The Secretary I Thought I Had Under My Control

Working in the internal mailroom of a consulting firm wasn’t the future I’d imagined, but after dropping out of college I needed a paycheck immediately. I’d been delivering envelopes between the floors of that building for a little over six months. The schedules, the endless meetings, the hum of the printers: everything seemed gray and repetitive to me. Everything except her.

Marcela had brown hair cut to chin length, a face that made me look twice, and a figure that formal suits couldn’t quite conceal. She spoke with a calm firmness, like someone who never doubted what she said, and painted her lips a red that seemed like a new provocation every morning. I’d been half-flirting with her for months, just joking around, although if things ever really progressed, I wasn’t about to complain. The problem was twofold: she was married, and she was almost thirty years older than me.

It wasn’t the first time an older woman had stolen my attention, and Marcela was kind to me day after day. But every time I played at flirting, she raised an invisible wall, and suddenly only work existed. There was only one person who managed to cross that wall: the office director.

Marcela had been his personal secretary for a decade, and although they were both married, what went on between them was an open secret. Smiles that lasted too long, unnecessary touches, private meetings behind closed doors. No one said it aloud, but we all knew.

Everything went wrong one afternoon on the way out. I saw them from a distance, the two of them alone beside the parking-garage elevators, talking very close together. I hid behind a pillar on pure instinct, so I wouldn’t get myself into trouble. I couldn’t hear what they were saying; I only understood the obvious: they were far too close.

And then something took hold of me. I pulled out my phone and started recording. The recording lasted only a few seconds, because they kissed almost immediately. I stopped the video and kept watching; a little while later they parted and each went their own way. Without meaning to, I’d obtained something I thought I could put to good use.

The next day I arrived earlier than usual, intending to find her alone. I searched the hallways and offices until I found her in a conference room, organizing folders for the afternoon meeting. I went in and closed the door behind me. The noise made her turn around.

—Renata, good morning. How did you sleep? —she asked me, with her usual courtesy.

—Good morning, ma’am. I need to talk to you about something important —I replied, approaching slowly, my cellphone in my hand.

—Of course, tell me —she answered, taking a step toward me.

I showed her the screen. There was the video from the night before, her kissing the director. Her face changed in an instant. She didn’t deny anything. She simply turned toward me and held my gaze for several seconds that stretched endlessly.

She tried to maintain her composure, that seriousness that defined her, and asked me in a firm voice:

—What do you intend to do with that?

I didn’t answer right away. I moved closer until we were face-to-face, so close I could smell her perfume.

—That depends… how much is your silence worth? —I said, without hesitation.

She stared at me in disbelief. The confidence that sustained her collapsed in a second, and for the first time I saw her vulnerable in front of me.

—What do you want? Money? —she asked, with the slightest tremor in her voice.

—It’s not exactly money. It’s something more… physical —I replied, moving closer to her face.

A smile began to form on her lips, as if she had instantly caught on to my intentions.

—Renata, please… you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into —she said, letting out a brief laugh.

—I’m fully aware. So tell me: do you take it or leave it? —I smiled back.

She fell silent, looking into my eyes with a tenderness I didn’t know how to interpret. It was obvious that I thought I had control of everything. She didn’t act then; she merely moved a little closer and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, barely a brush that caught me by surprise.

—You want to play? Perfect. But don’t come complaining when you lose —she told me, then stepped away to continue arranging the room.

—When will we see each other? —I asked.

—I’ll let you know tomorrow. Don’t worry —she replied without looking at me.

I was left speechless. I nodded and left the room. I won’t lie: I wasn’t proud of what I’d just done. It was the first time I’d blackmailed anyone, and a dull guilt gnawed at me for the rest of the day. Who was I to interfere in her marriage? If she was unfaithful, that was her business, not mine. I wasn’t any saint either; I carried my own mistakes as well.

***

That night at home, I kept turning it over in my mind until I reached a conclusion: I would call the whole thing off. I’d talk to her as soon as I saw her, delete the video in front of her, and apologize. Most likely they’d fire me, but I was prepared to accept that.

The next morning I arrived very early and stationed myself at the entrance to intercept her as soon as she appeared. The minutes passed and nothing happened, which was strange for her, since she had always been punctual.

I went into my cubicle without taking my eyes off the door. After a while the director arrived, greeted everyone, and my coworkers pointed out that Marcela still hadn’t shown up, despite the fact that starting time had been half an hour earlier.

—She called me this morning. She’s sick; she isn’t coming in today —he told us.

My plan fell apart right there. I would have to wait until the next day; besides, I wanted to do it in person, because resolving it by message seemed cowardly to me. I thought she would be in bed, feeling ill, and I didn’t want to add stress to her. I was wrong.

The hours passed. There was little time left before I got off work when a message startled me. I picked up my phone: it was Marcela. A location pointing to a motel a few blocks away and a short text that shook me to my core: “I’m waiting for you.”

