His Muse's Fidelity

by Linnea May

  “Play with yourself,” he demands.

  No problem at all! I start caressing my clit, enjoying the sight of his beautiful chest, but avoiding eye contact. Looking at his face would just remind me of that worried boy he had become when I asked him to tie me up and spank me. I want to forget that face. All there is now is his muscular body and his remarkably sized cock inside me. This he can do well – but I feel that he can’t last long.

  I increase the tension on my clit, trying to match his rhythm.

  “I’m gonna come!” he warns. “Hurry!”

  Yeah, that is going to help. I don’t even try, but resort to faking my own orgasm when I can feel him climaxing inside me. At least this way it will end sooner. His throbbing cock feels great, his buff, sweaty chest looks irresistible.

  But it’s not enough for me. It never is.

  He collapses next to me after his orgasm has died down.

  “Fuck, that was good,” he gasps. “I’m sorry… Did you come?”

  “Sure,” I say, and cast him a quick smile while I get up to put some clothes on. I hope he belongs to the kind of guys who are happy when there is no cuddling involved. All I want right now is for him to get out of my room, but I don’t want to be impolite.

  Luckily, he is smart enough to get the hint. He starts getting dressed and asks me if I have time to grab a coffee.

  “Actually, no,” I reply, making an apologetic face. “I still have lots of stuff to do for… you know, this paper. My last one.”

  He nods. “Sure, right. You mentioned it.”

  Had I? I am surprised at myself.

  He hurries to get dressed and I escort him to the door, everything happening pleasantly fast. When we pass the kitchen, I notice my roommate Beth standing in front of the opened fridge. What the hell is she doing home?

  “Well,” he says, already standing in the hallway. “Thank you. See you around!”

  I nod and smile. “Yeah, see you.”

  That was that. I let out an audible sigh as I walk back to the kitchen, where Beth greets me with an empathetic smile.

  “You don’t seem happy,” she states the obvious. A bunch of vegetables are spread out on the kitchen table. She starts chopping some red peppers. “You hungry? I have enough for two.”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

  “So that guy was…?”

  “Brad,” I say, now sitting opposite to her at the table. “The guy from the gym.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Uh, you were right. He is hot!”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “But?”

  “Not my type,” I say, shrugging. “Just another boring, uninspired college boy.”

  “Tzzz.” Beth looks at me, her eyebrows higher than ever. “You keep saying that, Miss-no-one-is-good-enough-for-me. Maybe you’re just expecting a little too much?”

  “Maybe.”

  But could it really be that hard? To find someone who could play the way I wanted? Who would not be afraid to test me, use his strength against me? Who would take the lead and show me my limits? Someone who really knows how to tie some decent knots around my body without being a total creep?

  I am starting to doubt my knowledge of human nature. Brad was by far not the first disappointment to come along my way, even though I keep lowering my standards.

  “How’s the job hunt going?” Beth asks.

  She is obviously keen to dig into everything that is wrong with my life at the moment.

  I roll my eyes. “Bad. I hate everything about it.”

  Beth sighs. “Jeez, girl. It’s not the end of the world! Getting a job, earning some money instead of piling up more debt.”

  She looks over to me, casting me a condescending look. “Working. A lot of people do it, you know.”

  I furl my eyebrows. “You know it’s not that! I’ve always had jobs—”

  “Part-time jobs,” she interrupts. “That’s different. Part-time jobs are just a necessary evil; no one likes them. A real job is different. You don’t even know what’s waiting for you out there.”

  “You make it sound as if I am opposed to working,” I say, pouting like a child. “You know that’s not the problem.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she admits. “Still got that interview with Jones tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I don’t know anything about public relations. I really wonder why my counselor wants me to go there. And Jones is such a huge name in that industry!”

  “Besides,” Beth says, while intently chopping an onion. “I heard he’s weird. Like, fucked up weird.”

  I chuckle. “Who is?”

  “Mr. Jones, the boss, the head CEO,” Beth explains.

  “Who said he’s weird?”

  Beth stops chopping and looks at me conspiratorially. “Melissa said that someone told her that they know a girl, a graduate from last year who interviewed with him, and she said that he came on to her! Said he was flirting with her hardcore through the entire interview.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “So? That’s it? Do you know how many girls feel like someone is coming on to them just because they’re nice?”

  She shrugs. “Still sounds kinda creepy. Also…” She hesitates for a moment to make room for emphasis. “I heard his office is plastered with weird pictures.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Weird pictures?”

  “Yeah, of naked, tied up women or something. He’s a creep!”

  I shrug. If that’s true, the interview won’t be boring, at least. It’s not like I want to work there, anyway. Or like I have a chance.

  “I don’t care,” I say. “I’m just going there to make my counselor happy. And my parents. They’re the ones who want me to get a job…”

  “Don’t be such a brat,” Beth scolds me. “You know they’d help you to get a master’s if they could. Besides, nothing is decided yet, right? Maybe you’ll still get that scholarship.”

