Page 11 of Falling for Them
How sick is it that I know the maid is going into Joel’s office, and they’re probably fucking right now?
How sick is it that I wish I was the one fucking her, instead of my son?
Does she know he left Vice with another woman last night?
It’s not my business.It isnotmy fucking business.
The lights in my office are low, with only my desk lamp on.I should get out of here.It’s not like I’m doing any real work, anyway.It’s Friday night and I’m only obsessing about that maid and my son.
No, there’s still some work to do, and I’d rather be here than go home to my empty penthouse.I get up to pour a shot of whiskey from the minibar across the room.This section of my office is in complete shadow.It would explain why she doesn’t see me.
The door bumps open and the current woman of my fantasies steps inside, ass first as she pulls in a cart of cleaning supplies after her.She’s humming to herself, and the melody is familiar.
“Is that Jimi Hendrix?”I ask.
She jumps and gives a tiny squeak of a scream, then spins around, her eyes widening as she spots me by the bar.“I’m sorry, I thought your office was empty, Mr.Tyler.”
“No problem,” I say, smiling to show I mean it.And her little squeal was fucking adorable.I wonder if she’d make that sound when getting a spanking.“I’m just finishing up a few last things, having a drink.Feel free to do your work—it won’t bother me in the slightest.”
“Sure.Thanks, Mr.Tyler.”
“But, Jimi Hendrix?”I ask.
“Yeah.”She grins, and I nearly groan.There’s a deep dimple in her left cheek and it’s so girlish and cute, it nearly kills me.She adds, “Little Wing.”
“One of my favorites of his,” I say.
“Mine, too.”
When she reaches to turn on the vacuum cleaner, I say, “Just a second.What’s your name?”
“Ella Marchand.”
“I’m Kingston Tyler,” I say.“It’s nice to meet you, Ella Marchand.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she says.Even though the lighting is dim, I can see the faint blush on her cheeks.
The vacuum hums to life, and she gets back to work.
Even though I wish I could keep talking to her, I shut my mouth like a good CEO and move back to my desk.I try to look at my computer, and not at her.
Ella.She’s gorgeous.
I stare blankly at my monitor, like the sick fuck I am, and think about what it might be like to lift the hem of Ella’s uniform a little higher.I wonder what kind of panties she’s wearing under it.Something sexy and grown-up?Or something younger?The thought of corrupting her, of making her my little girl, hearing her say “daddy” as she looks at me…it’s too much.My dick’s hard, and I want nothing more than to bend Ella over this desk and make her wail and moan for me.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.She’s dating, or at the very least screwing around with, my son.She’s probably half my age.It’s wrong to think of her this way.
But I can’t fucking stop.
And what’s more, I don’t really want to.
Sebastian
The scene at Kitty Cat Karaoke is dead tonight.This is my one link to the music world.Nobody here recognizes me, nobody bothers me.I pay the cover and sit back and listen to all the singers, good and bad.
Tonight, they were all bad.There was an apathy to their performances.Instead of lifting my mood, it brought me down.
Well, I can’t win every night with the Kitty Cats.
