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Moderate impact play, workplace and public, allusions to adultery, age play and gender relations. Not meant to be upsetting, just a warning

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?,” he bends
down to whisper directly into my ear, so our coworkers can’t overhear. I know I must instantly go pale because I feel cold all over. I squeak out the response that is both dishonest and expected, “like what?”. He grabs my upper arm, jerking me from my seat, and squeezes almost painfully into the tender underside and steers me into the breakroom. Not quite a shove, but a forceful driving backs me against the row of lockers. There’s nothing very intimidating about him, precisely, although he is considerably taller than me. He is easily able to place the flat of his hand about a foot over my face against the lockers, effectively but non-violently cutting off retreat towards the break room door. My fear and discomfort are twofold, not only is it that he actively determines my job, but also that he is confronting me, and this will likely be embarrassing. “You know precisely what I mean, and you’re too smart to play cute, even with me.” I was still desperate to wrest control back or at the very least escape and pretend I hadn’t been confronted at all. “Even if I was ‘looking’ at you, don’t you think tearing me from my seat was a little extreme?” He moved in closer, resting on his forearm, laying his elbow against the lockers. He was closer and learning further forward because of his height and because he’d dropped his voice even lower “well if you’re looking because you want something-”. He lifted himself up and away in a too-quick to be truly graceful unfolding. I felt like there was air to breathe again as some of my space was regained. In my fear of his words I didn’t realize that he was well within biting or slapping range. Eddie had walked in with an empty coffee cup. He hesitated, knowing, at the least, he had seen something out of the typical and at worst something downright upsetting. Glenn turned his ordinary, professional face to Eddie, flashing white, if slightly pointed, crowded teeth. Eddie was fully paused mid-task, deciding what, if anything, needed to be said. He decided on an indecisive “Good morning, guys”. He looked at me, specifically, in that way that men who think they might have to intervene for a woman; the upraised eyebrow saying “are you okay” combined with the studied neutral mouth saying “but I don’t want to”. “Morning!” I chirped, in what I guessed was my usual tone. Those pointy teeth and blue eyes were now bent entirely on me, in a way that felt even more intense than when he was only inches from my face. That was because he knew what had happened; I had covered for him. I hadn’t asked for help or even dashed out of the room, though I had a chance. His face was quietly, under the Monday-morning-coworker face, triumphant and confident. Eddie filled his coffee, gave a round of unsure smiles to us and seemed to almost duck out of the door. Glenn couldn’t shut the door, that would be suspicious, but with one interruption it seemed unlikely another would follow, anyway. I decided to do what I deemed the possibly mature response and hissed, “I must have just been looking in your general direction while I was thinking about what an asshole you can be” I figured since he had gone with some physical intimidation, and likely bruised my arm under my button up, he was not apt to report verbal harassment to human resources. He grinned again, “well, I would have guessed you were considering me some sort of possibility, you probably are always chasing after men fifteen years your senior”. I didn’t know how to respond to that. Well, truly, I did – outrage, none-of-your-business, reporting him, calling any one of my coworkers in, any of that would be the right response. After having had all the blood drain into the center of my stomach, it felt like it all rushed up to my face – I could say the blush was from rage, but it was from having a realistic guess flung at me. He didn’t have to know that, I didn’t have to admit, or vehemently deny, he could just interpret it for himself. Which he did, and correctly. This was a new job, and at pretty much every previous job, I had embarked on a physical relationship with a supervisor. This wasn’t about money or the job (I’ve never had a “career”, just a series of jobs). And I would honestly argue that I had never started it, any more than I had “started” this encounter- these men just seemed to be able to smell it on me. I’m not sure what that was, but inevitably the professional older men who outranked me would suddenly be there – never pushy or outright harassing, or really doing anything that could be confidently called-out. Just suddenly being physically available, suddenly popping up in social media and then I’m not really sure how the tumble really began.

But Glenn was taking this to all new heights, I’d never had a man really use his physical strength to lift me, as he had from my chair, or bully me with his height, as he had against the locker. 

“Maybe you should take your lunch today, for once.” He said, as he walked out the door, towards his desk, far enough across the room that I wouldn’t have to be worried about catching his eye. I kept my eyes firmly on customers, or my computer screen. I didn’t even lift my phone up. Just stared straight ahead all day. But was I filled with that new-crush thrill? I can’t lie, I love flirting, I love being pursued – this felt like danger though, as well. This didn’t seem like a quick fuck in the backseat of his car at a work function – this seemed like trouble. This didn’t feel like sexting – those sneaky requests sent by married men. Those men who asked to be called ‘daddy’ who actually had children. Well, I wasn’t gonna take that lunch, only to be once more terrorized in the break room.

The first floor of the building was where we actually did company. The other tellers and I in our little stalls at the counter, the bankers about ten yards away, at their desks, each with two little cubicle walls for customer privacy. The basement had previously been executive offices, but as more upper-level and management jobs became travel jobs or work from home, it emptied out. Strange mixes of furniture from upstairs that no longer suited, random holiday decorations, cleaning supplies, a decade of discarded tupperware. The bathrooms are also downstairs, unfortunately, necessitating a walk across most of the first floor, down two flights of stairs and into the back corner of the building. 

When I came out of the ladies, he was sitting on one of the discarded couches from the foyer. 

“Taking your lunch early;  excited?”

“I’m not taking lunch, and I’m not interested in talking.”

