~ The Final Chapter ~
Written By JA Mash
Based on Strangers on a Train
I've never met clients quite like this before.
I'm running out of options here. I think it's time for something different. I try to give myself a little pep-talk as we sit in the empty train car, maybe I can actually convince myself this idea doesn't completely suck.
I've showed them everything I can think of, from houses that aren't even for sale, to underground hideouts... between the spiders, puke, sweaty socks and disappearing cottages, I'm lost.
I can only think of one more option.
To soothe my nerves I reach for my little black box. Click-click, click-click-click. Click.
The train glides along the tracks and things are getting... weird.
As I glance around the train car, I notice Mr. and Mrs. Evil-Good are sitting on the bench across from me, in their own little bubble, and I try not to stare when I notice a sticky blue goo on the window behind them.
What the fuck is that?
Something in my peripheral catches my eye and I snap my head to the right, I swear I see some tiny chick in a black tank top wielding a sword, but I blink and she's gone.
Clearly there was no woman with a sword... who runs around carrying a sword anyway?
There's more of that blue goo shit on the window though, and I'm convinced I'm fucking losing it.
We can't get to this place fast enough.
The train screeches to a halt and Mr. and Mrs. Evil-Good stand and follow me to the exit. "At least the train finally stopped, thank Christ we didn't have to jump or something. That would've been bad."
"You're welcome," Mrs. Evil-Good pipes up and Mr. Evil-Good just snickers.
Like I said... weird.
Shaking my head, I exit the train... here goes nothing.
A long walk later, we're stepping into the clearing and I pull the watch out of my pocket and take a deep breath.
"So, I was thinking maybe it's time to show you something different," I tell Mr. & Mrs. Evil-Good, flashing them what I hope comes off as a confident smile.
Mr. Evil-Good cocks a brow and I think I whimper. No wait, I know I whimper because Mrs. Evil-Good shakes her head.
I clear my throat. "Okay, here we go." I push the buttons on the watch and stand back, raising an arm to shield my eyes.
The bright lights flash in front of us and out of the ground comes this huge tree... well, tree house.
It's massive, with a big wooden, winding staircase wrapping around it all the way to the top.
We walk forward and make our way up the stairs to the entrance, I'm giddy and I feel like a little kid again climbing up the stairs.
This has to be it... Mr. and Mrs. Evil-Good seem like the type that would appreciate some 'out of the box thinking' and for fucks sake, it's in the air!
"Well, what do you think so far?" I ask cautiously as we near the top of the tree.
"It's different," Mrs. Evil-Good hums.
"Different?" I scoff, and what the hell do you think you are? It'll do no good to get upset so I pull out my box and rub my thumb over the smooth plastic of the button.
Click, click, click.
"Is it going to be big enough for our little angels?" Mr. Evil-Good adds.
"Oh, it's much bigger than it looks," I confirm.
We reach the door and I take a deep breath before I knock.
The door swings open and I do a double take. I swear it's the tiny brunette I saw on the train... minus the sword of course.
I take another deep breath and stick out my hand.
"Don't touch me," the tiny brunette hisses. "You're poisonous to my kind..." Tiny, crazy, lady that may or may not have a sword say what? "What are you doing here, anyway?"
Before I can open my mouth to explain, this beast of a dog appears at the tiny woman's side, his eyes are glowing green... and I'm officially freaked. The. Fuck. Out.
I chance a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Evil-Good and I notice Scorcher's face is drawn in a scowl.
Just fucking great.
"You know what, Ms. Komma... my wife and I have decided that we no longer need your services, it seems you have no idea what we are really looking for and we've decided not to move after all."
What the fuck?
In a flash Mr. and Mrs. Evil-Good are storming down the stairs to the tree house and the door is slamming in my face.
So much for my commission, Mr. Cullen's gonna kill me.
At this point I do the only thing I can think of, I thrust my hand into my pocket and click my button.
Click it for all it's worth.
Back at the office sometime later...
"Ms. Komma? Come here!" Mr. Cullen whistles and pats his thigh.
I'm up and moving before I realize this is the way a guy summons his favorite lap dog.
I glare at Mr. Cullen, who radiates the purest of glee back at me.
Though it takes an effort of will, I stop, planting my feet solidly and anchoring myself to the spot. "What?"
"I said, 'come', and you 'came'. Now you've gone and thrown a monkey wrench in there by ceasing to 'come'. There's a direct sequence of events in place here. Delicate balance. Now, we can either stand here and argue semantics for the duration of your coffee break—"
I bristle. The imaginary Self inside my head bares her teeth and snarls, saliva flying.
