Its Always The Quiet Ones Pt 01

Hunter

Working night receptionist at the entryway of a ritzy building of apartments and penthouse suites was a dream job for a college student like me. It was stupidly unfair how easy it made my life because there were, like, two basic rules for the rich people who lived there and they all followed them to a t. After my shift started, no one got in without a key and there was no drama. Literally, whatever the laziest solution was on my part was the correct solution.

For someone taking a full slate of accounting classes during the day, this was perfect. Boring was good. Boring meant getting homework done. The security doors meant I was always safe, always. There was never any danger. The worst part of the job was the crazy, old money guy on the top floor who randomly called and asked about the weather for the rest of the week, but the six other major tenets in the penthouse suites were wonderful. It wasn't a large building and even the weird guy randomly left Werthers laying on the desk, when I was busy running end of the month reports and whatnot.

The rest of the time, I did my boring homework and lived my boring life. The only other interesting part about it all was that I got to see the guy who lived on the sixth floor when he came in some nights. His name was Aramis Kilgore.

No, really. That was it. I remember when I first saw his name on the roster and thought that was the most amazing name ever. And then I instantly felt bad for the guy. On the one hand, being named after a Three Musketeer was awesome. On the other, holy shit, but his parents must have hated him. I remember the first day on the job when I waved to him, he introduced himself as his middle name. Shane. I didn't even realize he was floor six for a long time, but I knew he was a tenant. He had a key and he was always polite, always.

"Good evening, Hunter."

The night when my life ceased to be happily boring, I waved at him as he walked through the door, smiling at me like he did every night. God, he had these teeth like the big bad wolf, straight and perfect, and these sky blue eyes with the proverbial blonde hair. In high school, I had hated blonde hair and blue eyes, because they went with pretty faces and I couldn't stand that then. But he had the standardized, serial seducer perfection. It made my brain forget whatever class I was working on at night. "Good evening, Aramis." I grinned when I said it.

And he grimaced. "Jesus, no. It's Shane."

"All for one and one for all," I called back after him, proud of myself for even managing to kind of flirt with this man. He never brought girls back when he came in at nights, and I always wondered what the hell he did that he got in so late on some nights. He was obviously rich as fuck, because he lived in the most expensive suite in a ritzy building and he was the only somewhat younger tenant. But he always seemed to be energetic when he got in, too. Sometimes, he would stay at the desk and talk with me about my classes, ask me about myself, ask me how I was. I never asked about his life because it would have felt nosy when I was just supposed to "hold the door open" for him.

Sometimes, he would just shake his head at my statement and go up to his suite, leaving my fantasies to wander, leaving me to daydream. I looked at the cameras, biting my lip. He was the last person to get in for the night and there was no one left to take care of. The rest of the night was going to be quiet as the grave.

On my tablet, I closed the website I used for school and opened the word processor I used for writing instead.

Athos wasn't the type of person I usually would have lusted after, but he always had this air of control, no matter how polite he was, and he was always polite. Being his secretary was even worse. I didn't realize quite what I was getting into when I applied for the job, but having accounting experience and being polite seemed to have gone in my favor. It had taken about two weeks to realize I had a very big problem.

I idolized him, wanted him. God, the way he looked at me for any task, with this direct gaze that wouldn't let me look away. I couldn't say no to him. And it had all eventually led to this.

"Savi, I thought I said I wanted the ledger done at 8:00. What time is it?"

I whimpered, knowing where things were headed. Over the course of months, things had gotten way out of my control and it was probably immoral, probably bad. But I also kind of didn't care. "8:15, sir."

My sex ran wet just from saying that word now. He commanded it, made it seem like a natural thing, and I wanted to call him that. "Bend over the desk, kitten, there's a good girl."

And those words. Holy hell. I bent over his desk and placed my hands flat on the surface, like he had trained me to do. When he lifted my skirt over my back, I shivered and closed my eyes, already dying from hot arousal. "I'm sorry, sir." And even though I really liked this, I also really was sorry because I liked pleasing him more.

