Obsessions of the Lustful Mind

Chapter 1

I can’t believe I’m late again. You would have thought that living only 50 meters from your place of work, that it would be impossible to be late. But, no. Here I am again, scrambling over slippery cobbles in heels, trying not to break my neck. I guess it would be a blessing in disguise though, breaking my neck. Well, maybe not breaking it, but you know, a little bump to the head. Concussion. A small one, of course, nothing serious. Just bad enough that I get sent home and told to rest until tomorrow.

There’s been drizzle all day long, but as I approach the hotel, I can’t help but admire the reflections of its millions of lights bouncing off the cobbles. It’s very pretty and rather dramatic. Even more so with the porter’s silhouette carved into the road.

“Good evening, John. Not too cold I hope.”

“Nice of you to join us, Felicity.” He smiles. “Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and go for a quick jog, that’d warm me up!”

I pass through the revolving doors and scan the lobby for the night manager. No sign of him, so I scuttle through to the hotel bar where I’m posted this evening.

“Bloody hell, Felicity. I know what I’m buying you for your birthday, a fucking watch.”

“I am terribly sorry, Jack.”

“It’s alright. To be honest, it’s been pretty quiet for a Friday night. You see over there” — he flicks his head to the side — “they’ve privatised half of the bar for one guy. Can you believe it?”

“Seriously?” I glanced over Jack’s shoulder for a sneaky-peak. “Who is he?”

“No idea. We had a briefing but I wasn’t really listening.”

“A briefing?”

“Oh, yeah. The girl” — my inquisitive eyes shifted to the brunette on his left — “briefed the staff this afternoon. Basically, we can’t talk to him.”

“That’s all she said? Don’t talk to him?”

“Probably more, it lasted about 10 minutes. To be honest, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her legs. My mind wandered I suppose. Anyway, I have to run. I’ve got a date tonight!”

As soon as Jack left, I went out the back to finish getting ready. Looking in the mirror I decided I would never again tie my neck scarf whilst running. It was a waste of time and only increased the chances of me breaking my neck. My hair has seen better days, but my make-up looked alright. Something was missing though. Oh yes, my name badge.

When I returned to the bar, I took to my stool and parked myself upon it. It looked like it was going to be a boring night. The place was half empty, half dead. The half-empty part wouldn’t exactly be over running me with orders, and the half-dead part didn’t look like they could even remember their own names, let alone walk up to the bar and order a drink. I never understood why people drink so much, only to end up in such a state. Where is the fun in that? It’s certainly not attractive. Unlike our mystery man and his girlfriend, the very epitome of attractiveness. I started to blush. Even just thinking such a thing makes me go all red, but I had to admit it, he was a very handsome man indeed.

His clothes were plain but well-tailored. Just black dress pants, a white shirt, and a black-tie. A well chiselled face with a little stubble and thick eyebrows hanging over fiery eyes. His rugged hands were met by a little hair creeping out from beneath his cuffs. A rough diamond wrapped in elegance.

She was equally as beautiful. Dressed in a short black leather skirt, white shirt, and low black ankle boots. Her hair was surprisingly short and almost as black as her skirt. Understated dress sense, with the exception of clunky silver press studs that buttoned her skirt up at the front. A little clin d’œil, as the French would say, to her partner’s jagged edges.

The only thing I found stranger than them sitting side by side, was the distance between them. They must have been at least 2 meters apart.

At that moment, he looked up and caught me gawping at him. I could feel my face blush and in this low light, he could probably see me glowing from across the room. He said something to his girlfriend and they both laughed. I turned around pretending I hadn’t seen and reorganised the glasses. I felt so stupid.

Shortly after that, she pulled herself out from the table and headed for the bar. Only now that she was stood up could I fully appreciate her frame. Her legs were probably as tall as me and she moved with such confidence. The leather skirt was short, hanging high upon her hips. Her long strides pushed the top of her thighs through its front cut. Even I could fall her. I blushed again.

“Could we get a bottle of water, please? Sparkling.”

