It was impossible not to notice him. He was one of the big shots in the office who appeared to think a lot of himself. Of course, back then I didn't know he had every reason to. I didn't know what he would turn out to be for me. I was just a lowly temp and he was a lawyer. Some might say he was the worse kind, a corporate lawyer who ate small companies for lunch. It was his job to arrange the buyouts of the little guys. I knew nothing about the business, but I gathered he was good at it. There was a lot of ass kissing that went on when he was around. As for me, I just tried to do whatever mundane job he threw my way. It was always the things no one else wanted to be bothered with. Apparently, the paralegals were much too good to spend time in the copy room or proofreading endless memos. I guess I could have been bitter. But I knew it was my own fault that I hadn't done more with myself. Truth be told, even though I was married, I had a bit of a crush on this Big Shot. I thought he was incredibly handsome, with his wavy, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. I also loved the way he smelled and the sound of his voice, which had a calmness to it even when he was angry. I was attracted to that kind of control in a man. I liked the idea that he had passionate, strong emotions inside, which he could let out or keep in at will. But I have to admit, I sometimes imagined making him lose a little of his composure. I imagined what his voice would sound like if he were overtaken with lust. Still, this crush I had wasn't the kind that had any hope to it. I saw the type of women who caught his attention. The blond haired bunny types who dominated the temp pool, especially in the summer, were always buzzing around him with their smiles. And he did nothing to discourage their flirting. I couldn't really blame him. These women were beautiful, with silky long hair and perfect skin. I supposed if I were a man, I would have gone for them too. I couldn't compare. Sure, I was tall and thin and worked hard in the gym to keep in shape. But overall, I thought of myself as an average looking black girl who couldn't compete with the conventional beauty of a blonde bombshell. I had been working at the firm for almost 6 months, when a big case seemed to take over every moment of the day, for days on end. And there was Big Shot, handing me my share of tedious work. At one point, just to amuse myself I mumbled to him after he sailed a few papers on my desk and said he needed them by noon. Under my breath and in a very soldier-like manner, I said, "Yes Sir." I didn't expect him to hear it, but he did and he turned around to me. "Do you know my name?" he asked me. "Yes," I said, feeling very embarrassed. "What is it?" "Mr..." "No," he said cutting me off. "My first name." "Eric," I said quietly. "Good, try calling me that," he said and he disappeared into his office leaving me sitting there with a red face. If I'd had any nerve, I'd have asked him in return, if he knew my name. He hadn't said it once in the half a year I'd been working there, despite the fact that I'd recently been placed in his absent secretary's chair. It was shortly after this abrupt exchange, that Eric began asking me to stay late and help with the mountains of paperwork that were only growing with each day. I didn't object to staying late. My husband was often away on business trips and I had no children. What I felt a bit wary of was spending too much time with Eric. It hurt, in an odd and unexpected way, knowing he'd never think of me twice. But it occurred to me that working with him more might cure me of my hopeless crush. I could be on the look out for anything jerky he did or said that would put me off him for good. I wasn't the only one who stayed late. Eric had a whole crew of people, mostly women, running around for him. I had never seen someone so skilled at delegating. But then, his charm had a lot to do with that. I could have started disliking him if he wasn't as hard a worker as he expected other people to be. I have to admit, I tried to always be the last one left in the office because I knew he would appreciate that. I was working late for a whole month, without any let up of my crush, when Eric suddenly addressed me, like one real person to another. I had just finished filing some papers and was getting ready to leave when he spoke to me. "So Cara," he said. "What's your story?" I turned to him, surprised to hear him call me by my name. "You're married, right?" he asked. "Yes." "You aren't wearing a ring." I looked down at my hand. "Oh, it's a mistake," I said and then after a nervous thought I added, "...not wearing the ring, I mean." He gave me a sly smile. "How about you?" I asked him uncomfortably. "Are you married? "Yes." "You have any kids?" "Yes." "It must be hard to work as much as you do and be away from your family." "Well, I think my wife