Hierarchy Ch. 02

The following Monday, she entered the office with a confident stride and quick tongue. She called a quick staff meeting about the previous Friday and its disastrous deadlines, informing the part-timers and undergraduates that to work in print media is to accept such time crunches and to be prepared for last-minute sprints. She wrapped up by delegating the day's tasks and set about her own research and writing, not once letting the deeply rumbling tremor inside reach her voice or hands.

Friday's nefarious ending left her wallowing all weekend in regret, fantasy, despair and a deep-seated curiosity for what Monday would bring. Had she jeopardized her job? Had she uncovered a regular pastime of her boss's – one he'd carried out with loads of other staff writers? Or worst of all, had she set the stage for these rendezvous to continue?

Never before had she caved so completely and quickly to her sexual hunger, or to someone else's. She had never put out anyone so she could enjoy a good romp – let alone an entire office of people. And most disturbingly, never had she been so…out of control.

That thought had consumed her the most throughout the weekend. Not that she had been the one to first reach for the light switch, thereby enabling the situation; not the hunger she felt for his mouth on hers, for her mouth on his body, for his body in hers. She was most troubled by the way she so easily surrendered to his intimidation, to his size and demeanor. Never before…

But now it was Monday, and bossiness seemed to have covered her embarrassment. The staff, most of who were working through a rough morning themselves, took direction and set off on tasks, perhaps grateful to be let off the hook so easily.

She saw him only briefly that day, breezing into the office once the meeting commenced. Coffee at his lips, a rumpled shirt and mildly crusted eyes indicated he had enjoyed his own weekend.

"You finished bossing my staff around?" he monotoned.

She couldn't help but snort – audibly. Your staff? When's the last time you gave these hung over suckers any direction? But despite the relative ease with which they entered the workplace together again, she found her stomach sinking mightily. What had he been up to all weekend that brought him in so weary and bleary-eyed? Was I only your first catch of the weekend? How many more were there since then? Ugh…how many were there before me? Shit, I should probably get tested.

And she did. She even left work early that day.

*

The week passed relatively altercation-free. The staff was scared enough of her to get their work done on time and suitable enough for the magazine's needs. For the most part, they left her alone, and the lack of power struggles following her silent treatment by him allowed her several blissful days of productivity. She was feeling much better. By Wednesday she even managed a small taunt.

"Hey Boss," she called over her shoulder, seeing that he was immersed in paperwork. "What you want me to do with these archived files?"

"Don't call me that," came his distracted reply.

"But you're the one who pays me," she said with a small smile. She knew he hated it.

"Don't. Call me that." Her smile dripped away at the steely voice that emanated from under his bent frame. Fuck you, was her unspoken retort.

By that Friday, she was good and ready for the weekend. So were the part-timers and undergraduates – the silence in the office had driven many of them to leave early. She thanked them on their way out for finishing their stories on time this week, and was met with half-grateful half-hateful glances. Wow, she thought, I really sound like a bitch. Is this what it takes to get a job done?

Her mind wandered away from the layout displayed on her screen. What does it take for a woman to be successful working under a male director? For her, producing a clean, timely, thorough piece of media on a dependable basis hadn't been enough. Running the office operations single-handedly – often covering for big Boss's poor decisions – wasn't enough. Rubbing her forehead, she took her conundrum to the bathroom, picking up a copy of last week's magazine on the way. After washing her face with cool water, she contemplated the wet and remarkably young-looking face that stared back in the mirror. I feel so much older than this.

Why is this still an issue? Why does a woman still have to fight tooth and nail to succeed in business, and settle for meager or nonexistent praise throughout her career up until retirement, when some fresh-faced rookie recounts her many accomplishments in ten minutes for an admiring crowd at an award banquet? Why can't I go home every week confident I did a damn good job, she looked at the glossy cover she and the rookies had worked so hard on, and occasionally hear it from my own boss?

More immediately, she thought on her way back to the office, remembering those college years when she'd be on her second Long Island and well on her way to getting laid by now, Why can't I get a damn date on a Friday?