“Of course, madam.” I leant down to the fridge and removed a bottle of our finest sparkling water. Seemingly, it is naturally filtered through rocks deposited by melting ice sheets in Lapland. “Would you like me to bring it over to your table, madam?”

“I can manage, thank you. Could you put it on room 901 please?”

The femme-fatale took the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other and disappeared back to their table.

Room 901, that’s the rooftop suite. Who is he, who are they? I decided to call reception.

“Pam.” I was almost whispering.

Femme-fatale had now slipped back into her chair.

“Hi, Felicity. Why are you whispering?”

I felt nervous like I was doing something wrong. The fact that he was just staring at me didn’t help.

“Jack said there was a briefing today regarding room 901.”

He was still staring intensely. Like he knew I was on the phone snooping to find out who he was.

“Yes, very exciting, don’t you think?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Jack didn’t tell you? I thought he would have told you.”

“He told me she had nice legs. But I’m guessing that wasn’t the objective of the briefing…”

“Nope. It’s Mr. Rockwell. Stinking rich he is.” There was a pause, “Billionaire rich. He’s the CEO of a company — ”

“She’s coming over. I’m hanging up.”

Femme fatale approached the bar wishing me good night and then left. I suddenly realised that everyone else had already left too. With the exception of Mr. Rockwell.

I need a distraction, so I step from behind the bar and start to collect glasses. But I feel even more uncomfortable now, knowing he can see my whole body. I can feel his eyes running up and down me. I blush again. I feel exposed, but at the same time quite excited. My belly churns.

I return to the bar, throwing a look his way. But he is just staring at me, twiddling his thumbs. I wonder if he realises how uncomfortable he is making me feel.

A few minutes pass and temptation rises. I muster some courage and lift my head. No longer is he looking at me. Disappointed hits me. I slip back into a full-on gawk, only to be caught out once more. God, I hope my mouth was closed. He raises a hand slightly off the table. Oh my, he wants me to go over. I get a pang in my belly. I take a deep breath and leave the safety of my bar.

As I approach, I can see him in greater detail, he’s even more handsome closeup. And those penetrating eyes. I feel like he can see through my clothes. I start to blush again.

“Good evening, Miss…”

He leans back into his chair but leaves his crossed hands on the table. Twiddling his thumbs.

“Felicity.”

“Tell me, Miss” — a tiny smirk runs across his lips — “Felicity. Have you worked here a long time?”

Why is he asking that, have I done something wrong? Hopefully, it’s just a terrible chat up line, I can’t afford to lose another job. Wow, good one Felicity. Do you honestly think a billionaire would waste his time chatting you up?

“I started working here about a month ago.” But there’s no reply. He just stares at me with those fiery eyes. I feel compelled to continue. “It’s just to get me through uni.” There’s still no reply and I’m beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. “I’m studying Fine Art.” Come on say something. Please.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” My heart pounds

“What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’d like to open my own gallery.”

“Well. Do have a nice evening Miss” — he smirks again — “Felicity.”

He stands up just as eloquently as his friend and places his laptop into a leather briefcase. As he headed toward the foyer it dawned on me. He was smirking because he wanted to know my surname. Idiot.

That was so intense. So very, very strange. Was he playing with me? Trying to freak me out with his possessive stare, like he owned me? Was he trying to chat me up? Maybe it’s just all in my head. Probably just a normal conversation. Maybe I was the one acting weird. Anyway, time to close up the bar and go home.

Chapter 2

“Felicity, what’re you drinking?”

It was pretty loud in here, “Martini.” I shouted.

I hate bars. Too many people, too much noise. But mainly it’s the people. With the exception of Emily, I don’t really have any friends. I’ve always found it hard to connect with others. Actually, that’s not true, I think I’m scared of rejection. Easier to be alone than feel the pain of being cast aside. With Emily though it’s different. I’ve known her since I was 2. Our parents were best friends, which meant that we too became best friends. If it wasn’t for that external pressure pushing and holding us together through the years, we wouldn’t be here now. At least I wouldn’t be here now, in this God-forsaken bar.

