Unwanted Gamble Ch 01

Some people have the ability to steel themselves against the unpleasantness of being alone, untouched, and unattractive, and I admired those people—but I liked to think that two out of three ain't bad. After a few failed relationships and burned bridges, I had learned to tack a little iron into my spine and move forward as one of those "independent" women. I'd never been a Victoria's secret model, or, hell, even a Sears model, but I knew my assets and I could use them with the confidence of a Bengal tiger in tall grass. Where I struggled, unfortunately, was that teensy, weensy, insignificant-seeming little matter of sex.

I did fine, most days. I wasn't an addict. I managed the produce department of a grocery store, as a matter of fact, and six out of seven days I was arguing with truckers, pulling pallets, and yelling at teenagers high on pot to stop eating the sample watermelon and work. It was mundane work, but it was physical work, and it let me sweat it out.

But when Leon from Dairy brushed against the small of my back, and I caught him eyeing my butt, I had a weak moment. I grinned. I winked. And I sweated out the rest of my day until I could go home and throw myself onto the bed imagining him tearing off my manager's red shirt and plowing me on a pallet of avocados. Leon always did have beautiful thighs. And shoulders. And hair. And he smelled like soap and cigarettes.

I never asked Leon out.

It doesn't take a millions years to learn a few life lessons. I was only twenty-six, and I had learned something very important long ago: unless you can see yourself marrying the person, and maybe not even then, never, ever get entangled at work. So I flirted with Leon and managed myself, or went to a bar and hooked up with a stranger. It was fine.

Until the store manager got involved.

Dave was a dick. There was no polite way to say it. Over six feet tall and the right balance between husky and lean, he liked to dress casually at work and smile too much, as if that made him a member of the common masses. No one but the new hires bought it, and by then, it was too late. Had I been younger, and stupider, I may have found him attractive, in an older way. He had salt and pepper hair and fierce eyes, a politician's face. He also had a reputation of mismanagement on top of stirring up department drama for reasons none of us could logically surmise. The department managers had silently decided behind his back that he was a Vicodin addict. I silently called him names that would make my grandmother faint.

"Talulah."

I had just stuck my tongue out at Leon for threating to drop a case of medium brown eggs on my head. Hefting the box of grapefruit I had been carrying and raising my eyebrows, I turned to find Dave, casual as ever, regarding me seriously. I resisted the urge to be overdramatic about being interrupted while carrying something heavy. "Hi, Dave," I said, in what was the closest thing to kissing ass I could manage. "What's up?"

"I need to see you in my office this afternoon, at your earliest convenience."

I swallowed, fearing an audit, and nodded as if I weren't suddenly terrified. "Sure, but I've got some orders to put through, and the floor is devastated—"

"Page me before you come up. If necessary, another team member can handle it."

"Sure. I'll be up in a bit."

He was already walking away before I had finished talking, and I let out a heavy sigh as I rested the crate of grapefruit on a nearby stack of boxes and Leon climbed down the ladder with his case of eggs. God he had beautiful thighs. "What was that about, Lu?" he asked.

"I don't know. My margin was on point last time I checked, and we already had our corporate walk."

"Maybe he's giving you a new hire. You've been asking for help for weeks."

"Maybe."

"Or," Leon's eyes brightened with mischief, "He wants to put the moves on you."

I rolled my eyes. "God. I've had enough of cheesy pornos. Don't go there."

"You know, discuss some things about cucumbers and melons..."

"Yeah, maybe removing the one stuck up his—"

"Lu?" We both turned, red in the face, as Canela, the second in command, glided to us. How anyone could glide in the cluttered chaos on the back room was beyond me, but Canela was tiny and lovely, and she glided everywhere. It was a deceptive cover over the fact that she was always on the war path.

Either way, seeing both store manager and assistant manager in a span of three minutes was not a good sign. I opened my mouth, but Canela continued without waiting for me to speak. "Dave sent me to take over for you. He wants you to go up to his office now."

"He...does?"

"Yes. Where are you on stocking?"

Leon continued on his way as, dismayed, I debriefed Canela on everything we were in the middle of doing and what needed to be ordered. She seemed unbothered and waved me on my way. I watched for a moment as she pushed over a cart and hefted my grapefruit onto it, then pushed it away. So it was happening, now, then. Stupid fucking Dave. God I hoped I still had a job.

