The Mistress

Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday...

What the fuck is wrong with me, Frank was thinking. Why is that fucking song in my head for no reason? I hate that fucking song.

It was almost four o'clock on, you guessed it, Friday, and Frank was slumped over in his office chair looking at the clock.

No one is in charge of me, he reminded himself. I can go home whenever I want. I don't punch any fucking clock.

He still sat there, though. He opened up his emails. Skimmed them with his eyes. Took in no information.

He got up, looked out one of his windows, sat back down. He drank a gulp of long-cold coffee, it was bitter, and bad. He paid no attention.

He picked up his cell phone, checked his messages. Some bullshit from his wife. Something about golf on Sunday.

Nothing from Morgan.

Too bad Baby Doll is out today, he thought for the millionth time. Having her come up here and suck me off would sure kill some time before...

Before

what,

Frank?

Before I have to walk down the stairs to get to my car, is what he would have answered to himself if he would have had the courage.

Before I have to take the chance of

her

being in the stairs, and...

catching

me? Is that the word? Is that what she does to me when she finds me in the stairwell?

No way he could deal with that thought. It was dismissed.

More cold coffee. More window. More checking the emails for nothing.

More looking at the clock.

Gotta

get down on Friday. Partying, partying, yeah.

***

John stepped into Lynda's office nervously.

Nothing to be nervous about, John, he reminded himself. This is a perfectly normal thing to do.

People do this all the time.

It's fine. It's

fine.

In his hands he had a bottle of wine. Nice wine, nice red wine. A Châteauneuf-du-Pape

actually. There was a little bow on it.

"It's a Rhône wine," was what he was going to say when he gave it to her. "Primarily Syrah and Grenache grapes, with a little bit of Mourvèdre in there. That's what gives it some strong tannins to balance out the sweetness of the Grenache."

That's what the guy at the wine shop had said. John had duly memorized it.

"Thanks so much for getting us the rubber tree for the offices," he was going to say next, in a totally confident way because that was a totally normal thing for a man to say to a woman. "It really means a lot to me. To

us.

But mainly to

me,

you see, because you are beautiful and I love you and I --"

Whoah, John!

Ha ha. Ha ha. Never mind all

that.

Let's stick to the script, John! She's your co-worker and she's married and you have

got

to be cool about this. Get a grip here.

So he stood there in front of her desk, holding the bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

She wasn't there.

He looked around, didn't see her. He looked at his watch, but that was stupid. He looked behind himself for some reason at the door he just came through.

Shit. She might have already left for the weekend.

He read the label of the bottle of wine for some reason, old world Gothic script.

Is it Gothic script if it's French, he wondered.

He felt awkward and stupid.

Maybe I'll just drink the fucking wine in the parking lot, he thought. Fuck me. How am I so terrible at this?

"Can I help you?"

Relieved, he looked up, smiling stupidly.

"Hi," he said with more forced happiness than the situation called for. "I'm looking for Lynda. Is she here?"

The woman shrugged, uninterested. Young and slim. John guessed she might be one of the interns.

"I'm John Claire," he said, nodding along with his own information, cradling the Châteauneuf-du-Pape as if it was a baby or something.

"I'm Wei," she said flatly. "One of the interns. She was here."

Wei gestured around the small office.

"But now she's not."

"Oh," he said. "I, uh... I have some wine for her. A gift. For the rubber tree. We didn't have one, because the ficus died. So now we have the rubber tree. She got it for us. So I have Châteauneuf-du-Pape."

"Oh," she said. "I could, like, give it to her."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, I guess. That could... that could... sure, I guess."

He reached out with the bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

"It cost like seventy dollars," he said for no reason.

You could literally see her force the scorn from her face.

"That's a lot of money for wine," Wei said. "You must really like that rubber tree."

She tilted her head, regarding him coolly. Her eyes narrowed.

She took the bottle from his hands.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Claire?"

He paused for a second, looking at the young woman, and her flat and neutral expression.

There was something...

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked her after a couple of moments. He felt a little short of breath for some reason.

"No, I don't think so," she said.

"Like maybe from a meeting or something here? Or something like that? You seem very familiar to me. Where would we have met before?"

"We haven't met before," she said flatly. "I'm an intern here. I don't go to meetings. And while I don't exactly work here, John, I make it a policy of mine to never date any of my co-workers in any capacity. You understand. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No! No," he babbled. "I wasn't... I wasn't suggesting anything. No! I just thought that -"

"I'll be sure she gets the wine, Mr. Claire. It was expensive and I'll take good care of it."

John mumbled his thanks and fumbled with the door. He turned and left.

Wei narrowed her eyes at him as he was leaving.

Strange, she thought. I'll have to keep an eye on that one.

***

Frank's computer pinged from behind him.

Yay, an email, he thought. Partying, partying, yeah.

He shuffled over and took his seat in his overstuffed leather chair.

His blood ran cold.

It was from

her.

No title, so he clicked on the email.

Disgusting how bad you are at licking pussy,

he read.

A man your age. What a gross little pig you are to have gotten as old as you are without learning the simple, decent act of licking pussy halfway decently.

