I took the last, long drag of my cigarette and held the smoke in my lungs, then crushed the still glowing stub into the metal ashtray on my lap as I exhaled the blue smoke out in to the night air. I was sitting on my balcony, naked, sipping on a generous pour of whisky. I tried to concentrate on the view of the city laid out before me. The CN Tower rose bold and stark against the dusky, Toronto, night sky. The city lights shimmered off the dark, glass like surface of Lake Ontario, and disappeared far away in to the horizon. The tide, always the master of illusion, carried the shimmering lights away, to fall off the end of the earth.
I waited for the inevitable sound, that sound which I have grown to hate with every nerve of my body. It is a constant, a truth, and it booms in my ears after every violent storm in my bedroom. The sound; my apartment door locking. There is always a calm, eerie quiet, throughout my apartment after I am finished with her, after she has finished her crying. She won't say good bye to me when she makes her exit. She never has. Just as she never has greeted me, like a lover would, when I open my door to her and invite her in.
Her last words to me were spoken just before I made my way to the balcony. "You made me bleed from between my legs again, bastard!" She had sobbed, with her hand extended and accusing, smudged with her blood, empirical proof of what she had accused me of.
I had been extra rough on her that evening. I had bound her with my rope and fucked her mercilessly. When I grinned at what she had sobbed at me, she broke down and started to cry. She needs to cry, it's a catharsis, it cleanses her, and it makes her whole again.
"Get dressed, and get the fuck out of my sight, whore," I calmly had replied to her as I left my bedroom to pour myself a whisky.
If you are still reading this, don't judge me just yet. Read on to the end, only then announce your verdict.
I played the events that would inevitably occur, in my mind. She would shower, slowly get dressed and gather her things. My heart will skip a beat, as it always does, when I hear her unlock my door. I'll close my eyes and count to four. That's how long it takes for the next sound to travel to me, the sound of my door closing behind her. Painfully, the sound will come right on queue. It always does.
Once, just fucking once, I wish it wouldn't. I'd accept any amount of time longer than the cursed, four seconds. One second longer. Half of a heartbeat longer. A bat of an eye longer. A sign, to tell me she is hesitant about leaving.
I met her four months ago, on the Union Station subway platform. I had worked late that evening, so had she. I was walking to the end of the platform; she was walking towards to me, headed to the front of the platform. I made eye contact and smiled at her. She was a blonde, tall, and very attractive middle aged woman. She was dressed in a short, pink skirt and white blouse.
She looked straight back at me, expressionless, and walked right in to me. She bounced off me and stumbled backwards.
When she had regained her balance, she lifted her head and spat at me, "Why don't you watch where you're going, jerk!"
I wasn't impressed. "Sorry, for not watching where you were going," I half snarled at her.
She stared at me with her big, cold, blue eyes for a split second and walked away.
We met again, in a business setting, at a meeting. Two divisions of the bank we worked for were going to be merged. The merge would allow for a smoother work flow and more control over the daily business process. In reality, it was a precursor to trim the fat, cut out the redundant positions. Some employees would inevitably be let go, all in the name of cutting costs, and keeping the shareholders happy. Such is the reality when you work for a big bank.
She introduced herself to the room as Gloria Osterlund, the SVP of Retail Operations. I'm in IT, her being on the retail side, explained why I had never crossed paths with her at work, up until now. I chuckled to myself as I watched her put on glasses as she prepared the presentation. And thought, maybe that's why she walked in to me; she wasn't wearing her glasses on the subway platform.
I stayed in the conference room after everyone had left, and silently watched as Gloria purposefully ignored me, as she gathered her binders and folders.
"You wear glasses, Gloria. That explains our first meeting," I said to her with a smile.
We were going to be working together; it won't do anyone any good, to feel uncomfortable.
She looked up at me, took off her glasses and calmly replied, "You disgust me. I know your type. Stay the fuck away from me."
I smiled at her and waited a few seconds before I replied to her rudeness, in a calm, stern voice, "I know your type. I assure you, it will be my pleasure to stay the fuck away from you." I left the conference room.
"Prick!" she hissed under her breath.