Dave's office, like the shared computers, fax machine, and payroll office, was upstairs in a room with windows that looked down onto the floor of the store, though the customers would only see mirrors and lighting. It wasn't a big room—just enough space for his computer desk, a filing cabinet, and two chairs that you could barely scoot back for you to sit in them. It smelled like old coffee and ink. Dave was at his desk, waiting for me, and gestured for me to close the door behind myself. No one knocked when Dave's door was closed. This wasn't good.

"Hey," I said, and, extremely conscious of my ass, squeezed my way into a chair. I needed to spend more time at the gym. "What's going on?"

"That's a very good question, Talulah," Dave answered, swarthy enough to be a Bond villain and the only person I'd met who consistently used my full name. "Everyone wants to know: What's going on?"

"I...left Canela with my list for the order, and inventory isn't for two more weeks-?" I answered.

"That's not what I meant. Listen, I'm sure you know that everyone is whispering about you and Leon."

"Me and...Leon?"

"Yes. Rumors have been flying around, and I wanted to talk to you about that. Now, you know that company policy doesn't allow for relationships between employees in positions where there may be an imbalance of power?"

I blinked, feeling the heat building on my face. "Dave, are you saying that people think that I'm dating Leon?"

"It's obvious you're doing something to Leon, whether or not dating is actually now part of the question."

"But we're not!" I argued. "I don't even see him outside of work!"

"Well, there have been stories about the involvement of pallets of avocados."

"You can't be serious." How did they know about that?

"I am very serious. You understand that this is extremely inappropriate?"

"Dave, listen," I begged, scooting forward so I could plead with puppy dog eyes. "I swear, nothing is going on between me and Leon. I don't date coworkers. I don't...screw coworkers, either."

"Technically, since you're fourth in command in the store—"

"I am?"

"Your position of management is ranked slightly higher than Leon's, which is a problem."

"You're not listening to me." My embarrassment began to turn into a rage, with just the slightest edge of panic. "I haven't broken any rules. I haven't even been late to a shift. This is bullshit."

"Bullshit?"

"Yes." I folded my arms across my chest as Dave's expression blanked, and I steeled myself for whatever was coming. "This is bullshit." I had never spoken that way to Dave before. I needed my paycheck too much.

"What's bullshit, Talulah, is you getting away with fucking on a pallet of tomatoes—"

"Avocados." Shit. Why did I correct him?

"A pallet of avocados on this company's time, and facing no repercussions for that."

I stared at the floor, clearly unheard, rage like thunderheads in my chest. He waited, and finally, I met his eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, "Are you firing me?" For something I haven't done, even though I badly wanted to, I added in my mind. This is what being good got me.

Dave kept me waiting. He looked over at his computer, used his mouse to click on something, shuffled a few papers, selected one, then pulled a pen from his pen caddy. I ground my teeth. "Not necessarily," he answered, finally.

"Can I file for a transfer to another store?"

"No. But you can take off that mango-stained polo shirt."

I stared. I had no air. Then, "Excuse me?"

"Everyone in the store knows how you are," Dave said, leaning back into his chair. "You have multiple one-night-stands and sweat when a cyclist walks in wearing clingy shorts. You tease your male coworkers, and some of the female ones, and take every opportunity to show your body."

I looked down at my oversize company shirt, two sizes too big because that's all they had at the time they had given it to me, and wondered if my choice of fleece leggings under a knee-length skort had been too slutty. I was about to feel ashamed when I realized: this wasn't me. I wore no makeup, was a little bit fat, and wore white socks with black, non-slip shoes. My grandma dressed sexier. "That's ridiculous," I said, simply. "I'm breaking no dress codes." And need to reevaluate my glamour routine, I decided.

"I've seen you use your hips to move carts when men were looking, and adjust your bra in the back room. I know what they're talking about. Now, you have a choice. We can sign this and take it to HR," he lectured, and held up a slip of paper, "Or, you can do exactly what I tell you to do for the next hour."

I reached for the slip of paper.

"This is a termination notice. It prevents you from drawing disability, and it ruins any chance of recommendation for another job."

"Worth it," I growled, still not convinced that I wasn't having a nightmare. "Give me a pen."

"It also contains copies of multiple failed drug tests and will terminate your insurance through our company."

