Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I can’t even go to HR because Bradley isn’t some random employee violating a sexual harassment policy. He’s the owner’s fucking kid. He can do whatever he wants.
This was supposed to be my dream job. I couldn’t believe when I landed it, my application being accepted over dozens of others. I only applied at Metford Marketing because my advisor in human resources on the college campus told me to apply for at least one outlier. One business I was drooling to work for. A place where I would never get an interview with my recent degree and total lack of experience.
But somehow, I did get an interview, and I even got the job. That was three months ago. Now I wish I’d never met that advisor on campus. My life is a fucking shitshow.
It took me a few weeks to realize I didn’t earn my position at Metford Marketing. Bradley fucking saw me come in, thought I was pretty, and told them to hire me. And then he proceeded to spend every moment of every day flirting with me.
It might have been flattering the first day or two. After all, the owner’s son was paying attention to me. He’s good looking, has a gorgeous smile, and makes a lot of money.
But he’s nothing more than a stalker. He kept showing up everywhere while I was going through orientation, which annoyed my boss and the other recent hires. No one at the office likes me. They don’t believe I earned the job fair and square, and they’re right.
Bradley pops up everywhere. He sits next to me at lunch, opens doors for me, walks me home, and even meets me in front of my apartment building every morning to walk me to work.
It’s not flattering anymore. It’s annoying. He’s asked me out nearly every day since I met him, and no matter how many times I turn him down, he keeps asking.
It’s hard to know for sure if his presence taints my feelings about the job. It’s possible that the reason I’m so miserable at work is because of him. But it’s not farfetched to admit I also hate marketing. I hate the pressure and the pace.
I was a good student in school. I did everything a good girl does. I stayed out of trouble, worked hard, and got my degree. My parents are so proud of me. They brag about me to all of their friends.
But I’m miserable. I feel like I’m in someone else’s skin. I don’t know her. She walks through life doing all the right things while I seem to float out of body above her, watching. Judging. Wincing. Nearly in tears.
At night, I climb under my covers, read more books, and cry. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’ll never fit in. This world isn’t right for me. I’ve never been on a date, and now I know why. It’s not because no one asked me out. Guys approached me in college.
No one ever gave me tingles. I never felt a spark. So I never said yes.
I never once felt sexual or titillated until a few months ago. I thought there was something wrong with me. The truth was, I didn’t have the right information. I didn’t know about age play. I was just a misfit living in a foreign land.
Now, I know. And I’ve also learned that particular kink is not just something people read in books. Many people live the lifestyle. I’ve done my research. But I haven’t put myself out there. And how could I?
I can’t do anything without fucking Bradley attached to my hip. The man isn’t Daddy material. He makes me cringe. Maybe some woman would find him to be attractive and love his kind of attention, but not me.
He’s too…soft. He whispers and touches me lightly. He says what he thinks are smooth lines. Some woman will be lucky to have him.
Not me.
I need someone stronger. Dominant. Firm. I need someone larger who can pick me up, press me against a wall, and fuck me. I long for a man who will tell me I’m a “good girl” and spank my ass hard when I’m not.
“Allisa?” Kate asks softly.
I turn from where I’ve been staring into the mirror, daydreaming, to face my friends. It takes me a moment to realize Mary asked me about Bradley. I shudder. “The usual. I’m so tired of him following me. I want to vomit.”
My friends wince.
“I’m sorry,” Mary says. “Maybe you have no choice but to go to HR.”
“Maybe you should go to the cops,” Kate adds.
I sigh. “I don’t know. I just want to go somewhere he can’t follow me. Enjoy a night out, knowing he isn’t going to interrupt it.”
Kate’s brow is furrowed. “Well, he certainly can’t get into Club Zoom.”
“But, Allisa…” Mary responds.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I did the research. The odds are not in my favor. Hundreds of women go to the club every night. Only one gets chosen to leave this godforsaken planet on occasion. That’s not every night. More like once a week, give or take.”