In answer, he chuckled behind me and his palm slapped against my ass, gentle but controlling. I groaned into the surface of his desk, lifting my ass for more of his strikes.

"Hey, Hunter."

"Huh, yup, what?" I tapped out of the processor... and straight into the erotica website I posted my kinky fantasies on to share with other people, even while I dropped the tablet on the desk. Internally, I kind of panicked. I could either hope he wouldn't see anything, where it landed behind the computer screen, or I could draw attention to it, when I was already blushing, and see him tease me more.

Because he was definitely already going to tease me. He was grinning as it was. "Getting bored late at night, huh?"

I laughed. "Yes, actually. And The Stand is a scary ass book."

He lifted an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh huh, sure. What part are you on then?"

"Larry is in the tunnel with that random girl he runs into and there's dead bodies everywhere, Korn reference intended."

Shane's eyes were glittering with amusement. "Damn, you did actually choose a book you had read and thought quick on the spot. I'm impressed."

"Because I'm telling the truth." Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop fucking blushing.

I didn't stop blushing and his grin only widened. "Alright, sure. Will you get the mail that was dropped off for me so I can leave you to The Stand, then? It wouldn't have been from today. I just haven't gotten a chance to pick it up yet."

He leaned against the counter and I took a deep breath. Shit, that was going to leave the tablet right behind the computer screen. Well, at least it wasn't opened to a specific story. That would have been way worse. I forced myself to leave and went to the holding room, searching for a box that would have been dropped off for him. I did find what he was talking about, something from nearly a week ago. Jesus, how busy was he? Normally, I kept up with mail that came in pretty well, but not for something that showed up on a day I had off a week ago.

I took it out to him, blushing again, but this time it was because I felt incompetent. "Sorry that took me so long. I'm really sorry." I lifted it to the desk, unable to meet his eyes and cringing with apology. This was why I worked a night shift job, incidentally, and also why I was trying for a degree that would make sure I didn't have to have much human interaction. I had zero backbone. "I normally keep up really well."

"Hey, it's okay. It's my fault for leaving it here so long." Finally, when his voice didn't sound angry, I looked up and he winked with that damn charming attitude he had. He was the nicest person who lived there too. Any of the others would have totally yelled at me for not having it accounted for and ready. "Thanks Hunter." He smiled easily. "Enjoy the rest of The Stand."

It worked. I laughed and he went back upstairs. When I was sure he was gone that time, I double checked the tablet. It was untouched and on the same page it had been when I left to get his box.

Maybe if I'd stopped to consider it, I would have realized that the display timer settings meant the screen should have turned off by then. I didn't, though. I just went back to my writing app and started again, fantasizing about him spanking me as his secretary. I had gone through all the daydreams fueled by standard porn stories by then, too. I wrote about buying a dress from a department store he owned and being unable to pay. I wrote about him being a mafia boss and getting caught double crossing him. There was one where he was a personal trainer and I was a rich man's daughter who blackmailed him, only to have it backfire when I got addicted to his cock. Still another starred him as my teacher and my grades went bad when I started to fantasize about him instead of paying attention to him. Story after story after story.

Full disclosure? I was a dream child growing up. I was demure, always polite, my grades were perfect, and they were still perfect. I was good at everything and even my boss for this job loved me. Her only problem was that I wasn't assertive enough to work during the daytime. I was too good. But I kind of had one major character flaw.

I was horny

as fuck

. But I was too shy to do much about it, so I masturbated a lot and wrote kinky stories with not very creative storylines, but kind of hot sex. They actually turned out to be pretty well liked when I posted them, too. I wrote in all my D/s daydreams, wrote everything I could think of. And I tried to change up the appearance of the people in them, but really they all started with my fantasizing about him. It was probably a good thing I was this shy or I'd be one hell of a slut, actually.

If given half the chance to reenact the stuff I wrote, to feel what it would be like, I'd probably take it.

