by Jamie Knight
I don’t answer. I just bring my lips to his and gently kiss. It’s on his lips, but not enough to cover them completely or own them. Just enough to dust them. Immediately after kissing him, I want to kiss him again, but I refrain. I force myself to keep my lips off him once I pull them away.
Tommy sighs blissfully as if my lips are still on him, or he wishes they were. “God, that was a bad idea.” I tense up initially afraid that he’s going to say he regrets letting me kiss him, because I’m the secretary and he shouldn’t be seen with me because of his boss and all that, but he follows it up with, “That just made me want more.”
Me too, I think, fidgeting in my seat. I force myself to grip the steering wheel, so I don’t reach over to grip his cock instead. Out loud, I say, “I know.” I know that’s not enough, but it’s all I can think to say.
“But I’m going to save my appetite,” says Tommy. It’s more to himself than to me. “I’m going to make sure I’m extra hungry for our actual date next weekend, pet.”
In his words, I can feel the burn of desire. The growl of hunger. And how much he actually doesn’t want to have to wait or save anything, or make himself extra hungry, but he does it anyway. He does it to show himself and me that he’s strong and noble. He is in control and able to take on burdens, even if they are painful or unwanted.
And that’s when I decide to match them. I take the same “oath” to save my hunger and my appetite, though I want nothing more than to go home and touch myself. I want nothing more than to run myself a bubble bath and fantasize about him. To think about the kiss I just gave him while getting myself off, but I can’t. I won’t. Not with these words. “I’ll wait as well, though I am quite hungry, sir. If you’re going to deny yourself in this way, then so will I. At least until the weekend.”
Tommy leans over and kisses my cheek by surprise, before jumping out of the passenger’s side of the car and saying, “See that you do, pet. I want our time together to be deeply and fully satisfying.” He doesn’t hesitate to emphasize those words and inspire the fantasies playing around in my head now. “I’ll be thinking of you this weekend. I’ll call you.” He smiles as he closes the door. “Just to make sure I have the right number.”
“Sure,” I say. “Just to make sure.”
Tommy and I chuckle, enjoying the bullshit we are tossing at each other. He finishes closing his side of my car, and I watch him go the short way to his car and get in.
As he does, I squeal with happiness. I put my hands over my mouth and shout, “God above, he’s so handsome! So adorable! I might die from how wonderful he is!”
Right as I say this, I see Tommy blow a kiss at me from out his window as he circles his less-fancy car out of the parking lot and into the light, late evening traffic.
“Oh my God,” I say, feeling my giggling turn to sobbing. “If this was the guy I was worthy of the whole time, no wonder Dennis left me so suddenly! His careless and cruel treatment of me couldn’t stand up underneath Tommy’s warm and noble heart! Not even from thousands of miles away!”
After that, I don’t remember what happened. Just that I dissolve into fervent prayers to God, asking for Tommy’s safe return home tonight and gratitude for his wisdom in setting me free from the pain and suffering I had with Dennis but was unable to see.
It’s then that I understand part of why we might have been brought together: we both believe we are unworthy. And we need each other to show us otherwise.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tommy
After my dinner date with Melissa on Friday night, Saturday day and night go by easily. Mostly because I have Melissa and our plans to think about and prepare for. I do research on the kinds of places I think we are likely to go to for our shopping trip. I also take the time to look at my bank account and my budget in preparation.
I do get paid on Saturday, but, as Ms. Vanacore threatened she might, my paycheck is less than I had initially projected. I make a note of it on my phone. I don’t know if I’m actually going to do anything with this information, but I have decided to keep track of everything and anything to do with Ms. Vanacore.
Including the “extra work” she threatened to have me start doing on Monday. I’ve created a document on my phone. I’ve titled it Sunset, knowing that all of this information could be the “sunset” of Vanacore’s career and of her flawless, unmarked reputation.
