Perforation number 2

Angela's car slowed down outside the apartment building. The delicate blonde opened the door and rushed in to pet and examine each of the cats. After feeding and combing every one of them, she got to the cleanup.

Tonight she was expecting a visitor: Dwight would be here for the first time in years. She was contractually obligated to bear the farmer's child. Angela was fighting for a man for the first time in her life. She had knocked him off younger and more fun-loving Isabelle. She agreed to a cynical maternity contract, and when he changed his mind, she devised a cunning plan that included a judicial mediator and compensation for not conceiving. It wasn't her style, Angela had been schooled in the ideals of pride and control of feelings. Her father would be rolling over in his grave if he knew how she chased after a man, how she was clinging to the carnal and the undeserving.

It's these thoughts that sober her. She stops tidying up so nervously. Going into the bathroom, she washes face and fixes make up. She'd much rather wash off her coloring, change into a knit suit with kittens on it, and be with him like this, simple and homely, like before. But she can't afford that kind of intimacy with him yet. Oh, Schrute knows no mercy for weak animals. He can only be restrained like a wild mustang (he even likes to be whipped and shouted at, metaphorically speaking).

She gives in to her other weakness, voluptuousness. She finds elegant pajamas in the closet, passing on a blue silk business suit. She puts them on her naked body. The doorbell trills as Angela manages to collect herself and mentally adjust.

Dwight walks in in an upbeat, cheerful mood. He's still wearing the same rich man's suit he wore this afternoon. The pipe is sticking out of pocket. Only the glasses are back on his nose - he must have bought them at the pharmacy. - Hello! - The coworker says.
- Good evening! Can I congratulate you on the revenge on the antiquities dealer?
- Oh yes! - Schrute shone. - They must have been very regretted... And there's a Tin Mage waiting for me in the car. I can't wait to put it in the collection.
- Well, good for you. And now, wait for me in the living room, and I will bring tea - Angela said ceremoniously.
- But I just came... Oh, okay. To heck with you.
Dwight sat down on the couch and looked around at the familiar environment. He passed a cat, barely even glancing at it. The man tried to beckon the pet, but it didn't work: the cat just laid down in the armchair, covered its eyes and remained deaf and blind to any manipulation.

It was a strange thing to come back here. There was a world he'd never fully understood - plenty of cats, figurines, vintage knickknacks, too small furniture. But at the same time, for years it had given him peace, comfort, and satisfied his physical and sexual hunger.
Angela returned with the serving tray and left it on the table before sitting down in the armchair with the cat, putting it on her lap. - Help yourself. I admit I'd be curious to hear the details of the mission.
Dwight began the story. Angela listened attentively, stroking the pet behind the ears. - Revenge is a dish that is sold cold, she added meaningfully when Dwight stopped talking.
Her interlocutor looked at her sympathetically. She averted her gaze. There was awkward pause.

Dwight broke the silence:
- It's cold in here. Cracks in the frames, I think. Did you call that repairman I always recommended?
Angela shrugged.
- It's just the kitchen window's open. I'll be right back.
Of course, though, the window was open for a reason. When she came a minute later, her nipples, cooling in the chill night air, were brazenly showing through the weightless silk. At the doorway, she stopped and made sure Schrute's eyes were looking where they needed to go. Angela pronounced: - "So, follow me to the bedroom. You know the place".

When they were alone, she turned out all the lights in the room; the curtains were already drawn. Dwight felt uncomfortable. This was not a lighted storage room, in his own building, but someone else's territory, dark, hot, vicious. To get back in control, he declared:
- Let's do it quick. And no kissing!
Instead of words, Angela stripped naked, making her pajamas slide to her feet. She took his hands and guided them over her body with pressure. She let him feel the hardness of her breasts, her toned abdomen, her soft thighs, her rounded buttocks. Sensing his desire, she took another step closer, squeezed herself against him and began to strip him teasingly slowly, touching his bare skin with her intimate parts as if casually.

She knew things about the stern and assertive Best Salesman that no one else knew. Not the Halperts, not that filly Isabelle. He liked to obey. To people he loved and whose authority he recognized. That's probably why he made such a fool of himself in Michael's face. He liked to be led, to follow orders, to suffer a little pain or repressed pleasure.
Dwight's breathing was short with impatience. He tried to push her onto the bed, but the lady stood her ground and dismissed him with the palm of her hand: - Wait!
After stripping him down to bare boxers, she sat Schrute down on the bed and pushed him lightly in the chest. Kneeling down in front of him, she cupped her hand around his erection through the fabric. Dwight exhaled. Angela started out with gentle, teasing movements, then increased the rhythm and intensity. She finally pulled down his underpants, leaned over, and ran her hair, her warm breath over his chest, stomach, groin... Having approached his genitals, for a couple of seconds lingering over them in a few inches, she lifted her head, looked into his face and whispered: - It's a pity I have no right to kiss you. The man wheezed:
- No no no no... keep going.
But she had already slid onto the bed beside him, stroked his chest. Rolled over onto the back, pressing her hips against lover.
Dwight understood the invitation. He climbed on top of her, pushed her legs apart and entered her full length, eliciting a moan. He was so horny that after half a minute of aggressive pushes, he cum into her.

He lay on top of her for a few moments, his face against the nape of her neck. He felt hungry, wanting to turn her around, to kiss her. He wanted to bring her to orgasm, to hear her cry out, "Oh, D." Plus, he was disappointed at how quickly it was over.
Angela didn't move, afraid to scare the moment away. If only she dared! She missed his love, his body, his affection - everything she had once had (and seemed like she would always have). A single tear rolled out of her eye, ran down the side of her nose, sank into the sheet. It awakened her from her musings. Sharply raising herself on the arms, she shook off her lover. In an unperturbed tone, she stated:
- I have to go to the bathroom. Well, thank you for visiting.
- I was obligated by the contact, - Dwight grumbled.
Angela felt a lump in her throat. She fumbled for her pajama jacket on the floor, threw it on, and walked quickly to the bathroom - without turning around.
In the bathroom, alone with herself, she let the tears flow. What if he never loved her again? What would she do with a child who would be a daily reminder of her mistakes? Hearing a cheerful "'Bye-bye!" from the hallway and the slamming of the door, Angela cried even more desperately.
She sighed and pulled the hormone patch she'd saved from the first-aid kit. She couldn't risk it.
As she let go she remembered that there were still three more attempts left. There was still time to get him back. " And maybe apologize," Angela thought for the first time in two years .
She'd never been particularly empathic, but she suddenly realized that D had felt the same way during her engagement. So this would be what it was like to love someone, to want them whole, their time, soul, and presence, but only get their body for just a few minutes. She's twisted with remorse and guilt. How long she sat like that in the tub, tears flowing, wrapping her arms around herself and cradling herself like a child, she doesn't know. It was only when a persistent, hungry meow was heard outside the door that she woke up. She washed her face and went out to the pets.
After filling their bowls, she sank into a armchair with a glass of water. She felt better - as if a pustule had burst, and now her soul was cleansed. She knew now how to get him back. Not with another intrigue, but with simple humanity and attention.

A week later, Andy gave out Sweeney Todd tickets to his coworkers.