Climbing the Ladder 5 - Reaching New Heights
Copyright© 2026 by Michael Loucks
Chapter 50: Boundaries, Limits, and Decisions
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 50: Boundaries, Limits, and Decisions - Jonathan's business life is booming, but he's also suffering from yet another loss. While he's done his best to pick up the pieces of that sundered relationship, he can't help but feel responsible. However, where two close relationships have withered, another blooms. Violet has transitioned from a badly damaged girl to a vibrant woman. Will he continue to climb this ladder, or will there be another ladder to climb in his future? No matter what, the only direction he plans to go is up.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Workplace
September 10, 1984, Chicago, Illinois
"I ... it's ... I'm not sure what you want me to say," Chelsea replied after a minute.
"I disagree. You know exactly what I want you to say, because I just said it! Your unwillingness to say it speaks volumes. Here's a simple question — if you don't have the courage of your convictions with regard to Hell, why bother following the rules? It's illogical."
"What do you mean?"
"If you can't say you believe Keiko is in Hell, it means you don't really believe it. If you don't believe it, then either Hell doesn't exist, or nobody goes there. If that is the case, following the rules is silly because either you end up in Heaven or there is no afterlife. All you've done is deny yourself full enjoyment of life because some old men wrote a collection of stories recorded in the Bible that said THEY get to decide how you live your life, and THEY decide what you do with your body.
"This goes right to what I said to you in July when I quoted Frank Zappa. Ultimately, I do not believe your system can withstand rigorous examination and critique. Add in the fact that you can't even articulate a logical implication of your beliefs, and I say with complete honesty, you need to rethink things. May I make an additional point?"
"You will, even if I don't want to hear it," Chelsea replied.
"No, that is how you operate. If you don't want to hear it, just say so. That will, as far as I see it, mean you agree with me, because you cannot refute what I'm saying."
Chelsea frowned, "Why do you have to be like that?"
"I don't. To put this in terms toddlers would use — you started it. I've tried time and again to end it, but you simply cannot keep quiet about your alleged faith."
"Alleged?! What?!"
"How strong is your faith if you cannot say aloud one of the main tenets of your system of belief? Let's try something different. Do you know Pascal's Wager?"
"Uhm, no."
"I had to write a short biography on him for a science class in eighth grade, and read about his philosophical works. The wager is basically that it's more logical and rational to act as if god exists, because if god doesn't exist, you've only lost a finite amount, perhaps giving up some pleasures and luxuries. On the other hand, if god does exist, you stand to gain an eternity in Heaven and avoid the infinite loss of an eternity in Hell."
"That can't work!" Chelsea protested. "God would know you didn't believe in Him!"
"I agree it's foolish, but the opposite is absolutely defensible and guaranteed to succeed!"
"I'm lost."
"It's simple. Let's start with a basic premise — the god you follow grants forgiveness to those who are truly sorry, right? You just go to your priest or pastor, say you messed up and how you messed up, and he tells you that god forgives you and everything is good, right?"
"We don't tell our sins to our pastor; we talk directly to God."
"I'm not up on the nuances between the different churches, and the fact that there are so many nuances and so many different churches supports my point, not yours. But in any event, you tell your god you're truly sorry, then He forgives you, and everything is good, right?"
"Yes."
"Perfect. If you're wrong, you've missed out on living the only life you'll have to its fullest, however you decide that is. If I'm wrong, I meet god when I die and say I messed up, and I really am sorry I didn't believe, and I'm in, right?"
"It doesn't work that way!"
"So god doesn't forgive?" I asked.
"He does, but not like that!"
"OK, I'm no expert, but what about the criminal who was executed together with Jesus? Didn't Jesus promise the criminal he'd be in Heaven simply for repenting his sins?"
"Yes, but..." Chelsea started, but then stopped.
I let the silence hang for about thirty seconds.
"You can't have it both ways," I replied. "Either god forgives, or he doesn't. If he does, then I apologize to him profusely for doubting he existed. One of Jesus' followers did that, didn't he?"
"Doubting Thomas," Chelsea replied.
I knew that from the generic use of the phrase 'doubting Thomas' even in secular circles, but it was better to let Chelsea fill in the details.
"So, the criminal on the cross and Doubting Thomas. I know another story from a friend of mine — David committed adultery and fathered a child, then arranged the murder of her ethical and morally upstanding husband to cover up the adultery. What happened with him?"
"He repented and was called a man after God's own heart," Chelsea admitted.
"What about Adam and Eve? If I understand the story, god gave them exactly one rule, and they broke it almost immediately. Are they in Hell?"
"You made your point."
"Did I? Or is the conversation making you even more uncomfortable than you already were because I asked you to verbalize something you believe, or at least your system tells you to believe. I also believe you wish you hadn't said anything to me, but that's a forlorn wish because you can't help yourself.
