Rape is such a harsh word. I prefer to say that it was an incident of involuntary agreement to a sexual relationship. What happened was this.
I have a secretary. She's a damn good secretary. As efficient as you please, knows her work, anticipates my requirements and makes sure things run with the smooth efficiency that is conducive to a good work environment. And I pay her accordingly.
Unfortunately, she is entitled to holidays. I normally try to tailor mine to the same schedule that she uses, with another manager being tapped to take over my duties while I'm away.
Occasionally our breaks don't coincide, and when that happens I'm given a temp to fill in. It's never really a satisfactory solution, but generally it's workable.
This time the break that came up unexpectedly was hers. Her right leg broke, to be precise. Simone was going to be away on sick leave until she was mobile again, several weeks at least. So I was given a temp.
The temp from hell, it turned out.
She fronted up to my office, wearing a short tight dress and a top that seemed to have been painted on. She was in her early twenties, had a good figure and seemed quite happy to show it off to all and sundry.
I explained her general duties, referred her to Simone's cheat sheet and left her to it.
It turned out she had questions about her duties and naturally she turned to me for the answers. I politely explained that most of the questions that she brought to me could be resolved by looking up Simone's cheat sheet, but she seemed incapable of doing so. After an hour of her services I figured out I was in for the week from hell while Simone was away.
Brittany was a stickler for what is right and what her duties were. On that first day I asked her to arrange for a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Simone with a sympathy note, taking some money from petty cash to pay for it. Brittany politely explained that accounting guidelines didn't cover these circumstances and she wouldn't be able to do that. I said, that's fine, I'll pay for the flowers myself. Brittany promptly explained that that made it a personal errand and she was not required to run those.
I rang up and arranged the damn flowers myself.
The next day Brittany came in late, only five minutes, but that sort of thing can disrupt the office. She was looking very nice so I passed a casual complement on her appearance, to be promptly told that that sort of comment was sexual harassment and she didn't have to put up with it.
Telling someone they're looking good is sexual harassment? Commenting on the boobs that she was carrying around on a tray for everyone to admire might have been harassment, but an honest complement is not. However I took a mental note not to make any sort of personal remark to Brittany.
I'm not saying the woman was computer illiterate. Let's just say she was computer challenged. After she'd stuffed up her own computer for the third time I flatly told her she was not to touch mine for any reason whatsoever.
Fortunately, a couple of my staff are quite computer smart and I told her to speak to them when her computer screwed up. You will note that her computer screws up her work, it's not her screwing up the computer.
By the end of the second day I was asking to have her replaced, but it was a no go. Apparently it was her turn for fill-in work so she could get the experience. I was stuck with her.
From then on things seemed to get worse. It wasn't just that she was doing things slowly, but she was doing them wrong and I'd have to point out the errors and have her redo. I don't think she once bothered to proofread her work, although I pointed out that most errors could be picked up by doing this.
The killer came at the end of the week. I'd been out in the field all Friday, and I'd already put in a solid day's work when I fronted up back at the office. It was after knockoff time and so I assumed that the place would be deserted, but when I walked into my office there was Brittany, on my PC.
I could tell from the look on her face that I was in trouble. I didn't know what sort of trouble, but it wouldn't be anything little.
I gently asked Brittany why she was using my PC when she had strict instructions never to touch it. It appears that hers had broken down again just as she was about to do some letters, and she knew that I'd wanted them that day so she thought that she'd use my PC instead of waiting until the next work day when Mike could fix her PC.
Digging deeper, it turned out that the letters that she was supposed to do first thing in the morning had been shelved, because I wasn't there to nag her. She only remembered them at knock off time when everyone else was on the way out, so she stayed back to finish them.
Very conscientious of her, I'm sure, but if she done them first thing she wouldn't have had to stay back. Trying to do the letters her PC broke down, Mike had left and therefore my PC was her only option.
I felt like pointing out that there were a dozen PC's in the outer office she could have used, but as the suspected catastrophe was just a few letters not done I didn't bother.
I politely asked if she had completed the letters now, and she turned evasive. Pushing for answers I just wished I had some pentothal. One shot and let the answers come babbling out. Instead I was just getting babbling.
What she was trying to say was that it wasn't her fault. She thought she was opening Word but she got this weird spreadsheet. So she deleted it and put the proper word icon in its place and then called it up and typed her letters.
Then when she had finished, it occurred to her that I might need that weird spreadsheet so she went to restore it, but accidently pressed 'clear the wastebasket' instead of 'restore these items'. But that wasn't her fault. They shouldn't put those two items next to each other. Anyone could make that mistake.
I checked my PC. My master template was gone, and the wastebasket was empty.
You're probably wondering what my master template is. It's an excel spreadsheet that I'd put together with the help of my brother. He's a computer wizard. With that template I could enter what I wanted done and it would produce a full costing and work plan. Ten minutes of data entry for results that used to take three or four hours. It had taken my brother and me six weeks to put the damn thing together, and Brittany had deleted it.
This wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back. This was a bloody great bale of hay dropped on the poor camel from a great height.
I turned and looked at Brittany and she knew just by looking at me that it had all hit the fan with a loud splat and that I wasn't going to listen to excuses.
Brittany has two main defences. First was to babble until the person trying to find out what had gone wrong goes away, frustrated. Second is to assume a sexy posture so any move her accuser makes can be assumed to be some sort of sexual harassment, putting the ball firmly in her court.
True to form, Brittany leant slight back against my desk, shoulders back to emphasise her breasts with their enticing cleavage and legs parting slightly to make her short tight skirt ride up so that a hint of panties could be seen below it. God forbid that you should look though. That was sexual harassment, that was, and she'd let you know.
I didn't care. As far as I was concerned her position was involuntary agreement to a sexual relationship, and I was accepting.
I calmly took hold of her skirt and jerked it higher so that Brittany's panties were on display. Before she could scream or protest I took them and calmly lowered them, bending down so that they went clear down to her ankles, leaving her exposed from her ankles to just above her mons.
Brittany was looking at me in shock, and her shock grew as I unzipped and took out my cock, which was swelling rapidly at this unexpected treat. From the look on Brittany's face you would think I had a live snake in my hand, and I think she might have preferred one.
One nice think about being the boss is that if you indicate someone should be doing something right now, they do it without thinking. A tap on Brittany's ankle and she parted her legs a bit more, without stopping to think that this was not really to her advantage.
She'd finally got her voice back and was demanding rather shrilly just what I thought I was doing. I'd have thought it was rather obvious.
I now started pressing my erection against her pussy, able to do so quite easily now that she had thoughtfully opened her legs a bit more. Brittany looked down to where she could see my cock pressing against her flesh and then jerked her head up, looking away.
"No," I said harshly. "You damned well look as I enter you. I want you to see it happening as well as just feel it."
Brittany swallowed rather convulsively, but dropped her head and watched where my cock was starting to force her lips apart. She gave a small moan as her lips seemed to move aside and then close around the head, and she gave a small shudder as the shaft moved slowly into her, driving that bulbous head even deeper into her.
Mind you, I wasn't touching her in any other way. The only contact we had at this point was my cock and her pussy, but in the current circumstances that was enough.
I took my time, moving very slowly into her, letting her tensions heighten and I could sense her trembling slightly as I advanced.
Finally I stood there, pressed firmly inside her pussy, holding her against the desk.
Brittany finally found her voice, looked at me and said with only a slight tremble, "This is rape, you know."
I just winked at her, to her obvious fury, and indicated that she was supposed to be watching the action below.
When she switched her gaze back down I started to withdraw, moving at the same deliberate pace with which I'd entered her. Pulling almost out I stopped, and began another slow insertion.
Brittany again found her voice, this time demanding that I stop at once or she'd scream.
I pointed out that we were the only two left and if by chance someone did come I'd explain that she was just screaming from pleasure.
By this time I was back inside her, and starting another slow withdrawal, while Brittany hissed and wriggled slightly, but still watching my cock as it moved in and out.
Deciding I wanted some more hands on experience, I calmly requested that Brittany undo her blouse and bra. She cast me a rather bitter look, but apparently the fact that I was already in her helped her to decide that she might as well.
She slowly undid her blouse, letting the sides drop away from her bust, and then she reached around to undo her bra clip.
That was a fascinating experience. When she reached behind herself her groin automatically moved in the opposite direction, and Brittany found herself pushing my cock deeper into her. She flushed in embarrassment and hurried to undo the clip so she could jerk her arms forward again.
With those two lush breasts now free I started stroking them, getting a feel of them, squeezing and tasting them.
"Do you bruise easily?" I asked Brittany, and when she said "No, don't" I started leaving a few love marks on her breasts, branding her so that she'd have a reminder of me.
Once again she reminded me that this was rape, and once again I ignored her. She'd been giving me hell all week, and I was finally getting some of my own back.
I was still taking those long deliberate strokes that I knew were getting to her. I could feel her wriggling under me, trying to get me to hurry it up a bit, but trying to do it subtly, as there was no way on earth she was going to actually ask me.
I must admit that watching my cock sink so slowly into her and then withdraw was just as hard on me as it was on her. The tactile scrape of flesh on flesh was sending message directly to my animal brain, trying to bypass such things as logic. My cock was saying go, go, go, while my logic was saying relax, take it easy, make it last and drive her out of her mind.
I noticed that Brittany was once again looking down at where we were joined. For some reason she seemed to have a morbid fascination with the way my cock was pillaging her, watching it while it drove home and relaxing a little when it came back out.
