Chapter 8

Wednesday July 5

Simone’s tweets about my “sugar-daddy” won’t seem to die. She doesn’t have any proof - pictures or anything - but there are enough people who want to believe bad things about me to keep the rumors circulating.

I went to the courtroom again today, and this time I found them: a group of fourteen people being lead by well-dressed old people wearing name tags to a special room adjoining the cafeteria. I recognized Coach Klein and Jennifer’s mom from social media, but I hadn’t found any pictures of the insurance adjuster. There was one guy who looked like he might have been an insurance adjuster, but that’s just stupid stereotyping. After a while they left the cafeteria. I figured I’d follow them to whatever courtroom they were going to, but the bailiffs lead them through a security door, so I couldn’t follow.

Still, I think I figured out which case they’re on by cross-referencing various public info online. The courtroom scheduling and judges’ calendars, combined with the list of charges, narrowed it all down pretty nicely. The person on trial was Jerome Appleby, and the list of charges was like a supermarket receipt, but they all seemed to revolve around some sort of embezzlement.

I sent Liz an email with what I had found out, asking her to call me back. She wrote back: “Thank you for the information. Now please return to the task for which you were hired.”

Paul and I went out to dinner tonight, but before we left the condo, I was sitting on the living room couch looking at a code review.

“Alexis, may I borrow your laptop for a moment?” Paul asked as he finished putting on his tie. It was a weird thing to ask: he had a computer in the office a few paces away.

“Really?” I asked. I was just surprised.

“Yes, really,” Paul answered. He sounded strangely distant.

Please understand that there is nobody that I would give access to my files. Maybe Miles, back when were were dating, but nobody since then: not Dad, not Oliver, not Juliet. So I suspended my current user session and logged in as a guest user before handing the laptop to Paul.

That didn’t escape his notice. “You could have stayed logged in,” he said. “It will only be a moment.” It almost seemed like he was deliberately positioning the laptop so that I couldn’t see the screen.

“I use a lot of obscure settings,” I explained. “This way is easier - I don’t have to change the settings to what a regular person expects, and then change them back again when you’re done.”

Paul seemed to buy that explanation - which was, in fact, true. “Why don’t you go get ready?” Paul suggested. “Maybe the maroon dress?”

I didn’t realize it was going to be that formal. It took me a while to put on makeup and choose the right accessories. And the maroon dress is one of those “thongs or nothing” dresses, so no underwear for me. I wasn’t worried about my laptop: the hard drive is encrypted and all of the passwords are secure.

Paul was quiet all through dinner. After dinner he took a phone call in his office. I couldn’t tell what it was about, but he sounded very serious.

After that, Paul said it was bedtime. We’d been really branching out and trying new things sexually lately, so I was surprised when Paul asked me to take off my clothes and get on my hands and knees. I did, of course, and then he fucked me.

Look, I don’t generally think of doggy-style as gentle, but Paul was really slamming me! It didn’t hurt - maybe if he had a really big dick or something it might have - but it was jarring, and over too quickly for me to enjoy it. He didn’t come inside, and he didn’t come on my back. This time he just kinda sprayed it all over my ass and thighs. He didn’t clean me up either. There were red hand prints on my hips from how hard he was squeezing me.

Friday July 7

Holy fuck! I think I’m lucky to be alive!

I wasn’t sure why Paul was acting so weird Wednesday night, but I wanted to be a dutiful employee/girlfriend, so yesterday I sent him a thinking-of-you video: 8 seconds of me twirling in a skirt to flash my thong, and then blowing the camera a kiss. It took me an hour to get it right.

When Paul got home at 7:00, right away he said we should go to bed. He asked me to strip and get on my hands and knees again. This time, as he took off his pants, he took his belt out of the loops and doubled it over, slapping it against his hand as he approached me.

My mind flooded with scenarios of what this could mean. Paul had never shown any interest in BDSM before, so a couple playful little swats seemed unlikely. He was actually acting sort of manic. I wondered if he intended to really hurt me?

Should I try to run? Maybe I could make it to the hallway, naked and screaming, or maybe not. Maybe he didn’t really mean to hurt me and it was just a sick joke.

I’d like to say I was cool under pressure. Maybe I could have asked him for a safe word, to test his intentions. Maybe I should have said that this was not part of the arrangement and that I wouldn’t do it. Maybe I should have a way to talk my way out of it. Instead, I froze.