appreciates it." I shook my head slightly, not understanding. "She finds me a little overbearing," he explained. I thought for a moment before I quietly responded. "My husband isn't overbearing enough," I said. He nodded. "I figured that about you." I couldn't stop myself from scowling. I didn't know what I could be doing that would make him figure such a thing, but I felt like he was peering inside me. I felt both drawn to him and distrustful of him. I left abruptly, without saying much in return. Later, when I thought about it, I wondered why he had asked me if I was married. I also wondered why he had told me that little bit about his wife. I supposed it was just in the manner of general conversation. But it struck me as being a little intimate, seeing as, up to that point, we'd barely conversed about anything. After that, things changed between Eric and me. I liked the way he began to talk to me, sometimes telling me things about himself and asking me questions. Most of what we shared was surface and friendly. For example, I learned that his favorite CD was one by Marvin Pontiac and that when he was in college he broke his collarbone playing lacrosse. I told him that I liked baseball and that I sometimes snuck away to the movies alone. I could have taken our small talk as encouragement. But there was always some beauty who would come in on the scene to distract him with questions and flirting. He would be completely distracted from me in those moments and afterwards he would often forget we were talking at all. I was happy for that, in a way. It kept me realistic. But it also started me fantasizing about pleasing him. I suppose I wanted to show him that I could give him pleasure better than any of the women he found so attractive. But there was also something deeply personal about my desires, like if I just had the chance to be with him, I would be fulfilled in some way. I had this growing urge to show him how much love I had to give, how much passion was inside me. My fantasies eventually became graphically sexual. I wanted to suck his cock until he came in my mouth. I imagined exactly what it would feel like to have him fuck me. More than anything else, I fantasized about how good I wanted to make him feel. Though I doubted my skills, I certainly had the desire. These were things I never imagined I would tell him, even through hints. Perhaps I never would have, if the night of the wine hadn't happened. Wine was something I always knew I had to be very careful with. I loved it but I had a low tolerance for alcohol. It made me feel very sexual and uninhibited. I generally refrained from drinking it unless I was with my husband or good friends. But I broke my rule one night when Eric and I were the last ones left in the office. He casually opened a bottle of Merlot, poured me a glass and set it in front of me. Somehow, I couldn't refuse. It was delicious. We basically stopped working after that. He put on the Marvin Pontiac CD he had been telling me about and we sat on the couch in his office and talked. It was a little weird for me, this intimacy. But as my wine glass slowly emptied, it seemed more and more natural to be lounging with him this way. Eric wasn't drinking much, but whatever he did drink made him serious. He told me he only had one child, a son, who had been born developmentally disabled and who now lived in a group home for special children. The whole ordeal had put a strain on his marriage. He had promised his wife, before he fully understood the implications, that they would never put his son in an institution or home of any kind. But as the years passed he watched her seemingly disintegrate into a shell of a woman as she tried to care for their son, who's medical and emotional needs were far too heavy for any one person to handle. Eric felt his wife was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when he finally insisted on putting the boy into a group home. As a result, his wife had lost trust in him, if she had ever trusted him at all. And they lived together without speaking of their son, who was always looming beneath the surface of every problem they had. This story was shocking to me. I would never have guessed he had this kind of hurt in his life. I was also surprised that I hadn't heard about his son through the grapevine. But Eric had clearly kept it a secret, and was now telling me, for what reasons I did not know. It instantly made me feel close to him, though. And I found myself wanting to divulge some secrets of my own. But I was not in the habit of trusting and all I could do was express how sorry I was about what he was going through. He poured me another glass of wine and turned up the music. We sat in silence for a while, listening to the CD with its unique bluesy sound and its quirky lyrics. He asked me if I liked it and I said yes. I told him I appreciated lyrics that were