I was quite shaken up by the incident with George but didn’t tell anybody about it. I made a firm mental decision though -- I would not give him the opportunity to attempt his manipulative techniques on me again. I would avoid the man as much as possible, plain ignore him. And -- if he ever tried anything funny with me again -- I would not hesitate but take the matter up with the company’s Human Resources department.

But to my surprise, I didn’t hear from George in the days that followed at all. Turned out he was the one ignoring me, not the other way around. Funny… Didn’t call me, didn’t come by my desk, didn’t request any more meetings. Did this mean I won? Did he realize that I wasn’t just another whore he could fuck just because he wanted to? Success -- I think the pervert decided to leave me alone. Super, wonderful, great -- I thought.

Or did I?

A little part deep inside of me quietly wondered – did he give up too easy? Did he notice something unattractive about me during our meeting? Something ugly and smelly that made him conclude I wasn’t worth his time or effort? Self-doubt overwhelmed me… Maybe Paul saw the same thing the night he decided to ejaculate all over another woman’s face…

It’s not like me to feel insecure on the “attractive and desirable” front. I was one of the top girls at the club and men adored me. Did something change since I quit dancing? Did office-Jessica lose the sex appeal of her stripper-Jessica counterpart? Evidence was piling up. The biggest pervert I knew appeared to have given up on me after only one try. It’s what I wanted all long so it’s a good thing… I guess… But then there was the worsening situation with Paul.

Paul and I haven’t had sex in almost six weeks. We just argued so much... Night after night I was going to bed horny -- fantasizing about my body being touched… my nipples being sucked… my being pussy eaten. I was in a desperate need of an orgasm that would relieve some of the tension I felt all over.

And this brings me to this morning… It’s confession time.

I was in a really bad mood when I arrived at the office this morning. It was a combination of things. Paul and I had another big fight last night. Needless to say I didn’t get to ride his cock yet again and I ended up sleeping alone. Very upset with my husband… and sexually frustrated too… I weep most of the night and didn’t get much sleep. When the alarm went off, I felt so exhausted that I briefly considered calling in sick. I didn’t though. I didn’t want to me home alone with my miserable thoughts. There was also the hormonal thing – time of the month was only days away and I could feel it in my body. My breasts felt heavy and my nipples hurt and itched -- both at the same time – in a way that made me horny even more. My pelvic area felt tight and there was this intense itch inside my pussy that only a hard cock could scratch.

I felt irritated and frustrated, sitting one cheek-ass on the edge on my chair and just vibrating. I was loudly and aggressively stroking on the keys of my keyboard which was freaking my co-workers out. But they didn’t say anything and left me alone to deal with my bad day.

Something happened then… a seemingly insignificant event that followed, pushed me over the edge of sanity and set into motion a chain of events that led to -- not sure yet -- either the most repulsive sexual experience of my life… or the most erotic one ever.

So I was sitting at my desk, my head just fizzing with the wide range of contrasting emotions. I was tired, upset and horny. Worried about my relationship with Paul and uncertain about the future of my marriage. Where did it all go wrong?

I was trying to reach Paul on his cell phone but he wasn’t picking up. Tried a bunch of times but got was his voice mail every time… Paranoia started setting in and I was imagining the worst... He was at his ex-girlfriend’s house. The bitch recently separated from her husband and has been Facebooking Paul a lot.

I was always a little bit threatened by the “sexy Alisha”. Mostly because Paul slipped up one time and after a couple of beers told me that of all the women he slept with, his ex-girlfriend Alisha had the best tits and gave the best tit fuck. Apparently, you couldn’t get a better tit fuck from anyone else in the whole world! What an idiot for saying a thing like that to his wife… My tired brain imagined now that they were together at her house... Paul is sitting on her couch and she… she is on her knees in front of him, letting him slide his cock in between her tits – while pushing then together with of her hands to make the space between the tits tighter and cozier for Paul’s cock.

