The Assistant

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College

Light filtering in through the shaded fourth story window, I leaned back against my creaky office chair, pressing my fingers against my temples in hopes it would help the words flow faster. The blank word document had only two sentences on it, the rest of the whiteness stared back at me with a blinking line.

As much as I wanted it to, this manuscript wasn’t going to finish itself. Even with my screen facing the empty window and the door in front of me closed, it still felt too impersonal a space. It was work, after all.

I thought a walk might clear my head, but it was too cold and windy today. I decided that maybe something hot to drink would make me feel a little better.

I’d have to call my assistant, who I’d only had for a few weeks. Though I hated using the phone, I longed to do anything but write. I switched my browser window to things I’d written in the past, cradled the chunky phone under my ear, and dialed an extension.

“Hey, Zach? Would you be able to get me some tea?” I wasn’t exactly sure what our assistants did when we weren’t needing things, but I didn’t think it could be very stimulating. I paused, mentally sorting through the teas we had at the office. “Uh, is there peppermint? Okay, yeah, that works. Thanks.” I hung up.

I sorted through what I had on my screen for inspiration. things months and sometimes years old, with good feedback and impressive word counts. Anthology deadlines were approaching and I currently had no new content to put behind my name. I scanned over some paragraphs, eyes catching on certain buzzwords, watching the poetic prose flow into itself.

There was a knock on my door, and my tea chauffeur entered, a compact man in a button-up, rectangular glasses and jeans. He smiled with my steaming disposable coffee cup. “Anywhere?”

I paused from intermittent glancing at my words. “Yeah. You can put it right next to me. Thanks.”

He placed it down carefully, far enough away from the computer. “Getting any work done today?” He asked the question with an “I know you write for erotic magazines” tone. He hadn’t been working for me long.

“Oh, um, not really. It’s really slow, right now. Not feeling very inspired.” I reached out to drag the cup of tea closer to me; its sleeve stuck to it from the heat. I grinned, reading a particularly juicy passage. “Just rereading some older stuff.”

He cracked a smile, scratching his face. “I don’t know if you’ll get much done, doing that.” I knew this, too. I could have spent the whole day rereading things from my past; the writing was the hard part.

“Kinda awkward. sometimes, though.” It was often a more than a little embarrassing to know people were pendik escort reading this shit. “I assumed you didn’t really have a lot going on though. Cause I haven’t seen you all morning.”

“Oh, I have things.” I really didn’t expect him to be doing much at all. I didn’t know that much about assistant lives, but it probably involved more sketchy Google searches than even my job.

“I wish there was a way someone could read what I have so far without actually reading it, you know.” Now, this was a far stretch. I was just surprised he hadn’t left, yet.

“Oh, um,” he fidgeted, “yeah, I don’t really have anything I need to do for a bit.” So maybe he’d lied about having things to do.

I took a breath in. Sharing work is good. “I only have, like, three sentences, or something, but I have all this other stuff written down about it. Like plot and stuff.”

He sat on the futon I had to my right, the one no one ever sat on – it’s wasn’t like I was a school counselor or anything like that. “Yeah?”

“I’m just working on some, you know, dominance stuff. Yeah.”

He sat still with his hands on his knees, catching my eyes captured by the open door.

I blushed a bit. “Could you close that?”

He closed it and I didn’t really know which way to take it next. It’s not like I had any more than a paragraph, plus I barely even knew him.

I expected him to find a way to wiggle out of it, but he sat back down on the futon. “What do you have so far?”

I cradled my laptop in my arms, holding it out to him. “I can’t read it aloud.”

He took it and I took the seemingly long period of time to stare over my shoulder at the closed blinds, holding my neck at an awkward angle. I didn’t even look back at him to know when he was done reading.

“Well,” he broke the silence of the office with his deep voice. “I don’t really know a lot about writing, but-“

“Is it too much? I don’t know what to do next.”

“Oh, yeah, um,” he bit his lip, smiling. “I’m not sure, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Maybe I should find someone el-“

“Do you have any ideas, though?”

“About what?”

“About the story.”

“Um, I guess, maybe like, more,” my voice dropped in case anyone else in the office was listening “dirty talk?”

“Like?”

Oh, god, this is Hell. I’m in Hell.

“What, do you want me to like, call you a bitch?”

“If you want. It’s your story.”

“I’m not good at dirty talk. Is slut better? I’ve used that one before.”

“I like that one.”

I got up out of my chair to go over to him supporting my laptop. Was he gonna give me any more actual writing maltepe escort advice or was he just gonna continue being like this?

“Hey,” I wanted to grab it back from him, as he’d now navigated into the stories I’d been looking at earlier. “Those are old; I don’t need help with those.”