Suddenly a silence sweeps across the group. Dangerous. People show desperation in uncomfortable silence and will resort to anything to fill the void. Stupid questions mainly. So, in a pre-emptive act of self-preservation, I start to look around the room. That’s when I see the door opening and none other than Mr. Rockwell being ushered in by the femme fatale. What the fuck are they doing in a student bar on a Tuesday night?

Lowering my head, I whisper to Emily, “Remember the guy I told you about from the hotel?”

“The Billionaire?”

“Yes. He has just walked in.” Emily’s head span around.

The femme fatale made her way to the bar, leaving the tycoon by himself in the doorway. She delicately pushed her way to the front and exchanged some words with the barman. What was she doing in here? What was he doing in here? I am sure billionaires don’t care about £1-a-pint nights.

Emily’s face lit up with excitement, “Do you think he’s come for you?”

“Of course not, silly. I told you he was fooling with me.”

“How do you explain him being here then?”

I didn’t know how to answer that one. I guess the possibility of him coming to find me was rather exciting, but come on get real.

“How would he know where I am, Emily. Think about it.”

“He’s a billionaire. They get whatever they want.”

At that point, the femme fatale and the barman marched through the drunks and up to the crowded mezzanine.

“You’re right, he is super sexy!”

Then one by one each table stood up and walked down the stairs with sheepish looks upon their faces. I felt like I was watching a scene from some mafia film. The femme fatale nodded at Mr. Rockwell and he made his way up to join her.

“You see, billionaires get whatever they want.”

It was unbelievable. Butterflies started to fill my belly. I had thought about him all week long. Those fingers, that piercing stare that made me feel naked. I started to blush again.

“Go up and say hello you fool!” Emily was really excited now. A little too much for my liking.

“I would be a fool to go up, Emily. Do you seriously believe for one minute, that he has come here to see me? That he has cleared the mezzanine for me?” Anger rose from deep within.

“Felicity. Seriously, I think — ”

“No! You listen Emily. Sometimes I don’t think you see me the way others do.”

“Felicity. Please, just — ”

“It’s easy for you. You’re good looking, confident — ”

“Felicity” — Emily grabbed my arms — “she’s coming this way!”

I turned around to see the femme-fatale making her back way through the drunken crowds. Towards me.

“Good evening, Miss Felicity.” She smirked.

I am glad to see that’s catching on.

“Mr. Rockwell would like 5 minutes of your time, please. Follow me.”

I didn’t look at Emily, I couldn’t, I was too nervous, so I just put my drink on the bar and followed the femme fatale. A million thoughts ran through my mind as I followed her strawberry-scented trail.

“Good evening Miss Copperwood.”

So, he has done his homework — he knows my surname. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or frightened.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

That caught me off guard. Like really off guard. Who does he think he is? Coming in here with all these theatrics and asking me if I have a boyfriend!

“No.”

Way to stand up for yourself, Felicity.

“Please, take a seat.”

I sat there feeling like I had entered the lion’s den. He leaned in ever so slowly and rested his elbows on the table.

“Do you enjoy working at the hotel?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well paid?”

“No.”

“How much is your student loan? Assuming you have one.”

The fear turned into fury. Why is he asking all these questions? Nonetheless, I couldn’t bring myself not to answer him. Something about him seemed to turn me into a little girl. A little girl who was scared of displeasing her teacher.

“I owe about twenty thousand pounds.”

“What about your rent?”

By now, I had given up fighting the urge to tell him to fuck off, to tell him that it was none of his God damn business. I just sighed inwardly and decided to answer his questions. Regardless of how arbitrary they may seem.

“Five hundred pounds per month — including electricity and water”

“Including electricity” — he smiled — “and water.”

I felt like I’d been brought here to amuse him. Like I was the billionaire’s little plaything. He receded slowly into his chair and stopped talking. Pondering, looking deep into my eyes. I was no longer intimidated, I just felt resigned.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he stood from his chair.

“Good night, Miss Copperwood. See you soon.”

He gave a slight nod of the head to the femme fatale and then vanished into the pool of disorderly students below.

She reached into her handbag, pulling out an envelope that she handed to me just before bidding me good night herself.

