She was beautiful. He remembered that being the first thought that occurred to him the very first time he laid eyes on her. She was only two inches shorter than him, if even that and her long, light brown hair framed her face perfectly as it cascaded down around her shoulders. Her body was one that only the most envious would call "full figured" in that sneering tone that was meant to impart some insult, but he simply called her a masterpiece. Sometimes, he could imagine the famous Botticelli painting of the birth of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of Love, rising from the waves with her face, and feminine endowments that were more generous than even the famed Italian master could have ever envisioned.
But it was not her voluptuous body that fixated within his mind, as captivating as her body was. It was her beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that seemed almost larger than life, as if she were patterned after the large eyed women so often depicted in Japanese animation. Or as if she had been the very muse that had inspired that particular artistic touch. Her eyes gave her a look of innocence, an angelic quality, that seemed so painfully absent on the other women in the office, not to mention the rest of the world.
Many a night he had lain awake, the image of her beautiful face, those alluring eyes and that impish smile that so often graced her visage dancing before him. At first, his thoughts of her were as pure as the driven snow. Much like the medieval tales of courtly love from oh so long ago, he sought ways to improve himself in her eyes, knowing full well any sensual contact could never be. By the ring on her finger, he knew she was beyond his reach, despite the many rumors as to her promiscuity. He knew they were nothing but the meaningless prattling of the envious masses.
But, try as he might to keep his thought of her pure, he was but a mere man with all the many failings that accompanied that gender. Soon, his thoughts of her began to turn more erotic. Thoughts of merely making her smile became thoughts of passionate kisses stolen in the dark of night which faded into thoughts of making love under the stars. But soon, even those thoughts, those fantasies of a passion he would never see fulfilled, became something else. Something darker.
He was an outwardly gentle man, never one to raise his voice or to openly express his anger. He rarely participated in the ritual tearing down of another's confidence or self-image that was the favorite pastime of far too many. Often, this was seen as a weakness by all those around him. But he alone knew the full truth, try as he might to deny it. He knew that deep within him was a darkness fighting for freedom. Every day was a constant struggle to keep that darkness, that very abyss spoken of by Nietzsche, hidden away.
It was that very darkness within that began to usher his fantasies into realms he never thought possible. Fantasies of dominance and submission, of total and utter control. Fantasies that he was ashamed to admit, even to himself, aroused him like no others.
The office work, as is all too often the case, became a routine: In by 9, out by 5. At first, this routine precluded any extended contact between them, both a blessing and a curse in his eyes. But their contact gradually grew more frequent, she would later confide in him that it was a result of his gentle manner, that while he may, on the rare occasion, flirt with her, he would never make a blatant pass at her, never take her harmless flirting for more than it truly was.
As the days went on, the routine began to change as the hours grew later and later and the people began to disappear earlier and earlier. Eventually, they were the only two working late into the night and his fantasies, fueled by her shameless, but totally harmless, flirting grew darker and darker. His thoughts began to turn to ways of attaining his darkest desires, thoughts that he struggled to keep hidden and unfulfilled. Then one night, the floodgates cracked and his control slipped.