Mr. Cullen smirks. "—or you can follow me and make this easy on both of us."
For a second there, I consider standing my ground.
"Your call, but Administration's got a few questions about why we suddenly have approximately, oh, thirty-two-hundred complaints from clients about properties you've shown. Would you happen to know anything about the errors in this report?" Mr. Cullen looks pointedly at the black box still clutched tightly in my hand.
I flinch, guilt-stricken, and open my fingers. I've worn most of the thin top coat of black paint off my button.
"Thought so. Now, follow me, and don't touch the button again."
Head down, shoulders slouched, little black box lying accusingly in my palm, I follow Mr. Cullen's footsteps away from the main floor and to the cubbyhole he calls his office. Its dark in there, close, the air redolent with the thick smell of paper and toner ink and, yes, coffee. The walls are damn near saturated with coffee fumes.
It's pure perversity that makes me click the button three times, but it still feels good.
The office door locks behind me with a solid click. Actually more of a ker-chunk with an added kick of ha-ha, sucker!
"Does this unlock from the inside?" I try the latch.
"It used to, before you pissed me off."
Mr. Cullen's calm. Too calm. This is the kind of calm that proceeds—
Was that lightning striking? That distinctive rumble and flash of white heat… I sneak a peek at Mr. Cullen. Nope, that was just the Wrath of God.
Or, you know, a real estate broker who thinks he's God. On his bad days. On his good days, he's happy to be known as…
Damn, his eyes. Green as Alpine meadows. Wait. That makes him sound like a dairy cow. Well, he did chew on a daisy or something yellow once. No, no, no, wrong mental image.
Fuck, Edward's hot. Especially when he's this pissed off.
I've gotta get out more often.
I take a moment to appreciate the irony that this revelation's occurring while I'm locked in an office with Mr. Cullen. Who has the sexiest lips and the whitest teeth and, oh dear God, if he so much as crooked his pinky, I would go to my knees and drain him dry.
"What are you looking at?"
I cough. Swerve! Swerve! "Your tie."
"My tie?" Mr. Cullen's not buying it.
"It's, um, it's a nice tie."
Mr. Cullen flips the tie up to check and gives me the raised, unimpressed, 'sardonic eyebrow of doom' over the plain navy blue cotton and damn it, he's still hotter than the pits of hell.
I started off wanting to have a civilized chat about this, but I've mostly forgotten about that now because I'd rather lick every inch of your body. I would even suck chocolate off your toes if that was the only shot I had, and I know how long you've walking around all day and haven't changed your socks.
Doesn't matter. I'd chow down, zero complaints, if it meant I got one minute of naked time with you.
The imaginary KK, who lives in my head and occasionally makes her way to these strange side trips I take from reality, covers her eyes with her hands.
"I taught you better than this," Imaginary KK laments. "It's not too late to walk away. Life could be sunshine and roses if you would get your hand out of your pants and quit dreaming the impossible Mr. Cullen dream. Okay?"
"You're one to talk," I mutter. "Besides, would you bet your life on that?"
Imaginary KK vanishes. Typical.
"Bet my life on what?" Mr. Cullen crosses his arms. "How about we bet one percent of the commission from the next deal for every minute we're locked in here without some goddamn answers? How about that? Tick-Tock. Time's wasting. Well?"
Mmm chocolate. Fuck. God hates me.
I tap the door handle, once. The brushed chrome swings pathetically on its loosened hinge and falls. That noise is definitely along the lines of oh, shit. Which translates to thud, if you're going to be pedantic about it.
I can feel the panic welling up inside my chest so I pull out the box again and click it a few more times.
Mr. Cullen freezes and smirks at me. "Ms. Komma, would that be the sound of you disobeying a direct order?"
And you know what? Once again, I'm just too tired to fuck around. I drop into the sorry excuse for a visitor's chair, without knocking off the stack of file folders, and look directly at Mr. Cullen, and nod. "Yes, sir."
"I thought it might be." Mr. Cullen leans on the desk, his weight on his hip. He's looking at me in yet another one of the thousand ways I can't interpret. "So, you've given that button a pretty good workout since you've been working here, haven't you?"
"It wasn't thirty-two hundred," I mumble defiantly.
"No. It was only three hundred and twenty. Does that make you feel better?"
