Chloes Sock

Copyright 2025 by Jalibar62

My submission for the 2025 "On the Job" contest. Just a quick bit of fun. No editors, so no one to blame but myself.

J/J/J/J

Nonplussed - or maybe flummoxed, but I guess it could be both - I stared at the solitary pink sock that lay under my desk. It was a gloomy Friday morning, and I had just walked into my office. Which, by the way, had been unlocked when I came in.

I work in an old building. It's long and narrow, two stories, with a single central hallway running the length of each floor, with offices and small labs on both sides. There's a lot of confidential work that goes on, so there's an ID scanner with a keypad that requires a code to get into the building. There are no windows, and all the office doors stay closed.

They haven't bothered to install keypads on individual office doors; rather, they're secured by a standard deadbolt and key. As another security measure, the keys for each department are the same. Might sound a bit strange, but the justification is that if the facilities people or IT team need to get in, then the procedure is for them to knock on adjacent offices until they find someone who can let them in, and then that person is also obligated to stay and monitor their activities and lock up after they leave. Yeah, not a great system, but there you have it.

An unlocked door to an empty office is a definite security violation, and I was positive I had locked it when I left on Thursday

. Almost positive

. Shit, it would result in a letter of caution in my file if this was discovered. So... first, figure out who it was? Because of the unlocked door, and the keys, the principle of parsimony - a.k.a. Occam's Razor - said it was probably someone in my group.

I work with a team of eight people. There are three software engineers, three developers, a tech writer who we share with another group, and me, who serves double duty as logistician and group lead. I'm a qualified systems engineer as well, but the team is more than capable, and my engineering role is mostly relegated to decision-making and coordinating with the hardware team and the customer. We develop 'solutions' for the government and the military - not anything super-secret, but still, enough said about that for now.

I sat at my desk, going over each of my team members in my head. The engineers are Samir, Jonathan, and Liam. The developers are Rajesh, Fred, and Chloë. Liz is our tech writer, and I'm Mel.

I already had a pretty good idea of who it belonged to... based on the pink color and the anime character on it, all signs pointed to my newest hire, a mousy little software developer named Chloë Hu. Born in the US to Chinese immigrant parents, valedictorian of her high school class, scholarship to Tech.

Chloë had interned with us the previous summer, and had come on board full-time just four months ago after her graduation from Tech. She had just turned 22. She was a tiny little thing, with long black hair that she usually wore down - I think mostly so she could hide behind it. Her body was a mystery; she wore baggy sweatshirts and cargo pants most of the time. A typical introvert. But a very good software developer. She'd picked up our methods in no time.

I'm in the office by 0700 usually, but when I logged into the security system to check the door log, I saw that this morning, Chloë's ID had been used at 0430. Curious, I wandered down to the SCIF where the team did their heavy lifting. I saw her glance at me as I entered, then quickly look away, keeping her head down and focused on her monitors. She was the only one in there.

I moved to where I could see her feet.

Busted.

One ankle was tellingly bare.

"Good morning, Chloë," I opened.

She mumbled something, keeping her eyes on her screen, fingers busy on her keyboard. She seemed to pull her shoulders in, trying to appear even smaller than she already was. Her long black hair obscured much of her face.

"In early today, I see."

Captain Obvious, that's me...

She bobbed a nod of agreement.

Folding my arms, I leaned back against Samir's workstation and asked, "So, how's your part of the new project coming?"

Her fingers faltered to a halt, and she whispered, "G-good..." and her voice completely failed her as she

finally

looked at me, to see me dangling a single sock from my fingers. I very overtly looked down at her feet, then back up to her face.

Unfortunately, just at that moment, Samir came in.

"Hey guys, good morninggg..." and just as Chloë had a moment before, he stopped talking as he observed us staring at each other. "Umm... what's up?"

When I heard the door, I quickly shoved Chloë's sock into my pocket. Turning, I said, "Not much! Good morning, Samir. I saw that Chloë had come in early and I stopped in to see how she's progressing on the new project."

Well, with that, he began jabbering excitedly about all the things they'd done over the past week, ever since we'd been handed this new assignment. I listened carefully, asked a few questions, then thanked him. Chloë hadn't opened her mouth once. Not unusual for her, actually.

