Chapter 7: Chapter 7

She cocks the hammer back with a thumb and says, "Explain this!" She is glaring at you.

You sink to your knees. "I... I had it for protection. You see my face. I was attacked in a store by a... a girl. Didn't know her. She just wanted to..."

She lowers her arms, and uncocks the hammer. "She wanted to rape you." She finishes for you, laying the gun on the bed.

"Yes. She was so... she threw me down... and pinned me. I... I... My girlfriend gave me that for protection. She said..."

"These are blanks." She holds up a round between thumb and forefinger. All the rounds were sitting there beside her on the bed.

"What? No, they..." You stare at her without comprehension.

"They're dummies made by someone with gun-smithing knowledge." She tosses it to you. You catch and examine it. Seems normal.

She says "Weight feel right to you?"

You heft it and shake your head. "I'm not familiar with it. I don't think I'd know."

"No powder. I broke one open. They're dummies made to look like live rounds. Your girlfriend gave you this?"

You just stare at her. "How did you even find it, um, Ma'am?"

She smiles. "I noticed when we walked in the room, the mattress was cockeyed, and the bedspread was partially tucked between it and the box spring. Looked suspicious. I just lifted the mattress, and there it was."

You nod and look down.

She says, "I forced myself on you. Controlled you. Threatened you. Which would have brought back memories and fears of your recent attack, starkly. And you had this right here. It's loaded with blanks, but you clearly didn't know that. You didn't try to use it on me. Why?"

"I... you didn't..." You stop and look up at her. "I felt safe. I felt safe with you."

She says, "You were nervous... entering the room."

"I was... a little. But you were different. I don't know."

She nods slightly, then extends the gun to you. You get up, and take it from her, nodding thanks.

"Your girlfriend is right. You probably do need to carry that. But maybe to protect yourself from her as much as anyone. You might want to load it with something more effective, though. Understand this. I don't know her, but she Is likely operating at a level of understanding far beyond yours. You have no idea. No offense boy, but men are like retarded children to me now. If she's anything like me..." She trails off.

She continues. "There is very little you can hide from her. She will be able to tell when you're lying... know when you're nervous, sexually excited, stressed, being coy or evasive... with greater clarity and sensitivity than you can probably imagine. You're a sweet boy... just stay safe."

She says "I'm going to get some sleep. You're welcome to use the couch or the floor." She climbs into bed and switches off the bedside light.

You put the dummy rounds and revolver into one of your bags, then arrange the blanket on the sofa. It's past 2 am. You turn out the last light and get comfortable under the blanket.

You sleep soundly, but only until a little before 6. It's still dark out, but after you've been awake for a while, you realize Kerren no longer seems to be in the room. Bathroom light isn't on either. You switch on a light. She is gone, as are her things. You are disappointed.

Well, you're not going to be able to sleep again, so you head to the bathroom and switch on the light. Kerren left a perfect purple lipstick print on your good cheek, and there's a business card next to the sink with her name and phone number written on the back, in feminine handwriting. It's one of your cards you had left on the nightstand. You start organizing things in the room. It is kind of a mess. You throw all your torn clothing from last night in the trash, then pull the blue jeans back out. You try to tear them yourself, as Kerren did so easily. Even pulling so hard that veins stand out on your neck, you can't tear the tough fabric at all, unless starting from an existing rip or cut. And even then, you can only do so with significant effort.

You will need to stop off at another store to replace the ruined clothes after work. These "new women" are costing you a fortune in clothing! When you get to your wallet, you realize that Kerren never took the hundred dollars she won from you at pool. Not the expected behavior from a woman who lives off conning men and has no reason to show them mercy.

You hide all Kerren's cigarette butts and ashes. Don't want trouble with hotel management, or a big surprise charge on your credit card. After the room has been put back together, you decide to take another, longer shower. Your body is starting to feel older than its years, and steaming hot water is exactly what is needed. Constant aches, pains and muscle strains seem to be something you'll have to get used to now. You dress and head down to the hotel restaurant to eat something. While waiting, you text Nina: Hey babe, let's talk today so I can figure out whether to stay longer than through tonight. Love you.

