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I make myself obedient and demurely obey her. I make my posture that of a little boy that has just gotten scolded and accepts the scolding. After the door is locked, and I’m in front of her again, I fold my hands in front of myself. I hang my head for good measure. Though I’ve done this around her legitimately for the past two weeks out of respect, I don’t have as much respect for her now as I did then. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“The way you left here on Friday evening, Tommy,” she says. “I don’t approve of it. When I give you the opportunity to do more than what I’ve asked. To go above and beyond the call of duty on certain things, I expect that to happen.”
Underneath these words, I get flashes of me doing more than accepting her kiss. Moaning with pleasure like she imagines I would and should.
She continues, “None of my other boys have ever done what you did. Just walked out without giving me what I want, without giving it your all, especially after the promotion I rewarded you with.”
I don’t like the insinuation she’s put on these words. I don’t like that she’s confirmed part of the conspiracy theory floating around on the legal aid’s floor. That she gave me the job because she wanted me sexually, not simply because I was skilled in my own right. But I let it go uncontested. I’m not here to pick fights with her. I’m here to lull her into a false sense of trust and security. I’m here to make her think I’m just as obedient and pliable — flexible morally and physically — as she is.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pick up her cane again. She fiddles with it, fondling the top of it thoughtfully. “I really don’t like the idea of having to punish you again,” she says, but the glitter in her smile, the hitch in her breath, tells me otherwise. She is more than overjoyed at the possibility. “I don’t like having to be the bad guy here, but I don’t like bad boys, Tommy. And you’re a naughty boy.”
I swallow thickly. Partly as part of my act, and probably because I really am feeling nervous and fidgety. As much as I’ve told myself I’m not, and cannot, be swept in by her, she is a force to be reckoned with.
“Very naughty, in fact. So much so, I’m inclined to believe you made some things up on that resume of yours.” I don’t like this insinuation either, but again, I let it slide. “Someone with such a good track record should be so much more obedient,” she muses, sliding her hand up and down the neck of the cane.
I let her catch me looking warily at the cane. “I am obedient,” I say, using my best take-pity-on-me voice. “I can be, Ms. Vanacore.” I give her the full force of my eyes. I make them big and wet now. Innocent, like a baby buck. “I’m just afraid.” I let her see my eyes move to the cane. I lick my lips, solidifying her impression of me. That she left a lasting one on my backside last time, and I’m afraid of another.
“My father didn’t let me be me, Ms. Vanacore. He beat me. Trying to get me to lose weight, he abused me. Then he sent me to a camp, where they abused me, too.” While getting slammed around by Dad due to my weight is true, and being sent to camp is true, what I say next is purely for Ms. Vanacore’s benefit. To make her feel sorry for me. “I don’t want to disobey or get in trouble. I want to do things with you, but my body won’t let me, Ms. Vanacore.” I swallow thickly. Again, it’s probably my act, and partly the anxiety I’m honestly feeling. “Any time you get close, I just freak out. I’m worrying what HR will do to me if they find out I’m attracted to you.” Here, I bring my eyes down, make myself blush. “That I’m in love with you.” I look up at Ms. Vanacore, seeing exactly what I want to see: that she’s flushed with lust. She’s trembling with excitement. “I want to, but I can’t.” I let myself tremble here.
Here, just as I’ve been hoping, Vanacore lets go of her cane. She sets it against one wall in her office, looking moved and sobered by my admission. “Oh, my poor boy,” she says. She sounds tearful, just like I wanted her to.
So, I put my next plan into action. I go to her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vanacore. I’m sorry for not being the good boy you hired.” I throw my arms around her and smile inwardly as I feel her do the same back to me. She hugs me to her and begins to rock back and forth with me. “I’m sorry I’ve been so bad to you. I’m sorry I’ve been doing such a bad, bad job.” Here, I hug her a little tighter. “Please don’t fire me. Please! I want to do better. I just don’t know how!”