————

Shane

First thing's first. I hate my name. I think it's a nightmare and the way it goes with the last name of Kilgore? Holy God, no. It's freaking terrible. I give my mother playful hell over it all the time because she was way too in love with Dumas. The Count of Monte Cristo was something she read to me in the cradle.

And yet, I discovered a good thing about my name that night after I flirted with Hunter. Okay, so, it was wrong of me to turn her tablet and glance at her pen name, but the thing was I recognized the logo and background of the erotica site she had opened to a writer's page. I had a writer's page on it as well, though I never wrote. I just liked to favorite stories so I would receive recommendations in certain genres like BDSM and taboo tags. So the truth was we shared in the embarrassment. Even so, it was wrong of me to look for her private writings when she used a pen name.

But I was feeling... frisky. I owned a hospitality company and a couple of hotels of my own. Basically, franchises had standards and sometimes hotels didn't always meet those standards. When that happened, the franchise forced the owner of the property to hire someone, like me and my brother, who had proven themselves in those standards and they had to pay us to manage and bring their property up to par. And let's just say they had to pay us a lot. That day, a year's worth of work had come to fruition and I had succeeded in acing an inspection with a property that had failed for about five years or so before I was hired.

Needless to say, I felt giddy. I had gotten the news while I was at the office of one of my own hotels and then had a drink with my brother, who owned the business with me, to celebrate. So I did something a little too forward of me and looked up her pen name.

I wasn't sure why her, though. That was a strange thing. Normally, I would find a one-night-stand at Sulfur's, which was my favorite fetish bar, or call someone else I knew to play with me, but for some reason the cute little night shift door guard made me grin lately. She had this way of bowing her head and she apologized way too much for everything. It had taken me months of kind greetings just to get her to even kind of flirt back with me, the quiet thing. Not that I minded that, but damn, I was used to girls reacting to my charm and good looks. Maybe it was going to my head. Okay, it was probably going to my head.

I opened her writer's page out of curiosity, feeling light and playful. I couldn't help myself. It had gotten my interest that she would have a page on that site.

I would never regret doing it. Oh man, she didn't just have a page. She had lists after lists of stories and all under different tags. "Woah." Noncon, incest, BDSM, and all kinds of fetishes. But that wasn't what got to me. What got to me were the ones with the name Athos in the descriptions. "No way." I was grinning when I opened one.

It couldn't be. This was just my narcissism chasing her, the same way it was my narcissism needing her to flirt back and talk with me, right? It had to be. She was going to my head. I opened one of the stories and went down to read.

Athos was blonde, blue eyed, pretty faced, and he hated his name, first and foremost. The Three Musketeers, really? At least, that's what he thought.

I thought it was crazy awesome. The only thing more awesome would be to be named after Aramis, the priest played by Charlie Sheen. But Athos was pretty cool too, honestly. The truth was I was kind of a sucker for literary references. Maybe that's part of why he got such control over me like he did. Maybe that's why I gave over and things got a little out of hand.

What tag was I under with this one? Reluctance, right. I scrolled down to the sex part and my eyes went wide.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, little kitten. You've been doing a little bit of questionable accounting and now you need to pay me back."

My heart thundered and I ran soaked between my legs, hating myself for the response. He was so handsome and this was going so wrong and this shouldn't be how it made me feel. "S-sir?"

But I knew what he meant and he knew I knew because he was smiling that perfect smile with those wolf teeth. "A little bit of punishment sessions, shall we say, until I tire of having a little toy to play with. Let me acquaint you with the idea, since you seem to need to be shown. Take your skirt off and bend over that chair for my belt. We'll start with five this first time, if you can be still for me. If you move, I add five more."

I read myself belt her pussy, causing her to move so that I ended up belting her 15 times in total. Jesus, she had great fantasies. I clicked out and went to another Three Musketeer themed story. And in that one, the main character had dark hair and dark eyes, but I was onto the gist of this. He spoke with an easy smile, with perfect teeth, and he had a pretty face again. And in that one the tag was under mind control, so I could read myself brainwash her to be an out-of-control, horny slut. I read myself holding her in chastity belt toys so often that she broke and craved cock, turning shivery after three hours would go by where I didn't fuck her. That one obviously wasn't supposed to be as realistic, but I was stroking my cock thinking of it. What was more, I was imagining it really was her and I.