She tossed the magazine back on the circular conference table and headed for her desk, then nearly jumped out of her jeans when she heard him clear his throat and found him leaning on the front of his desk, arms crossed.

What now? Her jaw clenched. Try me.

"Nice work." He jutted his chin toward the publication she had just tossed on the table.

Fumbling with those words like a non-native speaker struggling to translate, she opened and closed her mouth. "Huh?" was all she could manage.

"That really pulled together. Sure as hell surprised me, 'specially with the shitstorm that last week ended in."

She remained frozen, turning the words over and over in her head, searching for the malice or some patronizing route for the conversation to take. "Yeah…" she finally managed, and made again for her desk.

"Call me Rob," he interrupted. Again, she froze. What was this all about?

"Instead of Boss. I hate that word. Makes me think of the jackasses I've worked with through my career. Call me Rob instead." The incredulity must have been apparent on her face, because he laughed. He actually laughed. All that tension all week, all her existential struggles and hard work mounting toward near-exhaustion, and he was actually laughing lightheartedly, telling her to call him by his first name!

Then he read her mind: "I know, I know, it must seem hypocritical for me to call my bosses jackasses."

Now it was her turn to laugh, though it came out as more of a scoff. Now it was she who crossed her arms. Where's this going?

He stood. "Look, it's been a long week. A very, very long week, and I'm sure you'd agree." He paused. She was silent. "I've been watching you handle the office. I've been out of sorts this week, and lord knows you have no trouble bossing these kids around." She scoffed again, but dropped her arms to her side and felt a bit of the tension dissipate from her shoulders.

"I'm promoting you," he continued. "I want to give you the title you deserve." His eyes fluctuated, focusing first on the floor between the two of them, then her eyes. "I know you've been a staff writer here for nearly two years now, and I know that hardly describes what you do around here…"

She found her voice again, and jumped. "Why spring this now? Especially after not talking to me all week?"

"Like I said, it's been a rough week. I've only just now sealed a deal that'll change the future of this place," he threw up his hands, "and I ain't hardly eat, drank, shat or slept because of it." She cringed slightly at the mental image that accompanied his description, and saw a half-smile on his face. He was actually engaging her in well-meaning, polite conversation!

She returned the half-smile. "Does that mean I get business cards now?"

"Don't push your luck." His brown eyes, rimmed with thick, long lashes, glinted.

Not wanting to spoil the moment, she decided to end it before it could go sour. Chancing a glance at the clock, she saw it was half past five already. "Well hey, I'm going to -"

"One more thing," he said, and held her gaze steady for a moment. He uncrossed his forearms, pushing the rolled-up sleeves even higher. As she opened her mouth to prompt him, he quickly took one large step forward.

Shit shit shit, is this happening again?

Before she could breathe, before she could move, she felt her face flush, her heartbeat explode into her ears. The tension of the last few peaceful minutes cracked and her body was ready to fight or flee. She made to step back, but before the message reached her feet he lifted her face and met her lips with his.

It was so tender, she forgot to step back. A familiar feeling rose throughout her body as those thick, sensual lips met her own – one of intense embarrassment concurrent with lightheaded arousal. As though an "On" switch had been flipped, a tingle started in her belly somewhere and worked its way up to her breasts –

Oh no. Not this again. And she stepped back, pushed back from him – straight into something solid.

A soft rustling of cotton over flesh whispered the only warning, and a sharp intake of breath through her tantalized lips was the only expression of alarm she allowed herself. Surely, though, as she turned just enough to catch sight of the man behind her before Rob grabbed her wrists and flung her toward him, surely her flushing cheeks gave away the panic that flooded her body.

*

He thought he might come the instant her body hit his own.

Taking advantage of the surprise, he devoured her mouth – holding tight the back of her head against her protests, he worked his lips against hers and reveled at the pressure against his body her struggles manifest. He wanted to fling her down and fuck her, fuck her hard, right there on the floor, but with an enormous amount of self-restraint he settled instead for grinding his hips onto her and tasting her luscious mouth.

