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He’s the tech guru of the company I work for, and I have zero chance of him ever noticing me. He works on the top floor while I’m only on the fifth floor. A peon in the little fish tank while he’s a shark in the ocean.
Professionally speaking, at least. If I said the man hasn’t starred in some of my wet dreams I’d be lying. He’s also my go-to for any self-love when I need it.
Once the printer is done with my papers, I go back to my desk. A line had started to develop behind me with others that were waiting for my stuff to be done. I’m glad I got there first and I’m able to have everything ready when my boss, Mr. Neal, walks in.
Thinking of the devil, here he comes. A coffee in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He’s barely watching where he’s going. His arrogance so much that he assumes people will get out of his way.
One time an intern didn’t move fast enough and he plowed right into her. The poor woman got knocked on her ass, and Mr. Neal made her apologize and then had her fired that same day. He’s a real winner. I just keep my head down and do my job so as not to attract his ire.
“Morning, Mr. Neal,” I say as he walks by, talking on his phone now and giving me an annoyed look before he goes into his office and closes out the rest of us.
“Hey, Elizabeth! How was your weekend?” I pretend he asks, saying the words in a mock deeper for him under my breath.
Jerk.
I mean the man lacks social skills and manners. Would it kill him to smile? Or make eye contact? Or say thank you?
Since I’ve never seen any of them from him.
My phone rings on my desk and I answer it, “Good morning Mr. Neals office, this is Elli.” So begins a hectic day at the office.
The morning flies by in a flurry of phone calls, meetings, and scheduling more of the same. At lunchtime I go get Mr. Neal his lunch and then sit down in the park across the street from the office and eat my salad and extras, sipping my water between bites.
When I get back to my desk, I still have a few minutes before my lunch is up so I check my email and find an invite to a very exclusive BDSM club I applied to a month ago. I’d never be able to afford the fees on what I make so I applied to a sort of scholarship program they have.
I have to volunteer two nights a week and my membership fees are cut in half. I can swing that if I cut back on my coffee habit. It will be hard, but I can make my coffee at home because I’m not about to give it up altogether. I can’t imagine the mess I’d be without it. Just the thought has a shudder traveling throughout my body.
I open the email and about jump out of my chair in excitement when I read that they’ve accepted me. Attached is a file of their standard paperwork. It’s a questionnaire, personal information, emergency contact, club rules and expectations form, and a form about personal injury and not suing the club. I hit print quickly and check to be sure Mr. Neal is preoccupied before dashing to the printer for the papers.
A huge smile refuses to leave my face as I make the short trek there.
With everyone still on lunch, no one is there to see I’m using company equipment for personal use. They are very strict about personal use of company property. Papers in hand, I go back to my desk and unlock the drawer with my purse, doing a tri-fold and tucking them into the side of my purse.
I can’t wait to start this journey!
Then my smile falls and I go over my schedule, realizing I won’t be able to get there and do that until at least Wednesday and that’s if I cut my weight training session short. Decision made, I resolve to make it up on Friday.
The next two days seem to drag until Wednesday night and I step over the threshold of Club Embrace.
Only expecting to drop off my paperwork, I’m dressed down in a pair of jeans and a loose graphic tee with slide-on shoes on my feet. A bouncer dressed in a black suit stands just inside the door as I enter the club and stops me.
“We have a dress code.” His hand is extended out in a hold-on, not blocking my way forward but it could easily get there.
“Oh, umm…yes. I know. I’m here to turn in some paperwork?” My statement comes out as more of a question having not expected to be detained two steps into the door.
“What’s your name?” his gruff voice asks as he pulls a tablet from the top of the stool behind himself.
“Elle. Elizabeth Bennet,” I say, not so sure about my clothing choice anymore.
“Of course. Miss Bennet, follow me and I’ll lead you to a room where we have a change of clothing for you and you can provide the documents for your admittance.” My eyes flick to the name tag on the lapel of his jacket and I see his name is Andy.
“Thanks, Andy, but do I need to change just to hand in some forms?” My eyebrows draw in with my question.
“Yes. Our members must always have proper attire when visiting the club unless you’re part of a scene or your Dom wants you unclothed,” Andy says with the utmost seriousness.
“Okay. Noted.” I guess they don’t allow any leniency on the club rules, of which I have yet to see the full list. I follow Andy through a pair of black and gray chevron-patterned wood doors. He turns right down an elegantly lit hallway with plush dark carpet and perfectly placed ambient lighting that sets the mood to seductive. He stops at a door and opens it for me, revealing a simple desk and two chairs one on each side with a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting to the side of the papers. A pitcher of water and a clear glass sits on the other side.
“Here you are, ma’am. Change first, someone will be with you shortly in case you have any questions,” Andy explains and closes the door with a soft click after he exits the room.