  I sigh and steal a cut-off piece of sweet pepper. “Time is running out. If I don’t hear from them until the end of the month, I might actually have to take one of those jobs they send me hunting for. If I even get one, that is.”

  Beth rolls her eyes at me. “Stop whining. Just wait and see how tomorrow’s interview turns out. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.”

  Chapter Two

  Jones & Jones - what an uninspired name for a company. As I take the lift all the way up to the twenty-ninth floor, I wonder who the second Jones could be. Is it a father and son affair?

  I probably should know these things. Hell, I don’t even know what this Mr. Jones looks like. Or how old he is. I expected him to be an old man, but Beth said that she heard he’s “younger”. Whatever that means.

  All the information I have about this place and Mr. Jones himself is gossip among girls, exchanged in my own kitchen, not exactly the kind of preparation that a job interview asks for.

  I check my face and outfit one last time in the big mirror that covers an entire wall of the elevator. My dark brown hair is tied to a bun in my neck, a hairstyle I only choose for job interviews or exams. It makes me look older, especially in combination with the red lipstick and my darkly painted smoky eyes. It is the middle of summer, but I still look as pale as always. “Working the Snow White look,” as Beth keeps saying.

  I am wearing a short black pencil skirt, black tights and a white blouse. Classy, but also extremely boring and uncomfortable. I don’t feel like myself in these clothes and hate the fact that I have to play dress-up for these interviews.

  And it’s too hot for the current temperatures, even without a jacket. My heels are a bit too high for me to be able to walk in them like a normal human being. I have tried, God knows, but somehow me and heels - it just wasn’t meant to be. Still, I insist on wearing them once in a while. And I curse myself for not practicing to properly walk in them every single time.

  I stagger out of the elevator as soon as the doors open, trying to look as professional as possible. Damn, it’s not easy.

&n
bsp; I find myself in a brightly lit hallway. Clean and sterile like most of these kinds of offices. The reception is right in front of me, occupied by two beautiful women who are not much older than me. They look fancy in their matching suits - most likely the kind of women who do not share my heel-clumsiness. I approach the reception, carefully and slowly.

  One of them looks up to me. A polite but distant smile appears on her face. “How can I help you?”

  “Erm… Storm, Cynthia Storm. I have an appointment with Mr. Jones.”

  “Storm,” she whispers, looking down on a calendar in front of her. “Ah, here it is. You might have to wait a few minutes - he is swamped with interviews right now and running a little late. Please take a seat.”

  She points to a waiting area next to the reception. It is not much more than a group of chairs arranged along the walls. All of them are empty.

  I sit down, placing my purse on my lap, and listen to the sound of other people working. I am surrounded by muttering, people talking on the phone or with each other. Once in a while, I see one of them walking down the hallway. Everybody is dressed in suits. Even though I am in my most fancy getup, I feel completely underdressed and misplaced. This place is far fancier and uptight than I imagined it to be. I feel so out of place, even worse with my lack of preparation.

  When this is over, I’ll treat myself to a little mid-day drink. Or ice cream. I would kill for some ice cream right now.

  This is certainly not a place for me. I look around for the weird pictures Beth has mentioned, but can’t find anything out of the ordinary. There are a few random photographs of different landscapes, much like the ones that come with the newer versions of Windows. No naked ladies anywhere.

  After a few minutes of waiting, I see another girl walking down the hallway. She is young, probably about my age. It’s easy to tell that she is not part of this company. The closer she comes, the more I suspect her of being the person who was interviewed before me.

  She is accompanied by a man whose appearance is literally breathtaking. I stop breathing while I scan his tall and undoubtedly fit physique as he walks down the hallway. He is wearing a dark gray suit that hugs his broad shoulders tightly, emphasizing his masculine frame. His hair has a similar color to mine, dark brown, neatly combed and gelled to the side. A three-day beard adorns his rough jaw. His lips are surprisingly full and build a contrast to his overall edgy display.

  He is clearly older than the girl who is walking next to him – and older than me – but still young, presumably in his early or mid-thirties. It obvious from his looks that he is working here. Probably one of Mr. Jones’ assistants.

  He politely dismisses the girl and I straighten up, expecting to be called up any moment now.

  I am right. One of the reception ladies gets up. She quickly exchanges words with the handsome man before she leads him to the waiting area.

  “Miss Storm?” she says, tilting her head to the side.

  I jump up. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Jones is ready for you now,” she announces, turning towards the man in the gray suit. “This is Miss Storm.”

  The man looks at me, extending his hand for a shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Storm.”

  His voice is surprisingly deep. He sounds a lot older than he looks.

  I shake his hand, dumbfounded by his incredible eyes. They are green, just like mine. But weirdly dark. I have never seen eyes like that. They are captivating, mesmerizing, dappled with black spots. His handshake is firm and confident.

  “Pleasure… to meet you.”

  I wonder if he’s wearing contact lenses.

  “Please, follow me.”

  “Sure.”

  I follow Mr. Jones’ ridiculously handsome assistant, nervously fiddling with my clothes. It is hard to keep up with his wide and confident steps. I am breaking a sweat trying to keep up with him without falling over my own feet. Damn those heels.

