Good Pet

If anything, Melissa should be able to depend on me. I want her to depend on me. Confide in me. She’s done enough protecting me. If anyone should be going to anyone with her troubles, it should be Melissa to me, not me to her. Good bosses and boyfriends do that.

Boyfriend? The word lingers oddly in my head. As it does, I realize that the picture on Melissa’s desk of her boyfriend has been slowly migrating across the desk this week. As of today, it’s been officially shifted back a bit, but not fully away or down. Just back.

Even so, the movement seems to communicate something. Hint at some change.

As much as I would like to think about how or what change has occurred, I don’t have the time.

Vanacore’s just come back into her office from an afternoon at court with a few clients back to back, and she’s got file folders and recordings to match. She dumps them all on my desk without a second thought.

“A bit of extra work, and a few more billable hours for you before you get your paycheck,” she says.

I nod and give her the answer I’ve been giving her all week. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

And, as she’s done all week, she looks satisfied. But today, this afternoon, she looks a little more devious. “Good. Since you’re so willing, I think it’s time we broach another bit of work you should be doing for me to earn all those paid hours, Tommy.”

As she says this, she kicks at my seat, moving it away from my desk. She spins my seat around.

“Ma’am?”

She smiles, and while it’s brilliant and bright, it’s also foreboding or darkly enchanting, and the hair on the back of my neck starts to rise. “After your first week here, we talked about me being able to be of service to you. Helping you with particular things that only people like us can handle for each other, but I’ve done some thinking. If you don’t want my services, I want yours.”

“Services” and “yours” stick out to me like red, burning flags. I know what else she’s implying, but I don’t want to let it seep in. She was clear enough when she masturbated to me in front of me. When she asked me whether I wanted to join in. I also remember that she agreed to go slowly if I was interested in it at all, but now it seems she’s reneged on that.

I lick the roof of my mouth, feeling dry and queasy everywhere. “Ma’am, I know that this company has a rep—”

“A double standard,” she says, “and I’m sick of it. So, a bunch of younger women and older men can get together, have relationships, and everyone is fine with all this, but not anyone else? Not us?” She sounds angry. Livid, though, I don’t know why. Everything she’s vomiting at me doesn’t seem to have anything to do with me, and yet the way she’s looking at me, it’s as if I’m the one who’s caused her issue. “I’m going to have you, Tommy. I’m going to make you more than my assistant. More than my clerk. You’re going to be mine.” She leans forward to emphasize this. “You are mine. You were the moment you accepted the job with me, son, and you’re going to start doing other tasks for me.”

I go to move away, but Vanacore darts forward like a cobra in a dress and catches me. She presses her lips on mine, wraps a hand around my head, and keeps me there.

We both sigh into the kiss, but for reasons that couldn’t be more night and day from each other. For her, it sounds like a weight has been lifted. An appetite satiated.

For me, it’s surprise and fear. My surprise and fear quickly melts, and under something, I can only describe as a fog. As a listless, meandering energy that comes over my head and body. It’s like she’s put a roofie in my drink, but I’m not drinking. And the roofie is her entire energy.

Tommy! Tommy, your boss has just kissed you! Forced her lips on yours! Pull away! Get out of this situation, screams my brain, but it’s futile. The longer her lips are on mine, the more helpless and under her spell I feel. With each passing second, I’m forgetting more about what the situation as it actually is, and am instead focusing on the fact that I’m kissing a girl. It’s just happening. I’m being consumed by it. Devoured by it, and for a while, I don’t resist. I shut off my brain. Banish the part of me that has any issue with what Vanacore has done, what my goals are in this company, or any other objections.

But it’s when her lips come off mine, and her hands start to wander below the belt, that I’m out of my charmed state. My bespelled heart and mind practically shake “awake.” I push my chair away from her before she can get a hold of any part of my pants or the zipper.