章節 116: A Boss, A Mentor, A Lover Ch. 03
johnwhoknew©
The major deal Carrie and I struck with the national phone service provider put her in line for a promotion. The northeast regional director was retiring, and Carrie was the front-runner to take his place. I was rooting for her to get the position and continue her ascent, but secretly I was somewhat disheartened that I might not be working with her directly anymore. The regional director, while still assigned to the same building I was, would be reporting directly to corporate and would mostly just oversee my department, not work directly with us. Because of this, I was a bit torn.
Carrie had been a great boss. Professionally she was fair and even-handed, and she'd mentored me and helped boost my career in unimaginable ways. But personally she was even better. Not only did I trust her completely, but after we'd struck that big deal recently, we spent the evening celebrating our success by sharing an unbridled night of passionate lovemaking.
The sex had been incredible; it was something I'd never imagined we'd do. I'd lusted after her for years, but I didn't realize she felt even close to the same for me. When the moment arrived that we forgot our inhibitions, the result was an unabashed, sensual feast – we let years of longing and fantasy explode out of us. It was a night I would never forget.
In the time since, though, we'd never brought it up. We didn't flirt or acknowledge that that passion had ever existed between us. We both just went back to work and carried on as before. Business as usual, so to speak. At times this could be torturous, but I knew it was for the best. She was married after all, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her marriage, or her career.
Now Carrie was openly interviewing for the regional director spot and the outlook was good. She called me aside after a meeting one day to speak to me alone. "Hey Jim, listen," she whispered, "if I get the regional position it's going to leave my job open. I want you to apply for it."
This took me by surprise. "Seriously? I don't know if I'm ready. You really think..."
"Oh shut the hell up, Stillman. You're ready. You know you are. And I'd put in a recommendation for you."
"Thank you, Carrie, that... seriously... means a lot."
We shared a moment together after I said this. Our eye contact was meaningful, and the air grew thick with tension between us for the first time in the weeks since we'd fucked. Carrie finally broke the moment when she said, "Well, I can't go counting chickens just yet, let's wait and see if I get the position. You might just be stuck with me for a lot longer."
"Christ, would that ever suck," I joked, giving her a devious half-smile.
"Asshole," she retorted, returning my smile before she spun on her heel and walked away, her gorgeous ass swinging seductively with every step. She looked back after several steps and winked. She knew I'd be standing there admiring her perfect form. The gesture filled me with a momentary pang of both lust and sadness. I was going to miss this comfortable, teasing rapport we had together if she got the director job.
And sure enough, any trepidation she may have had about not getting the position was relinquished just three days later. Corporate chose her to be the next regional director; it really had been inevitable. The team was incredibly happy for her, myself included, even though I was a bit sad to lose someone who meant as much to me as she did, both professionally and personally. But I was committed to not letting her know this. I was going to show her only how happy I was for her. Then there was the situation about me applying for her job. Corporate had decided she'd stay in her current position for two weeks to help interview her replacement and get the last few logistical matters in place before she went to her director position. I turned in my application and made my intentions known.
Several days later I had my interview with her. When I entered her office I got a bit of a shock. Carrie was wearing a new suit. She had always dressed impeccably well, but this particular suit was something new entirely. She'd clearly stepped up her game. She must have gone to a high-end store in Manhattan and gotten this one tailored specifically for her. The steel gray suit clung perfectly to every curve, accenting her hips, waist and ass as she rose up off her chair to greet me. Even the jacket hung off her shoulders perfectly, and draped casually over her breasts to accentuate them. The skirt stopped about an inch above the knee, sexy yet not unprofessional, and revealed black pantyhose on her lower legs. The effect was breathtaking. She looked simultaneously stone cold professional, yet erotic. She'd even tied her hair back tightly behind her head, so that it lay perfectly flat, to complete the tough as nails business look. As we shook hands I'm sure she could tell how taken aback I was. I stammered a bit, much more than I should have if this were merely an interview with someone I'd worked with for years, and her slight, knowing smile affirmed for me that she understood why I was flustered.
The rest of the interview went well though. At points she would swivel in her chair and cross or uncross her legs, giving me glimpses of her well-shaped ankles, calves and thighs just above the knee, all accented perfectly by the tantalizing pantyhose. I glanced down every time, enjoying the beautiful views offered to me. I knew she noticed me admiring her, just as I knew each view was a little gift just for me. But I answered all of her interview questions honestly, and we had a great professional give and take conversation.
She informed me that corporate would probably call me in for a second interview, but that she would report favorably on our meeting. I thanked her and got up to leave, but paused for a moment after our handshake. I wasn't sure if it was foolish, or if the timing was absolutely wrong, but I couldn't stop myself from saying, "And by the way... amazing suit." I looked her up and down as I said it, drinking in the effect the suit created. I didn't do it in a lascivious manner at all; it was an honest compliment from one friend to another.
