You've Reached Ms Farrow's Office

I pick up the phone on my desk and tap a button to call my assistant.

"Yes, Ms Farrow?" Her soft voice comes through the earpiece.

"I need you to book a flight for someone." A lover, I say in my mind, but I'd never suggest such a thing aloud to my assistant. Our relationship is of a professional nature. This isn't new to Chantel, of course; this is hardly the first time I've had her fly one of my lovers in on short notice. She's used to it by now and I have no doubt she knows exactly what's going on — most of the time, anyway.

I give her the date, the city of origin, and email over a scan of my friend's passport.

"Any particular time?"

"Have her arrive midafternoon, I think. Business class, and book her car service on both sides. Send her straight to the office."

"Of course, Ms Farrow. Is there anything else?"

"No, Chantel. Thank you."

I replace the handset and smile to myself. This should be interesting.

———————————

When I arrive on Wednesday morning, Chantel is already at the office, like always, with a hot coffee for me — made just how I like it — and a list of messages. I hang my coat as she reads off the list. I pass most of them off to her and keep a few to take care of through the day; I've got a pending deal coming up that's requiring a lot of time and negotiation, but I trust Chantel to take care of the little stuff.

She's a beautiful girl. Doe-eyed, with long dark lashes and dimples, rich chestnut-brown hair a shining waterfall over her shoulder. Her style is conservative-yet-fashionable; she's wearing a forest green dress today, which complements her lovely green-brown eyes. She always has this effortlessly lovely, dewy look about her. She's twenty-six — young, but capable.

In contrast to Chantel, I am all edges. Sharp features, my hair in an angular bob that cuts across my cheekbones, my body strong and wiry. I know I'm beautiful, but in an intimidating way, a frightening way. When I was younger I used to soften myself with feminine hairstyles and pastel colours, but luckily I outgrew that. I credit part of my success to scaring the shit out of men in boardrooms so they don't dare pull that patriarchal bullshit on me.

I spend the morning in my office with my door closed, mostly on the phone, as Chantel performs triage on my phone lines and email outside. Throughout the morning she passes a few more things she can't deal with over to me, and by the time she arrives with my lunch at one — I get the same thing every Wednesday so I don't have to think about food — I've made good headway on my day.

"Thank you, Chantel," I say as she drops my kale salad with grilled avocado down on the desk and pulls up a chair across from me. I buy her lunch every day too, in exchange for her making sure I eat, and we usually sit across my desk from each other and run through anything we need to discuss while we nourish ourselves.

Chantel and I have been working together for six months. I sensed something dark and complex about her when I hired her and have seen glimpses of it simmering beneath her consummate professionalism; I want to probe it deeper. I like to surround myself with certain types of people, and I have the power to do it. I had a feeling Chantel was that type of girl.

I took her out for a glass of wine about a month ago in an effort to get to know her better. One glass turned into two bottles and by the end of the night we were sopping drunk in the Rosewood lounge, her head on my shoulder as she howled with laughter. She'd confessed all sorts of things to me in that reverie of truth that wine sometimes produces: that she'd dumped her boyfriend and just couldn't find any men interesting anymore; that she was a slut in college; that she found herself more curious than she felt comfortable admitting about what exactly I did with all the beautiful but boyish-looking women I flew in and out of the city.

I had a driver take us home, and in the backseat of the car she tried to kiss me. I sobered up very quickly and held her by the chin, my grip stern but my voice gentle: "Chantel, you're my employee. We'd both regret it very much in the morning were anything to happen." When she looked crestfallen, I tapped her chin with my finger and made her look at me again. "You're beautiful, you're smart, and I adore you. Go to bed."

I sent her up to her bed and strongly encouraged her to drink a big glass of water. When she arrived for work the next day — on time, but worse for wear — the grateful look she gave me spoke volumes. I nodded in reply and we went about our day.

While we sit and eat our lunches, chatting about work, I muse over that night. I answer her questions and she reminds me that my 2:00 pm call with a very important contact has been moved to 3:00. I thank her. "And Ms Farrow — Alex will be here at approximately 3:30."

Oh, yes. Alex. 3:30 is cutting it very tight; I expect my call with Bendix will easily go over that time. "Thank you, Chantel. That's all."

