Focus

Joyce breathed out, in. Slowly. Water slid down her neck, hair, pooling in the crevices of her collarbones. She rinsed, slowly turning in the steam, warmth. Calm now, she thought back over the evening, letting the shower run as she thought back. Concentrating, trying to find the one detail, overlooked. The answer was there, if she could remember. Concentrate.

Falling leaves in the crisp air, crunching underfoot on the concrete sidewalk. Joyce walked with purpose, confidence, shoulder-length brown hair stirring with the wind. Sunshine made sharp edges on the scenery, but no warmth. Sweater weather, not quite cold enough for a jacket yet, and Joyce strode back to the office. Long strides, looking forward, always moving. In charge once she was through the door again, it showed. Joyce made decisions, but fairly in her estimation. She calculated, considered, rendered her judgments and her instructions always followed. Today no different than previous, decisions were made. Some feelings ruffled, hurt, or ignored. All the same, decisions had to be made. Greg looked up as Joyce entered, his face giving nothing of his previous animosity away. Calm. Their eyes met, brief, professional. She thought over their morning's discussion again, to make sure she had all the details.

"So, just like that?" Greg asked, careful anger simmering in his eyes.

"I considered your point, but we have to be careful in this market." Joyce replied evenly, calm.

Greg kept pushing for expansion, a larger staff. Convinced of a victory just out of his grasp, he unrelentingly petitioned Joyce for resources. His work impressed her, his intuitions correct and development efficient, but he often overlooked the corporate chain of command. She couldn't deliver what he wanted. Not even if she wanted to. The rest of the company was clinging to her division, her leadership, for survival. Going straight to the vice president as he had damaged her, her reputation, but Greg refused to understand.

"We've got one good opportunity with this, Joyce. We're going to miss it. We're going to miss it because you want to be conservative?" He asked, an accusation.

"Conservative is how I run this division, Greg. I'm careful. That's how we're all still here, employed." She replied, lowering her voice, staring him down. In control, even now, as he challenged, pushed.

"You'll feel differently soon, but by then it'll be too late." He told her, clipping his words, jaw clenched. His eyes smoldered, a narrow brown band of iris encircling his dilated pupils. Nostrils quivering.

Joyce matched his stare, cold blue and unwavering. In command. Greg broke, looked away, ran his hands through his loose dark curls, further disheveling them. Almost endearing, Joyce thought, as he sighed, deflating, letting go of his anger. He didn't speak again, his unshaven jaw slack, wandered out of her office. He cast her one more look over his shoulder, a shadow of a smirk.

The rest of the workday passed; appointments made, met, correspondences sent and returned. Joyce busied herself, efficiently completing her duties and supervising the duties of her subordinates. Greg stopped by one more time late in the afternoon, but only poked his head in to say something, then gone.

Joyce knew then, remembering Greg's quick visit, that was it. He said something, but what? She stepped out of the shower, finally, dripping water on the cold, stark tile. The bathmat was still in the closet, forgotten in her haste to shower, to wash. Joyce carefully stepped to the towel rack, and dried herself off. Her mind wandered as she did, analyzing, her eyes wandering back to the blue anal plug in the sink.

Joyce left the office at her usual time, nothing left undone, but her thoughts disordered. She walked to her car, slowly, distracted. Unfamiliar urges clouded her thinking, compulsions stirring, directing her now. She got in her car, drove, unaware of the destination. She fought through her mental fog, struggling for control, but her own actions were a mystery. She drove, turning, parking at an unfamiliar house. Uncertain steps bore her to the front door, where she knocked, waited, fidgeting with her purse strap, confused. The door opened, the man behind appraising her, taking her in with his eyes. Cold blue, like hers, taking her apart to see how she worked, fit together. She withered, looked to the ground in front of her feet.

"Joyce?" he asked, his low, gravel-littered voice not at all uncertain.

She could not find her voice, despite the many questions lingering, so she nodded, glancing up at him, then away. Tall, clean-shaven, handsome. A stranger. The door opened further, the man stepped back, inviting her in with a gesture, silently smiling, knowing. Joyce, despite her many misgivings, gave in to her urge to enter, and did. Closing the door behind her, the man led Joyce to his living room, where he sat on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, further studying her as she stood just inside the room. He did not invite her to sit, so she stood, facing him, uncertain.

"Do you know why you came here, Joyce?" the man asked, studying her, making her feel small, insufficient.

"I... I don't know." Joyce replied, unable to maintain eye contact, blushing.

"Focus." He said. And she knew why she had come. Her thoughts focused at his suggestion, the fog lifting, her purpose clear. Joyce approached, leaving her purse on the floor as she strode toward the coffee table. She stopped, pulling her sweater off over her head, her arms. Calm, steady, her hands worked at her pants, buttons, and zipper. Cream, professional, straight cut pants now bunching around her thighs as she pushed them down, hurrying. She opened the buttons on her blouse, starting from the top, one by one, open. Joyce could meet his gaze now as she revealed herself, her conservative underclothes, to him. She dropped her shirt on the floor with her sweater, not taking off her bra, but pulling it free of her breasts, over them. She stood, brazen in front of the man whose name she did not know, covering only the most private of her body. She stared at him, pinching her own nipple to erectness, squeezing her breasts, daring him. He smiled slowly, leaning back on the couch, watching her, arms folded behind his head, relaxed. With disheveled confidence and lust, she turned her back to him, slid her panties down, revealing herself, bending over, crawling hands and knees on top of the coffee table now. She steadied herself, folding her legs beneath her, pushing her knees apart amid her hastily drawn down pants. She leaned forward, and reaching between her legs, spread her labia and teased her clit for him, wet already. Some small part of her protested, clamored to stop, but faded as she began masturbating, shrank as the warmth began spreading. She looked back over her shoulder, breathing heavily, making eye contact, sliding a finger inside herself. He watched, silent, smiling slightly, nonchalant as she continued. Joyce performed for him, arching her backside higher as she slipped further into pleasure, warmth spreading from between her legs, pushing her onward.

