Overtime (12 page)

Bring this
, the card read.
I’ll send a car
.

She wasn’t sure why he’d given her an address if he was sending the car, but she didn’t worry about it too much.

The box was much more puzzling, and she had no idea what it was at first: leather straps attached to a rubber ball, maybe? The whole thing was held together with shiny steel rings that glimmered even in the lighting of her tiny apartment, the leather soft but strong. She wandered back inside and locked her door, laying the contents of the package out on the kitchen counter.

As she did, it hit her: it was a ball gag.

Valerie stared at it in surprise for a few more moments, not quite sure how to take the gift: a time, a place, a demand, and a ball gag. She touched it carefully, turning it over and over in her hands, thinking about what she’d gotten herself into and whether she wanted to get out, but then she remembered the thrill she felt every time he looked at her, the electric way she felt whenever they touched. Her delight at receiving all the gifts. The charge of sneaking around, in the office.
 

Best of all, surprising even to her, the feeling of being utterly under his control, powerless to do anything except what he wanted.

Valerie fingered the ball gag and smiled.

Saturday came and Valerie woke at seven without an alarm, probably a first for her. Usually she relished sleeping in until noon, but it was a big night, and she couldn’t wait. She looked the address he’d given her up on Google maps: a boutique hotel, apparently, on the Upper West Side, not far from Columbia. It was
very
expensive, and furthermore, if the address was a hotel, they were just going to have sex.

Valerie felt a pang of sadness, just for a moment - didn’t he want to take her out to dinner anymore? Had she embarrassed him somehow the time before? Had the used the wrong fork or spoon or drunk her champagne wrong, or, worst of all, was she just too fat?

You’re his assistant
, she thought.
It’s dangerous to go out together in public, that’s why
.

The thought made her feel better.

Around one, her phone rang: Adrienne. Valerie felt guilty immediately. She hadn’t called her best friend in almost two weeks, and hadn’t texted much either - just little snippets, like, “Working soooo much,” or “Did you hear Amy’s engaged?”

“Hey,” Adrienne said. “Wanna go to a party tonight in Williamsburg?”

Valerie licked her lips. “I can’t,” she said.

“Come on,” Adrienne said. “There’s some DJ they tell me is famous, and the party will have men with beards.”

“You’re the one who likes beards,” said Valerie. “I think they just trap food and invite germs.”

“Well, if you date people who never wash themselves,” said Adrienne. “Beards can be perfectly sanitary.”

“I’ve got plans, anyway,” Valerie said.

Fuck, what am I gonna tell her
, she thought.

“What are you up to?”

Valerie was stuck for a moment. She’d only just barely moved to New York and didn’t know many people besides Adrienne, and Adrienne knew that.

“Oh, it’s some thing my coworker is doing,” she said. “Some cocktail party for people at work, and who are in advertising, there’s like networking and stuff...”

You are the worst fucking liar
, thought Valerie.

“Bleh,” said Adrienne. “Networking stuff is the worst.”

Thank God,
Valerie thought.

“I know,” she said. “Think of me tonight while you’re partying and I’m making small talk about my
passion
for copywriting.”

“I’ll lick a beard for you.”

“Disgusting,” said Valerie.

Adrienne just laughed, and they changed the subject, talking about
 
tights and snow boots and how terrible the subway was, though at least in the coming winter it wouldn’t be nearly as smelly anymore.

I hope he lets me wear tights during the winter
, Valerie thought.

Then she thought,
Will this still be going on during the winter?

She had no idea, and she tried to stop thinking about it.

“All right,” Adrienne said when she had to go. “Network your ass off.”

“Will do,” said Valerie, looking at the ball gag on the kitchen counter.

When she hung up, she felt guilty about lying. Would Adrienne even say anything against the affair? Or would she just high-five Valerie on banging her hot boss and then move on, acting like nothing was wrong?

She should keep it a secret, she decided. She knew better.

That night she wore the shoes with the locks, the corset, a thong, a garter belt and thigh-highs, and a belted red wiggle dress that looked very retro but showed off her ass and tits beautifully. She’d bought it in the waning days of her relationship with Ethan, hoping to spark something —
anything
— but it had mostly failed.

Mr. Declan wasn’t in the car this time, and so she sat, quietly, the partition up, as the car made the long drive from her Brooklyn neighborhood to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the lights of New York City sliding past the windows as she looked out.

The ball gag was in her purse. Just for good measure, so were the vibrating panties. He hadn’t told her to bring them, but she did just in case. She wanted to be a good girl.

Finally the car pulled up and her driver opened the door with a gloved hand, helping her out. After escorting her to the curb, he bowed slightly.

“Room seven-twenty-four, Miss,” he said, and then Valerie walked into the hotel by herself.

When she knocked on the door to room 724, it was loud, hard sound. Somehow, even the knock sounded expensive. Even though she’d thought she looked good before she left her apartment, the mirrors in the elevator seemed to pick out the cheapness of the fabric of her dress, her drugstore makeup, her fake-leather purse. Another woman, wearing some sort of fur shawl, had joined the elevator in the lobby just before the doors closed, and Valerie had spent the whole ride looking at it, thinking:
I had no idea people still wore fur. I thought that went out of style in the sixties.

Then the door swung open and Jasper was there, a glass in his hand, immaculate as always. He looked a little more relaxed than he did at work, in ways that Valerie was just beginning to notice. He wore no tie, for starters, and the very top button of his collar was open. His hair wasn’t perfectly in place; in fact, it looked like he hadn’t even styled it that day.