Holy shit. It only got more and more interesting and her favorite nickname to write me saying was "kitten". "Such a horny fucking kitten I have" or "look at this kitten's drenched cunt at being turned into a whore". Punishment. Manipulation. Sometimes she could write sweet little love stories, and not just porn, and the sex in those was hot as fuck too, even while it was romanticized.

I masturbated harder than I had in weeks and glanced at the door of my home office thoughtfully. I had a kinky little dungeon behind my office door, a playroom. But I hadn't used it since I'd gotten divorced from my past submissive. It was a story that kind of made me sad, if I was honest with myself. We had felt something for each other, but I had a bit of a character flaw. Maybe it's an obvious one.

It went with being a Dom, actually. See, I was a little bit of a control freak. Control soothed me down to my hardest edges and made me calm, made me see life clearly. And I tried to warn the girls I dated, especially the girl I married. And she had been okay with it. At least, she thought she had been okay with it.

But then, as our marriage went on, she started to realize that it wasn't a game to me. I controlled her diet, controlled her clothing, all of it. And it wasn't for any degradation reason, even. That might have been the worst part about it, actually. It was purely my own selfish proclivity that I needed control. It wasn't that I distrusted my partner when I wanted them to text me when they left work and got home. It was that I got off on their obedience. It was my drug and I craved more of it the more I cared about the person.

I hadn't played with another person since my divorce because it made me realize that my love might not have been very desirable. I had been wary since then.

But now, I kind of wanted to play a little more seriously. I kind of wanted to be back in the relationship pool, maybe not to date, but to feel companionship and to play. To dominate again, maybe just a little. I grinned at the thought of the playful scenarios in the stories she had written about me. She was so adorable and maybe this kinky edge was something I had sensed. My dominant radar was pretty well developed and it wasn't like she was obscure with her submissive tendencies in her day-to-day life. Granted, I had certainly not expected this from her at all.

Now that I thought about it, I wasn't sure why. It was usually the quiet ones that hid such deviancy under their shyness when it came to BDSM. It was amazing how many shy submissives would stay around the edge of the clubs and then come to the forefront, only to beg the loudest when their submission was nourished and encouraged. It was a quality like any other, one that could be shamed during childhood and one that could leave scars of embarrassment.

I didn't want any of that for her, even though I was trespassing with these stories and thoughts. I thought it was a sin to shame a submissive for any kind of hedonism. They often came with kind hearts and a love language of service. When a submissive gave you a gift and looked at you with a hopeful gaze, you always praised her and expressed your gladness. So I didn't want to make her feel embarrassed for writing the stories about me. I did kind of want to fuck with her and flirt though.

I grinned and went to my own writer page, using the writing interface for the first time ever. I wasn't sure how good this would end up being. In fact, I was pretty sure this was going to be shit, but if I threw myself out there as well, it put us on equal level, kind of. I had the story title before any of the rest. "It's Always the Quiet Ones".

Fisher hated her name because she thought it was a guy's name, but she was born of a career marine and there it was. And for all that, she didn't have any of the qualities that a daughter of a marine should have. She was quiet, too quiet sometimes, and she was shy. Her father had always thought her submissiveness to be a weak quality, but I loved it. I thought it was the greatest part about her.

There was only one quality, in fact, that I would have changed. You see, Fisher thought that boring was synonymous with safe and I wanted to make her blood race with filthy games from the beginning. I wanted to tie her down and watch her be scared, while I snapped a crop to her thighs, so that she squealed with laughter and fear at the same time. I wanted to watch her break while she laughed.

The trouble with Fisher was how wary she was to actually play my games. Oh, she definitely fantasized, wrote all kinds of filthy little stories, but when it came to real life? I eventually realized that I was going to have to force her.