The man leaned forward, leaning on the table next to her as Joyce continued. Her pulse quickened when she sensed his movement, pushing her closer, yearning for his touch, his breath on her skin. He leaned forward, reaching for her, his hand at her mouth, pressing something to her lips. Joyce opened, accepted as he inserted a plug in her mouth, pushing it in, scraping it over her teeth. She quickened her pace, losing herself a little more as he worked it, turning it over her tongue, and her mouth filled with it, the odd rubber taste. Yearning increased, heart pounding, racing, Joyce heard her own wetness as she rubbed herself, spreading, searching. Saying nothing, he pushed, tickling the back of her throat only slightly before he removed the plug from her mouth, drawing a fine string of saliva down her chin. Joyce felt on the brink, needful as he leaned back, behind her again. She inched closer, heard her labia slapping wetly as he placed a hand on one of her buttocks. She pleaded with him mentally, urging him to touch her, kiss, penetrate her as she furiously ran her fingers over her clit, into herself. Slowly, he parted her buttocks, pressing down with the plug against her asshole. Her mind raced, shifted. He meant to put the plug into her, inside her. It felt huge pressed against her, pushing, slowly pushing, entering her. Her confidence wavered as, on the very edge of orgasm, she felt her sphincter stretch, slightly at first, then rapidly as he forced the plug home, filling her. As it sank into her, she felt her rectum shift around the bulbous shaft, her sphincter tightening again around smaller base, pain and pleasure mingling, dueling. A new, alien feeling, fullness like this, stretching her open. She felt it pressed tight against her anal walls, crowded against her fingers inside her as she groped, pressing down against her small, interior knots of flesh, frantic.

"Concentrate, Joyce." He whispered, pushing her over the edge. Her mind reeled, conflicting thoughts colliding as orgasm came in waves, pulsing. Blood pounded in her temples as she came, no longer rubbing herself, pulling her soaked fingers out, mortified, confidence evaporating. Equal urges to cover her nakedness or continue the pleasure, flee from this place or turn herself over, fought within her. Another wave, her sphincter tightened, constricting around the base of the anal plug, clenched, sending a mixture of pleasure and humiliation through her, knots at the base of her stomach, spreading, ice water pulsing through her veins.

Panic won out, she rolled, blushing, cold sweat, trying to pull up her pants, panties, hide her breasts, and what to do about the impossibly huge thing crammed up her ass? Would it come out again? Her reptile brain, survival, preservation took over, ignored the discomfort of her anal predicament, issued directives. She tore at her bunched, impossibly tangled pants and panties, pulling them up, feeling the wetness between her legs, the bulge of the plug as her pants finally came up, pressed tight against it.

"I-I have to go! I-" She stammered, covering her breasts, her bra tangled, stretched, snatching her shirt and sweater off the floor. Her heels clicked rapidly towards the front door, and then back as she retrieved her purse, looking at the man on the couch as she bent down for it, gasped at the dull ache from her ass, and then bending slowly at the knees. He laughed short, quiet laughter at her, reminding her of tires on gravel, shuddering as he watched her. She turned and fled, managing to get her shirt on and halfway buttoned as she stumbled toward the door.

The drive home, tedious. She gingerly shifted her weight, leaned, carefully trying to ease the pressure from the plug. It felt bigger now, expanding, grinding against her hipbone from the inside, churning. Sure it was tearing her apart, but in between the dull aches, though, she felt stabs of pleasure, lust. Still wet, her clit aroused, the odd sensation of the monstrously huge object in her ass pressing against her interior walls kept setting her off. Once parked in her own driveway, she hurried inside, carefully, to the bathroom, to remove it, if she could. Once there, naked again, still dripping wet down her thighs, she turned to see in the mirror just how huge the thing was. Equal parts relief and disappointment as she saw her imagination made it bigger. Her casual knowledge of these things was enough for her to know it was not the monster she thought, but big enough. Carefully, bending over slightly, reaching awkwardly, she pulled it out of her ass, slowly. Another wave hit her as her sphincter opened, her knees shook, fresh embarrassment washed over her along with pleasure as she stepped into the shower.

As she walked to the bedroom, naked, dry, clean, the memory sprang clear.

"Decisions." Greg had said, casually, in passing. Her resolve solidified, set. Joyce would indeed have some decisions to make concerning her experience tonight. She opened a drawer, leaving the plug there, dull blue along with her plain, conservative panties- white, pink. Her reminder, souvenir of her humiliation, pleasure. Decisions, indeed.