"Can I talk to you for a second before I leave?" she said, over instant message.
"I'm not talking to you this way if we are the only two people in the office. How many times do I have to tell you that?" he asked sharply, out loud.
Ok. I'll take that as a 'no,' she thought.
"Never mind," she said, out loud. She closed her laptop. It seemed lately he was getting shorter with her or it could be she was getting too sensitive. Or maybe it was a combination of both. But any of those options meant this talk was for another time.
"Come on. What is it," he said.
"Just forget it. Have a good weekend," she said, laptop bag over her arm. She did not look in the direction of his office.
"Hey," he said. She stopped, hand on the door. He was standing the doorway of his office.
"I'm sorry if I sounded short before. I have a lot going on right now. Tell me what you wanted to talk to me about," he said.
Still, she stood quietly at the door, hand on the knob, until he said, "Please."
"Ok," she said, and turned around.
He sat back behind his desk. She sat on the other side.
"Well this is sort of awkward, but I just wanted to talk to you about why I've been a bit difficult to deal with lately," she said.
"I haven't noticed," he said. But he had. Not difficult, but a little oversensitive. Actually, a lot oversensitive.
"The thing is, I know we really aren't supposed to talk about this anymore," she said.
He sat quietly, looking at her.
"Basically, I think about you a lot. I won't go into the emotional aspect of it. But in particular, the..physical aspect," and she blushed red, "is sort of overwhelming me right now. Like I used to tell you, it comes in waves. Sometimes I'm fine with it. But lately I've been struggling with it. And it is very hard for me to say this to you face to face, which is why I wanted to instant message it," she said.
She looked all right though, he thought. Not ready to cry. Not overly emotional. Her voice was calm and almost relieved.
"I ask you to touch me sometimes, which is demeaning. But I really, honestly have no choice. Physically, I am desperate. Starving. I need something. Anything. You don't realize what you do to me. Or maybe you do. I don't know. But most of the time my physical impulse when I am near you is to throw myself at you. Pour out the words to say how badly I want you. It is driving me fucking crazy," she said.
Still, he listened. She had no idea what he was thinking. Most of the time she did not. But she really had nothing to lose. Other than her job, of course. But she had to get it off her chest. She was still speaking very quietly. Calmly.
"I really have not experienced something like this. Maybe it is because if I have ever wanted someone, they usually wanted me back. I don't know. Maybe you hit some weird combination of buttons in me. I've thought and analyzed and I've given up. I don't care why. But anytime I am near you I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. It overpowers me. I can't even look you in the eye," she said.
"So in fighting that craving, really, sometimes my emotions get the best of me. I boil over. And that is how I have been feeling lately. I have no outlet. If I could some days say, you are making me extra crazy today, maybe it would help. But I can't. I certainly can't tell anyone else. You don't want to hear it. My hormones are bouncing off the walls and your rejection of me is so whole and complete that it is almost suffocating. Your rejection of me is so huge it is only matched by how badly I want you," she said.
"What do you want from me," he said, finally interrupting her. He was as calm as she was.
"Really, what do you want me to say or do here? You know the situation. There are so many factors that make this discussion alone inappropriate, let alone acting on any of it. You do not know what I feel or have felt, so please do not assume anything," he said.
"I don't know what I want. I don't want anything. I don't want you to feel something you don't or do anything. I just want to be able to be honest with you sometimes and not feel ashamed. Embarrassed. That is all," she said, for the first time her voice showing some emotion.
"Do you think I would purposely choose to feel this way? I can't just get over or past feelings like you can. It isn't who I am. A few months ago I said I would not want this feeling to go away despite it being impossible because it felt good. And I'm sure that is partially because.." she said, drifting off.
"Because?" he asked.
"Well, since I'm going for blatant honesty here, because when I do things...," she paused for a second to let the meaning sink in.
"When I do things alone thinking about you, it is the most unbelievable experience," she looked out the window for this part.
"It is like nothing I've never felt with someone else, let alone by myself. I can't imagine what it would feel like to have you there. Right now, if you wanted to, you know, whatever, I would say no. I couldn't handle it. But it is so good. You can't imagine. So fucking good," she closed her eyes for a minute, thinking about it
"So obviously that is hard to want to give up, but, now," she said.
"I understand," he said, trying to be objective, but drifting off to her doing things by herself. In the dark.
"Maybe if you would just kiss me. Just once. I know you said no before. If I had a million dollars, I would gladly hand it over if you would kiss me for two seconds. If I were the kind of person to throw myself on the ground and beg, I would do it. Whatever I have that you want, it is yours if you will just kiss me once. And after that kiss, I just want this to go away. But I need you to kiss me," she said.
"I can't do that," he said.
"You know I can't do that and I've already told you why," he said.
"I could stop there. I could," she said.
"Well maybe I couldn't. Did you ever think of that? And either way, it is not worth the risk," he said.
She covered her face with her hands.
"Please don't cry," he said. It was not a comforting statement. It was an objective request.
"I'm not crying, don't worry, I'll spare you that emotion. Like I spare you the rest of them," she said.
She picked up the pen on his desk. Held it out to him.
