The Festival

"Dear?" Mrs. Pritchard prompted. My silence had been too long. I shielded the mouthpiece with my hand, desperate that no one would hear.

"Yes," I whispered. The truth of it amazed to me.

"How exciting," Mrs. Pritchard sighed, "have you told him yet?" I told him many things, but I hadn't told him that. I just figured it out myself. I could also be wrong.

"No, it's too soon," I whispered.

"How old are you, Victoria?" Mrs. Pritchard asked. I didn't want to say. I was going to be thirty next month. Encroaching on old maid status. I was content with that, until I met Timothy. Luckily, she accepted my silence.

"You must have enough experience to know when it's right," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "you don't sound like a woman who lets others' rules decide for her." She was very pushy, though her logic was sound. The veiled compliment didn't hurt either.

"It's right," I said, then added, "but I need more time." There was too much to think about. To bare my soul to Timothy before he's ready to hear it was too risky. I didn't want to lose what I had.

"You would know best," Mrs. Pritchard slowed, "just remember, the world is imperfect, don't waste your life waiting for perfection." My bath was perfect. Many parts of the my weekend were perfect. Maybe I shouldn't rock the boat.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Pritchard." I know I sounded like I was brushing her off. I was. I didn't mind the conversation, but she was trying to hurry my life choices.

"I guess my age is showing," Mrs. Pritchard laughed, "I have the wisdom of many misgivings. You just make sure you're happy. Okay?"

"Of course," I answered, more comfortable with her tone.

"You'll call me next week?" Mrs. Pritchard asked, her voice hesitant. Maybe she thought she pushed too hard.

"Like clockwork," I answered lightly. This game of canceling appointments seemed important to her. Except for today's brief exchange, I enjoyed it as well.

"I promise to keep my advice to myself," Mrs. Pritchard added. I smiled into the phone. She really liked our talks. In fact, I began to think I was the reason her substantial accounts stayed with Griffin.

"I wouldn't miss it," I said. I paused for a moment, then added, "And I'll think about what you said."

"I'll look forward to next week," Mrs. Pritchard said happily. The call ended with us as friends. Just a minor tiff. I felt a little guilty playing the friend behind the guise of appointment shuffling. I liked her. I promised myself I would see about a personal meeting with her. A sit down where we could share some tea and talk face to face. Maybe I could hand deliver her monthly statement.

My email beeped. A list of Griffin to-dos appeared, enough to keep me busy all week. The deadlines were ridiculous. Possibly revenge for all the red circles on his chest. I held back my laugh, remembering the bath. The marker was more permanent than I had envisioned. The wonderful tortured-boy look on his face when it wouldn't wash off. He would have to walk around imperfect for a while, waiting for nature and time to do its thing.

I tackled the first task on the list. I had to collect information on four companies Griffin was considering for investing clients' money. He wanted everything, plus a synopsis of the analysis and overlaid comparison charts. Some of it, like the charts, could be computer-generated. The verbiage had to be mine. I knew how he liked it done. Organized, with no single idea broken by a page break. He would spread it across his desk, charts and facts always starting in the upper left and the more subjective material trailing to the bottom right. He would just stand above it all, absorb, analyze and make a decision.

Griffin was two hours into the partner meeting when I finally completed assembling the analysis. I received that wonderful feeling of completion, crossing off the first item on the list. I sighed at the length of the list before I moved to number two.

"Ms. Paddington?" a male voice asked. I looked up from my work, my eyes filling with flowers. Pink and red carnations, spotted with pink roses all sitting above a bed of white daisies. I could barely see the delivery man behind them. I almost cried. No one had given me flowers in years. I nodded my head, not trusting my voice, and cleared off the corner of my desk. Curious heads popped up from their own work to watch the delivery.

I thanked the delivery man while trying desperately to bring work decorum back to my smile. The smell filled my space, transporting my nose straight to spring, bypassing the coming winter altogether. I snatched the attached card quickly when I saw Susan approaching.

"Who's in love with you?" Susan whispered, wearing a silly grin. Timothy had taken a risk. Then again, the rules didn't apply to us.

"Lunch?" I said, stalling for time.

"Lunch and details," Susan responded. I agreed, it gave me a good thirty minutes to come up with a story. I opened the note. It contained only the letter 'T.' I smiled at my bold rule breaker, too chicken to sign his name. The flowers were lovely. I wanted Saturday to hurry up.