enigmatic. That way, everyone could make the songs their own. He nodded in agreement. "I appreciate that it's not polished or following a formula," he said. "It's almost ugly, but in an appealing kind of way." It must have been the wine that made me brave enough to say my next words. "People can be like that too," I said. "But you wouldn't know anything about that." He blinked hard as if I had startled him. "What do you mean?" he asked me. "I've seen the kind of women you go for. All the conventional, polished, formula ones. You go for the blondes with big tits and cheesecake for brains." He laughed out loud. "Well, I don't know about the cheesecake part, but the rest of it sounds nice." I didn't smile. "Guys like you would never go for girls like me...because you don't know..." "Don't know what?" "All the ways a girl like me would try to give you pleasure." Eric hesitated, his eyes squinting slightly. "Well, let's not talk about girls like you. Let's talk about you." My whole body felt hot under his stare. "You got something to offer me, Cara?" I started to breathe deeply. Even then I realized the heaviness of this moment. I recognized it as an opportunity I couldn't let pass by without regret. I heard my voice come out in the tiniest whisper. "Yes, I'd love to make you feel good. I'd love to suck your cock right now," I said, not even believing I could be so brave. He didn't answer me. He only undid his belt buckle and his zipper. I watched him take out his cock. Then I put my glass down and crawled on the couch over to him. I slid between his legs on my knees and I put my hand on his dick, which was already hard and amazingly beautiful. I squeezed gently and looked up into his eyes as I licked my lips. "Real slow," he said softly. "Start off nice and slow." I loved the way he was telling me how he liked it. I could feel myself getting wet at the sound of his voice. I licked his cock all over and then began sucking up and down, very slowly, sucking and pulling away and going down again. I went at it for a long time. It was exquisite. The skin on his cock was smooth and wet against my lips. "Use your hand more," he said gently. "Squeeze and keep your mouth wet. Let me hear you sucking me." I could feel my pussy dripping as I really let myself go and began slurping on his dick. He started to moan as I moved my mouth over him more quickly now, my hand sliding up and down too. My fingers were slippery with spit. "That's it, Cara...keep going. You're going to make me come soon," he said, his voice almost hidden in his breathing. With my free hand I reached down and inched up my skirt to touch myself through my underwear, which were soaked. I moaned, feeling crazy with lust. I wanted to remember every moment of this experience, especially since I thought I had no hope of repeating it. With that in mind, I began sucking him with new fervor, loving every moan I heard escape from him. "Now, Cara!" he suddenly called out. To my surprise, he grabbed his cock and started pulling it away from my mouth. "No!" I cried as the first spurt of his cum shot into the air. I quickly slid my mouth over his cock again and felt another warm shot hit the back of my throat. I swallowed his cum as fast as it squirted out, wanting more when it was over. Eric grabbed my hair and gently tugged my head back to make me look up at him. "You just swallowed that?" he asked. I nodded and opened my mouth to prove it to him. "Fuck, Cara...that felt so good!" he said. "Thank you, baby!" At first, his thanks thrilled me. But then my own insecurities got to me and I became afraid of what he might be thinking. I moved from between his legs and sat on the couch, creating distance between us. I could hear his zipper and the jangling of his belt as he buckled it. He got up and poured me a glass of water. "I have juice too...or more wine, if you'd like," he told me, handing me the glass. "No, this is fine," I said and I began to drink the water. He sat down close to me but I still didn't look at him. "What you said before isn't true. You said guys like me wouldn't notice you, as if you're ugly. But I wonder if you think I just have you hanging around here drinking wine with me because I hate looking at you." he said. "You must know you're a pretty woman, with a beautiful smile. You have a fantastic figure, too. I'll bet you look fucking gorgeous when you're naked. You must know how nice you are to look at." I didn't know. I just didn't feel pretty at all. But I whispered thank you, my eyes still looking away from him. "What's the matter, Cara? Are you regretting what you did now?" "No," I said quickly, turning now to look at him. "But I want you to know I don't usually do things like that. I know what you must be thinking, a black girl who goes down on you just like that. But, I'm not a whore." He looked surprised by what I said. But then he leaned back on the couch, seemingly