"But I never—"

"And, I should also mention, that it contains a confession of your relationship with Leon. He already has some points in the system for calling in, so it would mean him losing his job, too."

"You're lying."

But he wasn't. He waited, silently, as I read through every paper, heart sinking with each paragraph. It was all there. I let all of that process. It wasn't fair. It would be a struggle to find another job, not to mention one that paid as well, with benefits. I was barely making rent as it was. And Leon... I stood up, suddenly.

"I'm going to find a laywer," I said quietly. "You're done."

"I wasn't aware you could afford one," Dave said, with mock surprise. "Keep in mind, I have various witnesses on my side and that, the second you walk out that door, I'm pushing this paperwork through."

"You can't do this."

"I am doing this. Now. If you take off that shirt, the clock starts now."

I shook. I wanted to throw up. "I can't do this," I said, and wanted to scream when my voice faltered. "It's not worth it."

"Really? An hour of your time? We both know you'll enjoy it, anyway."

An hour, and all my dignity, I thought. I swallowed. I weighed the pros and cons. "Half an hour," I demanded.

At that, Dave smiled his politician's smile. "An hour, Talulah."

"Forty-five minutes."

"One. Hour."

I was frozen. The door was within reach, and yet... Dave rose, came around his desk, and gently grabbed my shoulders as he shook his head. "Kiss me," he said.

"No."

"Touch my face, kiss me, and take off your shirt."

His pressure on my shoulders increased, and I began to worry that Dave would have his hour with or without the paperwork. I took a deep breath and, against all my honor, reached up to touch his face. He didn't move. I leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like coffee and opened his mouth against mine, pushing his tongue adamantly forward. I pulled back.

"You have fifty-five more minutes," I hissed, then, hands barely steady enough to obey me, I pulled my polo over my head. Here we go, I thought, and braced myself. Dave carefully studied me and my budget bra, and I flushed.

"Those ridiculous leggings and skirt need to go, too," he said.

"It's a skort," I corrected, then wondered why I was being so defensive when I was undressing at work to keep a job I no longer wanted.

"Talulah," he said, and shook his head.

"Fuck you," I answered, then did as he said. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to hurry up and get it over with, or be as slow as possible so less could happen within the hour. My body didn't seem to listen to my brain, anyway.

In moments, in years, I was standing in front of my boss in socks, bra, and underwear.

Dave continued to study me. "Unhook your bra," he said, then turned to rest his hand on his desk and stare down at the paperwork. "And come over here."

I hesitated. He turned away from me, sat in his chair, and waited. Grinding my teeth, burning with shame, I unhooked my bra and, resisting the cold air, hugged myself as I removed it.

"Hands down. And if you argue again, consider yourself terminated, and I'll have security up here in thirty seconds."

I put my hands down. "You wouldn't."

"I would," he said, indicating a red button on his phone. "I've had obsessed young women throw themselves at me before. Now. I don't want to hear another word, unless I ask for it. Understood?"

"Yes," I hissed.

"A little respect, please. I am your boss."

"Yes, sir," I hissed, seething even more.

"Fine. Now, take off those ridiculous socks and your panties and get in front of me on your knees."

I undressed but didn't go further. I was standing naked in front of Dave. All the flaws I knew my body had were on display, and given no choice, I no longer had the confidence to put the pop into my hips. And it was about to get worse.

"Talulah."

I opened my mouth, then shut it. Fine. I was doing this. I was taking a bullet. I came around his desk and got down on my knees in front of him. He took a moment to observe me, to teach down and take my breasts in his hands. He seemed to heft them in his palms, then made me wince as he suddenly twisted my nipples. I caught his smirk as I closed my eyes and gasped.

"I knew it. You were always hiding these beauties in that awful work shirt. Now. Unzip my pants."

He released my nipples, now sore and slightly swollen, and I did. He was already hard, and I could smell him, warm and ready, through the fabric. My stomach churned, but I stared at the floor to steady myself, because I knew what was coming next.

"Take it out."

I took it out. His cock was maybe above average in length, head red and shiny. I swallowed as I brushed the thickness of him.

"Lick," Dave said.

I wanted to ask him to be more specific, but the red button on his phone had me nervous, so I tentatively ran my tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip. Going down on guys was normally something I loved, but this was a challenge. I shuddered as Dave let out a soft moan.