Even so, her breath caught for a split second as she exhaled, and I knew she had appreciated the compliment. She nodded slightly and replied, "Thank you, Jim," as she smiled at me. I returned her smile and left her office. It was yet another deliciously awkward moment between us. As I returned to my desk, my mind was momentarily flooded by images of when I had undressed her in that hotel room, my hands under her skirt squeezing her soft, shapely ass, tearing the buttons of her shirt open, ripping her panties off with my teeth. I quickly pushed these thoughts from my mind and got to work; I was going to have to get over that shit quickly now that she was leaving. That little fantasy was not going to happen again.
Two days later I had my interview with corporate. It went very well, but I couldn't quite tell how they felt about me. They had been complimentary and very supportive, but they didn't give anything away. The next day Carrie called me into her office. She had another impeccably tailored suit on, not quite as perfect as her gray one, but still it sent my mind spinning. She must have gotten several new suits in preparation for her new gig. I'm sure they must have cost a fortune, but they served their purpose. It was clear she intended to up her game and send the statement that she was in complete control of every aspect of her life and job. I quickly regained control of my own head so as not to betray how turned on she always got me. God how I loved an intelligent woman who knew how to handle her power, and Carrie was the absolute epitome of this.
She explained that corporate had narrowed her replacement down to two candidates: me and a guy named Martin Wells from our Kansas City office. They would make their decision by Friday, her last day. Martin had a few more years of experience on me and was generally well-liked in the company. "Look, I put in a good word for you, and told them they'd be crazy not to go with you," she said. "I raved, actually. Really the only thing I didn't tell them about how phenomenal you are is how incredibly well you eat pussy." She laughed but hearing her say this sent a whirlwind of excitement through me. I felt my cock twinge instantly when the word "pussy" escaped her lips. The shock of it sent me reeling for a turn, but I tried not to show it. I laughed as well, albeit somewhat awkwardly, and smiled at her, wondering if she noticed the twitching in my crotch. She returned my smile with her wicked grin and said, "But I would have if I thought it would better your chances of getting the job."
"Well, thank you Carrie," I finally stammered after a moment. "You've done more than I could have ever asked for. I don't know how I could ever repay you." I turned to leave her office, but stopped at the doorway and said, "But let me know if you ever want me to prove how good I am down there again," nodding my head and lowering my eyes toward her crotch. "I mean, you didn't even let corporate know? Come the fuck on!"
I laughed to let her know I was kidding, but Carrie put both hands on her desk to steady herself and I noticed her legs spreading slightly. "Don't... fucking tempt me, Stillman," she replied, putting a heavy emphasis on the first word. Both our eyes narrowed into a longing stare. This was the first time we'd acknowledged our sex since the night it happened, or the palpable desire still lingering between us. I smiled and started to walk away, but she called to me, "Oh and Jim... good luck walking around with that, by the way." She nodded toward my crotch just as I had to her a moment before, and the irony certainly wasn't lost on me. The reference to my rather obvious hard-on was comical and quintessential Carrie.
"Yeah thanks," I replied, "I'll just be at my desk trying to subtly jerk off unnoticed – hold my calls, please." We both laughed and I left her office. God, was I ever going to miss her.
On Friday, we threw a going away party for her in the afternoon. She had the brazen audacity to wear that perfect gray suit one last time while she was still my boss, the one I had complimented her on during my interview. I was sure this was no coincidence; she wanted to torture me just once more before she left. She could always be counted on to bust my balls; it was one of her most endearing qualities.
As we were about to enter the conference room where the team waited with her congratulatory cake, she pulled me aside. "Listen Jim, I just got off a call with corporate two minutes ago. They're going with Martin; they want me to let the team know. They're going to call you later personally to explain. Jim, they love you. They think you're great. They just want that little extra experience Martin has. I'm really sorry."
"No, Carrie, don't be. I'm so grateful for everything you did to try to help me get the position. And Carrie, I'm unbelievably thankful for everything you've done for my career, everything you've taught me. I never could have gotten to this point without you. And I'm fine, seriously."
"Are you sure? This really sucks. I'm pissed off they didn't take my recommendation."
"No don't be, I'm fine, really. C'mon, you've got cake waiting for you." She complied reluctantly as I pushed her into the conference room where everyone was waiting. She received a rousing ovation as she entered; everyone on the team respected her. Even though she could be a hard-ass, she never did it disrespectfully. We were all going to miss her, no one more than I.
During the party I kept thinking about how I'd lost out on the position. I wasn't unhappy, but I was definitely disappointed. That disappointment was adding to a day that was already going to sting; losing Carrie was tough enough. She kept shooting appraising glances at me during the party. I could tell she was wondering how I was handling the bad news. I kept trying to show her convincing smiles, but I wasn't sure how well I was doing.
