Marital Aid

As soon as Isabella saw Clea come into her office in the morning, she knew it was going to be a very, very difficult day.

Ever since last night, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about her secretary. She wasn't sure what had happened, exactly. It had just struck her, suddenly, as she was closing up and heading home after watching Clea's music video.

Isabella was a lesbian. She was a lesbian, and she was attracted to Clea.

It was an unbelievable, unthinkable, world-shattering revelation, and yet it hadn't occurred to Isabella to question it. It was the kind of thing she just knew. It was like the words themselves had been etched into her soul; a sacred set of commandments Isabella had just stumbled upon in a moment of clarity.

She was a lesbian and she could only orgasm with women. She didn't like men. She was attracted to Clea. She couldn't resist Clea.

All evening and all morning, those thoughts and feelings had sat uneasily within Isabella. What was she going to do? She was a lesbian who disliked men - but she was married to one. She had promised her life to her husband, and it was a promise she'd always intended to keep. But if Isabella remained faithful to him, what room did that leave for her own happiness and fulfillment?

Certainly, sexual fulfillment was a forlorn hope. Things hadn't been going well in that department anyway; now, Isabella couldn't even stand the thought of spending a night with her husband. There was just no way she could ever orgasm with a man.

And her dreams of a family had never seemed further away.

But those concerns, however important, were relatively distant. A far more pressing issue was how Isabella was going to handle the beautiful young woman who had just stepped into her office.

"Good morning, Isabella!" Clea said in a bright, friendly voice. She came bearing gifts - Isabella's regular morning cup of coffee, and a pastry to go with it.

"G-good morning." Isabella cringed at herself as she immediately tripped over her words. She'd been bracing herself for this moment all morning. Clearly, it hadn't helped. "Um... how's it going?"

"It's going just fine," Clea replied as placed the coffee cup down on Isabella's desk. "Thank you!"

She was smiling. That was the part that was truly unfair. The bright, warm, gorgeous smile on Clea's face was like a sunrise. There was simply no way Isabella could have prepared herself for it, or for the way it made her heart pound. Clea was so pretty and so hot. How could a lesbian like Isabella resist her charms?

But that was exactly the problem. She had to. Isabella wasn't just married. She was also Clea's boss, and was years her senior. There were a dozen reasons why the attraction Isabella felt was wildly inappropriate. No matter what, Isabella couldn't let her feelings show. That would be an HR disaster waiting to happen.

"So," Clea piped up. "Did you get a chance to check out that meditation music video I gave you last night?"

"I did!" Isabella replied eagerly. "I tried it before I left the office last night, and... wow, it was amazing. I was so relaxed, I can barely remember what happened!"

"Oh, that's wonderful." A strange, creeping grin dawned on Clea's face. "I'm so pleased."

"I... actually watched it again after I got home," Isabella confessed. "A bunch more times. I even gave it another watch this morning before I came in to work. God, it just really hit the spot. Thank you so much for that, Clea."

"Don't mention it," Clea told her. Her smile was brighter than ever. "I'm just glad you've been getting a lot of use out of it."

Her voice was just as strange as her grin. Isabella figured it was natural to feel satisfied about someone liking a gift that you made for them, but Clea's demeanor hinted at a deep pleasure that went far beyond that. It wasn't just satisfaction.

It was anticipation.

"Oh, hey, Isabella," Clea said suddenly. Her eyes were shining. "I wanted to ask. How do I look today?"

"How do you...?" Isabella blinked, and then fell silent as she lost herself in staring at her secretary.

Clea, standing on the far side of Isabella's desk, was wearing a perfectly normal outfit. She was dressed professionally, as usual, in a simple, white, button-up blouse and a pair of smart, black pants. It was the kind of outfit nobody would ever look twice at in an office setting.

But for Isabella, it was spellbinding.

Time slowed to a halt as her eyes traveled slowly over Clea's form. All she could think about was how well the outfit suited her. It made her seem so confident, so trustworthy, so professional - a perfect worker, despite her youth. The white of her blouse made her red hair appear all the more vibrant, like rich, autumn leaves against a pale sky. Then Isabella's thoughts turned in a far more carnal direction and, even though she knew she should try, she couldn't stop thinking about the toned, feminine, athletic body underneath those clothes. It made her body burn. She couldn't believe she'd hadn't thought about Clea this way before.

