Good Pet
Having Ms. Vanacore’s eyes on me while she touches her pussy, I’m not sure how I feel inside. My cock knows how she feels. She is excited and relishing the attention, but she doesn’t have any need or concept for morals or for emotions or any of those complicated things. She just likes getting attention, and the same can be said for my heart. While I appreciate Ms. Vanacore’s appreciation, I feel a bit awkward now. I feel dirty standing here and letting her look at me this way. If I were any good lawyer-in-training, I wouldn’t be standing here, letting her use me like porn.
Across from me, I hear and see Ms. Vanacore riling herself up. She’s panting and gasping with each new stroke, each bit of pressure she puts on her clit. Already, her face and eyes are bright. Full of pleasure and lust, something I’m beginning to worry about and fill my head with images of what she might want next. But I’m not going to do that kind of thing at work. Not if my reputation is going to be everything that I want: Free of reproach.
“She’s begging for you to fill her,” says Vanacore, nodding toward my dick. “Why not give me a little love? I won’t hurry you,” she adds quickly, and I can tell she’s holding off her orgasm, riding each little note of it, hoping I might join in her Symphony, but I’m not willing to feel this any more than I have already.
I shake my head, licking my lips. “No,” I say, through a defiant throb, my cock gives me, “This is too fast.”
Ms. Vanacore grunts, sighs. It seems she’s getting off to that idea. Literally. “When you go home tonight,” she murmurs, stroking herself as fast as I would if I were her, and I wanted to cum before my muse left me, “think about me. Get really naughty with it, Tommy. Stroke yourself off. Maybe even fuck a little toy if you have one.” She’s breathing heavily now. Sweating from behind her long locks of white hair. “Oooh, oooh, my heavens, Tommy, if only I could see your cock…”
Ms. Vanacore goes, right then, letting out a strangled, reedy grown. She punches out a breath of air, panting with what I imagine is each throb of her clit.
As she comes down off her orgasm and I hear her pull something out of a box (probably tissue to wipe herself up), she says, “You are truly beautiful, Tommy. That body of yours. It’s bigger and more beautiful than any I have seen before. I hope you don’t make me wait until our one-year anniversary to fuck you.” The attitude and mockery she’s got on “the first anniversary” sounds like she’s making fun of every bride-to-be dream in Cosmopolitan.
I don’t know what to say to any of this, so I don’t say anything. I just walk out of her office, telling her I’ll see her tomorrow morning, bright and early, as usual.
But, as I jog to the elevator, I know it’s going to be anything but “usual.” How can something like that be, after you’ve watched your boss get herself off? And with you as the muse? You can’t. This is why I’m going to go home, take care of myself, and make sure she gets off on something other than my body for the foreseeable future.
Like the good work ethic, she hired me for.
Chapter Nineteen
Melissa
God, I thought this day would never end, but finally, it has. And it’s done so with some good news. While I did have to go drop my phone off for Charlotte at lunch so that she could retrieve that God-awful file from it for Reese to show to the higher-ups — and get those sons of bitches fired — I do get some confirmation at the end of the day, when I go out to my car, that the effort was worth it.
I see a mass exodus of people with sad cardboard boxes filled with their things: office supplies and personal ones. It takes every bit of control on my part not to laugh at them all and tell them all they got exactly what they deserved for such foolish, brutish behavior, but I manage it. I get into my car, with the widest, most devilish grin I think I’ve ever had on my face.
I know it’s not good to smile on other people’s misfortune, but it’s hard not to do in this case. Not when Tommy is such a good guy, and not when I’ve been going through my own trouble with mean people as well, mainly my boyfriend-not-boyfriend, Dennis.
I see that a message has been left from him on my phone, the moment I’m thinking about him. Which makes me feel both good and bad. I listen to it on my way out of the parking lot, though I know I shouldn’t have my cell phone in hand while driving. I know it’s technically against the law, but I figure if I’m just listening to a voicemail, and not planning to have a long, drawn-out conversation, that it should be okay.