Employee of the Month

"How can I believe that you actually like me?" I asked, angry but trying to control myself. "I have only your word. Which isn't good for much, now, is it?"

"No, you can't trust me. I guess that's pretty obvious now. But you saw how I reacted to you last night. That doesn't always happen. And I told you now instead of letting it slide because it was going to break my heart to lead you on. Don't make me pay for that; it's the only decent thing I've done since I got here. I promise, I just got swept up in the moment. I wanted it to be real too . . . . I'm really sorry. I wish we had met . . . ." She trailed off again.

She did seem distressed, but who knew why. She had reeled me in so professionally! And come to think of it, she had that degree in drama. It was impossible to know where the truth lay. "This could be just another ruse," I pointed out. "Just you doing your job. How about we break it off now, so there's no chance I'm imposing myself on you? I won't enjoy it if you don't, or even if I suspect you don't. You can have the rest of the week off. Take a vacation." That sounded pretty bitter, too. My inner perfect gentleman had just gone from being a stud to a chump, and now he was being passive aggressive and loving it.

She was suddenly agitated. "No! You can't do that! That's a total disaster for me! I'll lose my job! Please! I have to ..." she waved her hands in frustration "...entertain you for a week. Satisfy you. It's a condition of employment. They were perfectly clear that if I don't perform, there are plenty of other girls out there they can use. I'll be out on the street overnight. Please...!" She literally wrung her hands a bit. She was tearing up and her lips were actually trembling. Overacting.

"I won't complain. They won't know a thing."

"You'll have to lie, then. They're going to ask you! They'll interview you. I think HR gets off on it. He's always asking me about my 'work techniques.' I bet they're even surveilling me. This is their apartment."

That was creepy.

It was unspoken, but we both knew what she was. Doing it for salary and benefits was just the modern version of the oldest profession. Actually, I didn't have a problem with that, in a vacuum. What I didn't like was the naiveté and desperation and exploitation that often seem to go with it. Like, now. And I hated the idea of a bunch of guys back at the office telling stories and lewd jokes about screwing her. But what I really, really didn't like was that I'd had a relationship that seemed so wonderful just a few minutes ago and now was dead as a doornail.

How many other employees had she been awarded to, and who were they? I was beginning to suspect why no one said much about the Employee of the Month award.

Back to reality. She'd had no choice. Maybe she was a sympathetic figure. Too bad. I couldn't trust her. She hadn't needed to deceive me like that.

"Look," she begged, "please, at least help me make it look good. Just stay here this week, OK? So I have a chance of keeping my job? The rest is up to you. I'll play it however you want. I'm still looking for another position. Maybe one will pan out. After this week I get three off from 'entertaining.' I just need to buy a little more time."

I said I'd stay over, but only as a courtesy. I was seething. She offered to sleep on the couch, and I let her.

****

I was feeling uncommonly bad for someone with a new job title wheeling into the perfectly-located Employee of the Month parking spot on a Tuesday morning. I was livid at Katie for deceiving me. I was angry at myself for being so gullible and not shutting the whole thing down immediately. Why hadn't I? It was probably just my dick talking. I still could; I hadn't promised her anything.

I had to walk past her on the way in. I just gave her a disappointed look with a minimal head shake. She hid her face in her hands. Still overacting. How did she ever get that degree in drama? Maybe by screwing the professor. That would be easy, in a dress like that -- leather and lace with big open patches, ultra-short, plenty of side-boob.

I worked through the day like a zombie, taking care not to go anywhere near reception or HR. I had a decision to make. I worked late to put it off.

The truth was that, after cooling a bit, I thought her explanations for leading me on were pretty plausible. But it still hurt, and her true feelings for me were still unknowable. The one thing I did know was that initially, our personal chemistry had seemed terrific, at least to me. Maybe it had all been an act, but there was only one way to find out, and that was to spend more time with her, with my eyes open.

By the time I arrived at that conclusion I found I was already wheeling into her building's lot. My conscious brain was obviously a step behind, as usual.