I returned to my list of to-dos. I read the next one twice. I wasn't sure the first read was correct.

Analyze the four companies above, choose the best one for our clients' capital. Submit answer in writing with supporting reasons.

I wasn't an analyst. That's why they tolerated Griffin. He was the best analyst in the firm. The clients weren't 'ours,' they were his. I read the task for the third time. It sounded like a homework assignment for a finance class. I took one, years ago, when I grabbed my associates at Sycamore Junior College. I shrugged my shoulders and cleared off my desk, leaving only my monitor and flowers on top. Like Griffin, I spread the analysis documents across the desk. Facts in the lower right, subjective material toward the top left. I was a rebel.

It took me until lunch to reach a conclusion. It was not one I think Griffin expected, but it was the one that made sense to me. I collected the papers into a neat pile and reapplied the binder clip. I would have to do the write-up after lunch. Griffin hadn't returned, so I suspected the partners were calling in food. I gathered Susan and headed out for a quick bite.

"So, who's the flower boy?" Susan asked as I poured sesame vinaigrette over my spinach salad. Half-truths always worked better than bold-faced lies.

"A guy I ran into two a couple of weeks ago." I tore open a crouton packet and added it to my salad. "I knew him before, but...he's changed...a lot." I was trying not to smile. Changed was such an understatement.

"Cute?"

"Oh yes," I replied. He has lost-boy eyes and cute little red circles all over his chest. And a smiley face just above my favorite part.

"I'm going to need a name," Susan prodded. So nosy. Strangely, I enjoyed the attention.

"Tim," I said comfortably. There's no way anyone would connect Tim with Timothy Griffin. It was just too far out there. The man's work persona kept everyone at arm's length.

"Tall, short, green hair or scars?" Susan asked jokingly.

"Tall...well taller than I am," I smiled, "dark hair, cute and thinks only of me." I left out the only-on-the-weekends part.

"Ask him to lunch so I can meet him," Susan said, lifting her turkey sandwich and taking a bite. That, of course, would be a problem. I just nodded a weak agreement and changed the subject.

"How's your Internet romance going?" I filled my mouth with salad, guaranteeing it was her turn to speak.

"We traded pictures," Susan replied. I noticed a little blush. I wondered what kind of pictures. "He's always sweet, but sometimes pushy. One email I love him and the next I'm not sure."

"Email is a tough way to communicate. You guys talk on the phone yet?" I asked.

"Yes," Susan was shaking her head, "he has a nice voice, though I could tell he was nervous. Hell, I was shaking the whole time." I smiled in support.

"That's a good thing. I would be worried if you both weren't nervous." I took a sip of my iced tea. "Are you planning to meet him soon?"

"It's the next step," Susan shrugged, "but neither of us has brought it up yet."

"Slow is better," I nodded. We finished our lunch with useless gossip about the office. I felt that I successfully dodged Susan's curiosity. I wasn't sure how long Timothy and I could remain private. Griffin did have a way of making it seem an impossibility to most observers.

I returned to the office and wrote up my analysis of the four companies, attached it to the top of the charts and other documents. I put it on the corner of his desk and received a grunt in reply. I returned to my desk and started on the next task.

Around three, I texted Kendra. I needed her fashion sense. I had always ignored it in the past, but this time I needed her vamp eyes. It took a few texts before she understood. She would meet me at Sinful Angels, a downtown boutique, after work. It brought a smile to my work. I wanted to see Timothy shaking with desire this weekend.

"In my office," Griffin demanded, pulling me from the task at hand. I grabbed a pen and pad and headed in. "Close the door." I did and sat in the leather chair with a silly grin. He was beginning to look like Timothy all the time. I saw right through Griffin now. His coarseness flowed right past me and dissipated in a mist. I controlled all that was left.

"I asked you to choose a company," Griffin said, pointing at my analysis. He didn't ask. Griffin never asked.

"No, you wanted my opinion on where to put our client's capital," I corrected. I had to get rid of the grin. All I saw was my hand in his hair, forcing him down. It was tough being this close. I was addicted.

"So you chose none of them?" Griffin pointed out.

"If you would have asked which one would lose our clients the least," I replied, "you would have gotten a different answer." I was cocky. This was Griffin's day, not mine. I really wanted it to be mine. I had visions of Timothy laid across the desk. The pending visit to the boutique had really gotten me going.