She leaves, her hips swaying beneath the forest-green silk of her dress, and I imagine her tiny waist, her creamy skin, and wonder whether she'll have those cute little back dimples above her ass. I give my head a shake and get back to work.

———————————

I'm having a loud argument — no, discussion — with Bendix on the phone when I check my watch and realize it's 3:45 pm. Sure enough, Chantel sent me an instant message on my computer at 3:33: "Alex is here. Should I send her in?"

I quickly type out "Yes pls" in response without taking a breath. We've been considering a very important merger and Bendix is a huge part of the deal, but he's being obstinate and greedy. I refuse to let a man defeat me just by talking over me, so my tone is heated when Alex peeks in. I gesture for her to come in and close the door behind her, and she does, and then stands in front of me.

Even with half my attention on my phone call, I feel a very physical appreciation for her. Alex and I have been lovers for a while, just occasionally when we happen to be in the same city. This is the first time I've done this specific thing with her, flown her in like this. She's one of a small handful of people I fuck every so often. I don't have time for a relationship, but that doesn't mean I don't have needs, and I've found the perfect balance for my particular tastes.

She's tall — I like them tall — with very short, dark hair, brown eyes ringed with dark lashes, dark brows that she keeps well manicured along with her short fingernails and soft hands. She has broad shoulders and strong, tattooed arms, wears Doc Martens, looks overall a bit on the tough side. I like to turn her into a purring kitten.

I look her up and down appraisingly and smile at her; she gives me a little wave. I beckon her forward til she's a foot or so in front of me. I'm standing, leaning on the desk behind me. I mute my call for a moment.

"Get on your knees."

Her face flushes pink and she gapes at me a little, but I've already unmuted my call and am explaining something to Bendix, so I just stare at her until she falls to her knees in front of me. I gesture at her to pull off her shirt. She flushes deeper, and when she doesn't do it quickly enough I snap my fingers at her. She pulls her t-shirt off over her head and smooths down her hair — she's terrifically vain, which I adore.

She kneels there in front of me, looking up at me, in her bra and jeans, the waistband of her men's briefs peeking up over her belt. I put my high-heeled foot on her chest and she leans down to kiss my ankle, but I push my toe up under her chin and use my foot to tilt her head back up to look at me. I mute my call again.

"Take off your bra. Undo your pants and pull down your underwear."

She's much quicker to the punch this time, racing through the tasks I've set her, and soon she's topless, her nipples erect; her jeans and underwear are around her thighs and I can see the pink tease of her cunt as she kneels in front of me with her legs spread as wide as her pants will let her. I smile at her and give Bendix an ultimatum; I'm tired of his shit. Then I mute the call again.

"Fuck yourself for me. I want to watch you come."

"Oh my god," Alex says under her breath. She wets two of her fingers and slides them down between her legs without taking her eyes off my face. She tweaks her clit and then I watch her reach her hand down further; I can hear the wet sound of her fingers pushing through her slit. She rubs herself and her cheeks flush again, a deep pink, as her breath starts to speed up.

I can feel warmth suffusing me, spreading from my crotch through the rest of my body, as I watch her touch herself. She leans forward as she angles her hand to slide her fingers into her cunt and I momentarily lose the thread of what Bendix is saying.

I ask him to repeat himself as Alex starts to fuck herself in earnest, her right arm rocking deep between her legs as she penetrates herself over and over, her left hand questing for her clit. She's panting and little sounds are coming out of her. I don't give a shit if Bendix hears them over the phone; I'm soaking wet now. And so is Alex. She gets off on being watched and I love to watch her.

Her body starts to shake and go rigid and she pushes deeper into herself, gasping, spots of pink on her cheeks, her mouth open. For a moment, she comes in silence, and I hold my breath — and then she collapses with a deep moan and pulls her damp hands out from between her legs.

Good timing. This call is pretty much over anyway. "Bendix, we aren't getting anywhere. Let's pick this up again later. I've got another meeting." I look at Alex and smile. "Yes, sounds good. Okay. Talk soon."

I hang up and lean back to survey the panting, softly moaning Alex on my office floor. "Oh my god," I say. "That was fucking incredible."

She smiles, weak with post-orgasmic bliss. "Thanks," she manages. "It was pretty good for me too."