"Good work," I told him, meaning it.

Samir beamed.

I thanked him and headed for the door, but just as I was about to exit, I swiveled to look at her.

"Chloë?" Her head snapped around, eyes wide.

"My office, please?" I said politely, making it a request, just like I would any of my group when I wanted to speak with them.

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered.

J/J/J/J

Yeah, I know. Ma'am? Sorry, I wasn't trying to be deceitful; my name really is Mel. Short for Melisandre - and not that freaky Red Witch from Game of Thrones, either. No, for one I was born before those books came out, and for two, my mom loved classical music, and one of her favorites was Debussy's opera, "Pelléas and Mélisandre". She told me that she was pretty sure I was conceived after a performance she attended when she was living in Wales in 1992.

Gah, TMI, Mom!

But yeah, do the math... Sperm meets egg in '92, born in '93... you figure it out. And apparently, I'm half Welsh, for whatever that's worth.

Whee.

She'd followed my sperm-donor there after he finished his 'semester abroad' and returned to Swansea. Actually, he was from a town nearby called Mumbles. When she told me that, I started to laugh, and then when she added that the town name was derived from the French '

mamelles

', well... I'm afraid I spit my tea all over the kitchen table.

She chuckled with me. Then, more soberly, she told me that while he was very charming and good looking, he was a bit of a man-child and had 'done a runner' when she quietly informed him that she was pregnant. Not her proudest moment, she admitted, but the joy of having me eclipsed any possible regrets.

There she was, dumped and alone in a strange - beautiful, but strange - country. It was a pretty obvious choice to come back home. And it was me and her against the world, from the time I was hatched until I left for college. I think she's dating some now, and I'm happy for her. Shit, she's only in her early 50s. A lot of life left in the old girl, and she's probably my best friend.

She once told me that she knew how to get in touch with the man-child if I ever wanted, but I figured if he couldn't be bothered, then why should I?

There was a brief period during my teens when I discovered theatre, and was convinced I wanted to be an actor, and had haughtily insisted on my full name. Fortunately, I came to my senses, and now I was quite happy being just 'Mel'. I got pretty good at dealing with the misogynists who were surprised that I didn't have a dick, when meeting me for the first time.

Sorry to disappoint.

But I digress.

J/J/J/J

About five minutes after I left the SCIF, there was an almost imperceptible

tap-tap

on my door.

"Entrez, s'il vous plaît."

Okay, maybe there was still a little theatre in my blood, and I was feeling French today. I had minored in it at school.

Ne jugez pas!

Like she was heading for her own execution, Chloë slunk into the room. Her fingers were twining together, and her head - as usual - was down, face obscured by a curtain of hair. She stood apprehensively before my desk.

I got up, put the "Classified Work in Progress" sign on the outside of my door, then closed it and deliberately turned the deadbolt. The sudden "clunk" made her jump.

Returning to my seat, I crossed my legs and regarded her. I held up the sock again. "This is yours, yes?"

That dark waterfall of hair bobbed in time with her nod.

"Want to tell me why you were in here? Sitting at my desk, if where I found this is any indication?"

I was met with mortified silence.

"Chloë, my door was unlocked! That's a security violation, you know. Do you want that on my record?"

She frantically shook her head from side to side, tresses flying. "No! I'm sorry! I... I thought... I thought I heard s-something and I p-panicked!"

"Still doesn't answer why you were in here. With your shoes off."

"Please..." If anything, her whisper was even more subdued than before. "Please don't make me say..."

Now I was confused. As I stared at her in puzzlement, I saw her eyes flick up at me, then back down. Her fidgeting got worse.

Something... there was

something

... I got this weird feeling that she

wanted

me to push her. To

force

her to tell. Don't ask me why.

I went with my gut.

"Fine." I picked up my phone, then gazed levelly at her. "You know you're still on probation, right?" It was true. She'd only been full-time for four months. Two more to go.

Well,

that

certainly got her attention. In a panic, she blurted, "N-no, please!"

I just looked at her, sock in one hand, phone in the other. "Choose, Chloë."

Hanging her head, she pointed a trembling finger at the sock. I put the phone down, crossed my arms, and waited.