I stopped mid-step, turned my head and looked at her from over my shoulder. There was a scowl on her face, and a fire burning out of control in her eyes. I recognized the fire. I met her gaze and made sure she watched a crooked grin slowly form on my lips.
How did she end up in my bed, you ask? The only possible way she could have. She made the decision to. But not before she scrutinized my performance, not before she made me audition for her.
The first audition - The subway encounter. The second audition - The conference room.
Was I aware that I was auditioning? Yes, I was.
The third audition took place in her office. She had emailed me a meeting invite, to discuss the proposed IT infrastructure changes. When I entered her office, she was standing with her back to me, gazing out the window of her office. I closed the door behind me and remained silent. My eyes roamed over her body, not skipping over a single inch of her slender and curvy form. She felt my eyes on her. Heat began to build between her long, slim legs. She waited a few minutes before she turned around.
Her eyes met mine with a cold, icy stare. She was daring me to look over her body as she stared me down. I did. And I took my sweet time about it. I shifted my gaze to her chest, observing if her breathing had quickened. It had, but her stare did not falter. She observed me, observing her.
"I prefer a woman not wear pantyhose with a skirt that ends above her knees, Gloria," I calmly stated to her.
Gloria walked towards me; each step was graceful and had purpose. Not once did her expressionless stare falter. When she was half a step away from me, she slapped me across my cheek and lunged at my mouth with hers. She bit down on my bottom lip and drew blood. I gripped her delicate throat and squeezed. She released my lip from between her teeth and kissed me hard.
I pushed her hungry mouth away from my lips and snarled at her. She moaned and gently gripped my thick, muscular forearm with both hands. As if she was afraid her fingers would damage a delicate and fine piece of Dresden crystal.
"Lick it clean," I slowly growled the order at her as I squeezed her throat tighter.
Gloria obeyed. She licked and sucked the blood off my bearded chin and swollen lip, with the same gentleness and loving care that her hands were gripping my forearm with. My free hand gripped her thigh, just above the hem of her skirt and squeezed. I dug my nails and fingertips hard and deep in to her soft flesh. Gloria quivered, knowing that I would bruise her. I released her and left her office without uttering another sound.
I spotted Gloria standing at the end of the subway platform on my way home that day. Immediately, I noticed her legs were bare. She had removed her pantyhose. I made my way to her and stood next to her. She did not turn to look at me. When the subway train arrived, I stepped aside and nodded at her to enter first. She nodded back, entered, and took a seat. I sat down directly across from her and openly stared at her crossed, bare legs.
Gloria shifted gracefully in her seat. She presented and displayed her lovely inner thigh to me, as it rested atop of her other leg. She placed one hand on the top of her thigh and lifted her skirt, just enough to expose a newly inflicted bruise. It had begun to bloom, where my thumb had dug into her. My cock quickly grew to be semi erect. We rode seven subway stops together, before we reached my stop. I walked past Gloria, on my way to the doors.
"Thank you," I said to her and exited the train.
Gloria did not reply, she pulled her skirt over the bruise and stared off into space with a stoic expression on her face.
The next day, I received another invite to attend a meeting with Gloria. When I arrived at her office, she was not there. The meeting was scheduled for ten o'clock. I was a few minutes early. When ten o'clock arrived and Gloria did not show up, I left.
One hour later I received an email from Gloria. She apologized for not being punctual and asked if she could reschedule the meeting. She assured me that she would accommodate my schedule.
I called her. She took the call and remained silent. I listened to her breathing get deeper and more labored.
"Eight, my place, tonight," I calmly stated.
She hung up without replying, without confirming or refusing what I had proposed. She would be on time for this meeting. Of that, there was no doubt.
At eight pm., sharp, there was a knock on my door. I opened it; she stood motionless, waiting for me to invite her in. I stepped aside and nodded my head. She entered and stood with her back pressed against the wall. I closed the door. She was dressed in a summer dress of different shades of blue, with a bright yellow curved pattern. No stockings. Her four inch stilettos gave her an advantage over most men, they made her appear taller; add to that, the SVP of Retail Operations title, and many were intimidated by her.
"Slip off your heels," I ordered.