"Isabella?" Clea prompted.

At that moment, Isabella realized that time hadn't slowed to a halt at all. She'd just lapsed into silence as she stared at her young secretary for several very long seconds. The older woman's cheeks turned bright red.

"Y-you look, um, amazing," she blurted out. "Or, no, I mean, not... you look... normal? Not that you don't look amazing. It's just that, um, well, you uh, normally look amazing."

"Thank you!" Clea gigged, and Isabella thanked her lucky stars that her secretary seemed to find her near-incoherence charming instead of cringe-worthy. "But that's not really what I meant. Do you think this outfit is appropriate for the workplace?"

Isabella's brow furrowed. "Well, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I'm just not sure." Clea tapped a finger to the corner of her mouth in a thoughtful gesture. Her eyes, though, were alight with mischief. "It's going to be warm today. I might feel like I need to do... this."

Isabella's mouth went dry as she watched Clea reach down and undo one of the buttons on her blouse. Immediately, the closely-fitting garment sprung open at the collar.

"Oh," Isabella breathed.

Clea didn't stop there. She undid another button, and the top of her blouse opened wide enough to expose her cleavage.

That was the end of any semblance of decorum or rational thought for Isabella. Her gaze locked on to the new region of pale, exposed skin and she started breathing hard. Suddenly, she didn't care about how ridiculous it was to be staring at a younger woman's chest like this. She didn't care how inappropriately she was behaving. She just wanted to go on looking. Fuck, it was good to be a lesbian.

When Clea reached up to adjust her hair, her blouse shifted far enough to expose her bra, just for a fraction of a second. It was black and lacy. Isabella thought she was going to pass out.

"What do you think?" Clea asked insistently. She was acting like she hadn't noticed how hopeless Isabella had become, but her grin suggested she was anything but oblivious. "Too much?"

"I... nnn..." Isabella was so far beyond words. She was even beyond rational thought. But in the face of Clea's question, she had to try and muster something. "W-well... um... I g-guess..." She winced at the way her voice cracked. "I-I guess it... maybe... could be a l-little much."

She wasn't sure what to say. But on some level, she knew she didn't want all the men in the office to see Clea like this. This view should be just for lesbians.

"Aww." Clea pouted. It was so adorable, Isabella almost teared up. "That's a shame. But doesn't it look good on me? I really want to wear it like this."

Isabella's resolve snapped like a twig. "I-I mean, it's not too much at all!" she blurted out. "It's p-perfect. Just let me know if HR gives you any trouble about it. I can talk to them."

She just couldn't resist Clea.

Clea immediately changed tack again. Her ever-widening grin made it clear how much fun she was having, and Isabella didn't have it in her to be angry.

"Are you sure?" Isabella's breath caught in her throat as Clea suddenly bent over her desk at the waist, practically shoving her cleavage into the older woman's face. "Take a closer look. I really need an informed opinion."

Isabella simply whimpered. She could feel herself overheating. She wasn't sure how much of this she could take. She was just such a lesbian, and she was so attracted to Clea. Her mind was blank. She couldn't tell Clea to back off. She couldn't look away. She was helpless.

"What do you think?" Clea's voice dropped, becoming a proud, aroused purr. "Is this appropriate, boss?"

"I... c-can't... uh... I don't..." Isabella trailed off. All she could do was drool incoherently.

Clea leaned in even closer. "You know, if you wanted to, you could undo another button," she whispered.

Isabella's eyes bulged. She looked up at Clea pleadingly.

"It's up to you," Clea told her. Her breathy, sultry voice was like music. "All you need to do is reach out and touch me. I'm giving you permission, Isabella. Whatever you want."

Isabella's mind was melting down. She couldn't think. She just needed. One of her hands lifted itself from her lap, and started reaching out hesitantly towards Clea. She couldn't help herself. This was what she wanted. Wasn't it?

But, at the last moment, she froze. Something deep inside her began to clunk back into life and reassert itself. What did she want? She wasn't sure, but the question demanded consideration. Her desires were a swirling, contradictory mess. She wanted Clea, yes. She wanted Clea so much. But she also wanted to remain faithful to her husband, no matter what. Her wedding vows had once meant everything to her. If she touched Clea now, they were broken, and there was no going back.