Toward the end of the party, Carrie announced that Martin from Kansas City would be taking over as manager of the department. Much to my surprise there were some disappointed groans and glances in my direction. I hadn't made it public that I had applied for the position, but it was a small office so I'm sure most people knew. And to hear these subtle signs that maybe some folks had been hoping I'd get the position actually made me feel a bit better. But Carrie did a good job of being diplomatic and assuring everyone that Martin would make a good manager and that we were poised to continue accomplishing great things. She had interviewed him by phone and said that in her dealings with him in the past he had proven to be smart and very capable of good leadership. I hoped she was right; she was going to be a tough act to follow. She was the consummate professional: fair, even-handed, intelligent and creative, all wrapped up in an incredibly shapely body, complemented by an impeccable sense for fashion and carried around with an air of confidence – it's no wonder I lusted after her so badly. She epitomized the word "sexy" to a tee.
The party ended and the team made their way up one-by-one to congratulate Carrie and wish her well. I cleaned up the plates and silverware and was the last one left in the room after everyone else had personally thanked her. She approached me and said, "I can tell you're disappointed, Jim."
"Is it that obvious?"
"No, I just know you too well. I can tell." She took another step toward me, giving another appraising look. She did know me too well. "You should be disappointed; you have every right to be. You did enough to earn this position and I honestly think it should be you."
"Thanks, Carrie."
She nodded. "Just don't get discouraged. Keep doing what you're doing; keep getting better day by day. Everything I've heard about Martin is that he's a great team player. I'm sure he won't stand in the way of your growth, so just keep progressing. And you'll do great things." She paused for a moment, then added, "You already have."
The atmosphere in the room grew thick. We stood only about an arm's length apart, and our eye contact was fixed and meaningful. I didn't quite know what to say, so I went with sincerity. "Thank you Carrie, once again, for everything."
"You're welcome, Jim. Thank you as well."
"And thanks also..." I hesitated, not sure how, or even if I'd be able, to say what I wanted to say next.
After a moment, she broke the awkward silence. "For what, Jim?"
"Because you look so impossibly fucking sexy in that suit." I blurted it out uncontrollably, every syllable rushed so that it became almost like a single, drawn-out word. She exhaled sharply. After a moment she broke eye contact, looking me up and down, and stepped suddenly close to me. I grabbed her by her hips and pulled her into me authoritatively. She pushed her face into my neck and wrapped her arms around my back. I wrapped my arms around her as well and squeezed her tightly. My cock became instantly engorged. She pushed herself into it and held me tighter, feeling the full length of my erect shaft between us, her breath hot against my neck. I pressed my face into her hair, smelling its sweetness.
I ran my hands down her back onto her hips again but then pushed her slightly away. I was intoxicated, barely in control. I just wanted to grind my crotch into hers, feel the softness of her mound against my hard cock. But I couldn't, not here, not now. As she pulled her face from the crook of my neck I bent down slightly and our cheeks brushed together. Our lips brushed against each other as we passed, but at that moment we became keenly aware of where we stood. If anyone passed by the hall to the conference room they would see us pressed together through the window, our lips brushing against one another. We both took a step back and exhaled deeply, trying to catch our mutual breaths. I was battling the desire to pick her up and throw her on the table, and tear that incredible suit off of her, now a symbol of how badly I yearned for her, yet would never be able to have her. After several tense moments of calming our breathing, I finally said to her, "I'm going to miss you, Carrie."
"I'm not dying, Jim. I'll still be here in the building, just, you know, on another floor."
"I know," I replied, "but I'll miss you just the same."
"God, you are so sweet," she whispered. She reached out her hand and I took it. But instead of a handshake we stood holding hands for a moment, staring into one another's eyes. The moment was indescribably sexy.
After a minute, I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it softly. "Good luck, Sterling," I told her, and, smiling, walked out of the conference room. I didn't have the strength to turn around and look at her again; the moment had overwhelmed me. I ached for her, but it was time to let her go. Walking out of that office was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do.
Things were a bit strange over the next few weeks without Carrie around, but I can't say they were bad. Martin joined the team after Carrie's departure and he was a damn good boss himself. He mainly stayed out of my way; I think he recognized that I had good experience and knew my role well. Early on he looked to me for advice on how to work with the team, and he often sought my guidance on some tough decisions. I really respected him for that. It would have truly sucked if he had come in and tried to be Mr. Swinging Dick around the office, barking orders and trying to intimidate everyone. But that wasn't his style or his personality. He treated everyone with respect and soon the team was working quite well together.
I missed Carrie though, badly. I'd see her on occasion around the building, and she'd always stop to talk. She was very busy so our chats were usually pretty brief, but it was always a pleasure to see her.
After several months I started to notice a slight change though. When I'd see Carrie, she was now starting to look more strained. I could see a certain tension in the way she carried herself, the way she walked, that I had never noticed before in my years of working with her. I chalked it up to the added stress of her new position and blew it off; after all, I only really saw her on occasion anyway. How could I judge what she was feeling?
Then one day, about ten months after Carrie had taken the regional director position, an unexpected opportunity presented itself. The phone service provider that Carrie and I had won as a client was looking for a new pitch. It had been a year since we'd started working with them and they were ready for a new campaign with fresh new ideas. Martin called me into his office to explain the situation.
"So here's the deal, Carrie has hand-selected one person to work the account, Will Myers from her team. And she's asked me to select one person from my team to work with the two of them. This one's a no-brainer, you're the guy. You cool with that?"