relaxed. "That's too bad," he said. "Because I would love to have a nasty little whore like you all to myself." Now I stared at him in absolute amazement. I had never heard such a romantic edge to the word 'whore'. The way he said "all to myself" made me want it with all my heart. "Interested?" he asked me softly. "You look interested, Cara." "I am," I found myself saying, the tiny whisper taking over again. "Come closer to me and lets talk about it," he said, his voice both demanding and gentle. I sat back, scooting my body next to his and he put his arm around me. I suddenly had a feeling of being protected, like I was a treasure. The feeling particularly struck me because it was what I had always wanted to feel with my husband. "You probably have so many...whores," I said. "Well, don't be so sure you have me figured out. There's a big difference between flirting and fucking. I'm not who you think I am," he said. "But that leads me to another point." He hesitated for a long moment as I waited anxiously. "If you want to be my slut, my own obedient whore, you'll have to trust me," he said quietly and then he altered his words a little. "I would like you to trust me. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of fucking a woman who completely gives herself to me. I know it's a lot to ask. But I wonder if you would take a risk." He couldn't have known how much I needed to take that risk. We had somehow connected at a point in our lives when our needs were compatible with each other's. He needed to be trusted. I needed to trust. "When I got married," I began, deciding to open up to him. "I thought I would be able to completely give myself to my husband. I thought it was natural for a man to want that from his wife." I stopped, thinking sadly of my next words. "But it's like my husband is afraid to take control in the way I always dreamed a man would. And he's so closed sexually that I have to hide parts of myself from him. I don't think he even wants me to trust him in that intimate way. It's too much for him. And to be honest, I don't think I even know how to trust like that anymore. "I'll help you, Cara, if you'll let me. It will be good for both of us," he said. I closed my eyes. The proposition seemed very risky in all sorts of ways. But by the time I left that night, I found myself wanting it more than anything. Things at work escalated into a frantic pace during the weeks following the night of the wine. Eric and I were almost never alone. Other people stayed late into the night working on the big case that I only wished would end. Eric didn't let me forget, however, that I was his personal whore. He always found time to let me know, to whisper in my ear, or to reach up my skirt and feel how wet I was just to be near him. "Oh, you are hopeless!" he whispered to me once, his fingers wet with my juices. "Are you even embarrassed at what a slut you are?" I constantly hovered on the brink of an orgasm but Eric told me not to go home and start playing with myself. "Your cunt belongs to me and you don't touch it without my permission. And when you fuck your husband, I want you to imagine that it's my dick inside you." These instructions worked to my husband's advantage. He could do his usual things, be as closed as ever and still have a very wet, warm cunt squeezing his cock. And for me, it was nice to combine my feelings for Eric with all the friendly love I had for my husband. I didn't feel so angry with my husband anymore. In fact, I loved him more than ever. I was beginning to think I would never be completely alone with Eric again when it finally happened. Late one night, I was sitting at my desk and I suddenly noticed that it was very quiet and that everyone else had gone home. I sat there in nervous anticipation, listening to the sounds coming from Eric's office. I heard him on the phone, and then the sound of papers being gathered. Finally I heard him speak out to me. "That's enough work," he said and then after a pause, "Cara, come in here." I walked into his office, but I lingered by the door. He seemed in a strange mood and it made me nervous. "Do you think I'm dangerous tonight?" he asked me. "I think so," I said with a smile. "Well, I've had a very frustrating day. So maybe you're right. Come in here and close the door." I pushed the door closed and walked over to stand in front of his desk. "I want you to take all your clothes off," he told me. "Right now? Just like this?" I asked, a bit shaken by his abruptness. "Yes." "I can't. I can't do that." He looked puzzled and maybe even aggravated. "Why not?" I didn't answer him. "Is it your plan that I never see you naked? If it is, we have a very big misunderstanding," he said. "No, I just don't want to make a show of it," I replied. "And I should care what my whore wants or doesn't want?" This question stung a bit, but it really ended the argument.

THE END