Chapter Text
“Deangelo wanted me to ask you if there was anything I could help you with?”
“Really?” His cold, watchful eyes disdainfully raked her body up and down, lingering on the top few buttons of her blouse and the hem of her skirt. “Anything?” He put emphasis on the word, mockingly, suggestively.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable despite her modest office attire, she fought the urge to fidget with her clothing and felt a blush creep slowly up her neck.
“Do you need… anything?” She swallowed nervously and fought to keep her voice even but even she could hear the slight huskiness creeping in. Her blush intensified.
“Deangelo? Tell your whore to leave me alone!” With a final cursory sneer in her direction, he spun away from her and she was dismissed. Her face felt hot and she found herself blinking rapidly, eyes prickling with tears, but a liquid heat was spreading through her lower belly as she rushed into the ladies room, away from the staring.
Slick with sweat and panting, Jordan came crashing down after the most powerful orgasm of her life. Shame overtook her as the scene continued to run on a loop inside her head. She wiped her sticky hand on her thigh and melted into the mattress, spent. She didn’t often masturbate, but since that encounter with Dwight on Friday, she had been touching herself at every single opportunity. Living alone, there was a lot of opportunity.
No one had ever humiliated her so intensely. It was illuminating. She had never realised just how much she craved it. This misogynistic creep, this redneck hick, borderline incel - she wanted him to fuck her hard . But first, she wanted him to break her down completely, crush her , degrade her, punish her for being a whore, tease and deny her, put her in her place beneath him, at his feet. She wanted him to make her beg. She wanted to be taken to his farm and kept as a slave, a helpmeet, a broodmare. She wanted to have his children and live as his tradwife, loving, honouring, worshiping and obeying him… fuck she was horny again.
Her fingers strayed yet again to her needy, insatiable clit and she circled it agonisingly, teasing herself, holding off the inevitable as long as she possibly could because, hot on the heels of the orgasm, came the unbearable shame. Why was she like this? Why did she want this? Why did she want him ? Why couldn’t she have continued with her harmless, innocent, one-sided little crush on good ol’ married, unattainable Jim? The funny guy, bit of a flirt, sweet, very respectful to his wife. What in the name of Christ was she doing entertaining thoughts of being spanked and fucked by the office weirdo? The misanthropic beet farmer? Insecure, aggressive, patronising, megalomaniacal prick? She was simultaneously thrilled and horrified at the wrongness of this.
***
So that was how Jordan spent her weekend. An endless cycle of fantasising, berating herself, bargaining with God. She barely ate, she barely slept, she showered frequently only to end up grubby, sticky and sweaty again within the hour as the unquenchable arousal took hold once again. Sunday night was the worst. Now it was Monday morning and she would have to go into work. Have to face him. Looking in the mirror, she felt like there was no way to hide it. It was there as plain as day, for everyone to see. For him to see. How could he miss the lust, the shame, the unbearable longing in her hazel eyes. What if she couldn’t control her arousal? What if he could smell it ? She cycled into work in a daze, barely aware of her surroundings, blinking as though waking from a dream when she found herself in the carpark of the business compound. With unsteady fingers she locked up her bike and took a steadying breath.
She checked her outfit. Jordan was a pretty normal young woman. She liked to look nice, liked men to notice her. She wasn’t a whore , as Dwight had so dismissively branded her, but she certainly wasn’t a nun either. She was also, and she knew it was not cool to admit this, absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Sure, there were things she didn’t love about herself - her jaw was a little prominent and masculine, her ass was flatter than was ideal, but she was tall, slender without having to think about food too much and her face was pretty. As a whole package, she knew she turned heads. Today, she had gone to great lengths to minimise every asset in her arsenal. Midi length black skirt, ivory high neck blouse tucked in and buttoned to her collarbone, flat, black lace up boots, hair tucked neatly into a low bun. She could pass for a nun.
She knew the reason Deangelo had hired her and she knew everyone else knew it too. Shame and anger rose inside her. She wasn’t a fucking airhead. Why did everyone assume that because she was pretty she was also a moron? Sure she’d never worked in an office before, sure all her jobs up to now had been waitressing, retail, barista, but for fuck’s sake, she’d majored in mathematics at UPenn and graduated with a 4.0 GPA! She was working odd jobs to save up for postgrad studies and then hopefully a career in academia. Fuck these jerks, seriously, especially Pam and Angela who had immediately judged her just for being young and hot. So much for sisterhood, right? The anger was a balm right now, honestly. It had pushed out the shame and uncertainty. She now felt nothing but a simmering rage and righteous indignation. With a fiery breath she stomped over to the door and glided imperiously up the stairs to the office.