She opened the door the moment I knocked. She didn't try to get affectionate. She just said she was glad I had come and asked whether she could make dinner. That seemed too much like participating in the whole thing, so I told her no, I'd get myself a pizza. Halfway through the call I realized I'd be a total dick if I didn't ask whether she wanted some too. She did, and she said she had beer for us. I didn't want to accept, but refusing her hospitality now seemed childishly spiteful. Unfortunately, this meant we were going to have dinner together.

And again, we had a good talk. It was much more subdued, obviously, but we had a lot to discuss. She confirmed that HR was a beast. She gathered he had been fired from a huge conglomerate; its parking sticker was still on his black Hummer. She said that since he arrived it had been a secret who got Employee of the Month. It was in her NDA. She was still looking frantically for a better job but didn't have a nibble. She was using her new, sexy picture again.

By the time dinner was over it felt like all the tension I'd planned had dissipated, and we were confidants. It was so easy. Also, she was still in her work dress, which allowed a clear view right through the open lace at the shadowed profiles of her outstanding breasts.

She said she realized I probably wouldn't want to sleep with her, but that she was always available if I changed my mind. Being spitefully crude, I said it was a big buzzkill that I couldn't tell whether she really enjoyed fucking with me. She said, only sexually, which I thought was pretty clever.

So I told her not to bother with the couch. She demurely changed into a tee shirt in the bathroom. It looked ridiculously good on her, accentuating her big swinging mounds with their obvious nipple bumps and her slender, fit legs. I felt free to stare while she walked around to the far side of the bed and got in. I just stripped to my underwear and took the near side.

Sleep eluded me. As I lay practically touching her, half conscious, my imagination started running a strangely stylized, unrated movie featuring the two of us at a five star resort on a tropical beach. We were lying on one of those romantic daybeds with gauzy white side curtains that billowed in the winds. Turquoise waves broke all around the bed. A beautiful, topless West Indian servant girl was standing knee-deep in the waves, holding a tray of piña coladas. Katie was wearing only her thong, and she was once again half lying on me with one of her big breasts resting on my chest. She had a hand deep in my bathing suit, which felt fantastic, and her top knee was over my thighs. She was watching me adoringly. Looking out to sea over her round, bare ass cheeks, I could see a tiny sailboat motionlessly making its way across the horizon. I was imagining us sailing away on it when the servant girl said "Time," Katie got up and walked her almost naked self over to the guy on the next day bed, and I awoke in a sweat, pulse racing.

Katie was slightly snuggled up to me, so close I could feel the heat from her body. She stirred. I decided she was awake, or awake enough. I was the Employee of the Month, after all. I got to use her for a week, asleep or not. She was my bonus. I deserved it.

I unceremoniously flipped her over, got up on my knees between her legs, pulled her ass up and pushed her shirt up around her neck. I positioned my dick at her entrance and worked my way in. Then I raged-fucked her shamelessly, reaching around to grope her tits while I banged her. She was passive, accepting, except that she had to grip the sheets and brace herself to prevent me from launching her into the headboard. I helped by grabbing a handful of red hair and pulling her head back hard. We were both quiet. When I was exhausted and ready, I flipped her again and carefully shot all over her while she watched silently, motionless and compliant. Then I waved her back to her side of the bed, flopped on mine, and went back to sleep.

That was terrible, and it felt great. Maybe now she understood how I really felt. Maybe we were almost even.

****

In the morning she got out early, before I woke up. It was just as well; it was going to be awkward. She stared at me wordlessly as I breezed by her in the lobby. She was wearing yet another hooker dress, a low-cut mesh thing that showed acres of pushed-up top boob. That was her job, I now understood. It seemed like a low-effort way to make lots of money. I resented it.

I still didn't know what I was going to do about her, so I intentionally worked late again. By afternoon I felt like apologizing, but when I got in my car and considered what I would say to her, I reverted to feeling angry and betrayed and started thinking I should assert my Employee of the Month rights some more. I had to be realistic: the girl of my dreams didn't exist, but the whore of my dreams was mine for a week.

Her door was slightly ajar. I silently let myself in. She was standing right inside, in just heels and stockings, with her hands behind her back. No one said anything. She kept still, eyes down, so I walked in. She had her wrists clamped behind her in toy handcuffs.

She turned to face me, eyes still downcast. "I thought you'd like this. After last night."

