Oh the plans I have, my pretties. Oh the plans I have.
Mister McIntyre's Secret
She didn't say anything when she walked in. She just brushed me aside and sauntered in with that strut she had. She looked around as she pulled each finger of her glove and then took them off and slipped them into her purse.
"You don't look sick." she said looking me up and down as I closed and locked the door.
"I mean, you're pale and your hair is dull and lifeless, but I'm guessing you always look like that."
Why was she in my apartment? Obviously Mister McIntyre sent her. Why her?
"As I can tell from your silly little scrunched up face and crossed eyes you are obviously trying to fathom why I'm here."
Her gloves were finally off. She was walking around my living room, a look of amusement on her face.
Marcia Elizabeth Spencer-Peterson. Marcy to her friends. Of the Chicago Petersons and the Southampton Spencers. Twenty five, about the same hight as me but somehow so much more imposing.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" she said pulling a silver cigarette case out of her purse and pulling out an expensive looking gold filtered cigarette.
"Actually my roommate-"
I cut myself off as she lit the cigarette despite my protest.
"I'm going to cut to the chase, Abigail. Jake told me to stop by and make sure you were alright... but I have a few things I'd like to get straight with you."
She closed in on me, circling me like a vulture. I felt naked in my thin night gown. My nipples hardening, my head turned down, goosebumps and panic.
"Jake McIntyre's wide eyed secretary. Doting on him, making his calls and hiding his dirty little secrets... and now? Every fly in his web has had that first little movement that captured his attention. He's good looking, powerful, cocky with balls to back it up. There are lots of girls like you. I bet you don't know that. Hell, his wife is like you. So obedient, never asking questions though between you and me she knows everything. The funny thing is she's not even on his radar. So the question, little girl, is what you did to you so to make the big guy take note?"
Her eyes were like a man's or at least not like any women I'd ever met. She made me shake and want to go put on a robe. She talked with such smooth confidence.
"I... he found something."
"What?" she blew out a cloud of blue smoke and stood right in front of me.
"It's... none of-"
"Tell me." she hissed.
I didn't want to, but the words were on my lips.
The smile started in her eyes and spread to her crimson lips. A dirty smile, knowing and wanton.
"The mousy girl who writes down all sorts of shocking little secrets in her little book. I can imagine what happened, knowing Jake. He saw it and he told you to bring it to him. You fought it and beat yourself up and eventually you did."
My face was burning. My ears on fire and my heart pounding, but I wanted to show her. I want to shut her up for a minute.
"You're wrong. I didn't fight it. I gave it to him right then and there."
I thought she would be impressed or shocked, but she took a long drag of her cigarette and studied me. She flicked the ashes into my teacup. She dropped the cigarette in there and it hissed against the cold liquid.
"Abigail are you a virgin?"
For some reason my eyes focused on her knees which were just barely exposed at the edge of her black dress. Her legs were shapely and clad in dark stockings. Her shoes looked expensive. She was beautiful and it made me feel plain.
"I don't even know you." I mumbled. Who was I kidding. I wanted to tell her everything. I don't know why, maybe because I never say these things aloud.
She looked at me, expectantly. Leaning back against my table her chest thrust out, the low neckline of the dress exposing cleavage I could only dream of having. She was pure sex and she was asking the mousy girl with the diary about her lack of a sex life.
"Yes." I whispered.
She moved in, I moved back until my butt hit the couch. I sat down and she sat down on the arm of the couch next to me. Towing over me and looking down with that cheshire cat smile.
"Poor thing. Do you think of Jake being the one?"
The idea struck me as preposterous. I did things for him, I would do what ever he said, but having sex with him? He had a wife and a mistress. All of his mistresses. He loved sexy adventurous women. I was just his secretary.
"Mister McIntyre?" I squeaked, puzzled.
Her eyes opened wider and some understanding seemed to dawn on her.
"You are completely unaware, aren't you? You are just getting his coffee and keeping a schedule of his rendezvous and writing in your little diary all the dirty things you think about."