"What's wrong with Tiberian Metals?" Griffin asked. I thought that was the one he expected me to pick. This whole thing felt like a test and I probably failed.

"The price is too high," I replied, "it's based on last period results which were an anomaly. They sold off two mines for short-term cash, thus the upswing. This quarter's results will be greatly diminished, and I expect the stock to slide. With the current glut in the metal markets, it will be quite some time before the price recovers." Griffin smiled. Not Timothy, but Griffin. It took me by surprise.

"Back to work," Griffin said, waving me away. I rose, fueled by the smile. The door was closed, so I made sure my hips moved as I returned to it. I heard Timothy's intake of breath. I ignored it as I opened the door and continued, more business-like, to my desk.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Does this have to do with your boss?" Kendra asked as we walked along the lingerie aisles.

"You've been talking with Sandra," I guessed.

"You know it will never work out, right?" Kendra pointed out. I just smiled. The rules didn't apply to us. "Okay, what's the look you're going for?" she conceded.

"Sexy, of course, and," I blushed, "in charge." This time Kendra smiled.

"Victoria the Dom?" Kendra whispered. Her eyes were alive with incredulity.

"Don't tell Sandra," I requested, hopelessly.

"Like whips and stuff?"

"No," I answered quickly, "he does what I say. That's all." I couldn't imagine hurting Timothy. The red pen was far enough. And the hair, I really liked grabbing his hair.

"Blindfolds?" Kendra continued.

"No... but that sounds nice." I said, thinking out loud. The things I could do with him blindfolded. It would be another degree hotter. I was getting excited just thinking about it. Kendra laughed. "Just help me find something," I pleaded, trying to get the blood to drain from my face.

Kendra was an expert in bedroom wear. She quickly eliminated a lot of the styles that required bigger boobs. Others for color and some for over-the-top slutty. We settled on a solid black leather corset with a lace-up back. It had a hidden side zipper that allowed for easy removal. I found some low-cut, black-lace panties and matching thigh-high stockings. Kendra wanted me to add high heels. I decided the stockings were enough. The heels would just get in the way, and make me less confident. Control would be awkward if I was teetering on stilettos.

Kendra met me at the register after splitting off for a few minutes. I assumed she was shopping for herself. Instead, she placed a long, soft white silk scarf on top of my pile. Her smile was scandalous. I loved it.

It was a brutally long week. I spent all five days wishing for Saturday to hurry up and arrive. Griffin kept piling on the work; things I had never done before, along with my normal tasks. At least the work helped in keeping my mind off the coming weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~

I was hot, smoking hot. I looked at the image in the mirror, amazed at my transformation. The corset pushed what little I had into taut handful-sized bulges with cleavage and sucked in my waist. The skimpy panties barely covered me, and the lace tantalized my butt. The thigh-high stockings made my legs look longer. I had 'sexy bitch' going on. My stupid smile was the only thing interfering with the look. I was so pleased with myself, I couldn't get my lips to form a serious scowl.

The doorbell rang promptly at eight. I was sure he waited outside the door, staring at his watch, waiting for the second hand to cross the twelve. I opened the door, hiding my body behind it. Timothy was in jeans and a really ugly green sweater. It looked like something an old aunt would give you on Christmas. He stepped in boldly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Padd..." His words caught in his throat as I closed the door. I saw lust fill his eyes as he took in my new look. An exciting warmth grew from my toes and pleasantly filled my body. I merely pointed at the ground, and Timothy dropped to his knees. I stepped forward, his eyes moving back up to mine. I combed my hand into the hair on the back of his head, gripping tightly. I loved life at that moment.

"You were awfully hard on your assistant this week," I taunted. My damn smile was ruining the effect. I felt him quiver and something, almost a moan, escaped his lips as he responded. My strong, lovely man was a quivering bowl a jelly in my hands. Such pleasure.

"You...you're stunning," Timothy stuttered. It was the first time I had ever heard him slaughter a sentence. My breathing quickened. My role-play shattered. Our lips connected, powerful magnets refusing to break away. I fell forward, forcing him to the floor; tugging at his ugly sweater, trying to get it off his body. He rolled on top of me, lifting the sweater over his head and letting it fly past our heads. The Ohio State t-shirt followed. I no longer cared who was in charge.

