A kind one?

Richard was a wonderful boss. That was what her head said when she stood in the doorway of the office with the trophies on the wall. Wonderful. Fair. He had given her a job so she would not be bored at home like Todd wanted. She owed him a clean report.

Every day he made Lauren strip naked in front of him.

No screen. No turning around. Tank off, shorts off, socks off, collar still on. She stood on the cheap office carpet with her massive tits bare and her shaved cunt and her ass on display and spread herself open with her own fingers when he told her to. Pussy first. Then she turned and bent and spread her asshole so he could see she was not stealing any tips. That was what he called it. Inspection. Like cash could hide in her hole. The whole exercise was humiliating. Her face burned. Her green eyes stayed on the far wall of trophies because looking at him made it worse and looking away made it last longer.

Somehow the fact that Richard would turn the vibrator on for thirty whole minutes once he was done inspecting her made it worth her while.

He would nod, satisfied, tap his phone and the thing inside her cunt would roar to life and stay there. She was not allowed to touch herself. She was not allowed to sit. She stood in front of his desk with her juices starting down her thighs, tits rising and falling, trying not to moan loud enough to reach the kitchen, while he went back to invoices like her shaking legs were part of the furniture. Thirty minutes. Long enough that her knees trembled. Long enough that she would have said thank you if he asked.

Then Amelie would enter his office.

Lauren had to stand outside in the hall and hear them fuck.

The door did not close all the way. It never did. She heard the desk creak. She heard Amelie moan like she was proud of it. She heard Richard tell her good girl and harder and take it. She heard skin pound against skin. She heard Amelie say she planned on getting pregnant. How important it was for a woman to fulfill her duties. How she wanted it. How she was going to give Daddy a baby because that was what a wife was for.

A feeling of jealousy rose within Lauren, hot and immediate and ugly.

She had to beat her to it. She could not let that useless bitch Amelie beat her by being the better wife. Todd had asked about a baby. Todd wanted a baby too. If Amelie got there first, if Amelie got pregnant while Lauren didn’t even try, then Lauren was losing. The jealousy did not feel like love for Richard. It felt like competition with the woman on the other side of the door. She stood in the hallway with the vibrator finally off and her own slick cooling on her thighs and hated Amelie more for the moans than for the remote she used liberally.

That night Lauren slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of the supply closet, as usual.

The closet smelled like cleaner and cardboard and the orange shorts she had hung on a hook. The collar stayed on even as she slept. Richard’s rule. She zipped the bag to her chest because the tile was cold under her ass and her tits and tried to find a position that did not put the box of the collar against the floor, because it caused it to misfire at times.

She dreamed.

She saw herself in a vast open field. Far off in the distance she could see a woman. A woman with a buzz cut and cheap clothes, running toward her across a field that had no edges. Tank top. Sweatpants. Red stubble on a skull that was still somehow visible. The woman seemed to be yelling something. Lauren could see the mouth working. She could not make out the words. They tore apart in the space between them.

Curiously, even though the butch-looking woman seemed to be running toward her, she did not seem to be coming any closer. No matter how long Lauren stared. Legs pumping. Mouth open. Same distance. Like the distance between them was infinite.

A few moments later another figure materialized in the field.

Lauren recognized her instantly.

Amelie.

The buzzcut woman stopped running. She hugged Amelie immediately. They fit together like they had done it a thousand times. Then they were making out, mouths open, Amelie’s hands in the short red hair, the butch woman’s hands on Amelie’s ass, hungry and familiar.