Scissor Link Georgette Kaplan (best self help books to read .TXT) 📖

another button. Wendy could see more of the curves of her breasts, the darkness inside her half-closed blouse, where the lace camisole tattooed her bare body. Just one brushing touch to make that unbuttoned blouse fall open, to see Janet’s plunging cleavage in more detail than ever before—to know if that look in her eyes was desire or disdain.

“Keep going,” Janet said, her voice husky. Almost hoarse.

Wendy didn’t look at the paper again. “‘Her legs are crossed, but when she uncrosses them, I can see into her skirt. She’s not wearing any panties. Her cunt is beautiful.’” The word, crude and overwhelming, sounded bizarrely loud in the office. Like someone could overhear.

Janet shifted her legs. Her skirt moved a scant half-inch up her thigh.

Wendy could see smooth skin, firm muscle; tense muscle. She looked back up into Janet’s eyes. It was getting hard to look away from them for too long.

“‘I start to go to her. She says no: I’m her employee. She’s the boss. I should show my…’” Wendy had to swallow “‘…my respect. I get down on my knees. Then I put my hands on the floor. I swear, I could feel every fiber of the carpet. Like I was really touching it. And, on all fours, I cross the office, convinced I wasn’t dreaming, feeling the carpet under my knees and my hands and feeling Janet look at me like she’s looking through me into that hot pit in my stomach, just like when I’m at work and I catch her staring at me from across the room. I crawl underneath her desk.”

Wendy was acutely aware of her breathing. Every breath granting her a reprieve from having to read this, and frustratingly putting more distance between seeing what Janet’s reaction would be.

“‘I kiss her knee and she spreads her legs and I can smell her, really smell her, you know how long it’s been since I’ve smelled a woman there? And I could’ve sworn that was how Janet’s cunt would smell, I woke up almost wanting to sniff her panties so I could know for…for…’”

“For sure?” Janet ventured. Her hands weren’t on the desk anymore. They were delicately poised on the hem of her skirt, thumb and forefinger alone, skimming its length up her knees, up her thighs…

“For sure,” Wendy confirmed numbly. This wasn’t some game. Janet was way too dignified to be so brazen for a joke. This was actually—she was actually propositioning her. Her gaze fled from Janet, like she’d been staring into the sun—finding no solace in the stark, sexual words of the document. “‘I bow my head, feeling my ears rub against her inner thighs as I move closer and closer to her cunt. I knew from the beginning it was wet, but the closer I get, the more I learn just how wet she is. How much she wants me. I decide to try something different, something I think will please her. Closing my eyes, I—’”

That was the end of the page. Wendy moved to shift through the sheaf of papers to the one below it, but her fingers were clumsy, and she sort of crumpled the page on top and dropped a few and, worst of all, said “Oopsie!”

Janet cocked her head. “I think that’s enough.”

She stopped the recording. She’d been sitting parallel to the camera—it’d caught none of what she’d been doing.

“I can keep going if you want,” Wendy said through the lump in her throat. Then—either because she wanted to show Janet up or just wanted to spend more time in Janet’s presence on the off-chance Janet’s hands could do more things with her skirt—she went a step further. “You can leave the camera off.”

There. That was about as open an invitation as Wendy could make without combusting on the spot. Her anxiety was screaming at her to jump through the nearest window (fastest way to leave the building), her pussy was demanding she take off some underwear (her nipples concurred), and her stomach was standing by to reintroduce last night’s peach cobbler if Janet did the sensible thing and told her to fuck off.

“I like having the camera on.” Janet smiled jauntily. “Do you know why?”

Wendy felt faint. Was this what being hypnotized felt like? Stop looking at Janet’s skirt, she is definitely still wearing it! “Why?”

“Because when it’s late at night, and I’m bored, I can watch this recording. I have a very nice TV, Wendy. Great sound system, too.”

“I bet,” Wendy said, sounding vaguely like she was having a stroke.

“And while I watch it, in the privacy of my own home, I can touch myself. My womanhood. My breasts. My clit.”

Hearing Janet Lace say the word ‘clit’; Wendy thought she came a little.

Janet’s smile widened, like she had some radar for Lace-induced orgasms. “Whatever I want, really. I’m sure you’ve thought about touching me, so you can understand how much I would enjoy it.”

Wendy just nodded. Had she died? Was this Purgatory? Please, Demon Janet, show me some more of your gams before poking me with a pitchfork.

Janet nodded to herself, like she was more mentally setting plans aloud than communicating with Wendy. “And watching you, listening to you—I think I’ll most definitely come. While I imagine you under my desk. Eating me out.” She clapped her hands together in the self-congratulatory manner of all office bosses.

Wendy jumped.

“I just have that same fantasy, you know. What’re the odds? Having you service me while I take a phone call or compose an e-mail. It’s the kind of thing I’d really enjoy.”

Sheer need drove Wendy’s thighs together, squeezed them so tightly she’d need a crowbar to get them apart. “Uh-huh,” she said, unable to fully close her mouth after that utterance.

Janet scooped up the camera. “Well. Thank you for helping me get this out of the way so quickly and painlessly. I was hoping to have this wrapped up by the end of the business day. I think you should be able to beat rush hour and I