Human Resource

Monday

"Hey!"

Robin looked up from her desk. She deliberately raised her eyebrows further than necessary to convey her dislike, as Mike leaned into her cubicle. While he wasn't intruding on her personal space, per se, he was definitely toeing the line while also putting himself in a position to stare down at her and down her shirt. He was trying to take the power position, leaning too far over her for comfort.

Not that her comfort would be at the forefront of his consciousness.

With practiced professionalism and a sigh she could barely contain, Robin weaponised her body: first by shifting her shoulders backwards, and second by pushing out her chest. It drew her blouse higher and tighter so there was less slack near the middle. She was adept at manipulating body language. She looked at him, over the rim of her glasses, and said, "Yes?"

"Oh!" Mike said, startled like he'd lost track of his purpose. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They're starting to gather in the training room! Are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute, " Robin said, smiling patiently. "Thank you, Mike."

Mike bounded off with a smile, and she shook her head.

As the HR manager, Robin was responsible for planning and executing almost all of the office events; this one was no different. She'd bought the cake. She'd bought the card, and secretly carried it around the office to make sure it got all the signatures. She'd been the one behind the camera taking the video footage of people saying goodbye. She knew very well when the party started.

Once she had finished her email, she stood and smoothed out her skirt. It always took some finessing, and sometimes a little tugging on the hemline, to get it back into the right position. The way her hips moved when she sat caused her tighter skirts to ride up, or bunch, and this skirt was most definitely one of the tighter ones.

"All my girls with hips," she mumbled to herself, "lemme hear from ya."

She stepped back into her heels, which she never wore while sitting at her desk, and composed herself.

The training room was just down the hall from her cubicle, and the voices she heard while still only halfway there said quite a few people had knocked off early for the day and wandered down to eat. That was always the case. It was usually the same group too. The ones who looked for any excuse to sit in on meetings they weren't needed in, especially if there was the chance of food, were also the ones more practiced at looking busy than at actually doing any work. When she turned the corner, none of the faces were a surprise.

Robin busied herself with the preparations, pulling plates and forks and knives from the cabinets. She made a mental note to herself that, once again, all these items had been taken from the second-highest shelf, the highest one she could reach in the heels, to the lowest shelf. She'd moved them several times to different areas in the neighboring break room, but in the end they were always put back low, where she had to bend over or squat. She had her suspicions about the persons involved, but her petitions to restrict access had fallen on deaf ears.

In due time, the training room filled up around her while she hung some last minute decorations. Right on time, which is to say five minutes late, the guest of honor arrived to a long round of applause. Bill, CEO and owner of Koenig Magnetics, a man whose family had started the business three generations before, was retiring.

He was a pompous ass.

Robin smiled and clapped at the appropriate moments, when the assembled group was sufficiently awed by his showmanship, but she'd been his executive assistant for a number of years and did not miss the touching. It had never quite descended to groping, but hands on her shoulder and upper back were so common she'd almost stopped twitching by the time a position had opened up in another department, and that was a bad sign. He was not a threat to her, but his natural charisma and gregarious interpersonal style relied on a lot of touching and close proximity.

As the party went on, Robin deftly worked her way around the room in an effort to stay away from him. He wasn't the only one she avoided, but his impending retirement had burst the dam wide open and he was hugging people left and right.

There were two small groups of women in the back, and she stopped to check in with them. The conversation with both was the same. They looked nervous, and she had no news for them. She tried to give them hope but couldn't be sure if any of them bought it, least of all herself.

A hand on her elbow broke her concentration, and she twitched away from it.

"Hey," Mike said, handing her a plate with a slice of cake on it. "This all turned out really great!"

"Thanks," she replied, having little recourse but to accept the plate. "I wish that organizing these things wasn't such a large portion of my job, but it's good to know that I'm doing it well."

"Have you heard much about the new honcho?"

Robin shook her head. "I think I saw her touring the building a couple weeks ago, but Bill was keeping her at a brisk pace. She didn't stop or meet anyone for more than a few seconds, as far as I saw."

