Angela had somehow fixed my vision, so that I no longer need glasses to see. I just wish she could have done something about my colorblindness.
"Nope! That pole must have fixed my eyes," I tell him happily, and try not to laugh at his disbelief.
Then I see Annabelle Lewis come in, and immediately feel a somber mood enter with her.
"Laughter is the devil's tool," the woman says to us seriously, and I see Thomas roll his eyes. Unfortunately, she sits at the desk next to mine, between me and where Mrs. Lance sits. "It'll corrupt your soul, and He'll take over."
"It's good to see you too, Annabelle," I respond, long since used to her pious views.
"Only our Lord and Savior is good, Mr. Snow. Though I'm gladdened that He has seen fit to grant you your health." She looks at me sharply then, and I wonder if I have something on my nose. "I sense a dark and dangerous shadow over you," she says ominously. "What heathen things have you been up to?"
Now, I've never been one too much into religion, but if she can sense the changes in me, then there really might be an almighty, and after everything else I've learned, I realize I have a lot more to learn. Then again, for some reason her holier-than-thou attitude gets under my skin.
"Oh, not much. Just went to the club last night, banged a babe while her roommate watched, and drove home. But before that I was hitting a punk babe with blue hair and pierced—"
"Mr. Snow, that is quite enough," Mrs. Lance says right at that moment, walking in.
I can see Annabelle glaring at me out of the corner of my eye, as I sheepishly get behind my desk. She really didn't deserve that treatment, and I feel bad for my actions.
Debbie Jones is the last one to enter, and after sharing that kiss with the large Guard Lansbury, I look at the only slightly chubby coworker in a different light. She's by no means ugly, but does have some rather nice curves to her. I wonder if she kisses as well as Lansbury?
Debbie gives me a shy smile, and I realize I've been staring and try to bury myself in my work. As I continue to compile data from various spreadsheets, I can feel my vitality draining. I also note that both Debbie and Mrs. Lance keep staring at me. The drain isn't great, but it is noticeable. Annabelle studiously ignores me.
'Blue haired, and pierced, huh?' A popup says on my desk, and I see it's a message from Johnson. Smiling, I nod to the older man across from me. 'Lucky!' is his next reply.
Guard Lansbury walks in, holding something, and leaves it at Sheila's desk. The guard gives me a very obvious wink as she walks past my desk. I can literally feel Annabelle's glare against my back.
"Mr. Snow, can I see you up here?" Mrs. Lance states firmly.
Great. . . . Did Sheila see those messages from Thomas?
As I walk up to her, I see my wallet sitting on her desk. How'd that get here? Then I see the look in Sheila's eyes. . . . Oh, great. Now I've really pissed her off.
Wait, maybe this is a good thing. If she gets pissed off at me enough, she'll fire me, and then I can still claim I was living normally.
"Mind explaining how you got into the building without your wallet, or ID?" she demands of me.
Now's my chance. Puffing out my chest, I look her dead in the eyes, and say in my most pompous tone, "I walked in through the doors. Is there supposed to be a back door for us flunkies?"
Sheila's jaw tightens, and I can see she's shaking from trying to hold in her wrath. I hear a number of gasps from behind me, at my audacity.
"The Devil's work," a mumbled voice says, but it can only be Annabelle.
My boss gets herself back under control, grabs my wallet, and stands up. "Come with me, please, Mr. Snow."
I let my smile show at her back, as I follow her out the door and into an unused conference room, far enough away from our office that I'm sure my soon-to-be previous coworkers won't hear her yelling at me, or anyone else, for that matter.
"Mind explaining yourself in there?" she asks me, her tone level. Her brown eyes are trying to bore into me, and I can feel my energy levels draining.
Just then I get an idea.
I know I shouldn't, but after putting up with Sheila Lance as a boss for around a year now, I want to get some of my own back. I'm not entirely certain how my ability works, but if I keep myself under control, I shouldn't hurt her.
At least, I hope I don't.
