I could have slotted this into anal, BDSM, or romance. It's all three of those things. Trigger warnings: the r-word (for sexual assault), anal, some bondage, heavy degradation/humiliation, really questionable consent/consensual non-consent (CNC), maledom (fem-sub). It starts off romantic and then changes into something...quite different.
I'm not a fan of stories involving rape nor M/f in which the f doesn't enjoy it, so I've written about consent and pleasure in ways I find hot. It's also quite romantic.
"How discrete can you be, Rachel? Or maybe I should preface that statement: do you want to engage with me in a manner that would call for discretion?"
I suppose that's a strange question to ask. But in this case, it's necessary. You see, I'm a summer associate working at a firm in the city, and my boss-mentor is asking me that question.
The question isn't out of left field because our attraction had been building for a while. I noticed it as soon as we met, when he was one of the panel members on my final interview for this job. The attraction grew to a full-fledged crush over the past seven weeks of working closely with him, as I learned that he is brilliant and kind. I knew it wasn't one-sided either, because you could have cut the chemistry between us with a knife. Like this afternoon, in the office, we were looking over a document together, sitting side-by-side, and by page three, I noticed that the space between us had shrunk. I could feel his warmth, smelled his clean freshness, and I could definitely pick up the faintest bit of something that made me think he was a little turned on. All of which made me breathe harder. We made eye contact, and he smiled before he moved away a few inches.
Then he said "Hey Rachel, I'd like to talk to you outside of work tonight. Let's grab an adult beverage, if you don't have plans?" I had tickets to a talk, actually, but I said yes because I wanted to hang out with him more.
And here we are, in an old-fashioned, darkened bar in North Beach. He leans back, spreads his arms, and studies my face. His oxfords are impeccably tamed to a professional polish. The premature lines around his dark eyes crinkle when he smiles or frowns. His smile, the expression on his face, the ease with which he takes up space, all of it suggested charm, humor, strength, confidence, and a sharp, observant mind. All qualities that make him an excellent lawyer. He looks almost too perfectly the part of the mid-thirties lawyer on the rise, with those tamed dark curls.
Even his name is great: Ezra Kaplan. Ezra means help or helper, and I'm grateful to have his mentorship.. Ezra is also only four years older than me but...just...you know, if only he wasn't my boss.
"Are you asking me for something, Mr, Kaplan?" I drop my voice, hoping it's a seductive purr. I'm not sure it is working, because I'm barely thirty, still a student, unsure of myself.
"Well, I'm not asking, because I'm your boss for the summer. I was hoping you'd ask."
"Mr. Kaplan, that's not my usual style. As for discretion -" I lean toward him " - yes, I think discretion is called for. I don't want anyone to think I slept my way into a job." I want so badly to appear sophisticated and worldly to this man, but being forward isn't my usual style.
"Boldly presumptuous of you to cut to the chase and get to sleeping together. I was, very innocently I might add, hoping you'd like to go on a formal date. As for becoming my lover -" He looks into my eyes, then his eyes sweep over me head to toe " - let's see if you can earn that position."
My face feels very warm, and only partially in embarrassment. He wants something, and it's not the draft of a contract on his desk tomorrow morning. So why the tease? Then I thought of a clever come back.
"Oh, no? Then perhaps we should call it a night? Maybe we can have a Shabbat dinner later?"
"I wouldn't go that far. Let's get out of here?"
It's so late that the fog has cleared. Clear nights like this are colder than the ones where the usual blanket of fog covers this city by the ocean, but you still can't see the stars because of the light pollution. I shiver in my wool peacoat. Ezra offers me his, which I don't accept. I ball my hands into fists and shove them into my pockets. I turn my shoulders inward, closing myself off from him, to make this awkward conversation easier to bear.
He grabs my attention when he puts his arms around me, then pulls me in. I look at him, and smile. He smiles back, before lowering his head and his lips touch mine. My body reacts, separate from my conscious will, and my body urgently pushes against his. It's better than anything I've fantasized or dreamed. I've never been kissed so thoroughly, felt such intense chemistry with someone before.
That kiss shifted something between us. I'm looking at him in a different light, and I want him. I don't know if I've ever felt such an urgent need to have someone fill me up.
"I want to do things no man has ever done to you, to make you feel like no one has before," he murmurs. "Let me take you home and show you what I mean."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what I'm saying. Don't play naive." He's still speaking softly, and the huskiness of his voice betrays his arousal. But I want this too. There's something so fucking hot about a man you're already attracted to taking charge, showing just how badly he wants you.
"You said things no one else has done to me. I want to know what those things are."
"I'd rather show you. And I'd rather not discuss what I'd like to do with you on a public sidewalk" He smiles, a mysterious half-smile that gives away nothing. "I won't hurt you. Do you trust me, Rachel?"