I sat frozen, staring at the screen for several minutes, not knowing what to do, until quitting time arrived. On the way to the parking lot I went over everything again, and in the end I decided to go. I would go, yes, but to put an end to this once and for all.

***

The motel turned out to be nice, more luxurious than I’d expected. I walked up to the reception desk and, before I could open my mouth, the young man behind the counter asked if I was Renata. I said yes. He explained that my mother was waiting for me on the third floor, room 412.

Apparently, when she checked in, she had shown him a photo of me and said I was her daughter, with precise instructions on how to guide me as soon as I arrived. I didn’t know how to react. I decided to play along and walked toward the elevator.

The ride up seemed endless. The elevator’s rattling put me into a kind of trance as I rehearsed what I was going to say and prepared myself for any reaction. The doors opened, and I walked down the hall looking for the number until I found the door.

I stopped in front of it, hesitating over whether to knock, until I gathered my courage. A few seconds passed before she opened it. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me… or what she was wearing: a white robe left partly open, her face made up, her hair styled as if she’d just come from a salon, and a perfume that undid me.

She invited me in with a gesture of her hand. I entered slowly, moving on instinct, unable to articulate a word. It was a large room, with a small entrance hall, a side table, and a sofa, and a huge bed off to one side. She indicated that I should sit while she went to get something to drink. Tension held me rigid; all I wanted was to talk and put an end to the matter.

She returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. She sat beside me and poured for both of us.

—Marcela, I…

She pressed a finger to my lips, asking for silence, while she finished pouring. She picked up the glasses and handed me one. I held it in my trembling hand.

—Cheers! —she said, and took a drink.

I imitated her and immediately tried to continue.

—Marcela, I’ve been thinking about everything that happened, and I realized I was wrong. I shouldn’t have recorded you, much less tried to blackmail you…

I took out my phone with the video open and deleted it in front of her.

—What if we forget all this? I’ll pay you back for whatever you spent on the room, but I truly think this isn’t right, and I’m asking you to forgive me —I said, my voice breaking.

Marcela fixed her eyes on me. There was no compassion in that look, no forgiveness. There was tenderness, and then a low laugh.

—You think it’s that easy to fix? No, miss… you have to pay for what you did —she replied, moving closer inch by inch as she spoke.

—Do you think I didn’t notice the way you look at me? The way you’re always trying to get closer with ulterior motives? —she said, her face pressed against mine.

I didn’t know what to say. I tried, but all that came out was a stammer; feeling her breath against my skin made me tremble.

—You walk around the office flirting and pretending to be innocent. I notice, believe me. I was just like you when I was young, and I know you won’t rest until you get what you want. You wanted to fuck the boss’s secretary? Here I am. My panties are already soaked thinking about how I’m going to wreck you this afternoon.

Her words left their mark on me. She wasn’t wrong, but no one had ever said it to my face, much less with such force.

—I… no…

I didn’t get to finish. Her lips interrupted me, kissing me as she took me by the waist and pressed me against her. Her tongue entered my mouth without permission, searching for mine, wrapping around it, biting my lower lip until I moaned. She tasted of red wine and lipstick. I couldn’t stop myself from giving in; deep down, it was exactly what I wanted, only I had never imagined getting it this way.

She pulled away, took my hand, and led me to the bed. With a small shove she made me sit down and began opening her robe very slowly, revealing a black lace set with garters on her thighs. Her tits spilled out of her bra, two large, firm breasts with their nipples outlined beneath the fabric; the thong barely covered her pussy, and at the sides a dark wet stain showed how soaked she already was. Her body was even more beautiful than I’d fantasized; not even the tightest clothes had done it justice.

—Look what you do to me, little brat —she murmured, grabbing her thong and pulling it so I could see the glistening thread clinging to her fingers—. I’ve had my pussy swollen for you since yesterday.

She bent over me and removed my blouse with confidence and precision, running her lips along my neck, nibbling my earlobe, moving down my collarbone, stroking my back until she found my bra clasp, which she released in a second. When the cup fell away, she took one nipple between her lips and sucked it slowly, dragging her tongue around it in circles, then caught it between her teeth and pulled until she tore a sharp moan from me. She moved to the other and repeated it more forcefully, her free hand pinching the one she had abandoned.

I wanted to use my hands, but she stopped me again and again, holding my wrists against the mattress as if she needed to maintain complete control. She laid me back, undid the button of my pants, and pulled them down in one motion along with my underwear, leaving me naked from the waist down. She took me by the thighs and opened my legs without hurry, ran her tongue over her lips at the sight of my already glistening pussy, and gave a low laugh.

—Look at you, little one. Soaked. And I haven’t even touched you yet.

