Chapter 7
Geneva
“You’ve got… you’re not serious with this, are you?”
The reflection in the mirror was me… but the clothes I had on were something I’d never have dreamed of wearing anywhere, let alone to a job.
You’re just an intern, remember?
“Nonsense. This is somewhat conservative really. I’ve had some girls, well, they were really wearing quite a bit less than this.”
The pencil skirt I wore was so tight, my legs felt like they’d fused into one, my hips threatening to tear through the grip of the fabric. Only they didn’t, the skirt’s squeeze upon me positively relentless. I was actually proud of my ass—one of the few parts of my body I could say that about—but the obscene mockery of a skirt made it feel huge, obtrusive, and just… served up.
For men to look at.
The blouse, sleeveless and nearly as tight, seemed to cup and present my breasts in a way that seemed designed for one purpose above all else—objectifying my body.
It was working. I felt more like a piece of meat than if I’d been standing before those mirrors stark naked.
So why are the lips of your pussy slippery and hot, hmm?
I looked like a whore, a mockery of a woman attempting to dress for success but instead displaying in stark relief all the reasons why she feared she’d never be taken seriously.
Fortunately, that wasn’t a fear I harbored. I didn’t derive my self-worth from what others thought of me. Not entirely, anyway.
All that said, as I twirled this way and that, staring at my lurid reflection, I did look good.
Sure you do. If all you want to do is display your body in the most blatantly sexual manner possible.
The question of why came to mind once more, as Brooke took a bundle of more clothes—each one approved by her after I’d ‘modeled’ it—to the register to ring up. As scandalous as what I was wearing was, what she’d already shoved into bags was far worse. The bras—where there were any—were essentially slings, designed to accentuate more than support, doing little more than outright displaying my boobs in frank detail.
The lingerie ranged from slutty to nonexistent.
One of the pairs of panties was the size of a postage stamp, so tiny the gusset looked lost in my pubic hair.
Another outfit that I thought might have been some sort of body harness was little more than a Rorschach test rendered in lacy crimson fabric. I couldn’t even figure out how to put that one on; Brooke had laughed as she’d taken it away, dropping it in my mountainous ‘yes’ pile while quipping in her clipped, greater London purr, “You’ll figure it out, eventually.”
I had no idea how long we’d been trying things on. I was thirsty. My feet hurt. My nipples were so hard, and had had so much fabric pressed to, passed over, and rubbed against them that they were even sorer than my damned feet.
What was he trying to do? What point was he seeking to make?
I’d considered that it might be a compliance test. Another way to ascertain what I’d put up with. But that made little sense: I’d allowed him to spank my ass!
Wasn’t every other thing gravy after something like that?
“I think what you’ve chosen will work well for Mr. Trafford’s needs. Don’t you?”
The question was rhetorical, of course. Despite the fact I was dressed up like a hooker roleplaying in office attire, I at least didn’t hate how I looked in the mirror.
What was the harm, really, in just sticking with it for a while? In seeing what happened?
Just go with it, Gen.
The spanking he’d given me had hurt, and been more than a little humiliating, but my pussy had been on a slow simmer since then, every twinge of my ass reminding me of it—and how aroused I still was. I’d known it was something that was a turn-on in fantasies, of course, but I’d never, ever met a man who’d actually… done it to me.
I wasn’t even sure such men existed anymore.
Rick appeared to be just such a man.
It’s not that big of a deal. You have nothing to be ashamed of.
If that was what he wanted, then I wasn’t going to run. I could adapt, I could figure out how to get on his good side. I would take what I could from the internship, and if I were very careful about it, I might just learn a thing or two in the process. That wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Uncle Chest had always told me—people are made by rising to the occasion, by responding to tough times and situations. He was right, of course, though as a little girl I didn’t truly understand what he’d been getting at.
Was this an example of that though? Or was I kidding myself? There’d been a time in my recent past where I’d have absolutely run screaming after what had happened. But after our encounter? I wasn’t so sure that what Rick had done to me hadn’t had a far more profound impact than even he intended.
What if what he’d done had revealed a part of my psyche I didn’t even know existed?
As I stared at the almost obscene display of my body in the skintight ‘office attire,’ part of me was more than a little bit turned on.
So, he wants to see your body. Maybe he’s interested, but wants to say it without actually telling you? Or maybe you’re an idiot.
Once more, the possibility that someone like him might even be interested in me was something I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. The dawning realization that I might actually be responding to him shocked me—and it made me curious too.
He was so different than what I’d imagined I’d find attractive in a man. How was it possible that my likes and interests in men had evolved so quickly? Was that really what was happening, or was this some sort of unique case, where it was only applicable… with him?
I was so confused, and yet, a tiny mischievous part of me was eager to see what might happen next, where this might be leading.
Probably going to lead to you being split in half by his cock.
That was impossible for me not to wonder about either. I’d felt him against me as he brushed across my ass, my thighs, that hard, huge bulge. His arousal had been a revelation to me, and while it had been a little scary, it was a lot more arousing. I really hadn’t expected that. It had my mind spinning off into all sorts of odd directions—such as wondering just how big his penis really was. Was it proportional to his huge size? And if it was, how could I actually take something like that?
And why did the crazy thought of him splitting me apart with that big cock, making it hurt as he took me, not terrify me?
Because you’re losing your ever-loving mind, that’s why.
It wasn’t just his imposing physical presence though. His age was just as much a shock, and perhaps more. Did it make me weird to be attracted, even a little bit, to a man who was literally old enough to be my father? Why would it? We were both adults.
What I wondered more about though, and truth be told, worried about too, was the possibility that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—ever see me as more than just some dingy girl, a diversion at best. Nothing to ever be particularly serious about.
Don’t you think you’re getting a bit over your skis? He spanked you. He didn’t propose to you.
His constant grumpiness was uncalled for, too. What the fuck was with that? It irritated me, and it sort of turned me on. Who was this stupid girl I’d become? Sure, a little male aggression and some taciturn, even aloof vibes from a guy could paradoxically make me a little more interested in him… but Rick was far, far more than that.
He really was sort of an asshole. Since when did a guy like him start to do funny things deep down in my belly?
The cash register beeped several times, bringing me out of my thoughts, Brooke punching up the tags, slipping the clothes into an ever-burgeoning shopping bag.
“What do… I don’t have any money. How am I?—”
Brooke shook her head. “Mr. Trafford has an account with us. He will take care of the bill.”
“Oh… I… well, thanks?”
Brooke’s smile was equal parts knowing and playful. “You’re welcome, Ms. Nantes.” She handed me a gigantic black bag. “Rick told me to let you know that you have the rest of the day off. He wants you in the office eight o’clock sharp in the morning though.” The woman’s gaze grew flinty. “Do not be late.”
When I took the bag, I grunted at the surprising weight. “Oh… okay.”
“Be careful with that,” the woman trilled, sauntering toward the back of the store with one of the dresses she’d determined was ‘too loose’ for me draped over her arm. She wiggled her fingers at me. “Until next time, Geneva.”
Then I found myself outside on the sidewalk, my arms overflowing with clothes I didn’t order, and could never have paid for. A dark brown delivery van drove by, the blue tinted sunglasses of the young man at the wheel catching the sunlight. The turbulence from its passing was refreshingly cool upon my cheek. It smelled like coffee, the mouthwatering scent of it carried on the air.
I decided a latte couldn’t hurt before I headed home.