I was dumbfounded. Gobsmacked. What had just happened? And what on earth is this? I held it in my hands for a few minutes. Just staring at it. I was hesitant to open it but curiosity was clawing her way through the fear.

“So? What did he want?” Emily had made her way upstairs by now and was sitting by my side.

“He gave me an envelope.”

“An envelope?”

“Yes. After a series of weird fucking questions, he handed me” — I threw the envelope onto the table — “this.”

I felt pretty upset, to say the least. It was not at all what I had expected. I felt a little foolish too. As I was walking up those stairs, I thought that he might actually like me. Probably hurts so much because as much as I hate to admit it, I really do like him.

“Open it up then.”

I take a deep breath. Sliding my nail beneath the flap to break the seal.

“What is it, Felicity?”

“A contract.”

Chapter 3

I never read the contract to Emily. How could I? I was so embarrassed, thinking that he could be attracted to me. Plus, the contract was pretty weird and the job description was very vague, to say the least: Be of service and run errands for Mr. Rockwell. Safeword: red. What the fuck is a safe word? On the contrary, needing to use the word safe only highlights possibilities of danger. Plus, the salary is the exact sum of my student loan and my student accommodation. He already knew the figures, but he still asked me. Why? To make it obvious that he had done his homework? That he had been asking questions about me behind my back? I felt violated. It’s an invasion of privacy.

Anyway, the bar is quiet tonight, no one is in and Mr. Rockwell hasn’t reserved the whole floor for himself, so I can just sit and watch the hands of time wave at me until 3 am. I’ve already been here for two hours and all I have had are two-room service calls.

I took my sketch pad out of my bag and started to draw. I managed to get a full 45 minutes of uninterrupted doodling done before the phone rang again.

“Room service, how may I help you this evening?”

“Hello, Miss Felicity.” — I can hear the smirk — “Could you bring up a bottle of sparkling water to room 901? Thank you.”

Suddenly, anger and fear are swept from my stomach by butterflies. I’m excited. Which I don’t understand. I should go up there and give him a mouthful.

I take a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses and place them on a tray. Ring it through the till and head towards the lift.

The ninth floor is an apartment suite, so I swipe my badge and hit the 9th-floor button. Here goes. The lift comes to a halt. As does my heart. There’s a little ding to announce my arrival and the doors open. I’ve never been on the 9th floor before. I’m immediately intimidated by its size and décor. It’s splendid. I step out and wait.

A few seconds later I can hear the clipping of high heels on marble.

“Good evening, Miss Copperwood. This way please.”

I follow like a servant. The corridor is long, very long. As we make our way, I can feel the trepidation. A mixture of both excitement and terror as I get to see the man I have been thinking about for days on end.

Finally, we turn one last corner and arrive in an oval-shaped room with an imposingly oversized bed taking centre stage. There’s an American kitchen, a ridiculously large TV, and an office desk. The bathroom is hidden behind a glass wall. Clever, if not impractical. Hopefully, I won’t be needing the loo whilst I’m here. There’s also an open stairway leading to a closed mezzanine.

Mr. Rockwell is perched on the arm of the sofa between the bed and the bath.

“Please, take a seat.” Tapping the leather with his hand.

I wasn’t in the mood for another Spanish Inquisition, I needed to make my excuses and leave. “I must get back to work, I’m running both room service and the — ”

“I’ll be quick then, shall I?”

Femme fatale leans into his ear and whispers.

“Not yet,” — her eyes fall — “soon.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

So, we can safely assume she is not his girlfriend if she calls him sir. Suddenly, I feel a pang of hope.

He stopped talking again and suddenly I become very aware of the bed that we’re both facing. I start to blush. He urges me once again to take a seat. Resisting seems futile, so I sit down.

I can feel the silence pressing down on me. I don’t want to talk though. I shouldn’t have to. After all, he is the one that invited me here, to fetch him water. Maybe that’s what he likes. Controlling me. Forcing me to do stuff, like fetching him water or talking when I don’t want to. There’s an incessant urge within me to talk though, to put an end to this unbearable silence.

“Why do you need a new assistant?” My voice was cold. He seemed to take pleasure in that.