Timothy scooted back between my legs, staring at me while he undid his belt. I struggled to help him, nothing was moving fast enough. He crawled out of his pants, his erection stiffly fighting the effort. His hand moved quickly to my panties. I raised my butt and they were gone. I reached up to unzip the corset.

"Leave it!" Griffin ordered. Oh shit, Griffin was going to take me. I shifted my hips, pointing myself at him. I let go of everything, willingly.

"I am yours," I pleaded. I just wanted him. I didn't care how.

Griffin guided himself into me. A single determined, yet not angry, thrust. I exhaled in a verbally dull thump as he filled me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pulling him deeper. He moved strongly, ignoring my death grasp, in and out of me in the most forceful manner. My insides were tingling, my breath gasping at each thrust. My stomach was curling as my orgasm neared sooner than I expected. It had crept steadily, climbing higher without pause. My fingers gripped his back, nails digging in as my muscles tightened.

My insides let loose. All my muscles strained to ride the waves Griffin shot through me. Every nerve responded as I yelled. I was off the ground, latched to him, shaking as I felt him stiffen. His growl joined my wail. Warmth flooded, muscles failed, faces strained. He collapsed us slowly to the ground. Little wondrous tremors toured my body as everything slowed. Griffin, panting, moved his weight to his elbows and kissed me. A wonderful, languishing kiss. A lovers' kiss. When he parted from my lips I saw it in his eyes. My Timothy loved me.

Somehow, Timothy rolled over, pulling my marshmallow bones over his. I smiled weakly from above. He reached up and pushed my sweaty hair behind my ear.

"I'm sorry," Timothy said softly, "I ruined your day." I nuzzled into his shoulder, not wanting to use any strength to hold up my neck.

"I would like it ruined more often," I responded. I could feel his smile form. His arms enveloped me, gluing us together. I could hear his heart slowing as did his breathing. I closed my eyes wondering if heaven was equivalent. "You liked my outfit," I whispered.

"Oh yes," he whispered, his hands tenderly moving along my back, finding skin around my corset. "I love the woman in it as well." A horribly perfect time to tell me. The emotion was too strong and tears filled my eyes. If he would have waited another moment or two, I could have formed a wonderful response. Instead I half cried, half blubbered a 'me-too' which made little sense as a reply. Luckily, he understood. Lips said it better anyway.

Timothy returned the day to me. Not that I minded losing it, but it was enjoyable to have it back. Being spoiled by him was sheer pleasure. Spoiling me at my command, even better. I sat in the tub, his cocked legs a makeshift chair back, leaning my head listlessly back as he washed my hair for the second time. I loved how his fingers massaged their way into my scalp mixing with the warm water he kept lifting up. I wondered how long this man had been hiding in Griffin's interior.

"Why did you push me so hard this week?" I asked lazily. It wasn't an admonishment, merely a question. Griffin did little that didn't have a purpose.

"Just testing," Timothy responded, "did you know that the other partners thought Tiberian Metals was an excellent investment?"

"So, I was wrong," I admitted. Didn't matter, I wasn't a analyst anyway.

"You're the only one who got it right," Timothy admitted, chuckling to himself, "those guys regurgitate the S&P 500 sheets and ignore logic. Investments are about the future, not the past. You see that intuitively."

"Timothy Griffin, are you complimenting me?" I smiled.

"Yes," Timothy continued, "you are the sexiest, smartest woman I know."

Sex in a tub full of water is more difficult than you would imagine. There is a lot of slipping, shampoo in the eyes, smushed limbs and lots of laughter. I took Timothy there. I wasn't sure if it was because I was the sexiest or because I was the smartest. I think it was because I could. He was mine and looked so damned hot with those faded red circles all over his chest.

The problems with weekends is the word 'ends.' Monday came around before I was ready. We would really have to leave the house one of these weekends. Break up the time more, make it last longer in our heads. We had an unspoken agreement to not broadcast our office affair, but we needed some public 'us time.' I promised myself I would broach the subject next weekend. Mr. Rules-don't-apply would agree out of stubbornness. And because I asked.

I was surprised to see Griffin enter the office a few minutes late. He was never late. Each of the secretaries he passed gave him the prerequisite 'good morning.' Instead of ignoring them, he nodded. There were more than a few open mouths by the time he came up to my desk.