It’s Sunday now, though, and I’m getting more anxious. More stressed about what exactly it is that I’ve planned to do on Monday. And that is that I’ve decided to go with her demands. I’ve decided, as Melissa and I touched on a couple times on Friday, to play Vanacore’s little game with her. To act like I want to engage in whatever sexual or intimate activities she wants, to capture them on my phone and gain irrefutable evidence of her predatory behavior.
While all of that sounded good and brave on Friday, now that it’s Sunday evening at about nine o’clock, I’m starting to question the sanity of that idea. The goodness of it, since it will mean that I’m putting myself at risk for any and everything Vanacore may want to do. I may also not be successful in getting any evidence. Or if I am, she may find out that I’m tricking her. And with a temper like she has, I’m scared of what she might actually do. How she may twist my attempt to corner her to harm me.
Finally, after two or three miserable hours of going back and forth in my head about whether I should or shouldn’t go through with this, I decide to call Melissa. Not only because I promised her I would on Friday evening, but because I need someone and something to get my mind off of the upcoming week at work.
I dial her number, hoping she is still awake. Hoping she doesn’t mind hearing from me.
Melissa picks up after one, maybe two, rings of her cell phone. “I was wondering when you would call me,” she says, without bothering to ask who it is. She sounds happy, pleasant, though not surprised.
The minute her warm, lightly-accented voice caresses my ears, I’m relaxed and less stressed, though I’m still kicking around what I’m going to do about my boss. I worry about Monday morning when Vanacore will more than likely make good on her threat to get me doing other kinds of “work.”
“What’s up?” Melissa asks me.
“Oh, I’ve just been thinking,” I say.
Melissa hums happily, though I can tell she doesn’t quite buy that that’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about, and she’d be right.
“About you,” I add, “and about other…things…”
On the other end of the phone, I hear a fridge opening, then something clinking, and the sound something glugging in a glass. “Those other things being Monday?” Over this, I hear her sipping on something.
“Am I really that obvious?” I ask. Or does she just know me that well are ready? Or does she just know what a threat Vanacore really is?
“Not really,” she says, “but I know what you’re doing is risky. And, if I were you, I’d be nervous. I’d be going back and forth about it a lot.”
Great. Maybe this isn’t a good idea, then? But if I’m not going to do something like this, what am I going to do? I can’t avoid her forever. Someday, Vanacore’s going to force our relationship to go sexual. And then what? Just submit to it? Without it doing any further good for anyone else? Just become another silent victim? Like Huckleberry? Like God knows how many others?
“Tommy?” Melissa reaches out to me from my thoughts, as if she can read them along with me.
“I’m here, Melissa.” Just barely.
“If you’re worried about the situation, just remember I’m here for you. I’m going to be looking out for you the best I can, even from behind my secretary’s desk. I’m going to be finding ways to check up on you. To disrupt her.” I nod, even though I know Melissa can’t see me. “And I’m going to be checking in with you. With the situation. If it gets too bad, too risky, just tell me. I’ll help get you out before she finds anything out.” I nod again. “Remember too: her weakness around you, even though she does
a bewitching thing with you, how much she desires you —that’s going to be her downfall. You’re going to make sure of that.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But is it really up to me, though?” I feel stupid asking it. Like a knight in shining armor asking if it’s really his job to rescue the princess in the tower, but I can’t help it. That’s a bit of how I feel. Like it shouldn’t and couldn’t be my job to take this woman down, even though I know it is. It must be, considering Vanacore’s gotten to do her manipulation and abuse of her power for decades now, and no one else has stopped her.
Melissa agrees with me without hearing my thoughts. “Sometimes it’s the least expected of us who gets given the most important tasks, Tommy. I know you didn’t want this when you got the promotion but think of it this way: by doing what you’re doing, you’re not only going to be helping yourself, and other young men abused and manipulated by Vanacore, but you’re doing the company as a whole a huge favor. This woman is really bad news, Tommy. She can’t be allowed to thrive or infect this company. If you don’t start shining some light on her, who will?”