After a moment, she sits up again. She stretches her shoulders until they pop, and then pushes herself up on her knees and leans forward closer to me. She starts to slide her hands up my legs and skirt, her fingers coasting over the smooth surface of my pantyhose. I smile down at her and let her push her hands up my thighs until my skirt is hiked up above my hips; she buries her face between my legs, her breath hot on my cunt even through the layers of pantyhose and underwear between us.

I look down at her, watch her. She's kneeling between my legs with her tongue wetting my pussy through the fabric of my panties. She's clad only in her jeans and underwear — around her thighs — and a pair of Doc Martens. I could come just looking at her, but I put my hands on her head and pull her away. She looks up at me.

"Did you meet Chantel?" I ask.

"Oh, your assistant? The pretty one outside?"

"Mmhm," I reply, and give her a little smile. She nods, and I tease, "Did you enjoy flirting with her for fifteen minutes before I called you in, you little shit?"

She has the decency to look embarrassed that I caught her doing exactly what I knew she'd do. I know Alex very well. I tilt her chin up with a finger and push my thumb between her lips. She flicks her tongue across the pad of my thumb and nibbles it gently.

"I want you to fuck her," I say softly.

I have my thumb in Alex's mouth so her reply is a bit muffled: "What?!"

"I want you to fuck her," I repeat, a little louder. "I want you to dominate her pretty little body."

Alex is blushing again. I pull my thumb out of her mouth. Her colour rises for a moment before she replies. "Is that... something you... have... does she know?"

I smile. "I want you to seduce her and then I want you to fuck her while I watch. Tonight. She's coming over at eight. Don't tell me you don't want to? We really don't have to. I can cancel."

Alex sputters in her haste to reply. "No, I — I really fucking want to."

"Good," I reply, and then I put my hands on the back of her head and press her face into my cunt again. "Now tear off my panties and fuck me."

———————————

I don't get any work done for the remainder of the day; we finally manage to catch our breath and get dressed again around five-thirty, but we're still tangled together, messy and unkempt, on the couch in my office when Chantel knocks to tell me she's going home. I call through the door, "See you at eight!"

"I'll bring a bottle of wine," she calls back, and I smile. Cute. My wine cellar is rare and extensive; I pay her well, but not enough for her to bother buying anything I'd care to drink.

My apartment is well-appointed but not massive; I don't spend enough time in it to need more space. There's a kitchen, a bedroom, two bathrooms, a living room, and an office connected to the living room with a sliding glass door. It's more than enough for just me and the occasional lover I bring home.

She arrives promptly at eight, punctual as always. Her hair is up, revealing a delicate neck, and she's in a short little shift dress — the type that clings to a girl's curves as she moves, but otherwise hangs off her. It falls just inches below her hips, showing a tempting expanse of bare leg. She's in high-heeled shoes with straps around the ankles that emphasize the delicacy of her body. She looks phenomenal.

"Elizabeth," she says by way of greeting, shy as always when she uses my first name. I smile and kiss her cheek as she hands me a bottle of wine; I peek at the label and am surprised it's a half-decent bottle. I thank her.

"I'll pour some wine; Alex is in the living room, why don't you go say hello?"

She looks a little shy at Alex's name, which I take as a very good sign. I point the way and she gives me a cute smile before heading that direction.

I stash Chantel's bottle in the wine fridge and pour three glasses from a bottle I'd opened to breathe around an hour ago: a stunning twelve-year-old Bordeaux of which I bought only a case and am savouring every last drop of. When I arrive in the living room with the wine, the two of them are sitting next to each other on the couch, and Alex has said something to make her laugh; Chantel has thrown back her head in amusement.

She's clearly flirting, and Alex steals a little conspiratory glance at me.

I sit across from them in an arm chair and we sip our wine and chat. The conversation is easy, and Chantel tones down the flirting now that I'm in the room, but I subtly try to steer the conversation toward sex. I pour Chantel another glass. I watch as Alex turns on her charm and as Chantel's knee touches hers and stays there.

"Chantel," I ask when I see my opening in the conversation, "have you ever been with a woman before?"

I cross my fingers that she doesn't remember that she's already answered this question for me last month when we got terrifically drunk at a five star hotel bar. She blushes, such a pretty pink colour against her creamy light skin. "Um," she says softly. "Kind of..."

Alex jumps in. "Kind of? What does that mean?"