"Of course, yeah, I mean, I've worked that account before obviously."
"Yup, it's a can't-miss from where I'm standing. So I'll let Carrie know you're on it, and she'll probably call you to set up some meetings so the three of you can get ready for the pitch next week." The plan sounded good to me, and it would be great to get to work alongside Carrie again, even for a brief time. I didn't particularly like Myers much; he was a bit of a prick, but if Carrie recommended him then I'd get past my shit and be professional.
Carrie did call me to set up the meetings, but she sounded rushed on the phone so we didn't talk much. During the meetings, though, it was just like the good old days. Carrie and I had great energy as we bounced ideas off each other. Myers, to his credit, did add some solid creative stuff, when he could stop fixating on himself long enough to think objectively for five minutes. But for the most part he just stayed out of the way while Carrie and I did our thing, brainstorming and throwing out cool, creative ideas.
When the day came for the big client meeting, the plan was much the same as it had been a year previous. The three of us drove to Philadelphia together and got hotel rooms in the same hotel we'd stayed in nearly a year before, since the meeting was probably going to last all day. I certainly didn't fail to notice that Carrie wore the very same gray suit that she knew would drive me insane. I was going to have to spend all day with her, her tight little body squeezed into the sexiest piece of clothing she owned. I was so fucking pissed. How was I supposed to concentrate with a permanent hard-on all day? Plus she was wearing the same pair of black pantyhose beneath, the sheer fabric making her legs glisten in the light.
I tried to put her sexiness out of my head, doing my best not to glance down at her shapely legs in the passenger seat as I drove. During the drive the three of us went over our gameplan. Myers, as annoying as he could be at times, seemed on-point and prepared. I could tell why Carrie had selected him now.
And sure enough, Myers found his zone during the meeting. He worked well within the "good cop/bad cop" routine Carrie and I pulled off so proficiently. As strange as it seemed, he tempered our little act by identifying with the clients on a personal level. He had a "good old boy" way about him, with an ability to talk about golf, cigars and cars. He used it well. Our major priority during the meeting was to show the clients that we didn't feel complacent about them, that we wanted to do great things for them, and we had a strategy about how to do it. We accomplished this mission with flying colors. I played the role of sympathizer, the one who understood their needs completely. Carried played the hard-ass role, letting the clients know that despite the fact that we were willing to work hard to satisfy them, we wouldn't be bent over by them – we would still be compensated fairly. Myers was the good old boy, cracking jokes and playing upon their sentimental sides.
By the end of the meeting, the clients had once again declared their love for us, and that jackass Myers had even been invited back to play a round of golf with them sometime. Once again, Carrie's instincts had paid off and the day was a success.
This time though, the clients treated us to a nice dinner at a fancy French restaurant in downtown Philly. After our last meeting they'd declined dinner, wanting to make us sweat, but this time the working relationship was solid enough to break bread together.
The dinner was a great time. I sat next to Carrie and she made fun of me trying to order dinner from the menu written in French. I'm not entirely sure what I ate that night, but it tasted good, and the time spent joking and laughing with Carrie and the clients made for a memorable evening. The wine flowed freely as well, and by the time dinner ended we were all flying high.
The entire time though, I couldn't shake the idea that there was still something off about Carrie. She laughed freely and often, but there were times when I'd see her looking off into the distance at nothing in particular. And when I tried to make eye contact with her, she'd sometimes look away quickly, as though she was afraid I'd see something in her eyes that she didn't want me to see. This worried me, but I didn't let it show. The day had been a success and overall I was very happy.
The three of us took a cab back to the hotel. We congratulated each other profusely on a job well done, and a thoroughly successful day. We stumbled through the lobby of the hotel, all a bit tipsy and loud as we laughed at the little jokes about the day. In the elevator up to our rooms, I finally made eye contact with Carrie and she didn't look away. Myers was babbling about some silly golf story or other he'd told to one of the clients, when Carrie's and my eyes finally met.
She was leaning against the wall of the elevator to keep balance. She stared back at me, and I could see the subtle signs of strain on her. There were tiny stress lines under her eyes, and her shoulders seemed tense even though we were drunk and the meeting had been wildly successful. But she tried to hide it and smiled at me, just turning the corners of her lips up slightly. Then she flicked her head a bit to toss a tendril of hair out of her face, and lightly bit her lower lip in her teeth. I smiled widely and laughed, glad to finally see the real Carrie under all that strain she'd been carrying. Myers thought I was laughing at his story and clapped me on the shoulder affectionately.
Just then the doors swung open, it was the floor my room and Myers' room were on. We got out but Carrie stayed in. "I'm on a different floor, actually," she said as we turned and looked at her questioningly. The look in her eye told me the irony of the statement wasn't lost on her, and we held the look until the doors swung shut, closing us from one another. "'Night, guys," she added just before the doors shut.