"Good," he murmured. "Keep going."

I licked again, pretending that this was another hookup at a bar. I could do this. Focusing, drowning out as much of the reality of the situation as I could, I licked his cock, up the sides and around the head, down to the base and back up again. Slowly, Dave eased back and sighed, then, to my surprise, leaned forward again and grabbed me at the base of my neck.

"Time to suck," Dave said, gruff with lust and smiling. I barely had time to prepare myself as he pulled my head forward and my mouth onto his cock. I was expecting him to push me further, but once my lips were wrapped around him, the pressure relented. Thankful for that small mercy, returning to my imaginary scenario, I closed my eyes and sucked.

Dave's hand stayed to guide me, however. I kept my lips closed and my cheeks tight, pressed the broad, flat middle of my tongue against him as I moved along the shaft, then flicked the tip of my tongue back and forth across the head. He groaned and grew more rigid still, and I decided right then and there that I would wear him out as quickly as I could. With any luck, he'd be limp for the rest of the hour.

"Touch yourself," he ordered. I paused, mouth still wrapped around his cock. "Look at me, Talulah."

Hesitantly, I opened my eyes and looked up to find Dave's, his expression dark with need and power. "Finger yourself while you suck me. And don't you dare look away from me again."

If I had thought arguing would do any good, I wouldn't have had the ability, anyway. Dave was slowly pumping in and out of my mouth on his own, his hand supporting my neck and keeping me from pulling away.

"You have ten seconds to do what I said," Dave threatened.

I clenched and relaxed my fist, then reached down between my legs. For some reason, this seemed the worst violation imaginable. My own private pleasure, this thing I did alone and for myself—now it would forever make me think of this. Blinking back tears, I slowly pushed a finger into myself. Dave's lips twitched in a smile as his eyes went from my hands to my face, or to my breasts, and back.

"Good. Now play with your clit, too."

I did as he said, face hot with shame as he pumped his cock in and out of my mouth. The familiar sensation of fingers in my cunt, of a dick in my mouth, on top of the intense, repeated flicking of skin across my clit let loose a flood of moisture. In a few moments, I'd be dripping on my knees, naked, in front of my boss. I had to end this, and now.

"You're getting nice and wet, aren't you? I can tell from here."

Relieved that I didn't have to answer, I continued lapping at his cock as I sucked. Dave seemed to enjoy what I was doing, so I increased in speed, took him deeper, watched as he watched me. His cock hardened further in my mouth, and I wanted to laugh. We were almost done. But Dave's hand knotted in my hair and yanked my head back as he growled, "No, you don't. Not yet."

"But—" My argument was cut off by an involuntary whimper as Dave yanked me to my feet by hair and pushed me face-forward onto his desk. The absence of his cock from my mouth, and my fingers from my cunt, was both jolting and a sudden relief.

"One more word," he hissed into my ear, "And I'm calling security. Spread."

I wasn't given the opportunity to spread my legs myself as Dave pushed my knees apart. I hadn't realized I had been using my hands to support myself on the edge of his desk until he took them and held them by my wrists over my head. Was is poetic that the edges of my termination papers were cutting into the skin of my arms and cheeks?

"Keep your arms there," Dave said, and I did as I was told, though it wasn't exactly an easy position to maintain.

As I pondered shifting my feet, calling for help, or anything more reasonable than staying bent over my boss' desk, spread and to all appearances ready, Dave caused me to jump by running his thumb across my crease, from ass to pussy. I gritted my teeth to keep quiet.

"Nice and wet, like I said," he remarked, smug with satisfaction. His stroke stopped, and he dipped his hand between my legs to cup me where I was wettest, flick his middle finger over my clit. Slowly, he slid his hand back and pushed his middle finger up into me and began to fuck me with it. "Moan," he ordered.

Drawing on my frustration, my anger and fear, I let out a soft moan. As a reward, he pushed another finger into me.

"Good. Now beg me to fuck you."

"No," I said, without realizing it, then sucked in breath as I waited for him to press the red button.

Instead, he continued to steadily finger me, but leant forward as he did so, his upper body crushing me against the desk and making it hard to breathe. His free hand grabbed into the flesh of my ass so hard it hurt, and I cried out.