File HR Complaint

There were too many accounts waiting for me—contracts, approvals, endless signatures stacked like a dare. Normally I’d glide through them before lunch, but weeks of broken sleep had left me raw. Every night I turned restlessly in sheets that refused to cool, every morning I woke already tense. The fatigue sat behind my eyes like static, and the low pulse of arousal I couldn’t explain made it worse. I told myself it was stress, nothing more, yet the harder I tried to focus, the more the numbers blurred and the air in my office seemed to thrum against my skin.

I pulled up the internal compliance portal. A half-dozen names blinked on the recent conduct list. One in particular stood out: the brunette from reception, the one whose skirt always seemed a few inches short of policy. I’d warned her twice. The thought of drafting a formal complaint should have been soothing—procedure, discipline, control.

The form appeared on the screen:

“Describe the infraction.”

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Then I started typing. I felt more calm and collected until I started to reread what I had wrote:

“Her skirt is so tight and small that if she were to bend over I could probably see the buttons of her red panties”

That didn't make sense. I hadn't seen her panties, my mind was just filling in blanks. Thinking about what lay underneath that tight skirt of hers. What would happen if she bent over….

I started over.

“I can see right down her blouse, and her petite breasts. Every time she laughs I can see her chest heaving. And if she laughed too hard, one of her tits might slip out and…..”

I tried a third time.

“If a client were to come in and see her it would look unprofessional. They might be incited to bend her over a desk in the middle of reception and spank……”

I leaned back, irritated at myself. The air smelled faintly of her perfume—imagined, of course. The same light floral scent that hung near the reception desk every morning. It drifted across memory now, filling the office. I rubbed my eyes, but the image wouldn’t fade: the cut of the fabric, the curve of a smile offered too easily.

Stop it, Verra. This is compliance, not fantasy. It took another three tries but I finally finished the report that would end the woman’s career. I pushed send.

For a moment the satisfaction I expected didn’t come. The room felt warmer, smaller, like the walls had leaned closer. I switched the glass to Clear mode and watched the office floor below. The receptionist was still at her desk, head bowed over a stack of forms, utterly unaware of the impending meeting with HR, and her eventual firing.

I should have felt vindicated. Instead, I found myself watching the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, precise, unhurried. My heartbeat matched the movement.

Enough. I turned the glass back to opaque and shut down the console.

Despite everything I managed that day, the stack of files still loomed on the edge of my desk—accusing, unfinished. The numbers I had touched blurred together; the rest waited in silent judgment. My reflection in the glass looked composed enough, but my body felt hollowed out, the exhaustion behind my ribs still pulsing. Tomorrow’s executive meeting blinked on the schedule display, a neat red reminder that control was only ever borrowed. I shut down the console, straightened the papers, and told myself I’d finish the rest in the morning. The growing arousal had lessened a bit for now, but that was only because of the exhaustion. I need to go home and get some real sleep tonight.