Well, she was tempting alright, standing there with her defenseless tits sticking out on display. It seemed like the perfect kickoff for another hate fuck. I walked up close and slowly pinched one nipple until she made a little sound. Then I pinched the other, even harder. This time she was ready and endured it stoically, just squeezing her eyes closed. I let go and she tearfully waved her tits at me, inviting more. I backed off and sat on the couch and stared at her. She was incredibly sexy, with that clear, pink skin, slender frame and outsized rack, and now she was coming over to drop to her knees in front of me. She fixed her eyes on my crotch and waited. I got out my cock, which was still in shock, and let it lie there. She could figure it out; that's what she was paid for.

But we all struggle to overcome our basic selves, and as she knee-walked into position I reverted to type. I gripped her under her arms and stood her up, went behind her and figured out how to release one of the cuffs. Then I kissed her long and hard. Wordlessly, we stood there making out like a couple of teenagers. I was confused. Maybe she was too. Or maybe she was just being professional.

"Katie . . . last night . . . that wasn't me. At least it wasn't the real me. I had this dream that you were leaving me, and it really set me off. But I know you're going to do that. It's your job. It's just that I thought we had such a good start . . . . It's taking me time to adjust. After last night I thought we were even. I don't expect to do that again."

She just stood there holding me. And eventually, I figured out that she was crying. The wet shoulder was a tip-off. Then there was the shaking. I set her down on the couch and sat with an arm around her shoulders, as though she were a real girlfriend. But she didn't lean into me like a real girlfriend, and we didn't talk.

Eventually it got harder to overlook the fact that I was sitting next to a sexy girl with big boobs who was naked from the thighs up, with handcuffs dangling from one wrist. I started to get aroused. She looked over at me and tonelessly said, "Do you want to fuck me now? Maybe you want to fuck my ass."

I belatedly tucked myself back in and then, unintentionally, I blurted out just about the cruelest thing I could have said. "What I really want is the old Katie back."

She ducked out of my arm and turned away, sobbing softly. Overacting again, I thought reflexively. But I wasn't sure. Maybe I was a cruel, heartless guy. Maybe that's why I was now looking through her fridge for a beer instead of being sympathetic. I stood looking out her window, drinking and thinking.

After a while she came over and joined me. "I'm sorry," she said tearfully, "I can't ever be that Katie again. I used to be her, but I lost her when I was saving her."

****

We shared the bed again, undressing chastely and taking opposite sides, and again there was a lot of sleepless rustling. After an hour, she put a hand on my arm and whispered softly.

"Remember, I'm available."

I didn't respond. My dick was stiffening but my brain was still grieving.

"You don't have to like me, you know. You can just use me."

There was that bitterness again. I still didn't have an answer, but when I didn't refuse, she started to stroke me, and, even half-awake, I started to respond. In seconds, she roused herself with an effort and sucked me to stiffness. When I was ready, she straddled me, wet herself with a finger, and impaled herself on me.

In my brief experience, this is not what sleepy girlfriends do in the middle of the night. That would be more like 'Christ, are you horny all the time?? Go back to sleep!' So, I thought, this was her professionally obedient self again. Ugh.

Still, it was hard to resist completely, because she was using her dangling, hardened nipples to trace lines on my chest as she sat on my dick and slid up and down me in the dark. So to be clear I wasn't buying into it, I just froze and watched her work. When she got the idea, she sat up on me and pumped herself up and down on my cock while I passively watched her tits drop and rebound elastically in the glow of the digital clock. She was spookily silent, breathing hard with exertion but not smiling or giving any sign of arousal. I stayed quiet too, just watching as she did her job. I felt like grabbing her and fucking the daylights out of her, but I resisted, and I took a long time to come. When I finally did, I just rolled her off and turned away to try to sleep, feeling like a jerk but a justified one. I didn't want to play her game. Maybe this time we were almost even. On the other hand, maybe this time I was the one being hate-fucked. It was getting hard to keep score.

In the morning we dressed in near silence and went to work separately. On my way through the lobby she gave me a look that was hard to interpret - maybe worry; maybe annoyance. Maybe contempt.