At that moment, I was thankful I didn't have to share a room with Myers. There was a longing burning within me that I knew was going to drive me crazy all night. Will and I walked to our respective rooms next door to each other. Along the way, he tried to pep talk me into going out on the town. "Dude, you're not going to bed, are you?" he asked. "It's early, man. C'mon, let's hit the mini-bars in our rooms to pre-game, then go out and see what Philly's got for us tonight."
The idea actually made sense. It was pretty early, and if Carrie was going to disappear I figured I should get shit-faced and hit the town, maybe even get lucky. But my heart just wasn't in it. First of all, I didn't like Myers enough to go drinking with him. Secondly, I had Carrie stuck in my head and I knew I wouldn't be able to shake her. "Nah, man, I'm beat. I'm just gonna crash and watch Sportscenter. Thanks though."
"Haaaaaa, you pussyyyyy," Myers joked. "You're seriously just staying in tonight?"
"Yeah, just feel like crashing."
"C'mon dude, look, if you really wanna stay in I would suggest we find Sterling's room and double-team her, but I doubt that ice queen's legs have spread in years, if ever." He gave a goofy sounding laugh as he said this.
"Yeah right," I replied noncommittally. It annoyed me a little that Myers would say that, but not because I was somehow above locker room talk. As a guy I definitely joked about women that way, it was just a harmless "guys being guys" sort of thing to do. It was more that Myers was a big enough douche to think Carrie didn't have another side to her. Or that he couldn't show her a little respect after she pulled him in on this deal that had turned out to be such a huge success. A little gratitude wouldn't kill him, instead of talking about fingercuffing her. "She's a helluva boss though, so maybe we should just appreciate that," I said, to put him in his place.
"Oh dude, no doubt, great boss," he backpedaled. "Just saying I'd like to sink my teeth into that sweet ass, is all. But it ain't gonna happen though cuz that bitch is fri-gid." He emphasized the last word for effect and laughed again, elbowing me in the ribs as he said it, and what little respect I had for him pretty much evaporated on the spot. Not just because he could objectify Carrie like that, but because he clearly had no fucking clue about a lot of things. If he only knew... but then again, the things douchebags don't realize about women could fill an encyclopedia.
"Right, yeah," I replied again noncommittally.
"So, our best bet is to hit the town, pound some brews, and find some bitches. Let's do this."
We reached our rooms and I slid my card in to open the door. "Nah dude, I'm staying in."
"All right, have fun crying into your tampons all night, sucker, I might just go out by myself – score some hot Philly ass. I'll try not to keep you up banging the headboard into the wall all night; I know you need your beauty sleep."
"Yeah yeah, blow me. Have fun tonight, man," I retorted, stepping into my room.
"Later, Maria," he jibed, as I closed the door. I threw off my jacket and undid my tie. After kicking my shoes off I fell flat on the bed and started thinking about Carrie. What was going on with her? Something didn't add up but I had no idea what it was. I felt bad for her. I wanted to help, but did she actually want help from me?
I didn't even know where she was. She didn't bother letting me know her room number. I could call the front desk, but they probably wouldn't give that information out. Maybe I could talk them into it, but would she want that? It might piss her off to have me knocking on her door unexpectedly or calling her room. And I didn't have her cell number. She might have access to mine since she's a director, but I had no access to hers and she had never given it to me. I decided if she had wanted to see me, she would have let me know how to find her.
The thought annoyed me somewhat, but I didn't want to become a clingy asshole. Carrie had her own life; she didn't need me trying to invade it. And, quite frankly, for my own sanity I needed to start getting her out of my head. So I tried to do just that, staring at the ceiling trying to clear my mind and push her out of my head. But the more I tried, the more I realized how hopeless it was.
She kept creeping back into my thoughts. Just images, memories, fleeting glimpses of a night of passion shared a year ago. The downy hairs on her arms, the soft skin of her tiny wrist, her smooth lips and warm tongue, her taut brown nipples pushing against the transparent fabric of her bra, the short tuft of jet black pubic hair shaved into a landing strip just above her crotch, the warm, salty-sweet juice flowing softly from her sweet, pink chasm...
I shook my head trying to rid myself of these thoughts, but it was no use. I knew I'd be plagued with them all night. I knew I'd crave her; we were under the same roof but I couldn't go to her. Couldn't throw her against the wall, press my mouth into hers and suck on her tongue. Couldn't run my hands over her curves, feeling her soft, muscular ass. Couldn't squeeze her breasts in my hands, feeling the ample flesh spill out of my grip. Couldn't taste her sweet cunt, pushing my tongue deep inside her, her tight walls gripping it firmly...
I jumped up off the bed and ran into the bathroom. These visions were driving me mad. I splashed water in my face, trying to get a grip on myself. My cock was rock hard in my pants; I figured I should just jerk off now and get it over with. That was the only way I'd get any rest tonight. Just as I had cupped another splash of cold water in my hands and thrown it into my face again, I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand. I dried my face and hands and went out to check it. I clicked it on and there was a text message from a number I didn't recognize. I opened the message and it read simply:
Room 542, NOW, please.
