Characters: Dahlia and Mr. Banks.
Descriptions: Dahlia is a college student with long dark hair usually put up in a loose bun. She is shy, pleasant and professional. Mr. Banks is a skilled corporate lawyer, somewhat older than Dahlia, with buzzed white hair and cold eyes.
Setting: The office of a three-lawyer firm. The secretary's desk sits in the small lobby; to the right of it is a short hallway. There are five doors in the hallway, three offices to the left, conference room and a small bathroom on the right. Mr. Banks has the far corner office. The corner of his office is floor to ceiling windows with a scenic view of numerous other tall modern buildings. His large desk sits near the corner, facing the door diagonally across the room.
Time: around 5:00pm, after closing. The other two lawyers leave for the night, and Dahlia is finishing up a letter.
A voice comes from the speaker on Dahlia's desk. She stops typing.
"Ms. Thorne, would you come into my office? Now?"
She answers over the speaker and stands, straightening her skirt, nervous. She's always had trouble pleasing Mr. Banks. At one point, she was sure she would be fired, but her other bosses were happy with her work, so she stayed. Was this it? Was this the guillotine blade at last?
She didn't have time to lock the front door before she went – she put on her heels, and flattened her hair as she walked quickly to his office at the end of the hall. Mr. Banks did not like to be kept waiting.
Opening his door and stepping in, she said,
"Yes sir?"
He piles some papers on his desk and discards them into his topmost right desk drawer.
"Shut the door and sit down please."
So she did and sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He had his hands folded on his desktop.
"Did you remember to lock the front door?"
"I was just about to, Mr. Banks, I'll go do it now if you like—"
She starts to stand.
"No, that's fine. Take a seat, Ms. Thorne."
She sits back down and looks nervous. A moment of silence passes. Then, as he stands, he says,
"I understand, Ms. Thorne, that you are attending college?"
"Um, yes sir."
Mr. Banks begins to casually walk around his desk.
"It was also discussed among my colleagues and I that you need the income you receive here, as this firm's secretary, to pay for school, correct?"
She says with a frown,
"Yes sir..."
Mr. Banks walks behind her chair and pauses, looking out the window.
"So I have deduced, that because of the fierce competition for legal positions in this city, that we were the first and only firm that would hire someone with your - limited education and still pay lucratively?"
Dahlia starts to say yes, but Mr. Banks cuts her off. He turns to look at her.
"And of course, a job at a respectable law firm can open doors after you graduate with a law degree?"
"Yes sir – I was hoping you could write a letter of recommendation for me if things worked out –"
Mr. Banks stands behind her chair and places his hands on the back, bending to bring his face close to the side of hers.
"I would be glad to give that recommendation when the time comes, as well as give you your job security..."
Mr. Banks leans his head against Dahlia's, kissing her ear. His hands move from the chair back to her shoulders, caressing her neck and collarbone. She jumps out of her chair and turns to back into his desk. He stands straight.
"What are you doing?!"
she says. Mr. Banks pushes the chair aside and closes the distance between them. She tries to push him away but he grabs her wrists and holds them down.
"Listen, little miss desperate, you can't afford to lose this job, and I can make that happen, so you'd better do everything I say, or you're gone. You
need
this job, and no one would believe you if you told on me – you're a
nobody
."
Mr. Banks grinds his hips into hers and she can feel him. She knows he's right – about all of it. She stops struggling and stands still. Mr. Banks whispers in her ear,
"You might even like it."
He kisses her neck and lets go of her wrists to lifter her skirt. She stands scared and uncomfortable. He lifts her by the legs and slams her ass onto his desk. She makes a frightened noise.
"Mr. Banks, please don't do this..."
He continues, kissing her ear, neck and face while he unbuttons her white blouse. He leans into her, and she has to steady herself with her hands on the desk. He bends lower, kissing her exposed chest and nipping at her bra making her cleavage bounce. He starts to pull down her panty hose.
"Wrap your legs around me and lift your ass."
He says past the kissing.
"Mr. Banks, please—"
He tugs hard on the hose, and a guttural voice says,
"Do it!"
She does awkwardly and he pulls away from her as he strips off her hose. With each foot, he removes her black heels with the hose and sees the blue g-string panties for only a moment before he rips them off her body. Carefully, he puts the shoes back on her bare feet. He catches a glimpse of fear and pain and hate in her eyes, and he loves it. He comes back to her and roughly hikes up her skirt and leaves it to bunch around her waist. She gives a short shriek and he almost comes right there. She tries to close her legs and pleads more urgently,
"Please, stop Mr. Banks someone could come in! Stop!"
But he won't, and as she tries to back away across his desk, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her back over and onto the floor, and she crumbles in front of him. She starts to cry.
She couldn't bear the shame of someone finding out she'd let this happen to her. Like somehow it was her fault – she should've seen this coming – the job was too good to be true. And she was barely trying to resist – not because she really did need the job, but because it felt good to feel something again – anything. But a part of her wanted to stop – the part that felt her shame of being extorted and used and found out, and it was this part that persisted.
"Please stop this, I can't do this!"
She looks up at him pitiful, mascara running down her face, legs folded under her, blouse open, hair messy – and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"You
can
do it, and you
will
do it – because without me, you'll flunk out of school and crawl back to that shithole you came from. And when you amount to nothing at my age, you
won't