"Can't you take this? Take this and use it like you do with my work every day. Take it and just cut these feelings out. Cut this out of me. Cross it out. Delete it. Tell me I don't need it. Make it go away," she said. Her voice was trembling. Or maybe she was.
"Fix me. Just fix me. Make me right. Make me better. You know how to fix things. Fuck. I sound like a lunatic," she said. She covered her face with her hands again.
He pulled a bottle out from under his desk.
He opened it and handed it to her.
"Drink this," he said.
"I don't drink that," she said.
"You need it. Just do it," he said.
"Is that a direct order?" she asked.
"You better fucking believe it," he said.
So she did.
He did too. It was quiet for a minute.
"You'd really say no to me?" he said.
"Yes," she said.
"No you wouldn't," he said, smiling.
"I would. I couldn't handle it," she said.
"Come on," he said.
"I couldn't. I know I couldn't," she said. But she laughed a little.
She was still holding the pen. He took it from her.
"Well, you know better than this. This is the wrong color. If I'm going to do it right, we need a red pen," he said. He pushed some papers around until he found one.
He took the pen and went to the main door of the office and locked it. The sun was halfway down. It was getting late.
He came back into his office.
"I like to work undisturbed," he said.
She had no reaction but was inwardly confused. What else is new, she thought. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of asking any questions about what was coming next, though. She knew by now she'd never get a straight answer.
"Can I have more of this?" she asked, gesturing to the bottle.
"Of course," he said.
He closed his office door too. There was a hook on the back of it and he was going through some things on it.
She finished her third drink. It was starting to hit her. Things started to make sense, as weird as it was. He was going to fix her.
He took her hand and led her to the door, and pulled out a tie he had found on the hook. She started to laugh.
"Is this editing session formal attire? I'm underdressed," she said.
He wrapped the tie around her wrists.
"Come on, now you're going to tie me up? Haven't you been listening? You already bind me. You don't have to do this. I won't move. I won't go anywhere," she said.
He put his finger to her lips.
"I said I like to work undisturbed. Plus I need to see what I'm doing. This is the easiest way," he said.
He tied her wrists tightly together and pushed her back against the door, lifting her wrists over her head, and tying them to the hook.
Leaving her there, he went and sat down at his desk again, looking at her. He put his feet up on the desk, and sat back.
"You're kidding me, right? Untie me," she said.
He didn't answer.
"What are you doing?' she said.
"I'm thinking," he answered. "Where do you think the problem areas are that I need to focus on?" he said. He tapped the end of the red pen against his mouth. She looked at his mouth, and closed her eyes
She leaned her head against the door.
"Is it really enjoyable for you to torture me like this?" she asked.
"I'm just trying to help. Like you asked," he said.
He got up out of the chair and walked toward her. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and started to unbutton the front of her shirt. They were face to face. She looked into his eyes.
"Seriously, what are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm just editing you. Don't get nervous. I'll be a perfect gentleman," he said. There was a slight hint of smile in his mouth as he spoke, still holding the pen in his teeth.
With her shirt now open, in front of him in her bra, she blushed and closed her eyes again.
"You're crazier than me," she said.
"Shhh," he said. He put his hand over her left breast. The feeling of his hand on her skin sent her heart racing. Her breathing was shallow. His hand on her skin, on her breast, was making her crazy hot. With him so close, she wouldn't be able to hide it like usual.
"Don't!" she said.
"I'm trying to find your heart. If you keep talking I'll never find it. I need to concentrate. Especially with the obstacles you've got here," he said, gesturing to her chest.
"Obstacles. That's nice," she said, trying to be funny, but she was losing it.
"Ah, there it is," he said. And it was pounding. Pounding hard. He moved his hand over and under the strap, but with her hands tied over her head, he couldn't push it down.
"Oh well," he said, and reached behind her back to unhook it, pushing it up instead, exposing her fully to him. Her nipples were hard. Her breasts were big.
She squeezed her eyes closed hard.
"I need the space," he said. He took his pen from his mouth. He was playing it cool but he'd have to be dead to not feel a reaction from what he was looking at.
"I think this is a good place to start. I have a feeling the heart is main problem. Too much going on there. Keep it simpler," he said.
He took the point of the red pen and touched her skin with it. Slowly she felt the pen move across her breast, the pressure, just above her left nipple, so slowly, and as he finished the pen mark near her shoulder, he made the loop to indicate a deletion. Her back was arched, and she could barely breathe.
"You're driving me crazy," she whispered.
Her being tied up, half-naked, to his office door was having an effect on him too. But he wasn't going to tell her that.
"That's better," he said.
She closed her eyes. It was much better. Feeling that pen across her skin. Feeling him mark her body. She wanted more of it. To feel like she was under him. Under his control. Power.
"Write on me. Write all over me," she whispered, looking at him now.
He held the pen in his hand. He saw her chest rising and falling with her breathing.
"Write all over me. Everywhere," she said again.
He reached over her head and untied her, still not talking. He pulled her to the floor instead, and she stretched out on her back. And he took the tie and blindfolded her with it. She bit her lower lip.
He pulled off her jeans slowly. Then he took a pen in his hand again.