He felt sick, all of a sudden. He felt like he might throw up.

I hate to think of all the women in your life and all the bad sex and even worse pussy licking they've had to endure. You disgust me. There's nothing hard about it, Franklin. All you have to do is spread her legs and lick her pussy and suck on her clit but gross little piggies like you can't be bothered. What a disgrace you are. What a sad little man. You little faggot.

I made you cum, he thought to himself. I can't be that bad.

But he knew that what had made Lynda cum wasn't his mouth.

What had made her cum was how she had fucked his face, sliding her drenched wet cunt up and down him, grinding her clit on him, humiliating him with her words while he struggled to breathe. What made her cum was

using

him. What made her cum was

humiliating

him while he tried and failed to lick her pussy good. What made her cum was the

control

she had over him.

He tried to ignore that, just like he tried to ignore his cock stiffening slightly in his pants.

Frank closed his laptop with a snap. He jumped up and began to pace angrily around his office.

You fucking bitch, he thought. You done fucked up now, cunt. All I have to do is take that email to the CEO and your ass is out the fucking door

immediately.

Stupid bitch. You can't send abusive emails like that in a corporate environment... not in a worldwide company like Maxon.

And you sure can't leave a trail back to yourself like that! You stupid whore! You used your fucking

work

email!

Frank sat back down.

Of course, he realized, once I show the CEO that email I'll be admitting that I let her... fuck my face. That I let her use me. That I licked her pussy and she thought it was terrible so she kind of... took

control

of me.

But that might work! I can just admit that she sexually assaulted me. I can tell Jack that she

made

me get down, down on my knees.

I can tell Jack Wang that she looked down her nose at me, looked at me like I was a piece of shit. I can say that she was just sitting there, on her desk, drinking wine like she owned the fucking place. I'll tell him that she made me feel small, and weak, and I tried to fight it but then she spread her legs, Jack, she spread her legs so wide and I could see her pussy back there... her

cunt,

and it was dark, and wet, and strong and her pussy demanded that I get down and worship it.

He'll understand, right? A pussy like what she made me look at that day, well, you just have to get down and be obedient to a pussy like that, is what you have to do. It demands it! It demands obedience, and worship, and you fall to your knees in front of it just like you know you have to.

I'll tell him how powerless I felt, kneeling there, smelling her, tasting her, my eyes closed as I tried to please her. I'll tell him how weak I felt, how insignificant, but how none of that mattered because

she

demanded my mouth on her cunt and how there wasn't any other choice.

Of

course,

I didn't please her, Jack. I

wanted

to! I wanted nothing more than to lick and suck on her clitoris until she grabbed my hair and came. But I couldn't! I didn't know how.

She called me a piece of shit, and a loser, and every time she humiliated me more my cock grew harder, throbbing in my underwear. Tight! Useless. I'll tell him how I had no control over myself as she grabbed my head and rubbed her throbbing little

cunt

all over my face, telling me how much she hated me, how weak I was, how worthless I was, and all I could think about was her orgasm and how necessary it was. How hard my cock was, and how desperately I wanted to cum, but I knew she wouldn't permit that because I didn't lick her pussy good enough.

He'll understand. Jack will understand, and he'll fire her.. and then I'll be safe, and she won't ever capture me again, and make me beg her to let me suck on her pussy... beg her like she deserves to be begged, worshipped like she deserves to be worshipped...

Frank's eyes snapped open. His hands had found their way into his trousers, finding his cock hard and aching. He had been pulling on it since... when?

He jerked his hand out, zipping up.

He got up and almost ran out of his office.

***

Morgan sat on her couch, in an oversized t-shirt, her knees pulled to her chest under it. Her roommates were out partying, but she had stayed in after a long week.

She was wishing she hadn't. She was bored.

Her laptop was open next to her, but she had caught up with all the messaging there. She was looking at the television, wondering if there was anything on Netflix she hadn't already seen or something.

She reached for the remote and turned the TV up. It was on a local news program.

There was a handcuffed man on the show, with a police officer holding on to each arm. The man was screaming.

"She came out of nowhere," the man was yelling as the police pulled him away from the camera and into a squad car. "She came out of the fucking

night

or something, hauled us up into the trees like we weren't nothing! Before we could even

do

shit!"

The police muscled the raving man into the car. Morgan could easily see that he was terrified or crazy or both... there didn't seem to be any doubt about that.

The anchorwoman showed footage of the scene that the news crew had found earlier. Morgan could see that three human sized shapes were hanging from strong branches on an oak what looked like thirty, forty feet up. Morgan thought she could see feet and human torsos dangling beneath them, twitching in the wind.

Those are people there, she thought. She leaned forward to take the scene in better.

The people appeared to be wrapped up in some kind of fine... silk? Fishing line? She couldn't tell.

Morgan watched the footage as the police arrived, later a fire truck. The firemen ran the ladder up and cut the people down from the tree.

This fucking City, Morgan thought. It's fucking crazy. If it weren't for the job at Maxon, I don't think I would want to live here.

There was a knock on her door.

She got up, opened it.