“I will be doing a lot of business here in Bristol over the coming weeks. Logistically it’s better to have an assistant here as well as back home.”

That makes sense I suppose.

“And the job description, it was pretty vague. What do you mean exactly by” — I take a deep breath — “services?”

“I have a lot of exigences and needs. It would be a lengthy read if I were to list all of the jobs that I expected you to carry out for me. It could be anything from privatising a part of a club to making sure I am delivered sparkling water by” — he bows his head — “the most charming employee of the hotel.”

Wow, that got me. He is good. I started to blush again.

“Safeword.” I blurted.

“Yes?”

“What — “ I cleared my throat, “What is that about?”

“Ahh. How can I say? Sometimes I may ask for something that’s outside of your comfort zone. The safe word is simply a way of letting me know.”

“So, you’re not going to be whipping me and tying me up then?” Jesus, where did that come from Felicity?

“Not unless you want me to.” He laughed, “Look, the contract is for a personal assistant. However, when I’m working, I can be rather oblivious to my assistants’ needs. The safe word is there to reel me back in should I ever go too far.”

Silence fell up the room.

“Listen, I am leaving Bristol in a couple of days. Why don’t you come around tomorrow and follow my assistant for the day? That way you can get a picture of what a typical day looks like working for me. If all goes well you can sign the contract. If not, we’ll tear it up. What do you say?”

He stands and to my surprise extends a hand, which I take without questioning. It’s soft and warm. I can’t believe we are touching one another. I can feel my face starting to go red. What does he want? Any angst I was feeling was all at once subdued by pure excitement.

I couldn’t fathom what seemed to be a sudden change of heart. Was this another game? Neither of us utter a word as we walk down the marble corridor hand in hand toward the lift. As we approach there’s a ding and the doors slide open. I step inside and take a deep breath before turning around to face him.

“Can I expect to see you tomorrow morning at 8 am?”

The doors start to close and just before they crash together, I hear myself saying yes.

Chapter 4

I arrive at the hotel at 7.30 am. It’s early, but I couldn’t really sleep and I don’t have the best track record of being on time. So, I go to the breakfast area and serve myself a very long coffee and sit down in the foyer.

“Hello, Felicity. I didn’t realise you were working today.”

“Good morning, John. I’ve got an interview. An internship, if you like.”

“Oh. Well, good luck with that.”

Off he went to start his day of letting people in and out of doors. All-day long. All. Day. Long. I don’t know how he manages. Plus, he’s always got a nice word and a smile for everyone. Let’s hope that I finish today with one on my face too.

I still don’t know what to make of yesterday. He held my hand. I felt like a little girl holding hands for the first time with a boy at the school dance. I feel giddy whenever I think of it, which has been every second since. Also, a little reassured regarding the safe word, he probably just borrowed the idea to protect his staff from any unintentional boundary-crossing. Even though he did joke about tying me up. But as he said this is just an assistant job. I have never been this nervous before.

The time flew by pretty quickly and before I knew it my clock was reading 7.50 am. Do I go up, or wait here? I heard Pam, the receptionist, answering the phone.

“Good morning. Yes” — Pam looked over in my direction — “she’s here. Of course. Have a good day.”

Pam waddled over with a curious look upon her face, “Hello Felicity. The occupants of room 901 have asked me to give you this.” She handed me an envelope.

“Thanks, Pam.”

She just stood there, however. Probably waiting for an explanation of sorts. A bit of gossip to get her through the day. But if there’s one thing I have learned from Mr. Rockwell, it’s that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. So, I waited a few more seconds until she left.

I opened the envelope to find a gold key card. I stuffed the envelope into my bag and headed for the lift. I stepped inside and held the badge up to the key sensor and pressed the 9th-floor button. That’s when I noticed my name had been printed, no sorry, etched into the metal card. What on earth?

The lift headed up and so did I. Up to God knows what.

I slid the metal badge into my bag and stepped out of the lift. There was classical music playing. Very cliché. A few seconds later his assistant appeared from a door on the left. A door I hadn’t noticed yesterday.