-Carrie
My heart leapt as I read these words. So she had gotten my cell number. My first thought was that I should make her wait, let her sweat it out for a bit. But it only took a moment before I realized how crazy that was. I knew I couldn't wait another second, and she had reached out to me, why would I be a dick about it? I grabbed my room key, threw my shoes back on, and headed for the elevator. I arrived at room 542 and knocked gently. She opened the door still wearing that same damn gray suit; she'd even left her heels on. How could she have not gotten comfortable; it had been at least a half hour since we parted in the elevator? My heart began pounding in my chest seeing her in that suit, but I controlled myself and just said, "Hey," in barely more than a whisper.
"Hey," she replied back and pushed the door open to let me in. When I got into the light I could tell something was definitely up with her. Her shoulders were practically shrugging she was holding so much tension in them. It really worried me seeing her like this and I knew I had to come right to the point.
"Carrie, what's wrong?"
"What do you mean? Nothing."
"Nothing? Sweetie, you look like you have the weight of the damn world on your shoulders." It was the first time either of us had ever used a term of endearment with one another, at least at a time that wasn't in the heat of passion. I knew she'd noticed it by her surprised reaction of raised eyebrows. But I didn't care; something was wrong and I was concerned. I ignored her reaction and pressed a little more. "I know you well enough to know something is up."
She exhaled deeply, puffing her cheeks in exasperation, and started to pace back and forth. "Shit, Jim, I don't know. It's nothing and it's everything. It's like... I feel like..." She was clearly uncomfortable about something, but unable to put it into words. I needed to put her at ease somehow, and the best way to do that, I felt, was to remind her who I was.
"Carrie," I interrupted her, "do me a favor, ok?"
"Ok."
"Kick off the heels, lose the damn jacket, lie on the bed, and just fucking talk to me. It's just me, Sterling, I won't judge you. You know you can talk to me."
When I said this, a change came over Carrie almost instantly. She smiled at me, and did exactly what I asked. She kicked her heels off one by one, swept the jacket off her shoulders and dropped it unheedingly on the floor, unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse, and collapsed onto the bed. I could see a slightly reddish color coming from under her semi-transparent blouse, and I wondered what kind of bra she had on. I quickly dismissed this thought from my mind though; there were bigger issues at hand and I was too worried about Carrie to be blinded by my libido. I rolled the desk chair over next to the bed and sat in it. "So what's up?" I asked her.
She propped herself up on her forearms to talk to me. "I don't know if I like the director job, Jim." She exhaled as she said it, as though it was a huge, embarrassing confession.
"So what? That's no big deal," I replied. "I mean, it is a big deal, but it's fixable. What don't you like about it?"
"Well, as a manager I got to be directly involved in creative decisions. I got to work with the team, I got to think about things, I got to come up with ideas. It was challenging, it was fun. Like working this account with you; I barely ever get to do this now. As a director it's all about strategic planning and budgeting and logistical bullshit. I dunno."
"Then just go back to manager level. You kick ass as a manager; the company would let you do it in a heartbeat rather than lose you. You can totally call your shots on this and be back in a creative role that you love."
"I know, I really believe the company would be cool about it. But it's not the company I'm worried about."
"What do you mean?" I felt like we were really coming to the heart of the matter now, and Carrie's increased nervousness seemed to confirm my theory as she fidgeted slightly on the bed.
"Well, the day I got the promotion to director, Paul took me out to dinner to celebrate." Paul was her lawyer husband who I respected, but didn't particularly like. "During the meal, he told me that now that I was finally executive level, it was time for him to think about running for public office. See, Paul has always wanted to get into politics, and I told him he could start whenever he was ready. But I never realized him being ready hinged on my career."
This actually was a bit of a bombshell to me, and I was beginning to understand what was eating at Carrie. "So what are you going to do next?" I asked.
"That's the problem, Jim, I have no fucking idea." She sighed and collapsed her shoulders back down onto the bed. "Since then, we've been going to these goddamn dinner parties, and fundraisers, and social functions with all sorts of 'important' people." She raised up finger quotes when she said the word "important." Her tone became a bit fiercer now as well. "It's all about him pressing the right palms to be prepared to run in the next elections. But he introduces me as 'an executive with ADM' like that's some sort of fucking religious title or something. Like I'm important now, like I'm one of them. Before I was a nobody, now I'm a big deal. Yeah right. It's all for show, Jim, all of it. It's all just blowing smoke up each other's asses so that they can feel important."
The tension had returned to her shoulders. She was hunched up again and clearly pissed off. Without a word, I reached down and picked her legs up by her feet. I rested her feet in my lap and began massaging them. I was beginning to realize the predicament she was in. "I'm sorry, Carrie."
She rolled over slightly to look at me. "Why?" she asked. "You've never been anything but good to me. Even now."
"Well, I'm sorry because you feel trapped. That is an awful position you're in. I understand why you've seemed so tense, so distracted. I just..." I paused, unsure of if I should say what I thought. I continued to gently massage her right foot, pushing my fingers slightly into the nylon fabric between her toes to better squeeze them.
"You just what?" she asked, prodding my leg with her left foot.