"Oh, Frank," she said. "You can't just come

by

whenever. I wasn't expecting you."

"I needed to see you, Baby Doll," he said. "Look what I have. Look what I brought."

He held up a shiny object in his hand, smiling. Morgan could tell he'd had a few drinks.

"What is that?"

"The wine bottle opener! Can I come in and have a glass? I missed you at work today."

"I don't know, Frank. I don't know if I want to see you anymore. You hurt me. You

hit

me the other day!"

He lowered his head.

"I know," he croaked. "I am so sorry about that. I don't know why I did that. I

hate

myself for doing that."

She shook her head.

"I love you, Baby Doll. I do. I'm crazy about you. I think about you all the time. I want us to be together. I'm going to get a divorce, I hate my wife. You know that. I'm going to divorce her, and I want us to be together always. I need you."

Morgan sighed.

"Please, Baby Doll. Please can I come in."

She stepped aside.

"Thank you," he said, putting his hands on either side of her head and pulling her in. Scotch. That's what he had been drinking. Scotch.

He went to her kitchen, turned on the cheap fluorescent light. He pulled the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and began to screw the opener into the cork.

"Let's get you that drink," he mumbled. He was drunker than he had seemed at first.

He took an old jelly jar that she used as a water glass and filled it up all the way with the white wine.

"Shit," he said, spilling. He handed her the glass.

She took it, taking a small sip. Bitter. Cheap.

He pulled her over to the couch, carrying the bottle with him.

"You're not fucking my ass," she told him.

No, no, he shook his head, sitting her down.

He took a drink from the bottle and leaned back, a stupid smile on his face, taking her in.

She looked beautiful to him, her blonde hair soft and perfect, like a gentle halo. He liked her soft smile, tired and guarded. He liked how she curled her legs under the big t-shirt.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I have never..."

"Frank..."

He took another pull from the bottle, and pushed the coffee table away with his foot. He put the bottle on the table.

"What are you doing," she asked. "Frank, it's very late, I was about to go to bed..."

He got down on her floor, on his knees. He crawled over to her.

"Please," he whispered, pulling her t-shirt up.

"Frank," she said softly. "Come on."

But he didn't listen. He knelt in between her legs, looking at the stark white of her underwear, the dark shoots of stray pubic hairs springing from the white. He reached up with his hands, slowly, and pulled her underwear down to her knees.

He kissed her inner thigh, then the other. He spread her legs open, revealing her pussy there. She looked beautiful, her t-shirt draped over her slim thighs, her legs spread, her underwear tossed to the side.

He knelt there for a minute, kissing her inner legs, marveling at the pussy in front of him. He had been so

rude

to that pussy, he was thinking. He had just

taken

it, shoved his hard cock into it, spanked it, slapped it,

hurt

it. And he never stopped to think how beautiful it really was.

He leaned forward, kissing her there softly. Licking at her outer lips. He heard her moan, felt her wetness begin to come up. He braced his hands underneath her, sliding his tongue into her.

She got wetter. She moaned a little more at his licking. He didn't hear it.

"Please," he whispered, but she didn't hear that, either. He wouldn't have been able to explain what he was asking for anyway.

His cock grew hard in his pants as he licked and sucked. She tasted sweet, sweet like honey. Her hair and scent filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes, pulling on her clitoris with his lips, sucking her desperately.

She reached down and ran her hand over his hair.

"Slow, slow," she said, lifting her hips up to his mouth.

He moaned into her, his cock jumping around in his underwear. He didn't notice it. Her pussy had eclipsed everything else, his pleasure, his thoughts, all gone. All he could think about was the sweetness of her pussy- her demanding little

cunt.

All he could think about was how she needed to orgasm, need to cum, needed to be pleased.

Finally, she reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, holding it tight in her little fist.

"Oh Frank," she yelled out, pushing his mouth firm onto her drenched little slit, bucking her hips into his face as he continued to suck on her, licking and slurping greedily. He knew she was orgasming, he could feel her explode in his mouth, hear her shrieks as he made her cum with his lips and tongue.

His cock burst open in his pants, jets of his cum filling his underwear, dripping down the legs of his pants.

"Oh God, Frank, I'm coming," she moaned, her hips bucking slower and slower as she came down from her orgasm. "I'm coming, Frank. Fuck. Felt good. You never did that to me before."

She released his hair from her grip.

He knelt in between her legs, his cheek resting on her wetness, dazed, his cock still twitching slightly in his pants. He was still breathing in her sweetness, still tasting her on his tongue.

He could feel his cum dripping down his legs and thighs, cooling already, congealing.

"Fuck," he said.

She got up and took a long drink from the jelly jar.

"Frank, I really do have a lot to do tomorrow," she was telling him as he tried to gather his thoughts.

He just knelt on her floor, looking up at her, her smooth belly leading up to her firm, big tits, her blonde hair illuminated by a cheap light bulb.

"Frank?"

His cock twitched dimly in his dress pants, the stain of his semen spreading across the expensive wool blend. His eyes were glazed.

He wanted to beg her, but he wasn't sure what for, exactly.

"Frank?"