Wednesday, 9.10 am
"She is late again," he paces angrily by his office window murmuring under the nose. The shareholders meeting is due to start in the next five minutes and she isn't here. It was becoming his daily routine to scold her silently. He glances outside once more, expecting a miracle to happen but all he can see are the faceless bodies, clad in tight pencil skirts, and four-inch stiletto heels. He yanks the leather chair towards himself, with force, as if it was her own body he ever so desperately wishes to punish and slumps heavily into it. His brows furrow. The time is up.
Thursday, 9.34 am
She is late again. Pathological lateness. There is the one and only way to cure it – lay her over his knee and spank it out of her. Make her cheeks crimson red, burning, stinging, till she learns the vital lesson – the time is money. Walking closer to the window, he leans against the cool glass. His eyes darken, becoming almost the same colour as the grim London's skyline. He squints. He can just about see her curling her cute lip at the mass of people that are making its way along the grubby, rain-splattered pavement. She knows she is late but there is nothing she can do. He suddenly catches himself enjoying her helplessness and desperation. He sees her opening a large Kath Kidston umbrella, and squinting up at the leaden clouds before she attempts to start to walk faster. He swears under his breath, as he sees the inevitable is just about to happen. Seconds later she steps into a muddy puddle, spraying filthy water all over her bare legs, and soaking the hem of her light-coloured office dress."Concentrate, little can see her fists clench, and he senses just how much she wants to throw a tantrum and stomp hard because of this mishap. He smiles.
Friday, 6.20 pm
He missed her today. Their morning ritual has been ruined by the important conference call he had to attend. There are plenty of contracts to review but his mind is racing once again. He throws his heavy Tebaldi fountain pen on the pile of documents and reclines lazily onto the leather. He slowly inhales her scent...she smells so sweet, so innocent, so poisonous…His hand snakes down her silk dress towards her thighs, lifting the hem of the dress ever so higher exposing expensive Falke stockings, then her black lace-clad *"Mmm good girl, your little pussy is beautifully encased…I love seeing it like that.. Open your legs wider for me," he orders sliding closer to her, their foreheads touching, hot breath of hers tickling his lips…his fingers travel towards her clit, starting to massage it first slowly, with a feathery touch, then increasing the pressure. It takes only a few strokes and her legs start involuntarily shake…The sound of a text message wakes him up from the daydream. Fuck.
The following week...Tuesday, 5.08 pm
He is descending down the stairs outside his office building. The chauffeur car is already waiting for him with the door being gallantly opened. Once he slides in, it closes with a sharp, unexpected sound, making him look up, disinterested at first, until something catches his eye. There she is. Grinning at a man dressed in a black suit and bowtie. Her blonde hair falls down her shoulders in a soft sophisticated waves. It shines brightly as the last sun rays catch them and she looks luminous. There is a pretty, gentle, sweet innocence about her and he is staring at her. She turns playfully to fix gentleman's bowtie, and he can see her black figure-hugging dress has a whole back exposed with only dainty jewellery gracing her neck. Mesmerised, he cannot look away. He shifts uncomfortably, readjusting himself, making the leather seats. He catches the drivers stare at the rearview mirror. The spell is broken. "Drive," he orders abruptly.
Thursday, 1.26 pm
He is late. He has a meeting in fifteen minutes at a place a good thirty minutes drive from the office. Thanks to a ditzy waitress who managed to spill a bowl of soup down the jacket of his custom made three-piece suit. He increases the speed of his steps, with blackberry in hand he types a quick message to his personal assistant to rearrange the meetings. "Excuse me," he mumbles without looking as he tries to overtake a slender woman who seems to be struggling with two cups of Starbucks coffee, document folder, and fishing out loudly ringing phone out of her bag "Oh, oh I am so sorry..." she lifts her face to offer an apology for blocking his way...
His eyes bore into hers. Straight into her soul. They both inhale sharply. He feels as if the air has been sucked out of his lungs by a violent force.
Blinking out of a semi daze, she lowers her eyes "Excuse me," she says walking away, oblivious to the phone still blaring loudly in her purse.
Written November 2017