I dialed again. I didn’t know what I would do if he didn’t answer this time. On the third ring… his damn greeting again. I wanted to scream, to kick something, to throw the fucking phone against the wall and break it into a thousand little pieces! I was on the verge of crazy now. And then…

Then I looked up from beyond my desk phone and saw George. He was standing on the other side of my cubicle half-wall – doing what he was so great at – staring. There was a hint of an arrogant smirk on his lips that made me want to punch his face.

When he walked away just a few seconds later, I just sat there for a while confused and stunned. My brain wasn’t functioning properly any longer. It detached from the reality of it all and floated somewhere between Paul’s “Please leave a message after the tone” and the arrogant smirk on George’s face. Leave a message… smirk… leave a message… smirk. And then I lost it.

I slammed down the phone for the final time and got up from my chair. Not really in control of my own actions, like I was hypnotized, I started walking towards George’s office and before I could stop myself, I was inside it.

He was sitting behind his desk, reading something on his phone. For the first time ever, I did not feel intimidated by this man at all, didn’t feel a drop of fear. It felt good.

He didn’t really seem surprised to see me.
“Hi there,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“How you can help me?!” I yelled at him. “You can start by not sneaking up on me while I’m working. You can also help me by not listening to my phone conversations!”

He was calm. Cool as a cucumber.
“Close the door,” he said.
“No, I am not closing the damn door!”
“You are making a scene. Please close the door.”

I looked over my shoulder and noticed that George’s secretary was looking in our direction. I knew about her from Janet. She was one of his whores. Blew him right in his office at least twice a week. I never liked the woman and didn’t appreciate her attention right now so I decided to follow George’s order and I closed his office door.

“What is it Jessica?” He asked me as if he didn’t know.
“Like I said, it is rude to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals and listen to their private phone conversations.”
He laughed out loud as if I had said something very amusing.
“Conversations you say?”
“Yes, conversations!” You jerk, I almost added.
“That was not a conversation, my dear. In order to have a quote-unquote “conversation” you require at least two people. A pre-recorded greeting does not count as a person.”

I was fuming by now. This asshole plain enjoyed my misfortune and pain. So I was yelling at him even louder now:
“I also didn’t appreciate our little meeting a couple weeks back -- when you suggested I was trying to seduce you that night at the pub. The most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!

The insecure part of me wanted me to ask him why he completely ignored me since that meeting. But I said nothing. Instead, overwhelmed by everything that was happening to me, I felt week and helpless and to my absolute horror -- suddenly started to weep. Just couldn’t control it. Tears were pouring down my cheeks and my chest was heaving. I felt like a complete idiot but couldn’t stop myself. George looked at me in a way that stirred me inside. Didn’t say anything for a good while but then, when he finally did speak… his words sent a jolt down my spine.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I would never want to hurt you… Chantal.”

I froze. Did he just call me…Chantal? I haven’t heard anyone call me that in months… Chantal used to be my stage name.

I looked at him carefully…
“Did you call me…Chantal?”

His phone rang and he went to answer it. It was his assistant, calling under some silly pretext; no question just dying to know what was going on in here.
“I will get back to you soon on that,” he said to whatever question she asked him.
I was watching him closely while he spoke on the phone. His lips. His eyes. The big hand cradling the handset… He looked so familiar.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I did remember him now. George. How did I not see it before? George used to be one of my regulars. A long time ago. Back when he was about thirty pounds lighter and back when wore a wild mustache.

“You remember now, don’t you?”
I experienced an instant flash-back. I was back at the club. Loud music was drumming in my ears and techno lights were bouncing on my skin. How wonderfully familiar… Then I saw George. Wearing nothing but a pair of high heels, I was sitting on his lap and playing with his mustache. He used to love it when I played with his mustache. Used to love it when I played with other things of his as well…

“You and I had some good times back in the day. You, me and a bottle of red wine in one of those private booths at the back of the Erotica.”

I did remember. Paul had no idea… Paul thought I was one of the clean girls. Thought I would never let a customer touch me... Thought I would never take a guy for a private dance inside one of those dirty booths.