that ass for thirty minutes, until she was unresponsive. I took the break to lay out some more condoms - and answer my bedroom door. Timothy had a bagel in his mouth and a box of 'toys' in his arms.

He shoved it at me, mumbled something that could have been 'get to work', laughed and lastly shut the door. A quick sniff test suggested the goodies were clean. A few clearly contravened the UN Accords on Human Rights so I hid them away. I wasn't sure what would have been worse: Rhada freaking out when she saw them, or begging for one to be used on/in her.

The vibrators checked out, the lube seemed reasonably fresh and clamps, lash and paddles were in working order. Rhada moaned softly when I began working the blue, ribbed dildo into her cunt. Even after it was deeply in place, she didn't react much. Only when the smaller, more flexible, dildo began penetrating her ass did she come around.

Rhada frantically thrashed around in a futile effort to save her back passage.

"How wretched does a woman have to be to submit to a man forcing something up her ass?" I teased her softly. "What would Madi think if she could see you like this, giving up your pleasures like some breeding bitch?"

Rhada's resistance turned feeble and I could tell she was crying. I finished pressing the second dildo up her butthole before turning them both into vibrators. Her whole body was wrapped up in the throes of passion. I got off the bed, retrieved my phone then moved around so she could see me.