Chantel looks at Alex, speaks only to Alex. I watch them. "In college, I kind of kissed my best friend at a party, and it turned into... well..."

Alex looks at her, her eyes alive with interest, and touches her hand. Chantel goes on: "We ended up making out naked in a hot tub together, but there were a lot of people watching, and we kept our bottoms on but..." She swallows, blushes deeper, is clearly very embarrassed.

My phone rings, startling them both out of the moment.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say. I pick up my phone and slide into the adjoining office, pulling the glass door shut behind me.

Right on time.

It's Bendix, of course; I'd scheduled the call for 9:30 pm in the hopes that'd be the perfect amount of time, and it had been. I told Bendix I had half an hour to finish up the deal.

I have my back to the living room, but because I haven't turned on the lights in the office, they can hardly see me anyway; the soft lamp-light in the living room is reflecting off the glass and I may as well be invisible. I'm counting on that.

The phone call really does take half an hour. I can't help myself — I sneak glances every few minutes to see what's happening in the next room. They're chatting; they're chatting; they're chatting but sitting slightly closer together; they're chatting but Alex has her hand on Chantel's leg; oh, now they're just chatting again.

The call absorbs me for a bit as we try to lock down a few details, and the next time I look back I'm very pleasantly surprised.

Alex has her hand on Chantel's chin and is kissing her, gently by the looks of it — oh, and Chantel is kissing back, leaning forward into it. Good. I decide to give them another few minutes.

The next time I look, it's a full-on makeout. Chantel's bare thighs are in Alex's lap as they kiss hungrily, their mostly-empty glasses of wine forgotten on the coffee table. I watch Alex nip at Chantel's bottom lip with her teeth; Chantel throws her head back as Alex kisses her neck. Alex's hand quests up from Chantel's knee, up her thigh, achingly slow.

"Listen, it's almost ten," I say to Bendix.

"Yeah, yeah, I think we're done. You're right. Just take that last clause out. I concede."

I smile. "Thank you, sir. It's been an absolute pleasure."

We bid each other goodnight — it's been a battle, but we both enjoy it, and we've each made enough concessions to leave the other one feeling like they haven't been cheated. Besides, I have better things to do.

I hang up and turn my phone to silent. I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.

I give Alex enough time to get her hand up Chantel's dress before I pull the sliding door open and interrupt them. "Sorry about that," I say nonchalantly. "Business never stops."

At the sound of my voice, Chantel gasps and jumps off of Alex, smoothing down her rumpled dress and hanging her head. "Ms Fa—Elizabeth, I am so sorry, I don't know what came over me, I should not have—"

Her voice falters at the sound of Alex's little laugh. She's been looking at her feet in mortification, but she looks now from Alex, chuckling on the couch, to me, standing in front of her with a wicked smile on my face.

"Shh," I say, and cup her cheek in my hand. Her lip is trembling; I run my thumb over it to still her. "It's okay, but honey, you're a very bad girl, aren't you?"

She takes a moment to breathe, her sharp mind working hard, and I watch as the situation clicks in her mind. She nods almost imperceptibly, and then to clarify, says it aloud: "Yes, I am."

She's still trembling. I smile indulgently at her. "You want to make it up to me?"

She nods again.

"Okay, good. In that case, I'm going to need you to be a very good listener tonight," I tell her. "Just tell us if there's anything you don't like."

She bites her lip and looks at me with those big greenish eyes. "Yes, Ms Farrow."

I give her a gentle little slap on the cheek. "Good girl. Now kiss Alex."

I settle back into my armchair and sip my very nice glass of wine as Chantel descends back to the couch. She's a little unsure of herself now, and looks at Alex, then at me, then back at Alex. Alex leans forward and murmurs something in her ear — knowing Alex, I assume it's something along the lines of, "Do you want this?" because Chantel nods emphatically enough that Alex breaks into a big dirty grin. She looks over at me; I reach into the drawer in the table beside me and toss her a roll of bondage tape.

With the roll in one hand, Alex leans forward and kisses Chantel deeply, pushing her tongue between Chantel's lips and eliciting a little moan from her. The makeout heats up much more quickly this time; Alex pushes Chantel back, kissing her hard and pushing her thigh between Chantel's legs, until Chantel's back is on the couch and Alex is on top of her.