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“Your body language is no accident, Miss Rose. Now we either address the issue of your unseemly habit of exposing yourself as inadvertent and I reprimand you; or we speak about it honestly.”
“I thought you were…” she stops. Of course, she’s embarrassed.
“Thought I was what?”
“I must have made a mistake.” She fidgets nervously.
“What kind of mistake?”
She bites her lip. Cute trick.
“I assumed you returned my interest. Oh, but I’m very sorry.” She blushes, her neck a rash of red.
“Let’s assume I want your sexual interest, Delia, I’d prefer a more subtle approach. Let’s dispense with the overt foreplay in the office unless you want to thoroughly embarrass yourself. If there is anything between us we’ll keep it strictly between you and me.”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying if you want my attention, you can have it. As much as I have to give to any woman right now—which is very little. You certainly know that I’m not a genteel lover. Whatever rumors you’ve heard I’m sure are true. I’m looking strictly for women that need to yield. Without that, there’s no point in going further. If that interests you, then we’ll go for coffee some afternoon and talk.”
Her eyes become more seductive as I speak. I’ve hit the mark.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been so obvious,” she looks chagrined. “It’s the way I get a man’s attention.”
“Well, you certainly got mine.” I’m thinking of the day she bent over next to the Xerox machine. Drawing her short skirt high, there was her lovely round bottom with just a thong bikini to prevent my seeing everything from anus to clit. “From now on behave yourself in the office, and do as I say. I’ll see what we can do about that coffee break.”
She’s dismissed, certainly reeling and lightheaded.
A week later, I’m deliberately brusque with Ms. Rose as I dash through the office, tossing a slip of paper on her desk. “Coffee, The Arbors, 3:00 p.m. Makes excuses, you won’t return the rest of the day.”
I don’t stop to gauge her expression, but find a pleasing one when I see her at The Arbors waiting for me. It’s 3:15.
“Sorry I’m late.” I take a seat across from her and order a latte. She’s slowly sipping her mocha.
Though our table is in the corner we are not alone. The café is filled with businessmen and women, a few college students, and what appear to be artist types with faces burrowed in thick books of scholarly dissertations. In the midst of this crowd hardly seems like the place for personal revelations o
f the sort we’ll discuss, but I have a fascination for setting submissives on edge in disconcerting situations like this one. I’m too jaded in these efforts, and a little too tired to take an initiate who can’t easily get by this kind of discomfort. I’d rather blow her out now, as waste my time and find her balking when things are supposed to get interesting—when it’s time to take off clothes and bow, and offer me a willing ass and a body ready to take a lash.
Though a “Leah Sands” would be much easier given my laziness, I prefer an untried innocent to veterans of these practices—as long as they don’t cause me too much stress.
Delia stares around nervously. Sitting primly, she stares at me over the top of tiny, round, wire-rim glasses that perch at the end of her nose. Her long hair is loose so that it almost hides her face. When I saw her in the morning, it was neatly clipped at the base of her neck. She wears a grey tweed suit with a deep “V” neckline that plunges downward, cleavage hidden behind a pale blue line of silk. Her skirt is short—enough to keep her from crossing her legs, so she sits with them clamped tightly together, almost looking like there’s a poker up her back.
“Did you find a good excuse to leave the office for the afternoon?”
“I hope so. I mentioned to Miss Crossley a Doctor’s appointment I forgot to tell her about.”
“And she wasn’t annoyed?”
“She’s always annoyed about something, but there was an emergency in the mailroom that was more important than my skipping out for the afternoon.”
“Well, then, Delia,” I lean back admiring her loveliness, “Tell me what you’re looking for.”
She stares at me blankly.
“Tell me your fantasies.”
She takes a deep breath and her chest shimmies underneath the silk. “I know you’re into S&M,” she starts.
“How’s that?”