It was a sobering thought, and as it dragged Isabella back into some semblance of clarity, other doubts reared their ugly heads. She was Clea's boss. That was another line to consider. Despite how eager she seemed, Isabella didn't really know what Clea wanted. She would hate to make her secretary uncomfortable, to say nothing of what would happen if Clea went straight to HR. And what if someone saw?

Isabella couldn't do this. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't. She was nothing more than Clea's boss, and it needed to stay that way.

But what was she going to do? Isabella couldn't resist Clea, and she couldn't bring herself to turn her down to her face. She just needed this situation to stop, so she could get a better handle on whatever was happening with her.

In the end, she chose cowardice.

"I-I need to go to the bathroom," Isabella announced in an uncharacteristic, strained, high-pitched voice.

She bolted to her feet so fast she almost tipped over her chair and, before Clea could recover from her shock, Isabella fled out of her office.

***

"And that's how it always goes!"

Clea groaned as she finished her story and slammed her empty drink down on the bar. Sitting next to her, her friend Bruna offered a sympathetic smile.

"You mean... she always needs to go to the bathroom?" Bruna joked. "Maybe your boss should get that checked out."

"No." Clea flashed her an annoyed look. "I mean, whenever the mood is just right between us, something happens. No - Isabella makes something happen. She suddenly has a meeting, or needs to take a call, or needs me to go do something. Or she deliberately misunderstands the way I'm flirting with her. I don't get it. I know what she wants. She knows what she wants. Why won't she just say 'yes'?"

Bruna reached across to squeeze her shoulder. Clea sagged, but accepted the sympathy with a grateful nod. She badly needed it. It had been like that with Isabella all week, and getting to blow off some steam at Bruna's bar was the only consolation the weekend offered.

At least it was a nice place to throw back some drinks and pass the time. After a whole work week of spending time around straight people in an office, getting to come and hang out in a dyke bar was a breath of fresh air for Clea. Plus, the bar itself was getting better and better every time she came. Bruna had started investing in some major renovations. Evidently, the heiress she'd hooked using Clea's hypnosis technology was paying serious dividends, both figuratively and literally.

"OK, but I don't understand," Bruna said. "You made it so she can't resist you, right? So, why not be a little more forceful? Take the lead. Kiss her. Fuck her. Whatever. You know she'll be into it."

"That's..." Clea sighed. "I don't know. I guess I could. But that's just not exactly what I wanted between us. I... I don't want to feel like I'm forcing her. I want it to be mutual. I want her to show me how much she wants me. You know?"

Bruna pursed her lips and looked at Clea deadpan. "You know that you're mind-controlling her, right?"

Clea bent over and planted her forehead on the bar. "I know. But I still love her."

"Girl..." Bruna sighed reproachfully. "OK, let's look at this differently. What if you could be a lot more forceful, but you could also be sure that was exactly what your boss wanted?"

Clea tilted her head to look up at her friend. "Explain."

"You're already in her head, right?" Bruna grinned wickedly. "All you need to do is make her a complete and total submissive."

Clea pursed her lips. "I don't know..." she said slowly. "I still want her to be Isabella. To be my Isabella. I've seen her at work. She's anything but submissive."

"Maybe in the office," Bruna countered, "but who knows what she's like at home? It might not be as much of a change as you think. But more importantly, I think that if you don't do this, you're never going to get what you want."

Clea's eyes widened. "Really?"

Bruna nodded. "You need to think about it from her perspective. She wants you and she can't resist you, so why won't she cross that last line? From what you've told me, it sounds like she's hung up on something. Her marriage. Her vows. Her sense of fidelity. Something like that."

Clea nodded in agreement. Isabella was one of the most faithful and trustworthy people she'd ever met. It was part of what she loved about her.

"That means you've got two choices," Bruna continued. "You could change that part of her personality - but in that case, she really would be a different person."

"No way," Clea said firmly. "I won't do that."

"Or," Bruna went on, nodding. "You can give her something she cares about even more: a bond with you. And, speaking from experience, nothing is more powerful than dominance and submission."

"Huh." Clea stared down into her empty class. "That... does make a certain amount of sense."