Bill's daughter, Turner, was taking over for him, and she was mostly an unknown quantity.

"I've seen that kind of thing before," one of the engineers, Jerry, said, leaning over to contribute. "Bill's hiding something. They blew through one of our meetings, showed her the two designs we're working on for Fairvine, and whisked her off to something else. That was three weeks ago, and I ain't seen either one of them since."

"What do you think she's hiding?" Mike asked eagerly. He was as bad a gossip as any woman she'd ever known.

Gail from Finance, who had been talking to Jerry, turned toward the rest of them and leaned in. "More like where would she start? The woman's a walking mystery."

Robin saw the light at the end of the tunnel. A little more involvement from others and she could extricate herself completely. She took one discreet step back and then another, but Mike reached out and touched her arm again.

"Oh that's right," he said, as he held her elbow. "Alex T. was looking for you. Did he find you?"

"When?" She took a step away before stopping, and folded her arms together.

"I dunno," he said, recoiling. "Twenty minutes ago?"

"What did he want me for?"

"I dunno."

"Was it important?"

"I dunno!"

Robin was almost glad for the opportunity to leave the party, but the only times the plant supervisor wanted her was either as a witness for someone being written up or a jobsite injury. She set down the plate and the cake, still untouched, and strode back to her desk. It was impossible to miss, when she turned the corner into her cubicle to grab her safety glasses, that Mike had partially followed her out into the hall and was pretending to not be staring at her backside.

***

Robin took off her glasses and pinched her nose. "This is the third time," she groaned, "in less than a year."

"What do you want me to tell you?" the large man asked, gruffly, as he leaned back and knitted his fingers together behind his head. "The signage is very clear. In the past, we'd go years without this happening. Not once."

"So what changed? What's the difference?"

"The difference," he said, sitting forward and raising his voice, "is that we had better operators! We had guys here forty years doing this, and they weren't a bunch of goddamn pansies like these kids I get handed to me now!"

Yelling was his default response when he didn't want to be questioned.

"Alex," she said, planting her elbow on the desk and leaning, "those guys used to work hurt. That's not good! That's not better! A lot of them had to have surgery to fix repetitive motion injuries, and we had to pay! We're trying to avoid that, too!"

Alex threw up his hands and glared at her. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"I want you to tell me that you'll look into it! Why do these guys keep hurting their backs?"

"I'll look into it," he snarled, as he stood up.

"Thank you, Alex," she called, as he stormed out of her cubicle mumbling under his breath.

The second Alex turned the corner and headed into the plant, Mike snuck into her cubicle with a grin on his face, but Robin didn't see him until he sat down on her desk. She twitched when she noticed him, and he snickered at her surprise.

"Whoa there, little lady."

Mmmmmm.

"Mike," she said slowly, but he interrupted her before she could go any farther.

"I know, I know. It's just hilarious when you get spooked. You have the funniest reaction."

Her eyes rapidly darted around the desk in front of her, trying to find something to focus on, but he was inside her space. She made a mental note to light a candle when she was done, as that was always soothing.

"What can I do for you, Mike?" She hoped that repeating his name would add some kind of gravitas, but he shrugged as he chewed a forkful of cake.

"Just... came in to chat." He ate another bite, and then twisted to stare down at her. She could feel his eyes on her. "Do anything interesting over the weekend?"

"Nothing worth writing home about," she said, as she tried to focus on her computer. She had, but she wasn't going to tell him about it.

I bet he would love it if you did. Mike seems like the type who'd be into watching what you get up to when you're alone.

Robin was so busy trying to quiet her inner voice that she didn't notice Mike reaching over until his fingers were in her hair.

"That gray streak just gets bigger and bigger, doesn't it," he said, curling two fingers under a few of the colorless strands that ran down the left side of her face.

She shied away from him and smiled tightly. "Lucky me, right?"

"No, the whole 'early gray' thing looks really good on you! Gives you, like, a sexy librarian vibe."