“Good morning, Miss Copperwood.” She offered a hand “Please, follow me.”

As if things couldn’t get any weirder, I was now walking hand in hand with his assistant. We continued down the cold marble corridor towards the smell of freshly ground coffee.

“Mr. Rockwell is an extremely busy man.”

I still didn’t know what he did exactly, “What is his job?”

“He is an aeronautical engineer and astrophysicist. His job involves a lot of thinking. He’s a thinker. And as such he shouldn’t be interrupted in any way, shape, or form. Disturbing him can cause rather erratic reactions. Believe me.”

Oh lord, this sounds fun. What am I getting myself into?

“As a level three assistant, you have — “

“Sorry. Level three assistant?”

“Mr. Rockwell has different types of assistants catering to different needs. Level three is” — she scratches her forehead — “well, let’s just say, it’s the level that requires the least specific skillset.”

“May I ask what level you are?”

“No.”

Catering to different needs. What needs? Probably best not to know.

“Miss Copperwood, I assure you, you’ll be fine. Your only job is to keep quiet” — she corrects herself — “silent. Under no circumstances should you address him. You should never be more than 2 meters away from him and you shall do whatever he asks of you.”

“For example?”

“Well, you are a level three, so let’s see. He may ask you to get a glass of water or make him some tea. Maybe a coffee. Things of that order.”

All of the sudden, I felt quite relieved. No mention of rope at least.

“However, I must stress that under no circumstances should you initiate conversation. You only talk when being talked to.”

It wasn’t a question, but I could feel she wanted confirmation. “Got it.”

“Perfect.”

We arrive in the living area to find Mr. Rockwell eating his breakfast. Fully clothed I am glad to see, although a little part of me would have liked to see him naked. I started to blush. He stands to greet me.

“Good morning, Miss Copperwood. Please follow me.” He takes me again by the hand, “Are you hungry? Did you have time to eat before you left?”

“I’ve already eaten breakfast, thank you. Although I am rather thirsty.”

With that, he poured me a glass of what looked like apple juice.

“Thank you.”

I gulped it down. I was flittering between nerves and excitement. It was a tiring roller coaster of emotions.

His assistant headed for the marble corridor and left.

“Yes, my assistant has to pop out and run an errand for me. She should only be a couple of hours.”

“Ok, that’s fine”

Jesus? Is he kidding? That’s not fine at all!

“I trust she’s brought you up to speed?”

“Yes, she was quite clear.”

“Good. Good. Good…”, his voice was slipping.

He was staring again, more of an I’m trying to read your mind kind of look though. It was rather intense. Quite intimidating really. It made me thirsty again. I must have been looking at the jug of apple juice because he offered me another glass. Unless he really was reading my mind. That’s silly though. What exactly is an astrophysicist, can they read minds? I need to Google that.

“Well” — he glanced at his watch — “it’s nearly 8 am. Time to start the day.”

He gave me a quick cheeky smile and told me to go hang my bag and jacket up in the entranceway. As I stood up from the desk, I could hear a clock chime. Let the games begin.

I went to hang my stuff up and returned as quickly as I could. Mr. Rockwell was already working, his head in his laptop. However, he had stacked a pile of papers on my chair. The only other chair at his desk not counting his. I looked for somewhere else to sit within a two-meter distance, but there was nothing. After a deep inward sigh, I decided that I would stand. I felt silly. I expected him to clear my chair of his papers or tell me to sit on the bed. But he didn’t. So, figuring this is what he wanted I just stood there.

An hour had passed and I was still here. He hadn’t uttered a single word. He hadn’t even taken his nose out of his work. He was just clicking his mouse and writing down equations in his notebook. Obviously, being at only arm’s length I was close enough to read. The only problem is that it was maths, just page upon page of equations. So, I learned just as much about him from his written word as I did from the spoken. Nothing.

My feet are sore, needless to say, but other than that I can’t really complain. No weird bondage games. It’s actually quite relaxing to be alone with one’s thoughts. Just to be able to watch him, analyse his every move. I never realised how beautiful ears could be. His lobes were just begging to be nibbled. I blushed. To be fair though, I’ve been looking at them for an hour, maybe everybody has beautiful ears, it’s just one of those things we never really look at.