Rich worked quickly – moving to the door, he locked it and in the same motion hit the lights. I'm so fucking brilliant, thought Rob. Why didn't I think of this sooner?

Rich returned to the two, standing just behind her struggling body. Rob was finding it harder and harder to plant his kisses, and she was growing frantic. So he pulled away, spun her around and held her by the elbows. She stood trembling, staring up at Rich.

"I'd like you to meet my friend." No response from her. "Rich, this is Anita."

He took her silence as an opportunity, bowed slightly, and murmured "Pleased to meet you." And from his lowered posture, he placed one hand on the side of her face and slowly met her lips for a kiss of his own.

Rob waited for her struggling to begin again, but to his surprise, she took it. She met the kiss passively – or perhaps, he couldn't tell, with a small thrust of her jaw in reciprocation. As he watched, his cock stiffening, Rich's fingers fell from her face, down to her collar and the buttons that rose and fell with her breath. He popped them one by one, slowly, meeting with no resistance, until her shirt fell open at the guidance of his hands.

As Rob pulled her elbows further back, her body responded and pushed outward toward Rich. His college friend switched tactics. He dropped his head to her neck, and slowly – the man was a pro – nuzzled and nibbled her skin there. How he managed to keep his hands off of those breasts, contained now only in a simple black bra, Rob would never know. Instead, Rich dropped his hands to her pants, and deftly, without excessive fiddling, unfastened the button and dropped the zipper. Her hips arched, and the pants slid off, followed soon by her panties.

Why wasn't it that easy for ME?

Rob couldn't wait any longer.

Muttering few words to his friend, he spun the girl around and pushed her to her knees. Expecting her struggle to start again, he clanked off his own belt and zipper quickly, but saw something in her eyes that made him slow down. She looked…hungry. Her eyes bored into his when he met them, and for a moment he couldn't move – the look on her face, captured by the slanting sunlight through the windows, enraptured his attention. Then she brought her hands up, sliding upward along the length of his thighs, stopping once to administer a gentle but strong squeeze that made his heart race and his cock swell. She hooked the waistband of his khakis and boxers, bringing them slithering down his long legs together. And then she sat once again in front of his hard penis, appraising it deftly.

"Let's see what you learned last week," he breathed.

And she leaned in, enveloping his head in her warm, wet mouth.

Oh, God.

*

Rob's story hadn't seemed true. It sounded like one of those stories you read in Playboy, and probably chock-full of exaggerations. But here, right before him, the same story seemed to be unfolding. Rich couldn't believe his eyes when Rob first grabbed her and mauled her mouth with his own. At first, it was hot. It's always hot watching this stuff up-close. But then it got awkward, and Rob didn't give the girl a second's rest, just choked her with tongue and couldn't seem to rub up on her enough.

Rich made it his prerogative at that moment to be the good cop. You, my old friend, can be the bad cop for once.

When Rich spun her around and those huge eyes met his own, he knew he had only seconds to make the impression he needed. And so he played the gentleman. He kissed that girl like it was her first time, felt the heat rise from her lips, hardly dared to flick the tip of his tongue against them. Then he bent farther, and kissed her neck like he was discovering something new.

Her reaction was immediate. Breathing heavy in his ear, whether from the surprise or from arousal, her skin seemed to beg to be touched. And he obliged. Inch by inch, he traced the bony protrusion of her collarbone with his thick fingers, felt her shoulders pull back to elongate the path. And slowly, as he sucked a small spot on her neck, he let his fingers fall to the first button on her shirt.

He could tell, he knew from those first few minutes when she conversed with Rob, she had been doubtful of his intentions. And even now, now with Rich's lips on that skin pulled taught over the cords in her neck, she was like a deer: ready to run, to fight. He knew that if he did this right, he could make her melt. He wanted to hear her voice melting as he stuffed his cock inside her and pounded home till she was hoarse.

Whoo. He exhaled. Patience.