I bet if you bent over your desk right now, he wouldn't even hesitate. He'd get right behind you, grab a fistful of that hair he likes so much, and—

"Mike," she said, with practiced patience. "We talked about this."

"It was a compliment!"

"It's not a compliment, Mike. It's harassment, and if you'd like—"

Is it harassment if you love it?

"—we can sit down with Dave again? Have another talk about what are and aren't appropriate conversation topics?"

Mike rolled his eyes and got up off her desk. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

She pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded.

"Speaking of inappropriate, how is that whole thing with Carl Davis going?"

Robin took a long, slow breath. Her blood had already been near to boiling. "It's a private matter, Mike. You wouldn't like it if we talked about your personal life."

"Actually," he said, with a cocky tilt to his head, "I'd be thrilled if everyone here was talking about my sex life." Then he gave her a meaningful raise of his eyebrows, and her skin started to crawl.

Fortunately, he walked off toward his office before she had to respond. He was clearly implying a sex life with her, and if she had responded he would have turned pointing that out into some kind of innuendo or implied interest on her part. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs under her desk, and savored the way that squeezing her thighs and her core relieved a little bit of the tension.

Not enough though. Maybe try recrossing them again? A little slower this time?

She turned her head toward the open space between the cubicle walls that was ostensibly her 'door', and listened carefully. The quiet sounds of typing, and distant voices answering phones. Her part of the office was less occupied than it had been a decade or two earlier, as computers had made more than a few positions redundant, and that meant that although her cubicle wasn't very large, she did enjoy some privacy. She slid her chair forward, reclined just a little, and bit her lip hard. She tried not to think about what was going on under the desk, but that was difficult at the best of times.

That's right. Spread your legs for him. Spread them nice and wide. Show him what a slut you are.

She planted her bare, pointed toes down into the carpet, knees forming a nice, clean angle, and let her cream, knee-length skirt slide back little by little. She swallowed hard, trying to stay as quiet as possible so she could make sure no one approached her unnoticed as she hooked her middle and ring fingers under her panties and pulled them to the side.

Show him how wet you are. Show him how turned on you are.

She couldn't stop the whimpers as she worked her index finger in tiny circles over her clit. For a moment she considered pulling up a video on Youtube to mask her whining, but it occurred to her that it could also mask the sound of anyone walking in her direction. Instead, one-handed, she started composing an email to the department head of Purchasing to pester her about late employee reviews, and the necessity of doing them on time with regards to their upcoming ISO audit.

Who cares? Get caught. Then it won't just be him that knows. All of them will know. How great would that feel? If they all knew what you do when you're up here? When you're all alone?

Her finger was a blur, but it wasn't fast enough so she started using her whole arm. If someone walked around the edge of her cubicle, she wouldn't have been able to hide that much motion.

Let's be honest. You don't want to hide it.

The realization that she both did and didn't want to hide how often she masturbated in her office pushed her into frenzied territory. She quickly clamped her legs together, trapping her hand in place, and squeezed until her face was red from the effort. After years of practice, she'd found ways to keep her orgasms quiet, and the thought of coming so close to being found out was incredibly tempting.

She knew exactly who she wanted to find her too.

It was hard to make her body stop shuddering as she slowly centered her panties again, and started shimmying the skirt back into place. Her breathing hitched every few seconds as her chest convulsed, and she again resorted to squeezing her thighs together to try and compose herself. She counted off in sets of ten, released, and then squeezed again for another set. By the time she got to fifty, she felt better. The email she'd written was solid as well. A few typos, but that just took a second to fix and then it was off.

She settled into her chair again, adjusting to sit more comfortably, when a very quiet sound out in the hallway got her attention. Not enough time had passed. She couldn't be sure someone hadn't overheard her, so the first reaction was pure panic. She leaned forward, trying to peer around the corner. When she heard the sound again she knew she wasn't leaning far enough so she stood up, stepped into her heels again, and walked around her desk.

"Maddie?" she said, when she recognized the younger woman. "Are you okay?"

