Page 2 of Wild for You
“Wow,you’re really strong. Hey, that kind of hurts,” Preston whines as my teeth slide down his jaw. We’re riding the elevator back up to my apartment, where I plan on finding out if his shoe size is an accurate predictor. Who am I kidding? I’d dry hump a man with a micro-penis at this point. I’m desperate, so desperate that I’m actually going to let a Big Foot-hunting taxidermist into my panties for the night. I’ll have to do a whole vagina cleanse tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get Maggie to bring over a sage bundle, and we can hit the factory reset or something.
“Shut up and take off my bra,” I order once we’re inside my apartment. I shove him into my now-closed front door as I set my purse and keys aside. He obliges, though his hands shake as he unclasps my bra and yanks my shirt over my head. Once I’m undressed from the top up, his eyes seem to pop out of his head, and I let him take in my delectable breasts in all their glory. At first, he hesitates, but after a little more encouragement, he lunges toward me in a frenzy. Preston’s hands roam my body frantically as if he can’t get enough. He grips my ass as I climb up him, wrapping my legs around his waist and moaning into his ear. “Yes, I like it rough,” I whisper.
Yes, ok, I may be putting on a bit of a show, but if I can turn myself on enough, then I’ll hopefully be able to chase down my big O tonight, which is all I’m after.
“You like it rough, do you?” He carries me through the apartment and kicks open my bedroom door.Wow, maybe I underestimated Mr. Khaki’s after all?
He drops me onto the bed, and I bounce on the soft mattress. “Do you like it dirty, Gwen? Do you want me to fuck you?”
My heart skips a beat, and a grin spreads across my face. Who could’ve predicted this? Surprise overwhelms me. “Yes, I want you to fuck me,” I say, trying to lose the crazy grin. I don’t want him to lose whatever act this is.
Preston unzips his khakis, and I lean back on my elbows for a better view, my heart racing in anticipation. I may be a master vibrator operator, but every once in a while, I need a good dick-down to reset my operating system. The big reveal is my second favorite part of the equation. His khakis fall to the floor in a crumpled mess, and I can’t help but think of how noticeable the wrinkles will be when he walks out of here tonight.
I almost miss the sight of his extremely long, extremely thin penis before he pounces on top of me, wearing only his white crew socks. The force knocks the air from my lungs, and I cough several times to regain my breath.
“You want dirty; I’ll give you dirty,” he growls.
As a final cough leaves my lungs, I hear him hock up something in his throat. Before my mind can register what he’s planning, Preston spits a thick wad of phlegm into my open mouth. “Yeah, baby. I like it dirty, too.”
Repulsion rips through me, and I launch myself off the bed with the strength of twenty men. I don’t care that my tits are on full display or that Preston’s pencil dick is out at attention. I run past him straight to the bathroom and proceed to hurl everything back up.
He pokes his head around the corner, “Come back in here, you nasty little bitch. I want to show you just how dirty I can be.”
“Stop. Do not come anywhere near me, you fucking lunatic. Get out of my apartment before I cut off your dick and you have to carry it around in your pocket as your new good-luck charm!”
Mouth agape, he blinks several times and covers his penis in a protective stance. “You, um, you said you liked it dirty … I was just trying to be dirty for you. I’ve actually never done this before. I just watch a lot of porn, and the women seem to enjoy that. Let’s start over. I promise I won’t spit on you again. I’ll do better.”
“OUT,” I scream, pointing to the door.
“Yeah. Ok. Let me just go grab my pants.” He waddles away, his head hanging in defeat, as I crawl toward the shower to turn on the scalding stream. There isn’t a shower hot enough to wash away the shame I feel, but it’s a start.
I hear the door open. “I’ll, um, I’ll call you, ok?” he calls before closing it behind him.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one, buddy.” I grab the entire tube of toothpaste and my toothbrush and climb into the shower, where I proceed to wash every orifice until the water goes cold.
The things I do in the name of stress relief. I guess it’s me and BOB once again tonight.
* * *
The next morning,I drag myself into my office, not nearly as spry as I hoped to be, and make my way up to the eleventh floor. My office building is sleek and professional, with a strong feminine influence. Mauve and lavender geometric murals cover the white walls, and colorful rugs bring warmth to every conference room. We’ve got pastel pink leather sofas in the common areas and a full-service coffee bar on each floor. The whole building was designed with the motto, “Make pretty choices,” which flows over into our company culture. Éclat is known as the leading PR agency in Chicago. Celebrities, influencers, and brands line up for our services, especially when shit hits the fan, and I don’t mean to brag, but I’m the very best at cleaning up shit—metaphorically speaking, anyway.
Monthly meetings are the bane of my existence, especially when we’re starting a new quarter. My boss, Sandra, seems to get off on inflicting as much pain and fear onto all of us as she can; I think she gets off on the drama. She’s got that whole Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada vibe.
Starting as an entry-level billing clerk straight out of college, I’ve worked my way up at her company, and now, I’m one of her top two performing PR specialists. Sandra hasn’t made it a secret that she’s considering me for the VP role opening up in the near future. In fact, she’s all but promised me the role for the last three years after I almost took a job offer from a competitor who sought me out. She’s dangled the promotion in front of my face like a carrot, and I just need something big to push me over the edge. Then she’ll have to promote me.
My mouth practically waters at the thought of having those infamous two letters following my name on my office door. I can already see it now:Gwen Pierson, VP.
I want to prove to Sandra—but mostly to myself—that I’ve finally made it all on my own and I’m good enough to sit among the best in the industry. That I earned a leading title on my hard work alone, not because anything was handed to me. This promotion would provide me with a solid, stable income and plenty of clout to go with it.
I’ve worked my ass off, representing the most difficult clients, spinning their horrifying fuck-ups into solemn apologies that somehow make them more lovable and approachable than they were before. Every one of my clients has left me with a better reputation and because of my track record, I’m known as the crisis-intervention queen around the office. After I’ve worked my magic, spinning their story to reflect whatever positive outcome I can manage, I hand them off to one of my co-workers to maintain, rinse, wash, and repeat.
I glance over at Pantone Brown, my arch-nemesis. If anyone beats me out of this promotion, it’ll be her. Pantone is a couple of years older than me and has the reputation of a snake. She’s one of those people you have to keep a close eye on. I wouldn’t put anything past her when she’s trying to get ahead. She comes from a powerful family with plenty of money and prestige. Every job she’s gotten has been handed to her by her daddy—be it her biological orsugar. Honestly, even having her as my direct peer is insulting.
We take our seats in the cushy conference room around a large, crisp white table with views overlooking the cityscape of downtown Chicago. Sandra sits at the head of the table facing an oversized TV monitor, showing all our clients’ information. Today’s meeting is primarily focused on assigning new clients.
“Laura, what do we have on the horizon? Do you have any rocks you’re working on this week?” Sandra peers over the top of her delicate designer glasses and scribbles something in her notepad.
Laura, the newest team member fresh from her internship, clears her throat. “Actually, we’ve just picked up a new client who’ll need a little help. His name is Wombat Willy, and he’s an adventure tour guide turned YouTuber. He recently had an incident on one of his guided tours where a man lost his hand from a caiman bite. His sponsors have insisted he seek a PR agency to repair his image. Apparently, the accident happened on a live stream.”
