Thursday Pt. 02

“Freeze, Commie, and identify yourself.” The bore of the firearm filled Sam’s vision, but the voice behind it was tinny and familiar. “This building is under the protection of Henry Hatcher. Any quick movements will be your last.”

“Henry? It’s me, Samuel Hall.” He croaked, not daring to twitch a muscle as he stared cross-eyed into imminent ****. “You know me, remember?”

“Mister Hall? Heck, I didn’t recognize you behind the mask, sir. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

The gun lowered–it looked like some kind of hunting rifle–and the old man behind it swam into view.

Henry’s craggy face remained hidden behind the antique gas mask, and a bulky white plastic bodysuit covered the rest of his stooped form, including a hood that covered his gray hair like a shroud. Yellow gloves and rubber boots protected his hands and feet as he snapped to attention, whipping off a wonky salute.

“Welcome back, Mister Hall. Have no fear. You’re safe from the Marxist threat here within these walls.” He said, shouldering the gun and patting it affectionately on the timber stock. “Ol’ Bessie and I will hold them at bay. You just keep fighting the good fight for capitalism and democracy while we keep out the rabble.”

“Um, what are you wearing?” Sam asked, taking deep breaths to slow his panicked heart rate. “And why the hell are you armed, Henry?”

“Found the plastic duds in the building basement. I think they belonged to the pest control guy. The gun is to keep… them out.” Henry nodded towards the feminine crowd milling outside the glass frontage. “Those indecent women are spreading the commie plague through their sinful wiles. They’re getting worse by the day, but Bessie still scares ‘em off.”

“Right.”

Several beguiling beauties in scanty gym attire sent doleful looks their way, but none seemed inclined to **** entry into a building guarded by a plastic-wrapped crackpot waving a gun about.

Sam could respect that manner of sensible decision-making and proceeded towards the elevator in a calm, orderly manner. The last thing he wanted was to spook the rifle-toting crank and catch a bullet for his troubles.

“Good… that’s good, Henry.” He said slowly, keeping the coffee and remaining donuts between them as if that would protect him. “It eases my mind to no end knowing you are down here… with a gun.”

“Right you are, Mister Hall. There’s nothing to fear while me and ol’ Bessie are on the job.”

Sam thanked every god, goddess, and mystical **** he could think of when the elevator eventually crawled to his rescue.

Sadie allowed herself a smile of satisfaction when she sauntered into her offices and found young Samuel already at his desk, furiously typing away.

She arrived an hour early and was pleased to discover her instincts about the junior accountant had been correct. He had finally shucked off his quiet complacency with his lot in life and was showing some go-getter attitude. The burgundy-haired business owner had to admit the new backbone looked good on him.

In fact, Sadie was beginning to realize there was a lot to admire about Samuel these days.

Had his shoulders and chest always been that broad? Certainly, his arms hadn’t bulged with so much muscle before, right? His crisp business button-up was literally fraying at the seams, and the eternal sweater vest was stretched over some very pronounced pectorals.

Perhaps his clothing shrunk in a laundry mishap. The pressed cuffs of his skin-tight khaki pants ended well above his ankles and brown oxfords.

He was still young and learning to fend for himself. Mistakes would be made. She could set him straight if necessary.

She was running the tip of her tongue across her teeth when Sam spotted her.

“Sadie, thank goodness you’re safe!” He cried, leaping to his feet. “Did you see Henry downstairs? The ancient loon brought a firearm to work!”

Sadie had not seen the aged concierge. She had parked in the Radley Building's underground garage and taken the stairs. The damn lift took forever.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She waved away his worries as she spotted the cardboard tray of coffees. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the old fool will accidentally blow a few toes off. Then we can hire some proper security.”

She took a sip of her morning cappuccino and grimaced. It wasn’t hot and overly sweet. The logo on the cup was from 7-Eleven.

Sam caught her expression and mirrored it sheepishly.

“Sorry, Starbucks wasn’t open when I passed it this morning. Nothing else was either.” Then his bright hazel eyes really took her in and widened. “Uh, Sadie… you’re dressed… um, differently today.”

Sadie’s smile graduated to a smirk. It had taken him long enough to notice, but she gave the young beancounter credit for getting there in the end.

“Do you think so, Samuel?” She teased, patting at her wine-colored hair. It was styled up into a messy, front-braided bun. “Trying to spice up my wardrobe as the weather warms. A real woman doesn’t need to hide under stuffy blouses and drab skirts every day.”

“No. No, of course not. But, ah…”

Truthfully, Sadie preened and tried not to snigger as her junior employee fussed and fumbled. Some part of her–a rather large part–had hoped for this very reaction when she had picked out the teensy black leather miniskirt and racy scarlet corset that morning.

She was wrapped in an elaborate web of shiny buckles and frilly bows, from the tall knife-heel boots on her feet to the midnight lace lining the low-cut satin bodice, all of which carved a seductive hourglass into her mature, athletically honed figure.

The inspiration had come from a storefront mannequin she had cruised past on the way home yesterday. In the dusty windows of a retail outlet called ‘The Pleasure Shoppe’, which had been bustling with in-and-out foot traffic.

“A strong, independent woman should be free to dress as she likes.” Sadie purred, strutting up to his desk, perching her tight ass on the edge, and languidly crossing her sleek legs in front of him. “A powerful woman shouldn’t be scared to express and project herself onto the business world. You agree, don’t you, Samuel? Say it.”

“I… agree,” Sam gulped, staring at her toned thighs where they emerged from the short leather hemline before clearing his throat. “Yes, I agree, Miss Chandler.”

“Good boy.” She crooned, hooking a manicured fingernail under his chin and lifting it until Sam’s hazel eyes were level with her immodest breasts. “It pleases me greatly to see you working diligently and being so… agreeable. Keep pleasing me, Samuel, and you may find that I can be awfully agreeable too.”

Sadie leaned in to whisper the last few words directly into his ear, incidentally tucking her pushed-up tits under his stubbly jawline. She took in a big sniff of his manly scent as she trailed delicate fingers up his cheek to comb them through his sandy hair.

She had the sudden urge to grab a handful and pull. To wrench his head back and claim a torrid kiss from his dithering lips. To take charge and show her young male employee what a real woman could do…

Releasing a ragged sigh, she sat back and folded her hands atop her crossed knees. Her cunt was an inferno of wicked desire, and Sam looked like a prime cut of steak just begging to be feasted upon.

“A–As you say, Miss Chandler.” He stammered, pushing away from the desk as though it were on fire. “Please excuse me. I need to use the bathroom!”

It was impossible to miss the prominent bulge taxing his shrunken slacks before he turned away. Sadie leered and licked her ruby lips, ogling Sam’s muscular rear as he went.

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