More time passed as I continued to drool over his entire body, figuratively speaking of course. I was tired, but I was starting to get a kick out of being at his side. Just waiting. Handing the reins over to him. Hoping he would throw a little attention my way. Mr. Rockwell. The gorgeous weirdo.

One thing I hadn’t planned for was the long black coffee and two big glasses of apple juice that I downed this morning. I was starting to need the toilet and quite badly. According to the clock, I’ve been standing here for three hours without moving so much as an eyelid. Should I say something? Can I say something? Can I just go? No, I can’t go — the toilet would be out of bounds. God damn it! When is his assistant going to get back? My belly is aching.

The pain was now excruciating. My legs were tied in a knot but it was no longer any good. I could feel my lips burn as I started to pee myself. I managed to stop it for a second or two but it was too painful. I let out an almighty shriek as I lost full control.

“Felicity!” — he sprang to his feet and grabbed my arm — “come with me.”

But I couldn’t move. My legs were in too much pain. I hadn’t moved them in nearly four hours. Mr. Rockwell wrapped his arm around me and carried some of my weight. It took a minute or so to get to the toilet, by which time I’d managed to stop peeing.

“Felicity” — he held my shoulders — “sit down.”

I just stared at the floor though, paralysed with shame.

“Are you OK, Felicity?”

I nodded my head, that’s all I could manage.

“Do you still need the toilet?”

I nodded again.

“OK” — he started to get on his knees — “I’m going to help.”

He hitched my skirt up and pushed it over my hips.”

“I am going to pull down your tights.”

His cold fingers brushed against my belly as he grabbed them. He pulled but it was no use. My bottom was never going to let that happen. Without warning, he grabbed me by the hips and spun me around.

“Are you ready” — cold fingers now brushed against the small of my back — “I’m going to yank hard.”

Cool air engulfed my cheeks. He reached around from behind, his fingers brushing against my lower belly once again. I could feel my buttocks pushing into his face. He gave a little tug to free the tights from my thighs and then pulled them down to my ankles, knickers included.

As soon as he lowered me onto the toilet, I felt relieved.

“I’m so embarrassed” — I looked into his eyes — “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Felicity. It’s mine. You shouldn’t have been subjected to that, you’re only a level 3” — he let go of my hands — “I think it’s probably for the best if you were to go home.”

“But, …” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. All I did know is that he was unhappy and that he wanted me gone.

“I’m sorry”, then I pulled up my knickers and tights and ran for the lift, grabbing my stuff on the way.

Chapter 5

A week has passed since my encounter with Mr. Rockwell. There haven’t been any surprise visits. No mafia-style clearing of any mezzanines. Nothing at all. I guess he just went back home, like he said, and forgot all about me.

I haven’t forgotten about him though. On the contrary, he is all I can think about. Obviously, my work experience didn’t go very well, to say the least. However, there were certain aspects that I did enjoy — a lot. When I am stood naked, I can still feel his face pressing into my cheeks. I even, with hindsight, found it to be quite a turn-on when he took me to the toilet. Undressing me when I was so vulnerable and helpless. To be completely at his mercy.

Just last night I stood next to my kitchen table and closed my eyes. Pretending that he was sitting there with his face in his laptop. I waited. I felt the excitement of being at his beck and call. The anticipation that at any given moment of time I would have to surrender to his desires.

When I heard him saying that it was his fault and not mine, I agreed. I even forgave him. But now, I don’t want his forgiveness. It’s too late for that.

The lift arrived and I stepped in pulling the golden key card from my blouse pocket. I swiped it and hit the 9th-floor button.

I stepped out of the lift and headed down the marble corridor once again. Preceded only by the deafening echo of my own footsteps.

I went to his desk and pulled a hotel envelope out from its drawer. I hitched up my skirt and pulled my knickers down to my ankles, then slipped them over my shoes. I stuffed my knickers into the envelope and sealed it. Picking up a pen I scribbled: Take me to level 2.