I wish the answer were otherwise, but it isn’t. No one else is in my position, nor do they have the strength or hold over Vanacore that I do. If they did, I wouldn’t be working for her. I wouldn’t be the man she’s trying to add to her list of latest and greatest conquests.
Besides, strong, capable men don’t ask, “Why me?” They ask, “Who is going to stop me?” And I’m going to be one of those guys. I’m going to become one for Melissa. I’m going to be the kind of boyfriend material she deserves. And if that means going through with my dangerous and risky plan of trying to lure Vanacore and her sexual harassment into the daylight, then I have to do it.
Lawyers shouldn’t do what is comfortable; if they really want to protect the innocent and be a force of good in the world, they have to be willing to be brave. To take risks. And this is just one of them that’s on my shoulders.
The only person who’s going to stop me is myself, and I stopped allowing that to happen the moment I applied for this job. So, I can’t start now.
“You’re right,” I say, just as I sense Melissa is about to call out for me again to see if I’m still with her. “I’m just scared. I hope it goes well. Has the intended result in the end, not something else.” Not me ending up being unemployable everywhere and anywhere, because Vanacore’s dragged my name through the dirt. My reputation through the mulcher.
“Goodhearted people always win out in the end, Tommy,” says Melissa. “Cruel people win in the short term, but not in the long term. They have control, but only in a limited sense. Truth and goodness will always win out. You represent that truth and goodness, just in a package that no one expects.” She pauses, taking another sip of her wine. “Which is something I find irresistibly fascinating and adorable about you, honey.”
Getting called “honey” by her feels extra special. It’s not just something that a woman like her says to everyone, even if she did in the past. It sounds like it’s meant just for me. That it’s warmer, with more tenderness.
And that’s when my mind moves to all the various things Vanacore might ask me to do or might take from me. More kisses. Oral, regular, or anal sex. Which I don’t want to give to her. Only to Melissa, but it might be necessary or unavoidable, given the kind of situation I’m going to evoke and put myself in.
“Let’s hope you still think that way when Vanacore gets done with me. When she finishes having her way with me. I don’t want to give certain things to her.” My temperature spikes. “I want only you to have them,” I say, feeling my heart rate increase and my breath quicken. “I want you to have me, but she might get to me first, you know? It might be unavoidable. What then?”
“You don’t really give what your heart is not behind,” answers Melissa. “My ex-boyfriend taught me that. He may have kissed me. He may have fucked me for all that I was worth, but he didn’t really give himself to me. His heart was never in it, so as long as you’re not in love with Vanacore truly, I won’t think any less of you.” She pauses, taking another sip of her wine. Something I suddenly wish I was there to share with her. “As for her trying to take things from you that you don’t want to give her, just give in to her a little bit. Make her think you're obedient. Show her you’re trying so that that way she won’t feel the need to force the circumstances.”
I almost hit myself across the head with how obviously brilliant this is. I should’ve known this approach. It’s something I’ve implemented with my dad for years. Give him enough of what he wants, enough obedience to keep him happy, but not enough to lose sight of myself.
“I see what you mean,” I say when she asks me whether that makes sense.
“See if you can get her to be satisfied enough until the weekend —”
“And then you’ll have me before she does,” I say, finishing what I believe the end of her sentence is. “We’ll be together before she can do anymore, so it won’t matter how much she does or doesn’t get?”
“Or you’ll have me first,” answers Melissa with an electric purr to her voice. “But yes. That was my idea. Buy yourself some time so that we can have our time on the weekend, and then everything from there is, well, it’s what it will be until she’s gone and dealt with.”
My heart’s pounding so loud in my ears, I can barely hear her. Part of me wishes I hadn’t made a pledge to “save myself” for the rest of the week, otherwise I’d masturbate a bit right now, but I keep my hands out of my pants.
“Feel better now?”
“I do,” I whisper. “I wish I was there with you instead of here, though.”