"As one of my friends said, you have a virus which compels you to spread it to everyone with whom you come into contact. The only question now is whether you're interested in the vaccine and cure. If not, then I think you have no choice but to call the agency and ask for a new assignment because, as sure as the sun comes up in the East, you'll say something to me again. I'll ask again — what are you going to do?"
"Vaccine?" she asked.
I was SO tempted to tell her that the vaccine was administered, as it was for pretty much any virus – an injection, though not in her arm or thigh!
"Logic combined with the scientific method," I replied. "Those two, taken together, make up both a cure and a vaccine for the virus you carry."
"You think I have a disease?" she asked.
"It's an analogy," I replied, trying not to sound frustrated and probably failing. "Just as a virus tries to spread to as many new hosts as possible, your beliefs compel you to spread them to as many new people as possible. With me, though, you ran into someone not just with immunity, but with an antiviral drug and a vaccine."
"What is it you want me to do?"
"Honestly? My entire goal has been to get you to simply shut up."
"You don't have to be rude!" she protested.
"Apparently, I do, because asking nicely didn't work. Neither did promising to fulfill your deepest, darkest desire if you didn't stop proselytizing. But this conversation has created a bigger problem for you, because you can't live with the consequences of your own system of beliefs. You realize the inherent contradiction that I've pointed out — that you like the so-called Good News but can't even verbalize the logical consequences of your belief.
"We're at a point where you are either going to call the agency and ask for a new assignment, or you're going to become more and more frustrated until you literally beg me to take you upstairs and deflower you. Those really are the only two possible outcomes at this point. That is why I've asked you twice what you're going to do. Your failure to articulate an answer makes it clear to me what you want to do."
"I would never!" she protested, as she had many times.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"I agree. You would never call the agency and ask for a new assignment, because if that is what you truly wanted to do, you'd have done it weeks ago. It's obvious what you want to do; the only question is whether or not you're willing to admit it and to say it out loud."
"I can't," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, if you won't call the agency, and you won't ask me to deflower you, that leaves only one option — for me to call the agency."
"No!" Chelsea gasped. "Please don't! I want to work here!"
"Why would you want that when all it's doing is frustrating you?"
She looked down and blushed.
"I don't know," she said quietly.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" I growled. "You DO know! You want to go upstairs with me and have sex. I know it. You know it. Would you please just admit it?"
"But it's wrong..." she protested weakly.
"Right or wrong, will you please just admit what we both know to be true?"
Chelsea blushed an even deeper red, and I could tell her pulse had quickened.
"It's true," she said, her voice barely audible.
"What's true?" I prompted.
Chelsea took a deep breath and let it out.
"That I want to go to bed with you," she whispered.
"And I want to go to bed with you," I replied. "I'm going to change and go to the office."
"What?! Why?!" Chelsea gasped in surprise.
"Wanting to do something does not mean you should do it. You know I have sex with quite a few different girls. Do you think going to bed with you means I'll stop being with anyone else? Will it just be one time? Will it mean I'm your boyfriend? That we'll get married? What about being our nanny? Please don't try to answer those questions right now. Think about those questions and figure out what it would mean to you. Once you do that, we'll talk, and you can ask me to take you to bed.
"There is no time limit. The rest of this week, there's a good chance I'll be home at least one morning and won't have to go to work. But if it takes beyond Friday to figure things out, that's fine, too. I can arrange my schedule to accommodate. Whatever answer you give needs to take into account everything I've said, especially if you want to keep working for us. I'm OK with that, but you know my conditions."
"I ... I..." she began.
"Just think about it, OK?"
"That's just it," she said quietly. "It's all I can think about."
That was, without question, the source of her problem. At age twenty-three, and likely never having even had a real kiss, sexual desire was driving her nuts. That reinforced my intent to not take her to bed immediately, and perhaps not ever, as she might insist on conditions I couldn't fulfill. The bigger risk was a divergence between what she said and what she thought. She might well go to bed with me while saying one thing and believing another.
I was tempted to insist that she say, 'I want you to fuck my brains out', but that seemed a bit too crass, given her situation. It might come down to that if I felt she had the wrong idea about what it would mean for the future, as putting it in crass terms would be a stark difference from 'I want to go to bed with you'. I'd made that distinction with several girls to ensure they had their thinking straight, and I might well have to do it again.
"Have you dated at all?"
"No," Chelsea said quietly. "We aren't supposed to go on one-on-one dates."
I suppressed a chuckle, thinking that was because one-on-one dates, like dancing, might lead to sex.
"Let me guess," I said. "Your first kiss should be at the altar, or wherever you have weddings in your church."
"Yes," she admitted.
"I completely reject that thinking."
"Obviously," Chelsea said with a wan smile.
"Think about what I said, and talk to me when you're ready."
"OK," she replied, but I could tell she was confused by my response to her admission.
I went upstairs, changed into one of my suits, then went back downstairs.
"I'll see you in the morning," I said.
"Bye."
I left the condo and made my three-elevator commute to the Research Department office in 29.