"Plus." Bruna leaned in conspiratorially. She spoke low and slowly, letting the rhythm of her words paint a picture. "I've heard the way you wax lyrical about her. You can't tell me you don't want her between your legs, staring up at you with an adoring, obedient look in her eyes as she does exactly what you want."

She let out a filthy laugh as Clea's cheeks turned visibly red even in the dim light of the bar. Eventually, the redheaded nodded.

"I'll think about it," she said. But both of them could tell that her mind was already made up.

***

Isabella shuffled nervously from foot to foot as she stood on Clea's doorstep, waiting for her secretary to open the door. Being here felt wrong. It felt like a sin. She had spent the entire week trying to keep her chemistry with Clea under control. As much as it pained her, she had decided she needed to spend as little time with her secretary as possible. She was Clea's boss. It was the only decent thing she could do.

And yet here she was, dressed up nicely, waiting outside Clea's apartment on a Saturday night.

Clea had called her and asked her to come over for dinner. A girls' night. Isabella had tried to refuse, but Clea had been very, very insistent.

Isabella couldn't resist Clea.

Being dressed up was even less excusable. Isabella's vanity had simply gotten the better of her. She couldn't stand not trying her hardest to look good in front of Clea. She was wearing her finest dress, and her hair and makeup were immaculate. It was desperately embarrassing. She'd left her house looking like she was sneaking out to have an affair. She'd felt like that, too.

Of course, her husband hadn't even noticed.

"Isabella!" Clea greeted her warmly as she opened the door. "Please, come on in."

Isabella nodded gratefully, and tried not to blush as she stepped across the threshold. She was immediately flustered - not just because of how amazing Clea looked, but because of the memory of what had happened the last time she was here.

"You have a lovely place here," she said, figuring it was best to address the awkwardness head-on. "I hope I'll be able to appreciate it better this time."

"I hope so too." Clea laughed. "And I'll try and make it nicer for you this time. As I told you last week, you're always welcome. Plus, I thought that having someone cook you dinner might be a nice way to relax and get a break from everything."

Isabella could only nod again. Clea was so wonderful. Her stomach was full of butterflies. She was trying very hard not to make this into something it wasn't, but her head was already full of fantasies.

It didn't get any easier when Clea led her through into her living room, and Isabella saw the scene her secretary had prepared for her.

The room was dim and intimate, lit only by a dozen or so tall candles that had been placed carefully around the space. In the center of the room was a table, set nicely with plates and cutlery. Quiet music was playing through Clea's speakers, setting an easy, sensual mood. In the middle of the table, there was a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and the divine scent of wonderful cooking wafted through from the kitchen.

This was, unmistakably, something romantic.

"C-Clea," Isabella gasped. "This is..."

"It's not too much, is it?" Clea asked hopefully. "I wanted things to be nice for us."

Her optimistic smile set Isabella's heart fluttering. "N-no. It's perfect. I love it."

She really did. That was the problem. Thinking about sharing a romantic meal with Clea was making Isabella's heart beat fast with excitement. She was trying her hardest to keep herself tethered to earth. Maybe Clea didn't mean anything by this. Maybe she was reading too much into it. That had to be all it was. It had to be.

"Please, make yourself at home," Clea said, gesturing to her couch, up against one wall. "And let me get you something to drink."

As Isabella watched, Clea opened the bottle of wine and started to pour it into the glasses. Just watching her was flustering. Isabella found herself focused on Clea's swift, deft hands as she worked the corkscrew, and her measured precision as she poured. Once she caught herself, she groaned softly. She was hopeless. She needed to get a grip on herself.

But she couldn't help it. She was a lesbian, and she was so very attracted to Clea.

"I'm afraid I need to finish up in the kitchen." Clea handed Isabella her glass of red wine. "Our food won't be ready for a little while longer."

"Of course." After taking a sip, Isabella set the glass down on the coffee table and rose to her feet again. "Let me come and help you! It's the least I can do. I know my way around a kitchen, I promise."

"Absolutely not," Clea replied, with surprising firmness. "I won't hear of it. You're my guest! And you deserve to relax."

"Oh, OK." Isabella was a little disappointed - in part, embarrassingly, because she simply wanted to stay close to Clea.

"And actually," Clea added, smiling. "I have something else you can do while you're waiting."

"Sure." Isabella was surprised, but not displeased. "I'm happy to help."