The Toy of the Week was complicated. I didn't blame her. The more I thought about it, the more I thought I should get a grip on myself and be sympathetic. It was my own thin skin that was making this such a big fucking deal. I should just be an adult, let her go and try my luck with the tall girl down the hall. But I couldn't. The love/hate monster already had its claws in my back and its teeth in my neck.

****

Later in the day HR paid me a surprise visit. He usually made underlings come to his office for a royal audience, so I was worried before he said a word.

"Hey Dave, how's the Employee of the Month doing?" He leered at me and pumped his hand with his thumb and fingers in a circle.

I didn't want to play. "Good," I shrugged.

"Aw, c'mon, man. She's hot, right? Look at those udders! She's prime fuckmeat! I'm worried she's not following through, though. Want me to talk to her?"

What did he know? This was beyond interesting. Maybe we'd been too quiet. What to say, what to say? I was clear that I didn't want any part of this. "Yeah, she's hot. And she's really nice, too."

"Dave, she'd better be a lot more than nice. She's meant to be showing you the time of your life. Tell me all about it and I'll give her some correction." He was acting concerned for me. Nice. But really, he wanted details. Creep. This was the check-up Katie had predicted. I didn't want to play along but I didn't want to get her in trouble, either. It was a fine line to walk. "Everything's great," I said. "She's lots of fun."

"You seem a little bashful, Dave, and you're kind of young, so let me spell it out for you: that bitch is our company rent-a-slut. You can do whatever you want with her. Slap her around. Butt-fuck her. She knows I'll fire her ass if she doesn't put out. She's not allowed to say 'no.' Just be sure to rough her up a bit so she knows who's in charge, OK buddy? And then you tell me if she has any complaints. I'll straighten her out or get us something hotter. . . . She told you she's your 'fucktoy,' right? She has to."

I couldn't say what he wanted to hear, that Katie was a total slut. "Yeah, she's been great." I stayed focused on my keyboard. He gave me an 'Atta boy, Dave,' with a wink and a couple of finger pistol shots, and left.

Obviously, he hadn't bought it. He was horrifying. The upside was that now I knew where my loyalties lay. Like me or not, Katie had suffered enough.

****

Out of the blue, Katie texted me an hour later. "What the FUCK did you say to HR??? He's called me in for a 'performance review' tomorrow! Over lunch! FUCK!!"

Imagining them together, I suddenly remembered where I had seen that black Hummer with the unknown parking sticker before. It had been parked right by the door, in the Employee of the Month spot.

I spent a lot of the afternoon fruitlessly racing through records in the Accounting Department. Then I called Katie on the company phone system and told her I required her services promptly after work. We met at her desk again, and since the lobby was empty I just walked up to her and grabbed both of her tits and massaged them for a full minute, as good optics for the security cameras. Then we drove around in my car and talked. I explained that she was right to think we were under surveillance. After that, it was time to face the music.

"Look, Katie," I started, "first, I've got to apologize. Your only mistake was not seeing I fell too hard for your make-believe romance. I've had time to cool off and think, and at this point I believe that your intentions were good. I want to talk about that more, but right now I want to see if I can help you with the HR problem."

Silence. I glanced at her. She was looking out the passenger window.

"HR did ask me about you. I blew it. I couldn't get myself to tell him what he wanted to hear, which apparently is that you're a huge slut who caters to every possible fetish, so now he's suspicious that you're not doing the job the way he wants. He's a monster. We should take him down if we can, and we should save the good part of your job, if we can. But it depends on whether this is his own rogue operation, or whether it goes higher in the company. Do you know?"

"I don't know. HR himself is the highest guy I've fu- . . . serviced.... Ugh! I don't even know how to talk about this!"

"Have any others been involved? Who cooked this all up?"

"Well, as I said, he hired me himself, a couple of months ago. I heard in the lobby that he left his last company under some sort of cloud, so maybe I should have seen this coming. But it was the boiling frog problem. The original deal was just that I had to dress sexily for reception. That sounded vague and not too unusual, but then the requirements slowly got more specific. Tight dresses, short dresses, see-through dresses. This dress, not that dress. Push-up bra, no bra. Fuck-me heels, platforms. I may have been too willing, but I'd been unemployed for months and months and I didn't have a dime or a single active lead. Pretty soon he was groping me and dressing me like a stripper.