Today, she's wearing a dark suit jacket, over a white button up, and dark flowing pants. Her black hair is tied back in its usual bun, and I can't help but wonder if the reason she's always so ornery is because her hair gives her headaches.
"No explanation's needed," I tell her, concentrating on her body as I speak and allowing my instincts to take over. I notice a slight shiver run through her. I also notice a decipherable drop in my stamina.
"You've been with us for some time now, haven't you Mr. Snow?" Her voice sounds a little husky now, but I can still see anger smoldering inside her brown eyes.
"I've been working. . . under you. . . for a little over a year," I tell her, concentrating on the innuendo, and sensing her body becoming more receptive to me. Am I becoming a succubus? Is there such a thing as a male succubus? I'll have to look that up later.
I notice her eyes dilating as she contemplates me, tapping her finger on my wallet. "That still doesn't excuse your behavior in there."
Turning my back on my boss, I go and lock the door, then crank up my concentration on Sheila. "I think I know what this is really about," I tell her, and notice her eyes glazing over. Oops, maybe too much. I back off a little, and just in time, too, as true weariness starts to worm its way in.
She gives herself a shake, before saying, "M—Mr. Snow. What do you think you're doing?" She tries to protest, as I walk over, and start undoing the buttons on her jacket. She doesn't try to stop me though, and it only takes a couple seconds to get it off. "This is highly inappropriate," she tells me, but her voice is barely a whisper, and her eyes are closed.
Continuing to follow my instincts, I harden my voice, and command her, "I don't allow my slaves to talk, unless spoken to." Her eyes snap open, and I can see the anger attempt to reassert itself, but by now her shirt is unbuttoned and I tweak one of her nipples through her bra. She shudders again, closing her eyes. "That's right. I'm going to make you my own little cum slut."
I've never treated a woman like this before, but everything inside me is pushing me to keep going. By the way she's reacting; I think I might just get away with this.
"But. . . I'm your boss," she almost whimpers, then moans as I twist her other nipple.
"Hmm, you have a point," I concede as I slip my hand inside her bra, and gently rub her tender areola. "In front of others, you will continue to be my boss, but when we're alone, you'd better return to being my submissive slut. I'd recommend, however, that you treat me a little better out there, lest I have to exact harsher punishments from you." Unsnapping her bra, I finally get a good look at her bare chest, and smile. Her nipples are both hard, and pointing straight out from her chest. Her ample bosom is likely about a C-cup, some part of my mind informs me. "You will find I can be a gentle master, but only to an obedient slave."
I walk around behind her and marvel that I have this high-and-mighty woman at my whim. Not yet, some part of my subconscious informs me, and I realize that there's one more formality.
Reaching around her waist, I undo her pants, and gently slide them down her hips. Standing back up, I gently kiss the back of her neck, while lightly running my fingers up and down her arms. Her entire body is shivering now, and not from any cold that might be in this conference room. Slipping my right hand into the front of her black panties, I pinch her outer labia together, and then rub them against each other, eliciting a moan from her. I can feel how hot she is already, and know now is the time to ask my question.
"Are you going to be an obedient slave? Or am I going to need to punish you first?" My voice, whispered directly into her ear seems to spark one last bit of defiance.
"I am your boss, Mr. Snow. I will not be—" I cut her off by pressing hard against her slit, and painfully tweaking her left nipple again.
"Looks like you will need some training," I tell her, as she gasps in both pleasure and pain. I walk us over to the massive conference table, and bend her over it.
"What do you think you're—"
Whack!
She howls as I spank her, but I know there is still a bit of fight in her, as she resists me pulling her wet panties off.
Whack!
Her panties are now on the floor, and I can see a red hand print on her left buttocks. Some inner part of me feels bad for this woman, but then I remember all the times she's chewed me out, or given me impossible deadlines, and slap her other cheek.
Whack!
I can now smell the unmistakable musk of a woman in heat, and ask, "Are you going to be my obedient slave now?"
She whimpers as she nods, but that's not good enough.