Her gaze was pure domination, as if she wanted to collect payment for the past few months. She lowered one hand and began brushing the lips of my pussy with two fingers, very slowly, up and down, spreading my own wetness without reaching my clitoris yet. With the other she stroked my mouth, wanting me to wet her lips; I sucked them without thinking, like a little girl. When she had me like that, panting for more, she entered me with a single finger, all the way in, and a moan escaped me, filling the room.

—That’s it. Scream all you want; no one here will hear you but me.

She began moving it, curling it inside me, searching for the exact spot that made me writhe. I twisted to her rhythm, my hips lifted from the mattress, asking for more without words. With her free hand she held my face in place so we wouldn’t lose eye contact. She looked at me with a condescension that should have offended me, but instead turned me on: I was her toy, and we both knew it.

—Is this what you wanted, isn’t it? For the lady to finger you all the way? Say it.

—Yes… yes, I wanted it… —I stammered, my voice broken.

—Say it properly. Every word.

—I wanted you to fuck me… from the first day…

She added two more fingers without warning, with a force I hadn’t expected. The three of them opened me wide, thrusting in and out at a brutal pace, her palm striking my clitoris with every plunge. I was drenched; I could hear the wet sound of her hand against my skin, obscene splashes bouncing off the walls of the room. She lowered her head and caught my clitoris between her lips, sucking it hungrily while she kept moving her fingers inside me, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. My orgasm hit me all at once, violent, a lash that arched my entire back and made me scream into the pillow. I soaked her hand, her chin, her wrist. She raised her palm covered in me and brought it to my mouth so I could taste myself.

—Lick them. All of them. So you learn what you taste like when you come.

I licked her fingers one by one, swallowing my own juices while she watched me with a satisfied, almost cruel smile.

I thought we were finished. I was wrong again. Marcela stood up, yanked off her thong, and let it fall to the floor; her pussy was exposed, shaved, swollen, her lips open and glistening from how much she had been dripping while she made me come. She pulled me all the way onto the bed, lifted one of my legs, and rested my heel on her shoulder. She positioned herself between my thighs and pressed her pussy against mine. When our sexes touched, I felt a jolt: she was as wet as I was, perhaps even wetter, because I felt a warm drop slide from her pussy to mine and disappear down my leg.

—Now I’m going to teach you how one woman fucks another —she whispered, gripping my thigh hard.

She began moving in circles, rubbing herself against me, pussy against pussy, clitoris against clitoris, making every brush draw a spasm from me. The hairs remaining on her pubis scraped me in a way that drove me wild. She let out short, husky moans without taking her eyes off me, while the splashing of our wet sexes filled the room. With her free hand she took one of my breasts and played with it, pinching my nipple until I howled, while squeezing the leg she had resting on her shoulder.

—Look at me. Look at me while I come all over you, you bitch.

She was in charge. And I, who had started all this believing I was the dominant one, ended up obeying every pause, every gesture, every order. Anything she wanted for her pleasure. That submissive role had me burning inside, although part of me wished I’d gotten there another way.

She sped up the rocking of her hips, ramming her pussy against mine as if she had me impaled on an invisible cock. Every thrust was harder, wetter, more obscene. I guessed she was about to finish, so I grabbed her by the waist and pushed her against me, wanting her to grind me harder. I wanted to feel everything mixing together, her juices and mine, my orgasm and hers, coming on top of each other. She released my leg and lay fully on top of me, pussy against pussy, tits against tits, rubbing herself against my thigh while hers pressed my clitoris in a way that was making me lose my mind again. She put a hand on my neck, squeezing lightly, and moaned in my ear, hot, husky breaths, until she whispered something to me:

—Apologize to me. Apologize while you come, slut.

I couldn’t help it. She was the one in charge, and I had to make up for what I’d done. Amid sighs and moans, the apologies slipped out on their own.

—I’m sorry… forgive me… I’m sorry, Marcela, I’m sorry…

When she heard them, Marcela kissed me, her tongue pushed deep into my mouth, and thrust her hips one last time. My second orgasm exploded between my legs at the same time as hers; I felt her pussy contract against mine, felt a warm gush bathe my pubis and mix with my own release. We stayed there trembling, clutching one another, soaked, until the last spasms released us.

***

She lay down beside me. We both stared silently at the ceiling for quite a while, breathing hard, the smell of sex and perfume clinging to the sheets, until she broke the silence.

—What happened in this room stays in this room. And if any of this somehow reaches the office, I’ll make sure you’re out on the street the next day. Understood?

I froze. The situation had completely turned around, with perfect irony, and I had no choice but to accept it: now I was the one being blackmailed.

We got dressed and left. We passed reception, greeting the same young man, her hand resting on my shoulder as she maintained the lie that we were mother and daughter. We crossed the motel’s doors and, outside, each of us went her own way.

The following days passed normally, at least as far as my coworkers were concerned. The rumors continued floating through the air, the same ones as always, but not a single further word about the matter passed my lips after that night. There was no need: I knew perfectly well who I owed my silence to.