"I..." was all she got out before she shut down again. When nothing more was forthcoming, I started to reach for the phone again.

Just as my fingers touched the handset, she gave a defeated sigh and murmured something. Too soft for me to catch.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was masturbating!" she finally admitted, and I don't think I'd ever seen another human being look as pitiful as she did at that moment.

But on top of that, to say I was

stunned

would be the understatement of the century.

"Ummm... what? What did you say?" I blinked at her. "Did you say you were...

masturbating

?"

She nodded miserably.

"In my $1400 leather Herman Miller chair?" It was the first thing that came to mind, sorry. The chair was fine. I hadn't noticed any stains, or odors, or... As my mind wandered down that path, clearly lost, she winced and looked sick to her stomach.

"I'm sorry... I p-put a t-towel down, I'll pay to h-have it cleaned..."

I waved that away. "But

why

, Chloë? I mean, if you need to be alone, can't you... don't..."

She shook her head. "I still live with my parents, my grandparents, my aunt, and her two kids. I still share a room with my sister. Someone is

always

home."

"Wow. Okay, no alone time at home." My mind was racing, and it occurred to me that there was more to this story than just trying to find a place where she could be by herself. Not having her own space at home sounded just a little weak.

"Chloë... I still don't understand. Why

my

office?" Then I looked more closely at the sock.

Oh, fuck. Could it be?

It was only a sock, so it was hard to tell, but the image on it appeared to be of a tall blonde woman.

"Who's this character? Anime?" I held it out, and she took it gently.

Staring at it, a little smile peeking through, she perked up a little. "Yeah, kinda. Chinese anime, it's called

'donghua'

. This is Qian Renxue. She pronounced it 'chee-EN ren-shweh'.

I wasn't sure but I had a feeling. "Chloë... is this... how you see

me

?" I mean, I was pretty tall, and blonde - but...

really?

Her eyes flicked to the framed photo that I keep on my desk.

It's of me, rock climbing, taken the spring before last. I had invited Gwen; we had been dating for about a month at the time, and even though it was only April, the day was gorgeous, and it was a chance to show her a little more about me. I was hoping she'd take an interest in the sport. Turns out she could do without the climbing, unless it was all over me - her words - she said watching my body flex and move really got her going. I could live with that.

Gwen took the picture with a telephoto lens. I'm wearing light gray climbing pants and a lavender tank top that bares my midriff. The entire outfit is skintight, and you can see every muscle. I'm hanging from a jug - a good, solid handhold - by my left hand, reaching for my chalk bag with my right, so my body is turned slightly away from the rock face, and you can see my right nipple clearly through the fabric. Gwen said watching me got her excited? Well, knowing she was down there, eyes on me, and getting worked up? That turned me on just as much. I do look pretty hot in the photo, if I do say so myself. And I'm a decent climber, maybe a 5.8 or 5.9 on the YDS.

Gwen was my ex. My mind went back to our last weekend away; I felt like we were starting to drift apart, and we were trying to see if the relationship was salvageable.

We'd been together for a few months shy of a year and a half - not terribly long in the grand scheme of things, but long enough to have an idea of whether there was going to be a future. Personally, I thought we were probably done, but mama didn't raise no quitter, and I owed it to Gwen to at least try.

Her biggest gripe was what she felt was my lack of emotion. She accused me of 'not doing the little things.' When I asked what that meant, she kind of waved her hand in exasperation, saying if I didn't know, she couldn't explain. And I couldn't argue with her. I just wasn't a heart-on-my-sleeve type of person, and she was. It's actually one of the things I liked about her. I thought that I

tried

, but apparently not hard enough. And unfortunately, this is who I was.

We talked. She cried and I didn't. She took that as confirmation of her fears. "Look, if you're not sad about this, then I think we're wasting our time," was her conclusion. I told her I

was

sad, and I was sorry if she couldn't see that. But I agreed; we were probably just on two different pages.

She asked me if I ever loved her, and when I didn't immediately answer, she took that as further proof. When I asked her the same question, she said that she did.

"But you never said it," I argued.

"I

showed

you, though. And you didn't."

We did sleep together in the big bed up in the loft of the lakeside cabin I'd reserved, but that's all we did. Well, she tossed and turned, and I stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was going to be my life.