You finish breakfast, and head over to the office early, feeling slightly guilty about your early quitting time yesterday. The drive from the hotel, while much closer than your normal commute, takes longer than expected. Should have been 2 minutes but took almost 10 with the downtown traffic.

You see small men's protests at two different intersections. Since the traffic moves slowly, you have an opportunity to read protest signs, and see that these guys are just wildly guessing. There seems to be no over-arching conspiracy theory, but multiple factions. Aside from the "It's-in-the-water" one-world government guys, there are people claiming that it's a master takeover plot by China, multiple signs warning you not to let women take over "men's jobs", and even a couple implicating "aliens". The one about men's jobs hits kind of close to home though.

You unlock your office door then close it behind you. You look at your phone to make sure you didn't miss Nina's text reply. She usually texts back right away. Not yet though. After checking some emails on your PC, you begin sorting through Astana documents. You want to tie up as many loose ends on this project as possible before it gets subjected to the... likely... discerning and critical eye of Ms. De la Renta next week.

Since you came in almost an hour early, and there aren't many people in the office yet, you can work quickly and without interruption. Then, at 7:45, your office door opens suddenly, then shuts. You look up, and Cynthia from Accounting is standing there. She's leaning, back against the door, hands behind her back. Her skirt is a bit shorter than normal office attire, and her peach blouse is open down to the top of her cleavage. Women do seem to be dressing in more revealing clothing lately, and even women who were previously plain are looking hot to you these days. You stare at her stocking-clad legs for a moment or two, then up to her face. She's biting her lower lip, eyebrows raised.

She steps up, and leans forward on your desk, her open blouse just above your monitor. "So looks like Nina's getting a little rough with you, Brian. Huh?"

"Nina? No, I told you: touch... um, slipped in the shower." Shit.

"Having trouble keeping your story straight? You're not fooling anyone. Just like Jason. Some women... need you to be ready when they are." She steps around your desk, and closer to you.

You turn in your office chair to face her. She's looking down at your lap, and steps even closer. One leg is between your knees, her knee against the front of your chair.

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"You've been carrying that to work with you every day for years, and I didn't really notice until a few weeks ago... but that is quite the bulge in your crotch, Brian." She caresses your bruised cheek lightly with her fingertips. You pull your face back a little. She cocks her head and adopts an empathetic tone. "Some women are gentler, more careful. I think it's a pity that guys like you get hurt just trying to be good guys. I'd like to show you how gentle I can be."

You roll back in your chair a bit, then stand, pushing it to the side of the desk for more room to back away. "Cyn... aren't you and Bill a thing? I mean, what's he going to think?"

She shrugs and smiles. "Bill loves me, but he doesn't mind when I spend time with other guys. I think a little competition between men is a good thing, don't you? Though I think you may have the advantage. Billy's nice, but he doesn't have what you're packing." She raises a hand and twirls her hair absently, while advancing a step toward you.

You look down at her tight skirt and legs. Your cock is starting to swell. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and your ears are hot. You back up slightly but find yourself against the counter at the wall. Damn small office. It occurs to you that all your blinds are still down, and if there were anyone outside, they couldn't see what's happening in here.

She lifts her left leg and plants her high-heeled foot on your chair. Her skirt rides up so that the black tops of her stockings and white panties are exposed to you. There is a wet stain in the middle. Jesus her legs are sexy.

She has you cornered. She leans forward and reaches out with her right hand, cupping your package with her palm, giving it a firm squeeze. Your dick lurches in your pants.

"That's so nice. So big and firm. I have a warm, soft, wet place to put that. Nina is a very lucky woman... but she abuses you. That's not right."

You want to back away further, but there is nowhere to go. "Cynthia, this isn't right. I don't feel comfortable with you grabbing me like this. You need to be careful. I have a higher position here at the bank than you, and more tenure. If I have to, I'll talk to..."