I glare at Mr. Cullen. I am not letting you push me until I lose my cool, I swear. Again, that is. I have recovered my inner Zen. I Have My Zen. So back off, buster.
"No? Aww." Mr. Cullen purses his lips into something so close to a kiss that a tiny traitorous part of my libido, forever online, jumps up to try and catch the smooch on its way past my head.
I, for once, say nothing, and I'm darn proud of myself for not doing so.
"Have we learned a little lesson today, about the misuse of petty power?" Mr. Cullen rhetorizes. "No? Shame. You know, if that was a real piece of company equipment, your ass would so be grass with the board of directors right now."
The air has ceased flowing through my lungs. "What?"
"That? It's got nothing to do with clients."
I weigh my options between crushing the black box and aiming it at Mr. Cullen's head.
In the end, I aim it at Mr. Cullen and click like I've never clicked before. "You. Gigantic. Fucking. Asshole!"
I expect Mr. Cullen to throw his head back and have a nice long laugh at my gullible nature. That's not what happens, though. Mr. Cullen draws in a sharp breath, instead, and fidgets.
Wait a godforsaken minute… I know that particular inhale. It's played over and over in my recent dreams. I sit upright, gaping at Mr. Cullen.
Mr. Cullen, whose shirt collar is open, his tie loose, and the smooth freckled skin beneath sheened with sweat. Mr. Cullen, whose short hair is damp and whose lips are full from biting them, as he does now.
Whose dark, mesmerizing stare is not so much inspired by sadistic evil as… okay, yes, it's still sadistically evil, but more… aroused.
I allow my gaze to travel, ever so slowly, to Mr. Cullen's groin. "Ungh," I say, staring at the hard-on tenting Mr. Cullen's pants. He could put an eye out with that thing.
"Starting to get the picture now?" Mr. Cullen asks, his sharp edges roughened and deepened.
"Ungh," I say again, waving the black box. "Ungh!"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to talk," Mr. Cullen rasps. "That'd be a damn shame. I was looking forward to your 'to the victors go the spoils' speech."
An idea is slowly forming in the darkest, most suspicious pits of my head. I slowly aim the box at Mr. Cullen and deliberately click.
This time, I'm listening for it, and I hear it.
I flinch sharply and bite my lip harder, leaving dents in the abused flesh.
"No way," I breathe, heaving myself out of the chair. I kick piles of assessment surveys and unread memos out of my way and don't stop until I reach Mr. Cullen. "Turn around."
Mr. Cullen cocks one eyebrow, lifts the corner of his lip, and turns.
And doesn't stop at merely turning. No, he grasps the edge of the desk, hands spaced far apart, and spreads his legs, feet firmly planted with ample room for even a person nearly twice my size to fit nicely in there.
I can't do anything but stare. And cuss.
"I think you told me to turn around," Mr. Cullen speaks to me over his shoulder, giving me the barest glance of demonically-lit green eyes.
He wiggles his ass. "Was there a reason for that request, or are you satisfied now?"
I don't see my hand moving until it's landed, flat-palmed, hard, between Mr. Cullen's shoulder blades. "Stay there," I demand, not recognizing the depth of my own voice as it escapes my lips.
Mr. Cullen shivers. He says nothing.
He doesn't have to. I've still got the little black box in one hand. I point. I click.
Mr. Cullen moans.
Imaginary KK peeks over a messy pile of file folders and snickers. "So I guess this is what you meant by the 'Almighty Power of the Cullen Ass'?"
Not that I really mind the reference, but imaginary KK cannot be here right now. "Go away!"
"What did you just say to me?" Mr. Cullen demands, bristling.
"Nothing. Stand still." I know what I'm going to find, and it's that good old perversity coming into play again that motivates me to keep pushing the button while I drag Mr. Cullen's pants and boxer briefs down, pushing them past his knees. The telltale slick gleam of lube trails between his ass cheeks.
When I part them, hammering the button, I see the flared black base of the vibrating, remote fucking controlled butt plug quiver in sync with my clicks.
"Dude," Imaginary KK breathes, and then flees. "I'm not worthyyyy…"
"I hate you," I breathe. I drop the little black remote fucking control in my hurry to pull up my skirt, once again thankful I don't bother with panties. "I hate you so much."
"Yeah. I can see how much you hate me." He spins around and lifts me up quickly. I rest my knees on either side of the desk, straddling him where he's sitting. My hips undulate of their own accord, rubbing my bare pussy over his—ohfuckthatfeelsgood—cock.
"Took you long enough to figure it out."