“Nor am I,” his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. Again, I could have hollered, I would have had to be loud, but someone upstairs would have heard. But he was wearing that olive green shirt, and he had rolled up his sleeves. I hadn’t noticed how dark the hair on his forearms was, and I realized that meant he probably had a natural chest too, and I realized too that I had never seen anything lower than the jugular notch on his neck. I had never even wondered he was attractive, and I certainly had never felt his eyes on me, before today. Now I was really taking stock of his grasshoppery legs, broad shoulders, well-kept beard and strong hands. I can’t be sure if he saw me melting, or if there was excitement in my face or not but he did have a chance and he took it. His second hand snapped up, almost athletically, and grabbed the back of my neck. His thumb sunk in behind my ear, and his long fingers wrapped almost to the middle of the front of my throat. I was too surprised to withstand when he tugged at my forearm and pushed down on  my neck. When I realized I was being pulled downwards and finally woke up enough to attempt escape, my pumps were my undoing, sliding across the tile and throwing me unceremoniously across his lap, which was surely what he had been intending. 

My face dropped hard into the tweedy couch, almost certainly mussing both hair and face. He was one of those older men slim enough to wear jeans as company casual, and he did most days, as today, I could feel the denim seam along the side of his thigh printing into the top of my thighs, since I’d at least struggled up to my knees, though my face was still pushed almost to the point of suffocation into the cushion. The thumb stopped biting into my neck, but the pressure didn’t let up. I was still surprised, half-angry and now worried about getting “caught” by anyone else but I can admit that the excitement was back to full bore. Today’s little interlude could be the end of it – how often could he capture me at work? He didn’t have my phone number, he couldn’t bother me at home, I could just avoid him. If I wanted to. If I wanted to I could still throw myself towards the floor, scream. But instead he made me choose, which was worse, and he must have known how I would respond. The fingers almost around my throat turned my face sideways against the cushion and first I felt the corners of my mouth to make sure I wasn’t drooling and instantly started gasping. I could yell now, and as that wondered entered my head “I could call for help”, he said, “do you want me to let you go, or do you want me to show you what I was thinking about in the break room?” Again, I knew the right response would be to snap my back away from him, maybe even kick off my shoes and run, but I still didn’t. I breathed hard and tried to look over my own shoulder to gauge his face, but I really only caught my own back, my ass rising in the air, and the curve of his jaw. “I’ll apologize and let you up right now, you can just say no.” I scoffed a little and pushed my heels into the arm of the couch, trying to wiggle up and across his lap, or at least relieve my back. I had no range of motion and it was like saying, well, you could already be letting me up, but I’m very trapped right now, you’re stronger than I wondered. “I don’t know what I’m saying no to”. 

“Yes, you do, you’d be saying ‘no’ to being punished for being a thirsty little girl”. I gasped again and again felt ambivalence. One hand slid down to grasp my ankle and shake it a little. I felt compactable and crushed. “I never noticed you always wear sexy shoes – I’m not really a shoe guy myself, but girls like you wear shoes like this for a reason.” I wiggled again, again trying to straighten out. “Listen, you could get out of here real easy,” he sighed. As he did he slid his hand up from my ankle, to calve and over the curve of my hip. I stopped moving instantly and gulped. I struggled to lift my chin and realized he had taken off his jacket, and draped it folded over the opposite arm of the couch. He slid his hand to cup where thigh met buttock. “Give me an enthusiastic yes, girl – it’ll end faster if you do now”. Embarrassed, I was sure he could feel my body heat rising through my skirt against his hand. I buried my face back into the cushion and said yes. Instantly a stinging, practiced slap fell against my upraised ass. I bumped my knees even harder into the side of his thigh, caught a little off balance. “Still yes?” I croaked an affirmative into the couch. He rolled my face again so that my cheek was down instead of my mouth. “Still yes?” I wanted to cry, and squeaked out “yes”. Five or six more blows landed, not enough to bruise, maybe not even enough to pinken skin, with the skirt fabric between my bare ass and his hand. I whimpered a little on the last one and he sighed, again, sounding put-upon and impatient. 

“If you’re going to make noise, do it into my hand”, the hand on my neck slid around and grasped firmly around my jaw, sealing my lips against his palm. I childishly wondered of biting or licking it, then realized I couldn’t move my mouth or jaw at all. I was scared in a way now, that I hadn’t been when he was holding me down. I couldn’t make a sound, and I had to breathe through my nose. As my fear began to rise another slap landed. He had taken off his jacket so he would have a full range of motion! Three more stinging blows and he suddenly lifted me off his lap, kneeling beside him, by tugging at my chin. He slowly released his hand, as if now worried that I might call out. 

“Go fix your lipstick,” he said, as he turned away and slipped his jacket back on, leaving me kneeling on the couch. 

I went back into the bathroom, sure my hair would have fallen out of its pins, and mascara would be tracked down my cheeks. Hardly. I had a high blush, and looked a little warm and although he had told me to fix my lipstick, really, it was just a little blurred. I felt as if I should look as wrecked and trembly as I felt, but instead I just looked like I had run up the stairs by the time I got back to my desk. No one asked where I had been. The whole interlude had lasted less than fifteen minutes, as far as I could tell. The woman who worked next to me eventually mimed ‘you have lipstick on your teeth’ at me about ten minutes later. (I hadn’t wondered to smile into the mirror, I was too shook to consider showing my teeth). No one mentioned, as he was locking the front door at the end of the day, that he had some red smeared all over his palm though

NSFW: yes

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