Helene Blackmailed (11 page)
“Morning, Helene. Jeff pushed the nine o’clock meeting back to nine-fifteen…”
“Good morning, Ms. Blanchard. I left Mr. Foster’s notes on your desk.”
“The copier is down again, Helene. Janice called for service but they said—”
“Tony says he must have deleted the First Federated notes. Do you have another copy?”
Yes. All right. Fine. Yes.
Helene walks amidst the chaos of the early morning office with a power and serenity that only come to those who have tapped into a source of power larger than themselves. For her it’s her sexuality, a feeling that she wears on her body like a cloak, warm and protecting and powerful. It’s woven of the feel of her lover’s hands on her body, the slap of the whip between her legs, the hunger in his eyes as he pulls her hair to make her take his kiss on her open mouth. It’s the feel of losing herself in his desire for her, of letting herself go, knowing that everything she gives will come back to her in his savage and desperate love. It’s feeling his strength, the hardness of his arms, and then feeling him dissolve into helpless ecstasy as he pours himself into her, holding her, squeezing her, and moaning out her name.
She walks around her desk and slides her package into the bottom drawer. She’ll wear it for him tonight when they meet, after they’ve gone out to dinner. She’ll feel the anxious tremble in his hands as he unbuttons her blouse and sees what she’s wearing and she’ll see the blaze of hunger in his eyes. Her stomach grows deliciously tight in anticipation and she feels the memory of his touch glide over her like some gossamer ghost.
She sits down in her chair and looks at the files on her desk. Tasks that took her hours of agonizing indecision just weeks ago she now dispatches in a matter of minutes with a sureness and sense of confidence that still amazes her. Confidence is easy when you’re enveloped in such a cloak of power, when you’re bound to someone with chains of love and intimacy that make the rest of what’s around you seem pale and inconsequential in comparison.
She turns her chair away from her desk and looks through her window at the building across the way, at the people going about their similar morning tasks. She wonders how many of them are party to a relationship like hers. How many of them have any idea of the intensity of feeling that she feels whenever she slips on her cuffs or gets on her knees before him. There must be others. She can’t be the only one who’s felt that storm of emotion breaking over her, who’s felt those currents of emotion that run so unimaginably deep.
At nine-thirteen Helene picks up her files. She takes a pen and pad of paper from her desk and walks off to her meeting, moving off alone, and yet never alone again.
About the Author
Elliot Mabeuse is an award-winning author, critic, and porn theorist whose erotic explorations combine depth and insight with a singularly passionate intensity. His interest in the emotional and transformative power of sex gives his writing a unique flavor, and results in works of literate erotica that are sensual, humane, and deeply satisfying.
Retired from the chemical laboratory now, Doctor Mabeuse lives in Chicago where he pursues his interests in the transcendent powers of sexuality, religion, and the riddles of biochemistry. He can be reached at [email protected]
Elliot welcomes mail from readers. You can write to him c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.
Also by Elliot Mabeuse
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