In the morning, she asked if there was any point in staying any longer, and when I silently shook my head, she just nodded. We silently packed and drove back to town. I dropped her off, one last hug, a whispered, "I'm sorry, Gwen. You deserve better." She didn't answer, just slowly turned and went inside.

J/J/J/J

Anyway, that last - well I can hardly call it a confrontation - happened over two months ago. Two long, lonely, battery-powered months. And Chloë's apparent infatuation - besides catching me completely by surprise - was giving me all kinds of impure thoughts. My brain was vapor-locked, and suddenly the image of a little Mel-shaped demon appeared on one shoulder. She was wearing hooker heels, fishnets, and a leather bustier. Her angelic counterpart poofed into existence on the other shoulder, complete with halo and white vestments.

The naughty mini-Mel smirked, "Look how cute she is! She wants you! Fuck her brains out!"

Hands on hips, nice Mel shouted, "She's your subordinate! It's wrong!"

Naughty Mel chortled. "I'd like to 'subordinate' her!"

I laughed; that was pretty good.

Nice Mel countered, "She's a child!"

In my ear, naughty Mel whispered, "Mommy!"

Oh, my fuck!

My thighs clamped together.

Naughty Mel dusted her hands together, and crowed triumphantly, "My work here is done." She gave nice Mel the finger while sticking out her tongue, and vanished in a poof of hot pink smoke, exactly the same color as Chloë's sock! Nice Mel shook her head sadly and disappeared as well.

While this battle of conscience unfolded in my head - it

was

all in my head, right?

RIGHT? -

Chloë continued to gush. "You're so pretty, and so strong... Qian Renxue is the same way; she's confident like you, and she cares about the people who follow her, and she always does the right thing."

I snorted softly at that.

Right thing? Hah, not always. Right at this very moment, for example.

She didn't hear me, and continued, "That picture of you... it's so... fucking... hot!" She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Sorry!"

I laughed out loud. "It's fine, I've heard the word before," I said a bit sarcastically.

But... holy shit! Was she serious? Just what the fuck was going on in that head of hers? What was going on in

mine

? More importantly, why was I getting so turned on? Was it the thought of her in my chair, writhing under her own fingers, while thinking of me? Or was it her implicit submissiveness? Both? At that moment, I didn't fucking care. All I could feel was a current of heat flowing through me, centered right... at... my...

"How long?" I asked, a little huskily.

"Huh?" Clearly, she was not expecting that question.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Umm..." again her eyes flicked up at me, then away. "Maybe... the last month? Once a week?"

"You asking or telling? Hah!" I smirked at her. "So, four times?"

She nodded again, but whispered, "Maybe a couple more."

I thought about that. Imagining her touching herself. She was becoming increasingly anxious as my gaze lingered.

"Ms. Blalock..." she started to say.

"Show me," I interrupted, leaning forward. Shocking myself, but... it was too late to take it back now.

"W-what?" Chloë squeaked.

"You heard me. You like to jill off in my chair?" I got up and stood to one side. Indicating the vacated seat with one hand. "Here's your chance. Show. Me."

She stared at me. Well, at my chest. As I said, Chloë was tiny. Sitting, I could nearly look her in the eye. Standing, as I was now, especially with heels, I towered over her. The top of her head barely reached my chin, and my boobs were clearly showing the effects of my nascent excitement. Her eyes were locked on; big and round and scared and... something else. It hit me, what that look meant.

I had her.

Grinning lasciviously, I played with the top button of my blouse, then repeated once more, "Sit your cute little ass down and get busy, you little

coquine

."

She gulped and moaned at the same time, sagging in on herself. I grabbed her to keep her from falling and deposited her squarely in my chair. Turning it to face me rather than the desk, I dragged my guest chair around in front of her, sat down, and waited.

"You... you want me to...

now?

" she squeaked.

"Yes, please. Wait, hang on." I grabbed the phone again, and her eyes widened. "Relax," I told her and dialed an extension.

"Samir? I've got... something urgent... to take care of this morning. Can you please tell everyone that I need to cancel the stand-up?" I glanced at Chloë speculatively.

"Mm hmm. No, I've got it, thanks for the offer though."

"Yep, sure, you can have it without me, no problem. Thanks."