Brittany was flushed and her breath was coming in little gasps. Her breasts were swollen and her nipples standing proud. Her hips were moving slowly in time with me, and she was doing her best to make me speed things up. I'm not saying that she was enjoying her involuntary acceptance of me, but she seemed to be suffering it lightly.
We had now been moving slowly together for a number of minutes, and I'm quite sure that Brittany was nearing a climax. I know I was. So I pulled out of her.
Brittany stood for a moment gasping, her hips making little jerking motions, wanting to continue. Brittany turned to look at me stunned, not believing it was so suddenly over. Which was fair enough. It wasn't.
"Turn around and bend over the desk," I snapped, and Brittany hastened to do so, lifting her bottom high and keeping her legs well apart.
"Did I tell you to leave my PC alone," I asked her quietly.
Brittany nodded, I spanked her bottom, and she screamed in shock.
"Why did I say to leave my PC alone?" I asked.
"Because I break them," she wailed.
"Correct," I told her, delivering another spank and being greeted by another squeal.
"You're not going to touch my PC again, are you?" I said, this time delivering the spank with the question.
Brittany frantically shook her head.
"One last question. Do I continue with the spanking or go back to the involuntary sexual agreement," I asked.
"You were raping me," Brittany protested, and I placed the head of my cock firmly against where her lips were parted and reaching for me.
This time I didn't push into her. I just let my cock sit there, feeling Brittany tremble against me, and it wasn't long before I could feel her pressing slowly against me, urging me to enter. I still didn't move and then Brittany gave a little shudder and pressed more firmly against me, sliding onto my erection.
Once again I started moving with a slow deliberation, driving Brittany out of her mind. I was quite sure she'd been hovering on the verge of an orgasm for a while, and while the change of position would have given her a chance to cool down, the spanks would also have revved her up a bit.
It wasn't long before Brittany was actively squirming beneath me. It wasn't a case of her just going with my long slow thrusts, meeting them with a slow thrust of her own. She was twisting and writhing, desperate to have the action speed up, hovering on the cusp of coming and wanting it. Needing it.
I maintained the same slow frustrating pace, and I was paying for it as well.
"If you feel the need to go faster," I murmured, "just say so and I will."
I thought pride would stop her from asking for a while yet and I was right. For another five torturous minutes I had to keep making those diabolical slow movements, while my body was screaming for release. Eventually Brittany snapped.
"Please," she suddenly screamed. "Now."
"Now what?" I asked solicitously.
Brittany groaned. "Please, faster," she said, almost sobbing.
I was happy to oblige. Actually, I don't think I would have been able to disoblige, without something exploding. I started to move faster, and was soon bouncing against her bottom at a rapid pace. It was all she needed and she started screaming as she came, screaming again when she also felt me coming.
I could feel Brittany giving me little looks as she tidied up her clothes. I was quite happy to outwait her, and eventually she spoke.
"That was rape, and I can have you charged, you know?"
"Maybe, but you won't," I told her.
"What makes you think that?" she said, indignant.
"How many reasons do you want?" I asked. "For a start, you're not going to want everyone to know what happened. Also, you've done yourself no favours with your constant bitching about sexual harassment where none had been meant. People are just going to think you agreed and then changed your mind or are using the claim as a ploy for money or promotion."
I was spot on with the first reason, and we both knew it. Brittany wouldn't say one word about it. The second reason shocked her. I don't think she'd even thought how her actions have looked to other people.
I sighed. It appeared that my work day was not over yet.
"Sit down," I told her, "while we discuss your performance here. You have a lot of potential, but if you don't start sorting out some of your bad work habits you're not going to get anywhere."
I tossed her a report that I'd been working on at lunch time. It was an analysis of Brittany, where she did things right and where she screwed up. I'd intended to go through it with her on Monday morning, but seeing she was here, this was as good a time as any.
While she was reading it, I opened my drawer and took out a memory stick. Sticking it in the side of my PC, I downloaded my template. I, at least, knew the value of backing up valuable files.
Brittany was reading the report and looking shocked. Hadn't anyone bothered to tell the woman where she was screwing up, I wondered.
Finishing the report, Brittany just sat and looked at me.
"Do you want to protest and argue about what's in the report," I asked her, "or do you want to discuss what you can do about the problems that I see you as having?"
I could see she wanted to argue with the conclusions, but she took a breath and said simply, "Discuss it."
I nodded and we proceeded to go through each item on the report. Where she did things right, as well as where she did things wrong. We also discussed what she could do to improve her overall performance.
"You'll be with me for another week at least," I told her. "I spoke to Simone today and she told me the doctor has her on crutches but she's not allowed work for at least another week. So do you want to meet here after work next Friday while we go through you performance again?"
Brittany hesitated, then nodded.
"You won't, ah, you know?" she said.
"No involuntary agreement to a closer relationship, you mean?" I said with a smile. "Of course not."
As I packed up to leave I could hear Brittany muttering to herself.
"Involuntary agreement, he calls it. I've heard other words for it."