His fingers undid the first button on her shirt. He paused. Nibbled on a new spot closer to her collarbone. Saw goosebumps rise up on her neck. Headed for the second button, undid it. She was taut, but willing. One by one he popped the rest of the buttons, and her small cottony shirt opened to reveal delicious breasts encased in black. The goosebumps had tightened the skin of her breasts, and her nipples stood out hard. Lord help me, if I can resist this, we're golden, and I'm a god.

Rob was having a hard time waiting, and began to grind his hips into Anita's back while pulling her elbows back further. Now, as Rich circled and nuzzled the other size of her neck, his hands dropped to her jeans. But those breasts, oh lord those breasts pressed right into his chest. He wanted to grab, to bite, to squeeze those nipples in between his fingers, to stuff his cock in between them…

Whoo. He inhaled. Deep.

Clink. Her belt popped. Somewhere in there, a zipper fell, and then she was helping him slither those pants off her luscious legs. He saw her panties in his hands. I got this, he thought, as blood resumed its built-up course and thundered through his veins. Oh I got this…

And at that moment, that twat, that motherfucker Rob spun that girl like she was his fucking dance partner, pushed her down and stuffed his cock in her mouth. Rich watched her take it, and she took it willingly, thanks to his hard work. He watched Rob's eyes roll up and meet his own eyes, full of the bitterest animosity. You're fucking welcome.

*

Oh fuck it all, she thought.

So much for making a clean getaway. So much for resolutions not to let her sex drive interfere with work anymore. And so much for those assumptions, theories, hopes even? that it would never happen again. The discomfort, unease she had felt all week met now with a fire so strong, she couldn't fathom where it had been five minutes ago. Her neck tingled where Rich's kisses left wet spots, and her breasts ached to be touched. I can't believe he didn't touch them.

And her pussy throbbed.

Fuck.

She met Rob's penis with frustration, anger, confusion. She wanted to be touched, squeezed, she wanted darkness and skin and breath and tongues, and she wrapped her tongue and lips around Rob's head and pushed forward until the taut cap fit in her mouth. She wanted to be fucked, from behind, from on top, in her mouth, anywhere, and she pulled her mouth off Rob, letting her fist ensconce the rubbery tip and glide in the juices she just planted. Fuck. And she spread her knees farther apart on the office carpet, using leverage to push his tip back into her mouth and send her fist sailing along his shaft. He was so hard. She squeezed harder.

Fuck. She was pissed, and turned on, and wanted to eat this cock, wanted to be eaten. His penis didn't move as she pulled her mouth back off it, dragged her fist forward toward his corona -

And as she leaned forward again, dragging tight lips along his shaft, and there was a rustle behind her, and hands encircling her bare waist. Oh, YES. She pushed her ass out, unfazed by the lewdness of her action. She arched, hoping for skin to meet hers, but instead felt those hands continue their circle around her pelvis. And she realized their intent, and moaned. She moaned onto Rob's cock, and he moaned, and put one hand at the back of her head. And he pulled her head toward him, and she felt his oblong cock head push through her mouth, so hard and so wet with her spit. Those hands at her pelvis found her pubic hair, and one hand traced two fingers along her labia, spreading them, opening to the relative coolness of the office air. It was then she felt the skin she had been craving, but rather than feel it at her ass, she felt Rich's bare chest pressing along the length of her back. The warmth and tenderness of it excited her more, and roughness along her calves told her that he had kept his jeans. Interesting.

Oh, do it. Now. Come on. NOW.

So slowly, with Rob pulling her face along his cock and mashing the hard head into the back of her throat, so slowly did fingers trace her labia, first down toward her warm pool that begged to be swum in, then slowly up, and finally cresting, circling on the nub of her clitoris.

Moaning. She was moaning again, around Rob's cock, pressing both palms to his pelvis for steadiness as his hand directed the movement of her head. The finger dipped slowly down into a wet region that made her thrust her hips, then quickly dragged itself up again to her nubbin, slippery and circling and driving her insane. Anita couldn't stop moving. Gyrating her hips against the finger rubbing her mad, twisting her face to take out her confusion and frustration, so much frustration on this unwielding cock, why won't he fuck me? and she moved her hands to Rob's upper thighs and squeezed, why won't he just fuck me?