She cuts you off "Who? Matson? Clay Newburgh? What do you think they'll say when you tell them that a little girl like me came onto you? You know I'll just tell them we had a fling, you didn't want to end it, and now you're unhinged and after revenge. I know Newburgh at least knows about your problem with that leadership consultant a couple years ago. He knows what you can be like. And Ms. Matson isn't exactly your biggest fan these days is she?" She squeezes your crotch again, a bit tighter, though still not painful.

How did she know that, about Angelica Freeman? You and Nina had a short separation two years ago, and you had an inappropriate fling with Angie, who was contracted as a management advisor for about 8 weeks. Even Matson doesn't know that... you think.

She pushes her body closer. You can smell her cologne and see down her bra-less top. Just the top of a nipple.

"Look, my plan isn't to blackmail you, Brian. Or to just take what I want when I get you alone. Not at all. I just want you to know that I'm interested in you. I know you want me... it's obvious from the way your big cock responds in the morning when you see me... and now, when I touch it. Most guys these days need a woman to cling to, for protection. Especially the ones who might have something extra to offer a girl, like you. Other girls see you're spoken for, and stay away. If you're around the office during the day, and going down to your car at night in that big, dark parking garage, it's safer if your woman is nearby. You can rely on her to defend your honor. What's Nina going to do for you if that happens, and she's not around? Plus, I can do some things to you that are... amazing. Because of the change. Ask Bill, he goes crazy for it. I'll tell him to give you honest answers if you ask. And if he doesn't talk to you because he's jealous, come see me. I'll set him straight."

She reaches up and kisses your chin, then turns away and walks back out of your office, her hips with maybe a bit more sway than normal.

Holy shit. Women are just coming out of the woodwork lately. Who's next, Matson? You check to make sure your erection isn't too obvious, then open your blinds. Privacy and solitude aren't safe anymore it seems.

It's 8 am. You head to the men's room and find a stall so you can collect yourself. At least your hands aren't shaking. No PTSD... yet. You wonder what kind of effect this repeated coupling of horniness with fear and stress will have on your sexual response in the long run. Will it reach the point where you can only get wood if a woman is beating you up or pointing a gun at you?

You wash your hands and head back to the office. There are construction workers bringing in equipment and materials in the elevator area, and when you get close to your office you see that some maintenance guys are breaking down cubicles, moving plants, file cabinets and other items away, clearing space just outside your office. Oh shit. You just realized this must be preparation for Ms. De la Renta's start on Monday. They've got to build her an office, and... "appoint" it before she arrives, whatever that means. And your office is part of that.

You stand in your office, facing out leaning with your butt against the desk, arms folded. Sure enough, after a couple minutes, the head maintenance guy walks up to you with a clipboard and says "Mr. Bannister sir? We're supposed to clean out your office and prep it for the construction crew."

You sigh and unfold your arms. "Yeah, I figured. So when do you need me out of here?"

"Well, we're supposed to do it right away." He explains.

"So... now. What are you going to do with my computer, files, other stuff?"

"IT is going to take the computer, monitor, keyboard and mouse and re-install it on the weekend. The rest of the stuff we're responsible for. I suggest if you have any personal items in here, you take it now. We aren't responsible for anything that isn't company property sir, and can't guarantee it will be preserved."

He certainly has memorized his patter. "Okay, then I'll get it all out of here in 10 minutes."

"Thank you sir." He goes back out to direct his guys to finish cleaning out the area. They are clearing a pretty large space. You wonder how large Ms. De la Renta's office will be... and how much of that will be your space.

You shut down your PC, then go borrow a box from someone in Mortgages, and return to clean out your stuff. There isn't much: a few pictures, framed diplomas and certifications, a sealed bottle of scotch and glasses, a few other odds and ends. Once it's under your arm, and your jacket draped over the other shoulder, you look around, wondering what you're going to do for the rest of the day. Without a PC, there's really no work you can possibly do.