Maddie's eyes were red, and she shook her head. "M-Mrs. Davis called me again."

Robin held out her arm, herded the tear-stricken woman into one of the unused executive conference rooms, locked the door, and brought her around to the far side of the room. Then she grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, closed the blinds, and sat down next to her. "Here," she said, offering the bottle. "Take a sip."

Maddie had to hold the bottle with both hands, and even then the shaking caused her to spill a few drops.

"You said Mrs. Davis called you?"

The blonde nodded. Despite the fact that she was nearly six feet tall, she looked tiny in the high-back chair. "He told me he was divorced," she said, as she set the bottle down. "Carl told me she had moved out. I keep trying to tell her that, but sh-she... She..."

Robin looked at the clock briefly, frowned, and pulled her phone out of her bra. "I'm sorry, I just need to let someone know I'm going to be late."

"Oh no," she sobbed. "No no, don't... you can't..."

Robin shook her head and smiled. "It's just a friend, and... for this? He'll understand. I promise."

"She told me she was going to get me fired!"

Robin slipped her phone back in her bra and took the sobbing girl's hands in a tight grasp. "She doesn't have that power. Even if he wanted to, Mr. Davis doesn't have that power either."

"I need this job! I'm-I'm new! I can't—I don't have anyone else I can talk to about this! My parents would disown me if they-if they-if they knew I was a home... a-a homewre..."

Robin just held her hands, smiling softly, and waited patiently for the hysterics to pass. When she thought the young woman was calm enough for it, she said, "Maddie, that's not going to happen. He manipulated you. You're the victim here."

Maddie nodded slowly, her eyes red and her cheeks tear-stained.

"Do you think you can tell me about the phone call?"

Maddie shuddered, and shook her head in disbelief. "How is this my life?"

"Maddie," she said, a bit more insistently, "I'm sorry to push you like this, but I need you to tell me about the phone call while it's still fresh in your mind, okay? I need to document every interaction between you and Mr. Davis, and you and Mrs. Davis."

Maddie looked down at her hands, defeated, and nodded.

***

The clock on her microwave read eight thirty-two when Robin shuffled into her apartment and leaned back against the closed door. Between consoling the newest hire in the Shipping department, getting the whole story out of her, and adding the event and her notes to her ever-growing dossier on the matter, her entire evening had slipped away.

Her orange tabby, Boudicca, sauntered across the counter, and rammed her head into Robin's upper arm, but allowed her only a few seconds of returned affection before the warrior-queen of the Celts returned to her unending vigil. Robin dropped her heels near the door and slung her purse into the chair. She moved like a zombie, mind exhausted, to her laptop on the desk in the corner. Articles of clothing fell away behind her, until she was naked in front of the computer.

She thought a good throatfucking might work.

She had never gone for self-bondage. The idea of tying up her breasts just for the feel of it was lost on her, and clothespins on her nipples did nothing except hurt. Robin did not have much of a pure pain response, but as she stared at the woman hog-tied on her screen she felt the call of it all the same. She had rope and clothespins, and many other assorted bits, for exactly this reason. She paused the video just after it started, staring hard at the ropework to see if it was something she could replicate herself.

After she determined she couldn't, she ducked her head down and brought her left breast up to her tongue. Nothing she could do herself got her nipples harder than licking them, and the clothespins were so much more exquisite when her nipples were hard. The drawer next to her desk was a mess of loose toys and paraphernalia, but it only took a little blind rooting around while she licked and sucked to come back up with two of the wooden toys. She attached one, and then the other, and hissed as she leaned back down to find one of her dildos. Her body drifted into the moment as she resumed the video.

The girl was weeping softly as a man circled her, her eyes distant. Her entire body was bound, ankles to wrists, and she was suspended a couple of feet up off the ground. Her nipples were clamped with a chain running between them, and a sparkly little weight dangled from the center of it. The ropes were intricate and specific, holding her at just the right height off the ground so that her opened mouth was at the perfect level. He didn't have to squat, or stand up on his toes. She'd been adjusted for him.