"You're done already?" Violet asked.
"I wasn't chosen for a jury today, so they released us once there were no more trials that needed jurors. I figured I'd come in to work. Is anything going on?"
"Just the usual routine; no big news and no trouble."
"Good. Did you get in touch with Lyle Danforth's assistant?"
"Yes. September 20th works for him and for the jet. I had Julie pencil it in on Mr. Spurgeon's calendar, and I reserved the jet. You'd leave here at 5:00am and arrive in San Francisco just before 8:00am. Your flight back would be at 3:00pm San Francisco time, so you'd be back in Chicago just after 10:00pm."
"Go ahead and book that, please. Noel, Murray, Jack, you, and me."
"OK," Violet agreed. "Don't forget on Tuesday we're going to Topeka."
"I haven't forgotten, but thank you for reminding me!"
"That is part of my job!"
"Yes, it is," I agreed.
I went into my office and used the intercom feature on the phone to ask Bianca to come see me.
"You weren't picked?" she asked.
"No. Close the door, please."
She did, then sat down.
"What's up?"
"I had a long conversation with Chelsea this morning. I challenged her in a more serious way than I have before, and she finally admitted she wants to go to bed with me."
"And, because we live in Jonathanland, you told her to think about it and ask again!" Bianca declared mirthfully.
"It felt almost as if I had bullied her," I replied. "It won't surprise you she's never been on a date and never kissed anyone."
"At twenty-three?" Bianca asked incredulously. "I mean, I know some girls who were serious about staying a virgin until they married, but even they dated and kissed; at least 'good night' kisses."
"Which is part of what gives me pause. I'm not sure she can just fuck for pleasure, and my concern is that she'll say she can, but not really mean it."
"You could tie yourself up in knots with that kind of thinking! What she thinks. What you think she thinks. What she thinks you think she thinks! Don't you have to take her word for it?"
"Ultimately, yes, but if I'm not reasonably sure, I can't do it because it would harm her."
"Or free her," Bianca countered. "Are we going to need a new nanny?"
"I don't know. I pushed her to call the agency, but she insisted she wanted to keep working for us. That led to a debate about what she really wanted, and after I pushed hard, she admitted wanting to have sex. In the end, though, she might leave either way, and that's up to her. For now, all we can do is wait and see what she does."
"Do you actually want to fuck her?"
"I told her I did; well, that I wanted to go to bed with her. That's true, at least in the sense she's smoking hot and desirable. But I know girls who are smoking hot whom I wouldn't go to bed with, despite being physically attracted."
"Olivia D'Abo?" Bianca asked with a smirk.
"Yes and no. She is attractive, but I am not attracted, if that makes sense."
"It does. What if she were sixteen rather than fourteen?"
"I have no intention of playing that slippery-slope game with you, Miss Pérez! Graduating from High School and being eighteen are inviolable limits. And yes, I know seventeen is legal, but it's about maturity. And before you argue that there are seventeen-year-olds who are mature, that's another slippery slope."
"Do you think Chelsea is actually mature?"
"With regard to everything except relationships, yes. In relationships, she's more like a fifteen-year-old, which is part of what gives me pause. There is no contradiction, as I simply drew a line after which I'll make judgment calls, but can safely assume a minimum level of maturity."
"You are really adamant about that. Why?"
"I'd say part of it is my reaction to Noel Spurgeon, but it's probably more about Glen Rodgers."
"What's the difference between the two? I mean, besides money and being in prison?"
I chuckled, "Those are pretty big 'besides'! I'd say Noel is foolish, and Glen is not just foolish, but abusive."
"Because the girls were his students?"
"Yes. Maybe it's the wrong line to draw, but with Noel, he's not an authority figure, if you will — he's just a good-looking rich guy screwing girls who want to screw and who want the gifts he gives them. I think being a teacher and having sex with your students is crossing a big line."
"Because of Bev?"
"In a sense, she's different because she was over the age of consent and not in his class. From what was said, the other girls were all his students — in Goshen, Youngstown, and Oak Park. He more or less got away with the girls in Oak Park because they refused to admit they'd had sex with him, and given Ohio had him dead to rights, and there were Federal charges, Illinois had no pressing reason to file charges in a case where the alleged victims refused to coöperate with the police."
"Alleged?"
"Alleged. The cops say it happened, but until he's charged and convicted, they're just allegations."
"Your brain is in 'juror mode'," Bianca observed.
"I'm sure that's the case, but even so, they are just allegations. I suspect they're true, but suspicions aren't enough."
"What happened today?"
"A defense attorney used a peremptory challenge to exclude me from a jury for prostitution charges. I have no idea what he was thinking, as he didn't have to say. One of the other juror candidates suspected it was because I have government-issued securities licenses, which make me a stickler for the letter of the law, and because of my analytical skills. I would think the defense would want that, given the government has to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt, but I'm not an attorney."
"I'm pretty sure you don't think that should be a crime."
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