Melissa chuckles sweetly at me. “I wish you had come home with me on Friday night, but we will see each other tomorrow at work. And if you want, you don’t have to go home at all next weekend. You can stay at my place since you’ll have lots of new, fresh clothes to change into.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, hearing Dad stomping around upstairs. I can hear him shouting about some sports game or whatever — how these players are losers and don’t deserve nearly the thousands and thousands of dollars they are getting in every game. “I can’t wait.” Saying this, I do my utmost to tune Dad out and erase his little rant from my head.
“Neither can I,” she says, “but it will be worth it.”
“It will,” I say, lying back on my bed. As I do, I yawn.
Melissa chuckles sweetly. “My goodness, it sounds like somebody’s sleepy,” she says. “So, I’ll let you go have some sweet dreams then.”
“Have some sweet dreams too,” I mumble, suddenly feeling very tired indeed. My eyes are heavy-lidded.
“I will, now that you called,” Melissa whispers. She hangs up after that, and I don’t bother to hang up or bring the phone away from my ear. I just fall asleep with it in my hand, my sweet dreams already made of thoughts of her — of Melissa’s body on mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tommy
The next morning comes too quickly. My dream about Melissa, the feeling of her body on mine, my cock sliding along her lower lips and finally into her pussy, evaporates the minute my alarm goes off. I’m so out of it that I think someone’s calling me. So, I say “hello” a few times before I realize it’s no call, and turn off the alarm on my phone.
From there, I hurry to get showered and dressed. I’m fully erect and aching for someplace to plunge my cock (Melissa’s pussy if it were here, with her slacks just down enough to access it), but it’s not. I touch myself a little bit as I go to wash, but not as much as my cock wants me to. Not enough to climax. Just enough to imagine how slippery and warm Melissa’s pussy would be. The slapping noise it would make as I fucked her, but then I have to ease off, stop “washing” myself and get out.
From the shower, I quickly put on a fresh pair of clothes (another big, frumpy looking suit, tie, and dress shirt), thankful that I will soon have a new and better wardrobe. I put on some cologne, grab my keys, phone and wallet and head up the basement st
airs toward my personal entrance and exit from the house.
Dad’s presence at the top of the stairs this early in the morning, let alone in this part of the house is surprising. Usually, he’s passed out on his recliner in the living room. Furthermore, he usually doesn’t come down this way. Not unless he wants to pick a fight with me. And based on the sunken, dark look in his eyes, surrounded by wild, matted pieces of gray hair, that looks like that’s exactly what he’s come here to do.
“I need some money, Tommy,” he says.
“I don’t have any to give you,” I answer just as quickly. I go to walk past him, but he steps in front of me. Much like he would when I was half the size I am now and weighed less. As he does this, I do something that I didn’t have the balls to do when I was younger: I look straight at him. “I’ve got to get to work. I don’t have time for this, Dad.”
“I need money, Tommy,” he says as if I haven’t just said anything I’ve said. “I know you got paid this weekend. You must have with that new promotion of yours.”
“Even if I do have money, I’m not just going to give it to you,” I say, deciding to walk up the stairs toward him. “You didn’t give me money just because I asked for it when I was little, so don’t expect me to treat you any differently.”
As I pretty much push past Dad on the landing and head toward the back door that leads to my private entrance and the closest spot to where I parked my car, Dad says, “Is that any way to talk to your poor, old father? You know I can’t work anymore, Tommy.” He’s gone from demanding to sounding pathetic. It’s the usual way he tries to manipulate me out of anything and everything that’s mine or thinks he’s owed. “You know I ain’t good for anything anymore. Nobody will hire me, because I’m not some highfalutin lawyer like you.”
I look at his hard face. I want to say, Your skills aren’t what isn’t any good anymore. It’s your attitude. It’s the fact that you sleep on the job if you’re not stealing from it, but that just might get me a quick trip down the stairs, and a hospital trip before work. Something I want to avoid, so I just move further on, grab the door handle, and step out.