  He is a bit ahead of me when he stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. I expect him to knock, but he just opens it, gesturing for me to enter the room. “Please.”

  I pass him with a nervous smile. God, his good looks are intimidating.

  I find myself in a surprisingly big office. Giant windows to my right reveal a marvelous view across the city skyline and the streets twenty-nine floors beneath us. I always wonder how people can work in offices with a view like this. I would find myself staring out the window the entire day.

  Just as I am now.

  I hear him say, “Please,” again and realize that he is pointing to the big, black desk across the room. There is one giant chair behind it and two slightly smaller ones in front of it. “Have a seat.”

  I approach the desk, casting a quick view to the rest of the room. The wall opposite to the window is entirely taken up by bookshelves, reaching all the way up to the high ceiling.

  I notice the pictures when I sit down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. They are on the wall right behind the desk. Three rather big photographs right in front of me - and they all show the same woman. Naked, tied up with black rope.

  Shibari. They are stunning, very tasteful and well lit. One can tell that the woman in them is naked, but the pictures are dark, only dimly lit to emphasize certain features. She is even suspended in one of them, her back arched, head tilted backwards, with her long hair falling down to the floor, her mouth slightly opened.

  The pictures are beautiful. I can’t see anything weird about them - except for the fact that they are displayed here, in an office. Placed in such a prominent position. Mr. Jones might be an aged pervert after all.

  I realize that I am staring and force myself away from the captivating pictures. To my surprise, the assistant is still here, standing next to me.

  He is watching me.

  Our eyes meet for a second when I look up at him. I blush. How awkward. Why is he still here? Did Mr. Jones not allow for anyone to be in his office alone? And where is Mr. Jones, anyway? I expected him to wait for me in here.

  “All settled?” the man standing next to me asks.

  “Um, yeah, sure,” I reply.

  “Okay,” he says and makes his way around the desk. “Shall we begin then?”

  He drops down in the big chair behind the desk. Leaning back with his legs crossed, he looks at me, smiling expectantly.

  Fuck.

  He is Mr. Jones?

  Chapter Three

  I feel so incredibly dumb. I should have introduced myself properly. How come he hasn’t said anything? How come no one has told me that he is Mr. Jones? How come I never typed his name into Google even once before I came here? Damn.

  That lady at the reception only introduced me, but she never said that she was handing me over to the boss himself. It’s like he doesn’t need an introduction, because everyone know who he is. Obviously.

  Except for the dumb college graduate who didn’t even bother to look up the most mundane things about this company before showing up here.

  Now I am confronted with this ridiculously hot man, who caught me staring at him first and then the enticing pictures behind him. It has become even harder to keep my eyes off them now that he is sitting in front of me. I can feel my cheeks blush.

  “So,” he starts. “What brought you here, Miss Storm?”

  I gulp. My counselor, would be the honest answer. But of course I cannot say that. What on earth am I doing here? I know I don’t want this job. I have no idea about PR, I don’t fit in here. And I wouldn’t feel comfortable working for someone like him anyways.

  So, I just say it. “My counselor.”

  He laughs. A well controlled chuckle, very professional. Something I have never managed to do. I either don’t react at all or burst out in a childish giggle that is hard to stop once started.

  “Your counselor, huh?” he asks. “Could you tell me a little more about that?”

  I look at him, absolutely aware that my cheeks must have changed to that treacherous red color I loathe
so much. There is no make-up in the world that can hide the blood rushing to my face every time I am embarrassed – or drunk.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “That wasn’t very… erm, I am just a little surprised. I didn’t know that you were… you.”

  You were… you? Brilliant. I should just excuse myself and leave the room. There is nothing to win in here.

  He seems to enjoy my brainless stuttering, though. His smile has widened with every stupid syllable that has left my mouth.

  “I am me,” he says. “Sorry to surprise you, Miss Storm.”

  I frown, unsure what to reply. This is a joke. And why does he keep mentioning my name? It’s like something he has learned in business school. Unnatural. Intimidating.

  “I know, I should’ve known that,” I admit.

  He smiles as he shakes his head. “I will forgive you, Miss Storm. Everybody is nervous during these interviews.”

  “No, that’s not it,” I object. “I’m not nervous!”

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Is that so?”

  “The thing is,” I utter, trying to find the right words. “My counselor wants me to go job hunting - so do my parents.”

  I pause and look at him, awaiting some kind of reaction. But his handsome face shows no kind of readable expression.

  “That’s to be expected,” he says, shrugging. “You’re about to be done with your bachelor’s, right?”

  I nod.

  “So,” he continues. “Doesn’t it make sense to go look for a job? Isn’t that what people do?”

  Again, I nod, but hesitantly this time. “Sure.”

  He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk as he looks at me intensively. “But it’s not what you want?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’d like to go to graduate school. Get my master’s and maybe even a doctorate.”

  He nods. “What’s stopping you?”

  I look up and catch his gaze. These weirdly captivating eyes. His expression is stern but not unfriendly.