“Come in,” he said. “How was the trip over?”

Valerie put her purse on a small table that held flowers in a vase in the lush hotel suite and followed her boss down a short hallway, past a door on either side, to a room with two couches, a fireplace, and a balcony.
 

“It was fine,” she said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Her heart was beginning to beat harder with excitement, and she could feel the heat rising to her skin, making her blush.

Jasper walked to a bar cart and lifted a bottle. “Brandy?” he asked.

“I’d love some,” she said. She settled on a white leather chair in front of the fire, crossing her legs. She was wearing thigh-highs and no underwear, of course, and for a moment she thought about flashing him, then decided against it.

Wait for him to make the move
, she thought. There was a low pulsing in her cunt. She wanted to throw herself at him, hike her skirt up and bend over, but instead she sipped at the drink he gave her, batted her eyelashes.

“What’s Brooklyn like these days?” he asked, suddenly.

“Full of hipsters,” she said.

“That’s not you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said. She took a sip of her drink and thought about it. “I guess, kind of. I seem to end up at a lot of the same places that hipsters do.”

“I’m always surprised when I read about how popular and cool Brooklyn has gotten,” he said. He moved to stand behind her. “When I was your age it was mostly residential. Lots of Hasids and Puerto Rican neighborhoods, almost the suburbs. Now it’s the place to be.”

“I guess,” said Valerie, taking another sip. She had nearly forgotten about the age difference between her and Jasper but here it was again, full force: he was more than twice her age. It was strange, to say the least.

He began stroking her hair, his long, graceful fingers finding their way down to her neck, and she closed her eyes and released herself to him, mentally, at least. His touch sent the whisper of a tingle down her neck, through her whole body. Her cunt remembered, again, why she’d come, and she felt herself get warm and wet.

I hope I don’t leave a wet spot on this couch
, she thought to herself.

Then she took the final sip of brandy and it burned, sweet, down her throat. She set it on the glass coffee table and the firelight shone against it.

His hands had moved to the neck of her dress and his fingers dipped underneath it, along her collarbones, toward her breasts, around her shoulders. He undid the top button of the dress, then the second, leaning over her a little.

She sat, still and quiet, waiting.

“Did you bring it?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course,” she said.

“Stand up.”

Valerie obeyed.

“Come around here and face me,” he said, and she did.

Standing right in front of her, he undid the last two buttons on her dress — it unbuttoned only to the waist — and then, after a long look at her body, lifted her chin in his fingers and kissed her.

He’d never done that before, and after a moment of surprise, Valerie kissed him back. His mouth was warm and firm, his tongue insistently groping at her lips and teeth and tongue, somehow even that part of him commanding, dominant. Valerie felt as though she was melting beneath him, a vessel, waiting to be filled.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said, breaking the kiss and stepping away from her.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He seems... gentler, somehow,
she thought.

Then she thought
, I hope he’s not gentler all the time.

“Go get it,” he said.

Valerie obeyed, quickly bringing the ball gag out of her purse and to him.

Mr. Declan took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. That room was beautiful and plush, too, the duvet obviously expensive, each pillow with a chocolate on it. Every surface in the room suggested
money
in its own way: the marble-topped tables with vases full of flowers, the beautiful, clean, soft carpet, the pillow fluffed just-so.

As soon as he closed the door, Valerie felt a hand between her legs, pushing her skirt up, on her thigh and then past her stockings and then stroking her wet cunt, the fingers just barely slipping between her lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, into her ear, his breath sending little shivers of delight down her spine. Then he took her dress by the shoulders and eased it off of her, leaving her panty-less and wearing a corset, heels, garters, and stockings in the middle of the bedroom. He tossed the dress gently over the chair and then stepped behind her.

Valerie could feel his cock between her ass cheeks, suddenly. It was still in his pants, the expensive material separating them, but there it was, big and long and unmistakably hard as a rock.

He undid the clasps on her corset, one by one, making her wait. Waiting was its own form of torture, Valerie thought, and then she was out of it, the corset also tossed onto the chair.

Mr. Declan strode to a small leather briefcase Valerie hadn’t noticed, sitting on one of the chairs. From it he drew the nipple clamps, again, snapping them together for Valerie to watch. He ran then through his fingers, the heavy chain dropping and tinkling, and he watched her reaction.
 

She felt her nipples go hard in anticipation, waiting for the pleasure/pain combination promised. She bit her lip, wanting them on her, again, so cold and hard.

More than that, even, she wanted
him
inside her, wanted him to fuck her as hard as he could, thrusting and thrusting, desperately, until he spilled himself inside her.

Just the thought of it made her weak at the knees.

Then he was there, in front of her, putting the clamps on as she grit her teeth for a minute, the sensation like tiny lightning bolts coursing through her tits, mostly good and a little painful. As it turned out, that was exactly the way she wanted it.

Fuck me
, she begged him with her eyes. He bent and teased her nipples with his tongue, making her close her eyes and gasp, then emit a tiny moan. Mr. Declan smiled. Then he gestured at the foot of the bed, a wrought-bronze thing.

“Go grab onto the middle of that,” he said. “Don’t let go.”

She did as she was told, taking the cold metal in her hands. As soon as she had it, Jasper was behind her, holding something hard against her mouth, and she opened it: the ball gag. It spread her jaw wide, almost uncomfortable, and she bit down hard, almost without meaning to. He fastened it behind her head carefully, not getting any of her hair stuck.

Whatever his inclinations, he’s a gentleman
, thought Valerie.

“Don’t let go,” he told her.