"I just think... it's unfair, Carrie. You're a great professional and a phenomenal marketer. Your career should be yours and no one else's. Paul can do what he wants with his political ambitions but they shouldn't depend on what position you have in your career. You deserve to be happy when you go to work every day. With your intelligence and your ability, you should be in the driver's seat. I just don't think the title of your position should make any goddamn difference. It doesn't change who you are; you're great either way." I refused to look her in the eye when I said this. Instead I concentrated more on her foot in my hands. It was so small and thin and feminine. The pantyhose wrapped tightly around it gave it a sleek, sexy shape. I rubbed the sole of her foot softly, pushing into the muscles gently with my thumbs.
Several moments of silence passed as I stroked her foot, until finally she again nudged me with her other foot. I looked up at her. She smiled at me and I smiled back. "You're so sweet," she whispered.
"I'm not that sweet," I replied, grinning mischievously.
"Oh, but you so are. Why do you always know the right things to say?"
"Stop, Carrie, you knew all that, what I just said."
"Of course I did, Stillman. I just needed to hear someone I respect and admire say it. I'm sick of people aggrandizing the position and making me seem like a damn demi-god or something just because I got it. I mean, it's just a fucking job."
"Yeah seriously, you're not that big a deal, Sterling," I joked.
She laughed hard at my jibe. It was great to hear; it made me feel like one way or another she'd be all right. "You're such a dick," she yelled between laughs. That made me laugh as well. When she regained composure after a few moments she said, "Anyway, recent insults aside, saying the right thing all the time isn't the only reason you're sweet, Jim."
"Really? Why else am I?"
She didn't respond, but instead looked down at my hands on her foot, a naughty half-smile on her lips. She watched me massaging her for several moments before saying, "That feels really nice. You have no idea how badly I needed that."
I smiled at her and switched to her left foot. "Actually, I kinda did," I replied, looking back down at the delicate foot in my hands. I admired the light hairs on the knuckles of her toes, barely visible beneath the fabric of her pantyhose. Her toenails were painted red, providing a sexy juxtaposition to the creamy whiteness of her skin beneath the hose. "Just lie back and relax," I told her.
She did so, resting her head on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. I continued to knead the tension out of her foot, squeezing it gently, enjoying the feel of her soft, feminine toes curling in my hand. After several minutes her breathing became steady and relaxed. She inhaled deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. I began to let my hand venture up over her ankle onto her calf. Her calf muscle was impressive. It didn't detract from her femininity in the least, but it was taut and well-defined. As I kneaded it gently, she finally broke the silence. "That's so nice, Jim," she whispered.
"I hope it's helping you relax," I replied.
"Well, yes and no," she said. "You see, I'm struck by a thought."
"Goooooo on..." I replied, in a slightly mocking voice.
"Well, you see, I've been to many fancy, little social functions over the past year, like I told you. And in so doing, I've met many, many important, influential people." Her tone was also slightly mocking as she said this, dragging out each syllable, and over-pronunciating to make herself sound haughty and high-brow. "Fancy lawyers, and businessmen, and bankers, and politicians, and the like."
"Oh my yes," I joked, "sounds so very significant." I made sure to emphasize every syllable of the last word just like she would.
"It so is," she continued. "And in meeting said influential people, I've also been subject to a great number of very distinguished come-ons, you see."
"Have you now?" I raised my eyebrows in mock shock.
"Indeed. You see I'll be introduced to a rather significant someone or other and then a moment or two later my husband will be called away into another very important conversation. And then that distinguished individual I've just been introduced to will seize this moment of privacy as his opportunity to tell me all the things he'd like to do to me. Usually it'll be on a yacht or at a summer home or at some swanky secret apartment in the city. But it's always the same offer: he'll eat me this way, or he'll take me that way, or he'll fuck me just so and blow my mind. As if my mind is that easily blown. As if once you put a boat under my feet, I'll spread my legs for you. As if once you show me how much fortune you've acquired I will automatically suck your dick on the sheer principle of the entitlement of wealth alone."
When she began her rant, she still had that snarky sarcasm in her voice. But toward the end, her tone became serious and angry, and I detected a distinct note of sadness in it as well. I stopped massaging her calf and looked at her, my jaw now hanging agape.
"So do you know what I realized, Jim? Being important, being influential, sometimes just leads to a sense of entitlement. That they're entitled to me. Paul has now officially entered us into their circle, so that must mean that I'm somehow offered up for the taking. Is that the price of becoming part of the inner circle? Your wife's ass is fair game for any takers she'll have so that you can be one of them? You scratch our back, we fuck your wife's?"
Her eyes became distant as she finished her rant. Silence reigned for several moments as I struggled to find the right words to respond. My hands still rested on her calf, and I was absentmindedly running my fingertips back and forth over the soft flesh just behind her knee. "Carrie, I... I'm..." I stammered not knowing what to say. But she let me off the hook when she propped herself up onto her elbows and spoke for me.
"So you wanna know what makes you sweet, Jim? Here it is: you've never taken anything from me I haven't offered. And you never would."
