On Demand

One night in late July, I was filing and singing again. 'But to cry in front of you/That's the worst thing I could do.' I finished crooning and looked up at the door of Chase's office. He was standing there, peering into the low-lit Reception area, frowning at me.

'Sophie, it's past midnight. Why are you still here?'

His jacket was off, collar undone; he looked tired and drawn and yet still incandescently sexy.

I did not know how to answer the question. 'Just wanted to tidy up,' I mumbled, continuing to arrange a selection of tourist guides into height order.

'Go home,' he said tersely.

'You're still here,' I pointed out, my heart beating a little faster at my own temerity. 'I can make you coffee, if you want.'

His fingers tightened on the door handle. 'Go home,' he repeated.

I went and took a series of pictures of a deserted greyhound stadium. By four o'clock I was naked in my bed, and the night had turned out differently. Chase was with me. He was on me. He was in me. He gave himself to me, and took me for his own. My legs were open for his cock, my mouth for his tongue, his hands pinned my wrists above my head and he ravished me, insatiable thrust by thrust, until I was screaming, and even then he didn't stop but just flipped me over on to all fours and pushed back in for another turn. Spent and dazed, I watched the ceiling circle above, my hand still grasping his fat cock. Except it wasn't his fat cock. It was my fat vibrator. And now some DJ was wittering from my alarm clock, telling me that the Talgarth Road was already jammed and there were delays on the Northern Line.

I was dead on my feet, but I splashed cold water on my face, ran a bath and fell asleep in it. When I woke up, it was to my mobile phone playing a tortured version of the March of the Toreadors. I shook my head, took in the midmorning sunshine streaming through the louvred glass. I had to be late for work.

Running wetfooted into the bedroom with a towel pressed to my front, I discovered that my surmise was correct. It was ten to eleven; I should have been at the front desk by nine. Fucking fuckity fuck, Chase was going to be furious. I dragged on a demure linen shirt dress and a light blazer, low-heeled sandals and massive sunglasses and ran out to the station with my hair still wet.

On the train I tried to calm my nerves by imagining the scene the way I wanted it. I would be called into his office. He would tell me he was disappointed in me; he knew I was capable of a better performance. He did not want to blemish my record with a written warning, but there was no question that discipline was called for. He would bend me over the desk . . . yes, then he would lift my dress . . . then he would spank me, not too hard, just enough to make me wet . . . then he would pull down the knickers and fuck me hard from behind, reminding me throughout that he insisted on punctuality and professionalism from his staff. Once he had filled me with his spunk, I would have to pull up my knickers and keep it there for the rest of the day. Or . . . no, that would not happen. Once he had ejaculated, he would draw me into his arms and kiss me passionately, telling me that he had resisted me for so long his strength was sapped and he must now have me for ever. Or perhaps he would do that before spanking me? Or would he just smile and say we both needed a day off and take me out for a picnic in the park first, where we would lie in the shade of a spreading oak and . . .

My station.

'Christ, Sophie, where have you been?' squeaked Jade, one of the chambermaids, who had been filling in for me on the front desk.

'Sorry, sorry, how mad is Chase, scale of one to ten?'

'Oh, not really,' said Jade in her airy New Zealand twang. 'He seemed OK. Mind you, I can never tell with him. He's a funny kind of guy, don't you think?'

Hmm, well, Jade prefers girls, so I suppose I can forgive her lack of judgement. 'Funny kind of guy' indeed.

'Funny ha ha or funny peculiar?' I mused, frowning at my computer screen. No major meltdown was in evidence, which was pretty good going for Jade.

'Oh, you know, he's kind of aloof, isn't he? Nobody knows much about him.'

'I know what I need to know. Which is that he pays my wages,' I lied. There wasn't room in the British Library for the volume of information I wanted on Christopher Chase Esq.

'I guess,' said Jade doubtfully. Our speculations were cut short by the man himself, emerging from his office. Speak of the devil, as they say. Is he devil? Or is he angel? I think a blend of both. Oh, please, Lord, let me find out one day.

'Ah, Sophie. A word please,' he said. I could not deduce much from the tone. It was mild, but was it deceptively mild? Could I expect a tongue-lashing to rival anything Lassiter's canes could deal, or would he be sympathetic? I was a bit too spaced out to feel the fear as I stepped across his threshold.

'Thank you, Jade, just another ten minutes or so and then you can go home. I do appreciate this,' he said from the doorway. This sounded like a blatant attempt to guilt-trip me, so as soon as we were alone I began to blurt apologies.

'Hush.' He dismissed my outpourings with a wave of his hand, coming across to sit opposite me at his desk. 'Coffee?'

I nodded dumbly and watched him pour me a cup from the cafetière on the shelf behind him.

'Strong, I should think,' he said, hitching his eyebrows at me as he looked down his nose. I smiled nervously.

He pushed the cup and saucer across the desk and watched me sip for a minute or two, arms folded, before sitting back down.

'Sophie, is there something I should know about?' he asked at last.

I swallowed nervously, the coffee scalding my throat.

'I don't think so.' Except that I am being eaten alive by my maddening love for you, of course.

'Everything all right at home?'