“Just looking for some more inspiration. Besides the dirty talk. That still might need some work.”

“Can I have it back, now? I should be getting back to work if you’re not gonna help anymore.”

“In this one, what’s the setting?”

I cringed. “A hot tub. Zach, please, this is unprofessional.” I stood up above him.

“What makes hot tubs so appealing?” He looked up at me with a grin, adjusting his cute glasses.

“Don’t fuck with me. We all know hot tubs are sexy as hell. Can I please have it back?”

“Less please. That’s if you want to learn this right.”

“Ugh, fine. But maybe put that down first if you really wanna play me like this.” I let my eyes off him for one second to lock my door. “Fuck.”

I dropped to my knees in front of the futon. He grinned that sly smile; he knew how he played me. “It doesn’t work as well when you’re asking for it this hard.” I said. “And second, I don’t think jeans are appropriate workwear here, anyway.” After all, I was wearing black slacks, but at that point I really wish I wasn’t.

I made sure the blinds were as closed as they could be. “Come on, take them off. Then I can show you a thing or two.”

I watched him wiggle out of his pants as fast as he could, given that they were a little snug.

I returned to him on the futon. “First of all, stop being such a powerbottom. Usually, readers want one extreme or the other.” I returned to my knees. He was just in his boxers. “You’ve got nice thighs, though.” If I was writing this right now this whole situation would be pretty hard to justify. I laid a hand on one of his thighs, warm but skin starting to grow cold from the cooler room. “I don’t know, I’ve always found thigh worship nice. But I don’t think that’s for this story.” I grabbed at his other thigh with desperate fingers like a dragon at treasure. He seemed happy as ever to sit there as I schemed.

“And as much as I’d like to skip straight to sex,” I could feel a pulsing between my legs, “I feel like, being in my office, we’re gonna have to take some shortcuts. But I don’t know, I don’t really think you deserve a blowjob right now.”

He didn’t say a word, knew they cost him last time. But whatever, I could still kiss him.

I removed my formal pants and tossed them behind my desk. I returned to where I had been sitting next to him and awkwardly came in for a sort kartal escort of half-assed kiss, one hand pushing against his shoulder and the other on the back of the futon. I crawled around on the squeaky furniture, feeling something hard rub up against my leg. “Or you could do that, sure.” I giggled, our lips inches from each other’s, my chest pressed against his.

“Hold on, though, how about a little love for me?” I grabbed his hand, which was around his cock, only going back in for a kiss once he had found the right spot on me with his fingers. At this point I was almost ready for him, and his touch against me was feverish and I wanted more. I ran my hand up his pale thigh again, smacking it. “Okay, I think you’ve been good, but not really good enough to be a slutty bitch or anything,” I chuckled against his soft lips.

I gestured for him to wait there while I crawled over to my desk to retrieve something from a drawer. “These are the good ones. They send them to me for free.”

“And you keep them at work?” He asked quizzically, struggling to open the condom with only one hand.

“Just a couple. And stop jacking off so you can put it on, baby.”

“Fine.”

Once it was on, I returned to him, sweat congregating on the backs of my knees. Now to figure out how to do this on a futon.

He slid in pretty easily, understandable considering I’d literally been either writing or reading porn all day. Hell, sometimes I watched some in the office. No one had to know.

I grabbed at his shoulders through his shirt he had unbuttoned a bit. I was really not in the physical shape to ride anyone right now, but hell if I wasn’t gonna try.

“Is this doing anything?” I asked, probably doing the bare minimum to feel anything at all.

“Yep,” He closed his eyes, grabbing my ass and thighs.

I began to realize that my door had been closed and locked for some time now, so it might be better to end this meet sooner than later to avoid any suspicion. I threatened breaking my hip by going a little faster. He swore a little under his breath.

“Good.” I had to anchor one of my feet on the ground. I kissed his neck and bit at it a little. It seemed he was feeling a little generous, as one of his hands made its way back to my clit. Out of nowhere his touch felt a lot hotter. “Fuck. I’m gonna.” My legs went weak and I semi-collapsed on him in ecstasy. It felt like all the heat was in my face as I blushed. He half-bit his lip and grinned at me. I’d no chance but to continue. “Good boy. But we both gotta go back to work soon.” His fingernails dug into my inner thigh and the futon; he bit his lip harder and threw his head back. I kissed his face and moved the sweaty hair out of his face.

“God,” he sighed, exasperated. I pulled my hair into a ponytail to maybe distract from how tousled it was.

I ran my fingernails down his thighs. “I’ll work on the dirty talk for next time.”

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