"Shut. Up," I beg. Mr. Cullen opens a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it on fast.
"Wait!" I breathe.
"Would you mind explaining the hold-up?" Mr. Cullen complains, fisting his cock. "Naked here. In case, in case it's slipped your mind—"
I slip my hand over Mr. Cullen's mouth. He stiffens, drawing up sharply. "I told you to shut up," I say firmly.
Mr. Cullen bites me.
I don't let go. He didn't bite hard enough to break the skin, anyway. I lean up and take a nibble of my own out of his delicious collarbone and he doesn't back away. Which means… he likes it, too? Good.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I reach around and take the tip of the plug between two fingers and tug. I let it get an inch or two out, then drive it back in, tilted up.
Mr. Cullen's yell is muffled behind my hand, but the heave of his ribs and the desperate hitch of his hips come across louder than words.
"You know," I say hoarsely, twisting and turning the plug, "I had a theory."
Mr. Cullen snarls.
"I thought maybe you were playing head games to make me hate you so I wouldn't like you. Or something."
Mr. Cullen snorts. And turns his face so I can't see his eyes. Three seconds pass, and he shuffles in place, growling impatiently.
I tighten my hand, careful not to cover his nose as well. "I thought I might be right." Am I? I don't know.
Thing is, letting Mr. Cullen sense a moment of weakness is like bleeding in shark-infested waters. Bad Idea. And in any case, when in doubt, stick out your tits and brazen it out. "Now I don't think I'm right at all," I—mostly—lie.
Mr. Cullen slants a look at me, alight with challenge. No? I can almost hear him ask.
"No," I answer the unspoken question, sliding the plug free and tossing it to the floor. "I think you're just a sadistic, demonic, twisted, amazing, too-damn-hot-and-you-know-it asshat. Now. Fuck. Me."
Finally, he's had enough of the teasing; pushing inside me roughly in one thrust, giving me every last inch he's got.
It's a good thing I'm sitting on the desk now or my knees might buckle; he pitches forward, and it's only my sudden grip on the desk keeping me from falling backward.
"Are you done talking now?" he grunts as he pumps harder.
"Ungh," is my clever response.
"Thought so," Mr. Cullen says, leaning over me to keep me down. He braces himself with one arm, thrusting slow and deep.
One lusty, ragged breath, and I'm thrusting back to meet his shoves forward, the wet slapping of flesh to flesh and churning breathing as violent as a storm. "Knew you'd be easy," he taunts. "Too easy. Almost no fun at all."
I would say I'm having more fun than is possibly legal, if I were able to speak. Which I'm not. I nose and bite at Edward's jaw until he turns to crash our mouths together. Lips move uselessly over lips and through it all he pumps deeper, harder, faster.
"Oh—God…so tight," he moans loudly.
"Yeah," I gasp, "like that, just like that, come on—"
His growl tastes delicious on my tongue; I swallow it and trade back a moan of my own. I seal my mouth over his and suck his tongue and scrape it with my teeth as we fall over the edge together.
When we part, Mr. Cullen smirks and I look so well-fucked and satisfied that I'm pretty sure I feel his dick jerk, still inside me, suggesting now would be a great time to start all over again. Seeing as I'm here, and naked, and all.
"So… about the clients you lost today," Mr. Cullen says, pulling out and reaching down to grab his pants. There goes that fantasy.
Out of nervous habit, I go to reach for the button, whimpering a little when I remember it's not there anymore.
"Yes, Mr. Cullen?" I bat my eyelashes, in what I hope is a seductive distraction.
"I think that was your last chance. You're obviously not the sales rep I thought you were, so, you're fired!" He is giving me a shit eating grin like this is the best decision he's ever made.
Inside I'm dying. So much for the shopping cart.
"Which means that you are free and available to pursue what I think you are exceptionally talented at... fucking me."
Shopping cart? Who needs a fucking shopping cart when you have Edward fucking Cullen... to fuck.
"I'll accept your terms on one condition... consider it a compromise," I state and he raises his brow at me.
"I get to keep my little black box."
SO? How was THAT as a surprise ending. Never saw it coming...get it...coming. Never mind.
I'm amazed that in this world of wires and email and webcams, I have developed the kinds of friendships that I have.
I got a few birthday wishes on my real Facebook page...but I got almost 200 on my Fanfic page.
Tells you something...
To each one of you ladies who participated...who read my stories and enjoyed them...who actually gave a shit that I was born...
I love you and hope that I can return the favor on your birthday.