You head toward the elevators but stop when you see the construction foreman. He has a set of plans rolled out on a portable plywood stand and is reviewing them while his guys tape down some Ram Board and paper in the pathway from the elevators to the work area, and plastic from floor to ceiling to keep dust out of the other office areas. You look at the plans while he gives instructions to his guys. You know a thing or two about construction, and they are building a pretty large space for her, with mahogany paneled walls, a coffered ceiling, marble wet bar, a private bathroom and expensive looking light fixtures. Overall, about the same size as Matson's office, but actually nicer furnishings. They must be paying De la Renta quite the salary if it's in line with this level of luxury. 3 or 4 times what you are making, at a minimum. Depressing, but if those numbers Matson spit out at you the other day are real, she'd still make them a ton of money. In contrast, your office, spelled out on the plan as "Secretary" assuming that doesn't mean someone else, is roughly the same size as yours is now, but is basically a vestibule of her office. Visitors would have to walk through your office, with a raised receptionist's counter, to see her. You groan, as this means you will be her personal receptionist. Probably be expected to do her filing, write emails for her, fetch her coffee. That kind of stuff. Jesus, what a demotion.

You ask the foreman when they plan to finish. He says, "Well, we... are going to finish by 5pm Saturday. That includes stone work, painting, floors, electrical and plumbing. Right at 5, the cleaning crew and IT come in to do their part, and then the designer is scheduled to bring in the furniture and art at the same time, so they'll probably be stepping on each other. The lady whose office this is, is scheduled to visit for 30 minutes on Sunday at 3pm. I'll be there to meet her in case she needs any changes.

"Okay thanks." You head to the elevators with your box. The art? A designer? Jesus.

You put your box in the trunk and look at your phone. Not even 9am. You pull out of the garage and head to the department store to pick up replacements for the clothes Kerren destroyed, You take your time, and are back in your hotel room by 10:30. You're pretty tired from last night, so decide to nap for a while. Fortunately, housekeeping has already been through your room, so it's clean and tidy. You pull the curtains, take off your office clothes, curl up in bed, and switch off the lights.

When you wake, it's 6pm. You're starving, so you dress in the new casual clothes you just bought and head down to the restaurant for dinner. By 6:30, you're fed and ready to head back upstairs. You watch TV for a while, something you rarely get the chance to do lately, but it's nice to let your mind go. When you're tired of channel surfing, you start checking the latest news on your phone. There's something about scientists looking into pheromone effects as part of "the female change" as most news outlets are calling it now. Dumb name: you'd think they could come up with something less vague. But there are enough reports of men feeling like they're under some unexplained influence around certain women that they're investigating pheromones and finding evidence to back it up.

You look at the time again. It's 8pm. It occurs to you that you haven't gotten any kind of response from Nina yet, and you call her number. Rings 5 times and then you hear her voicemail greeting, and you leave a short message. You brush your teeth, then throw on some shorts and head over to the fitness center on the 7th floor.

There are large windows in the gym facing out into the corridor, and you can see it's huge and well-equipped for a hotel gym. It's almost empty, only a single guest working out. You move closer and peer through the glass. It's a woman, massively muscled, wearing a skimpy red and black outfit: just a sports bra and thong. The thong of course fails at covering her perfectly-curved buttocks, but succeeds at showcasing their exquisite shape and volume. She has her back to you, banging out pull ups, and just dripping with sweat. Looking closer, you see that she actually has a chain around her waist with two 45 pound plates suspended between her knees. You are astonished. Now there's a woman who could protect a man! As you watch, she does close to 20 pull ups with that heavy weight, barely slowing before she lets go and drops to the padded floor. She is tall, with shiny black hair. You are mesmerized by the well-developed muscles on this woman, and feel your erection growing as you watch. She tosses her hair to one side, and catches you watching her, then turns toward you.

Oh my god, it's Olivia De la Renta! Your jaw drops. She stands there looking at you, her huge, busty chest rising and falling as she gets her breathing under control. She grabs a towel, wipes her forehead and neck, then recognizes you. A smile spreads across her face, she points a finger directly at you, and beckons for you to come inside.

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