"Oh, Carrie..." I wanted to say something meaningful but I couldn't find words.
"It's really that simple, Jim. With you, I have never, would never, and will never have to sacrifice the one thing that matters most to me. My dignity." She whispered the last word to give it dramatic importance. "Can you understand that?" As she asked this question she lifted her right foot up out of my lap and ran it slowly up my chest until it rested just under my chin, her toes curling along my clavicle. As she lifted her leg I caught a glimpse of her upper thigh and saw a dark floral pattern circling her leg. I realized she wasn't wearing pantyhose at all; she was wearing stockings. I wondered what other surprises she had hidden under that suit.
"I... do," I stuttered, still not knowing what to say. What she had just revealed sent a number of thoughts swirling through my head at the same time. Just how unhappy was she? How could this shit be happening to someone who carried herself with such self-respect and aplomb? What was she going to do to make her situation better? These questions gnawed at me, but the one overriding emotion that consumed me was desire. She had complimented me. Her foot was gently massaging my chest. Her suit clung to her curves, the stockings revealing a tantalizing glimpse into what wonders might lay beneath it. My head began to swim.
"You don't need to feel uncomfortable, Jim," she said softly. She must have sensed I was nervous. "I didn't tell you any of this to make you feel bad. On the contrary, you should feel good."
"I always feel good around you, Carrie," I told her matter-of-factly.
She laughed. "Good, I feel the same way about you. Which is why I want you to know something. Something important." As she said this, she shifted her hips on the bed and pushed herself forward toward me, squaring her body to me. "Like I said, with you I always have my dignity. The respect between us is unquestioned."
"Unquestioned," I repeated, nodding. Her foot still rested on my chest and my head was dizzy with desire.
"Right," she smiled. "And that's why I realized something tonight. Something fundamental, yet profound. Everything just clicked suddenly in my head and I knew what I wanted. Jim... I would let you do anything to me." She emphasized every syllable of the word "anything," saying it slowly for effect.
Her saying this to me was excruciatingly sexy. As she said it she lifted her left leg, which I still held in my hands, and put her foot onto my chest next to her other foot. She began massaging just below my chin with that foot as well. "So many of the men I encounter want to possess me, Jim. They want to own me, their little plaything to do with what they please. But because they think I could ever be their possession is exactly why I would never be."
After saying this she pushed her right foot higher, rubbing it along my neck and up onto my cheek. It took every ounce of willpower within me not to run my mouth over her foot. I wanted to desperately, but she had reached a point where I was dying to know what she was thinking. I just stared at her, my breathing becoming heavier and heavier.
"You're different though, Stillman," she continued. "You have never pushed me, never forced anything on me. You don't seek to possess me." As she said this she ran her toes slowly across my lower lip. "So I'm giving myself to you, completely. I'm your slave, Jim. Do with me whatever you will; I won't deny anything you desire of me."
This was by far the sexiest thing any woman had ever said to me. I was overcome in the moment; I grabbed her foot and began kissing it tenderly, feeling the sexy smoothness of her stocking as I ran my lips over her toes. I kissed my way down the sole of her foot; she curled her toes around my forehead and nose as I progressed. Once I reached her Achilles' heel, I stopped kissing and rested her foot on my shoulder. I looked into her eyes. "Carrie... I..."
"Don't say anything, Jim. I'm your slave; you don't need to say anything. I just want to please you. Whatever you want." As she said this she spread her thighs apart, still keeping her feet on my upper chest. Her suit skirt rode up her legs as she did so, revealing a pair of candy apple red panties. This explained the slightly red color under her blouse; she must have a matching red bra on as well.
I also noticed two thin black bands of elastic running vertically along the top of her thighs and attaching to her stockings. My heart leapt with the sudden realization that she was wearing a garter belt. The sudden rush of my blood to my brain temporarily made me lose focus, but I quickly regained control and took in the sight. The panties formed a soft V where they covered her mound, and as she spread her thighs slightly wider, I could see a vertical line of darker red running between her lips where her moistness had seeped through the material.
My breath caught in my chest; I was rendered speechless. I was dying to strip her down and enjoy the full effect of her sexy lingerie. I looked up from Carrie's crotch back into her eyes. She smiled mischievously and whispered again, "Whatever you want." I gently and slowly slipped her feet off my chest to either side of me. Once her legs were safely around my waist though, I pounced on her savagely, grabbing her face in my hands and pressing my mouth hungrily onto hers.
She had revealed so much to me tonight. Her revelations explained why she had been so distracted lately, so not herself. She had shown me both her strengths and her weaknesses, and I was honored by how much she trusted me. And I had never been as attracted to her as I was in that moment. I pulled her mouth onto mine, pushing my tongue into it. She met my aggression equally, massaging my tongue in her mouth and digging her fingernails into my back. I had her once again: my boss, my desire, my goddess, her body at once taut yet yielding beneath me. Now she was my slave by her own admission, to do with what I pleased. And I had so many things I wanted to do to her.
每周推薦票狀態
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