And he wrote on her. She felt it start at her belly. A line straight up to her neck, between her breasts. Not too hard, but hard enough that she knew he was leaving a mark. Out from her neck to circle one breast, circling smaller down to the center.
Smaller circles, his pen rolling around her hard nipple, then moving to the other breast, and her back was making small arches, her reactions were not huge, but they were intense.
She whispered his name.
Her breathing was fast and she was sighing. Her hands scratched the carpeted floor. She bit her lip.
His dick was getting harder, watching her, moving on the floor. He moved his pen up to her lips and traced them and her mouth opened, her tongue reaching for the pen, blindfolded, wanting more, tasting it. It was hot.
He liked writing on her. Pressing his pen into her skin. Liked how his strokes made her react. Now he moved his pen lower, down her belly, tracing across the top of her panties with it, and she shivered. Lower still, he ran it down to her leg, to her inner thigh, drawing circles there. Her breathing got faster.
He moved his pen to the other thigh, and her fingers dug into the rug. The logical part of her brain was somewhere else.
She wasn't thinking in sentences now. Just simple concepts. Which is what they both wanted.
As he ran the point of his pen up her thigh, he talked to her.
"You know what your problem is? You use too many words," he said.
"I know," she whispered, as his pen traced the line of her panties again.
"Like before, when you came in here to talk. There was a much easier way to say all that," he said.
"Don't I always tell you it is all about taking you to the next level? How could you have said that better?" he asked, teasing her with his pen, running it over her panties now, tracing her pussy through her panties with his pen, pushing it a little bit harder, finding her clit with it and tracing it in small circles.
He wanted to see her eyes, but he liked her being blindfolded.
"I....I don't know," she whispered, gasping in between the words.
He leaned over to whisper in her ear, and surprised her.
"Yes, you do. Think about it," he said, and she had a sharp intake of breath.
"I don't....tell me," she said. But she was starting to figure it out.
Still, he moved his pen, over and around the edge of her panties.
"What you really wanted to say when you came in here only needed one sentence. Not all that other bullshit," he said.
"Tell me," she said.
"I want you to tell me," he said. "Otherwise, you aren't learning anything. Tell me what you should have said."
"Ok," she whispered.
"I should have said....," and she said his name.
"I want you to fuck me."
His dick was rock hard now, and he smiled.
He pulled his pen from her.
"I'm done editing you. You're finished," he said.
"Wait," she said. "One more thing."
"What's that?" he said.
"Can you....can you put your initials on me," she said.
He smiled. He pulled her up and, took the blindfold off. He led her to his desk and sat her on it facing his chair. She looked down at herself and saw he had not written on her at all, except for that first mark. He must have used a different pen that was out of ink. It didn't matter. His marks were still there. She still felt them. But this time, he picked up a blue pen.
He sat in his chair pushed up between her legs, and her hands were flat against the desk behind her as she watched what he was doing.
He pulled the top of her panties down, and took his pen and so, so slowly, he wrote his initials in ink on the sensitive skin of her hip.
Her back arched, feeling it. That ownership. That pen. Those two letters.
"There. Now you are really finished. I'm done," he said.
He pushed his chair back.
"You are?" she said.
"Editing? Yes," he said. He stood up.
"Now, let's try that conversation again," he said.
He stood between her legs. She was almost totally naked. He pushed his body against hers. Looked her in the eyes.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" he said.
Usually she could not look into his eyes, but now, she couldn't break away from them.
"I can't," she said.
He put his hand on her thigh. And squeezed it.
"You can. I want to see how simply you can say it. No extra words. Just say it," he said, running his hand up and down her thigh now.
Her eyes fluttered. It was too much.
"I.. I wanted to talk to you about something," she whispered.
"Still too many words," he said, as he pulled her panties off.
"I ..." she started. He ran his hands up her sides, leaned in to kiss her and cut her off. His tongue found hers and she held onto the desk for survival, until she moved one hand into his hair, holding on.
He pulled away.
"That sentence already has too many words in it. The 'I' is understood. Just say it. Use only the words that matter," he said.
His hand traveled from her thigh up between her legs. His fingers stroked her naked pussy, opening her, feeling how wet she was, teasing her.
His mouth moved to her ear, holding her close to him, and her hands moved to the button of his pants and she opened it, searching to find him, and his dick was hard as she stroked it, his voice in her ear.
"What did you want to say?" he whispered, his mouth on her neck.
"Fuck me," she whispered.
"That's right. Perfect sentence," he said.
She lay back and with her eyes closed, she felt a pen on his desk under her palm, and held it tightly. She rubbed the tip of the pen with her thumb, the point in her fingertip. She pushed her thumb into it hard until it drew blood.
"Like I said," he said, as pushed her legs apart, and slowly slid inside her, as far as he could go. Her eyes fluttered with the rush of heat and it was so good. She felt light-headed and thought she might pass out for a minute. But she didn't want to miss one second of this. She bit her lip to focus and sighed with the feeling of him, starting to move, and thrust inside her.
"It's all about taking you to the next level," he said.
And when he did, her clenched fist broke the pen and his ink filled her hand, staining it with words unwritten, and unneeded.