She stood up and grabbed my hand, pulling me up. She dragged me into my bedroom and stood me in front of the mirror.
There was mousy me. Brown hair in a ponytail. Plain face, a few freckles. My body was average, my hips were too wide. My butt was a little big and my chest was a little small.
"You can't even look at yourself." she purred in her husky arrogant voice.
"You don't even know that men would fall over for you if you just dressed yourself up. Look at those lips. Big pouting bee stung lips. Those eyes, huge and innocent. Not to mention that bottom."
Her hand rested on my hip as she stood behind me.
"You think Jake wouldn't fuck you? He would. He will. You're just not ready yet. He's... not for beginners. Jake's a bad boy. He can trample a woman. I see the boys in your office, they fuck the nineteen year old cigarette girls and the coat check girls and the doe eyed junior secretaries. Jake likes women. He likes someone who can take roughness and isn't going to break."
She moved over to my bed. The way her hand slipped off my hip as she moved away made my chest hurt a little.
She put her high healed foot up on my bed. She pulled the black dress up her leg slowly, showing more perfect leg, then the black lace top of her stockings and the naked flesh under her garter. Her panties were small black lacy French things. I was hypnotized by her. I didn't way anything, I didn't think, I didn't even breath.
On her hip were four purplish bruises. Right where fingers would dig in if someone where to violently grab you from behind. Then she turned and flipped up her dress showing her bottom. A scattered little splash of purple.
This is what she wanted to show me. She looked back at me and our eyes locked. She showed me, now she was just showing off her body. Her eyes were different now, not so strong. She showed me that she might be in control in my apartment, but there is someone who owns her body. The same person who owns my heart.
"He hits you?" I whispered.
Her bratty smile came back as she stood up and let her dress fall. Her eyes darkened.
"No. He spanks me. He slaps me. He never hits me."
I wanted to ask more questions, I wanted to be shocked, but I knew this happened. Even in my dreams I saw it happening. The image of his huge hands on her flashing in my head. His strong fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.
"So what did you write, Abigail?"
Her question cleared my mind of the images. It stood me straight up and made my face flash red again.
"Maybe 'Mister McIntyre' already told me." she said, mocking the way I said his name.
She laughed. "No, I suppose he wouldn't. He has a lot of rules in that head of his. Anyhow I don't want to know, if I don't read it then I can just think the worst. The dirtiest."
She straightened her dress and walked to the door of my bedroom.
"Well, Mister Jacob McIntyre asked me to stop by and wanted me to give you the message that he is sorry you are feeling under the weather and he hopes that his assignment yesterday wasn't too difficult and he hopes it wasn't that which led to your absence."
She walked back towards me and I backed up again as she advanced until my back was against the wall. She smelled like expensive perfume. It wasn't overpowering, but it was so thick and delicious that it made me dizzy.
"He said that when you come back tomorrow everything can go back to the way it was, but if you return with what he requested he may have additional responsibilities for you." she moved in more, our breasts touching a little, her words blowing sweat breath into my ear.
"Do you understand Abigail?"
"Yes." it was less than a whisper.
Her hand was on my hip again, petting me.
Her hand moved up a little, tip of her thumb just under my breasts. She touched me like a man would. My body was confused, my head was spinning.
"I think because of my relationship with your employer and the fact that we hardly know each other you should probably answer me in a way that your boss's clients and friends are used to being addressed."
I swallowed hard. The last time someone touched me like this was on a blind date almost a year before. A pushy man in a bad suit. That just got me scared and disgusted. Her hand made me nervous and ashamed. And wet. So pretty, so soft, smelling so good, her words so strong. She was like piece of Mister McIntyre. An agent of his imposing sexual self.
With that she was off me. The cold air of my room making me feel naked in my thin nightgown. She watched me and smiled. I didn't know what that smile meant.
"Well, I suppose I will be seeing you Abigail... or not." and with that she turned around and walked out of my room. A second later I heard my front door close.
Then I was alone. Just my body which was hungry and aching, my heart which was racing, and my diary which laid on the bed waiting.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Oh the plans I have, my pretties. Oh the plans I have.