On the way in, Kelly Kapoor, who had been nice to her at least, gave her a puzzled smile as she came out of the ladies room. Jordan smiled back - Kelly hadn’t wronged her in any way. “Jordan, hey girl… Interesting aesthetic today!
“Thanks, Kelly. Anything to put off all the creepy jerks we have the misfortune to call colleagues, right?”
“OMG, I got you, girlfriend!” Kelly rolled her eyes and giggled. Jordan liked her. She suspected she actually was an airhead but she’d never had a problem with people of lesser intelligence, only people who were assholes.
Jordan walked briskly through the office, head high, gaze focused above everyone’s heads, straight to Deangelo’s office. “Morning, Deangelo. What do you have for me today?”
He looked up, eyebrows raised at her tone. “Morning Jordan…” His eyes raked down her outfit and a small crease appeared between his eyes. “Umm… take these files, type them up and digitise them please.”
“Great.” That would kill a few hours and mean she would not have to look at or speak to anyone else in the office. “Is there a desk I can use?” She surreptitiously crossed her fingers, praying for the annex, far away from Dwight Schrute.
“Uh… Jim’s not here today. He’s out on sales calls. You can use his desk.”
Fuck.
She smiled thinly. “Thank you.”
Turning on her heel, she all but slammed Deangelo’s door behind her. A few startled glances flew her way and she smiled primly in response, smoothing her long skirt and easing herself into Jim’s chair.
“Morning,” she said coolly and resolutely to the computer screen, refusing even to glance at Dwight or Pam.
“Morning…” Pam said, sounding perplexed at the younger woman’s frosty and brusque attitude.
There was zero response from Dwight and Jordan took a sharp breath through her nose. She turned her attention to the top file and began typing.
A strangely peaceful hour or two elapsed, Jordan entirely focused on the mindless, repetitive task assigned to her, almost meditative in state. There had been no interjections from either the sanctimonious Office Administrator to her right or the sexist prig to her left.
“I need copies of these.” Jordan was startled out of her zone as a flurry of papers were slammed down beside her. Dwight was observing her coldly and expectantly. For a moment, she felt pinned by those emotionless reptilian eyes, unable to move. “Oh I’m sorry, are you having difficulty processing my simple instruction?” He spoke sarcastically, slowing his words as though speaking to a child and it shot straight to her core. “Let me break it down for you. Take these papers to the copy machine and… copy them. It’s not hard. It shouldn’t be beyond even someone of your skillset. Do you need Pam to show you how it works?” He smiled without warmth.
Jordan reeled from the onslaught. She had never met someone so egregiously and brazenly unpleasant. She didn’t know what to think. It was refreshing in a way, but to be on the brunt of it… she was furious, hurt, humiliated. Thrilled. Without speaking, she lifted the papers and rose with as much dignity as she could muster.
The copier was a shitshow. Toner was low, there was a paper jam in at least three places, and an error message flashed stubbornly. She looked on in horror. With a deep breath, she began tentatively opening covers and poking around for jammed paper. She found a new cylinder of toner but… she had no idea how to install it. She was bent down trying to decipher the diagrams depicted in the innards of the machine when she felt a presence right behind her.
“What could possibly be taking so long?” His words dripped with delighted malice. She straightened and turned to face him. He was inches away. She blushed hot and hard but refused to break eye contact. She set her jaw and glared defiantly back at him. Her face and neck burned so brightly, she could feel the prickle of perspiration and tendrils of hair began to curl loose from the bun at the base of her skull.
“You really are good for very little aren’t you? It makes me wonder why Deangelo hired you at all. What are you good for? Is it the obvious? So mundane,” he sighed, sounding bored.
Breathing shallowly, she moved minutely towards him, her height allowing her to glare directly into his eyes. She was so close she could smell him, clean and masculine, heat radiating from his body.
“ Fuck. You. ” She breathed, inaudible to anyone but him.
He chuckled darkly. “Only in your wildest dreams.”
She tensed and felt her eyes widen involuntarily in shock. Did he know? He couldn’t possibly. She shoved the cylinder of toner into his chest and skulked back to Jim’s desk. She refused to look but out of the corner of her eye she could see him effortlessly release the old toner cylinder and click in the new one. She blinked back tears of humiliation and rage even as her traitorous body thrummed with desire.