Chapter 17: The Analyst's Humiliation
The taste of myself was still on my lips, metallic and clean, when Julianna’s order cut through the hazy silence.
“Call him back.”
She didn’t look at me as she said it. She was already moving to the velvet armchair in the corner, settling into it like an audience member taking her seat. She crossed her legs, a queen awaiting a performance.
My heart, which had been slowing, gave a hard, single thump. I looked at the phone on the desk, a sleek black obelisk.
“Now, Evelyn.” Her voice held no room for question.
I picked up the receiver. My finger, which had been inside me moments before, now pressed the intercom button for the analysts’ bullpen. It beeped, a sterile sound.
“Daniel Walker. To Miss Cross’s office. Immediately.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I hung up. The silence that followed was thick, charged. I could feel Julianna’s gaze on my back, measuring me. I turned and leaned against the desk, facing the door, mimicking her posture. My skirt was still hitched. I didn’t smooth it down.
Less than two minutes later, a timid knock.
“Enter,” Julianna said, her voice bored.
Daniel opened the door. He looked wrecked. His tie was slightly crooked, his hair ruffled where he’d likely run a nervous hand through it. The flush hadn’t left his face. He’d obviously tried to compose himself, but his eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He hovered in the doorway, a rabbit sensing a snare.
“Close the door, Daniel,” I said. My voice was different. It wasn’t the coaxing, faux-sweet tone from before. It was flat. Cool.
He obeyed, the click of the latch loud in the quiet.
“Come here,” Julianna instructed from her chair. He walked forward, stopping midway between her and me, his body angled awkwardly, unsure who to address.
“You left your pen,” I lied, holding up a generic silver ballpoint from Julianna’s desk.
“Oh. I… I don’t think that’s—”
“Strip.”
The word, from Julianna, landed in the room like a stone dropped in still water. Daniel froze. His eyes shot to her, then to me, searching for the joke.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard her,” I said, pushing off the desk. I took a few steps toward him. “Everything. On the floor. Now.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. A tremor went through his hands. “Miss Cross, I really don’t think—”
“You’re not being paid to think right now, Daniel,” Julianna cut in, her tone lethally soft. “You’re being paid to obey. Your continued employment hinges on it. Do you understand?”
The threat was elegant, absolute. I saw the moment his career-minded brain overrode his shame. His shoulders slumped. He bent, fumbling with his polished oxfords. Socks. Then his hands went to his belt, trembling. The buckle clinked. The zip hissed. He pushed his trousers and boxers down in one jerky movement, kicking them aside. His shirt followed, then his undershirt. He stood naked in the center of the powerful office, the city’s indifferent skyline glittering behind him. He was lean, lightly muscled. And, as before, he was fully, undeniably erect
He stood there, a statue of shame and arousal, his hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to cover himself. The air conditioning whispered across his skin, raising goosebumps everywhere but where it mattered.Julianna’s silence was the heaviest thing in the room.
“Turn around,” she said, not moving from her chair. “Slowly.”
He did, a stiff, mechanical rotation.His back was tense, the muscles corded. I walked a slow circle around him, the click of my heels marking time.I saw the flush spreading down his neck to his shoulders. I stopped in front of him, my gaze level with his chest.
“You’re trembling,” I observed, my voice devoid of sympathy.
“I’m c-cold.”
“You’re not.” I reached out and pressed the flat of my hand against his sternum. His heart hammered against my palm, a frantic, trapped bird.“You’re terrified. And so, so eager.”
From her throne, Julianna spoke.“His performance metrics are lacking, Evelyn. The presentation was weak. The physical response is… unmanaged.” She lit a cigarette, the flare of the match illuminating her sharp features for an instant. “A tool that cannot control itself is a useless tool.”
I understood my role. I looked at his face, saw the conflict there—humiliation warring with a desperate, base need. I let my hand drift down, over the tight plane of his stomach.He sucked in a sharp breath.I didn’t grab him. I trailed my fingers along the length of his erection, a light, almost clinical touch.He shuddered. “Julianna’s right,” I said, looking directly into his eyes. “This isn’t a sign of strength.It’s a leak.A system failure. You saw a bit of silk and some leg and your higher brain functions shut down.”
“Please,” he whispered, the word torn from him.
“‘Please’ what?” I asked, tilting my head. “Do you even know?”
He had no answer.His jaw worked soundlessly.Julianna exhaled a plume of smoke. “Kneel.”
Daniel blinked, confused.He looked at me, then at her. “Kneel?”
“You don’t ask for clarification,” I said, my voice dropping lower. “You obey.Kneel.On the floor.Now.”
The command broke him. His knees hit the polished marble with a painful crack.He winced, now eye-level with my hips. His erection stood blatantly between his thighs, absurd and vulnerable.Julianna stood, smoothing her skirt. She walked over, a panther on quiet feet, and stood beside me, looking down at him.
“You wanted to present something to us, Daniel,” she said, her tone conversational, as if discussing a faulty report.“This is all you have to offer. This… twitching, needy thing. It’s pathetic.”
She reached down with her free hand, the one not holding the cigarette.She didn’t touch him. She simply pointed, the tip of her finger hovering an inch from the head of his cock.He jerked as if burned.
“Look at it,” she commanded me, though her eyes were on him.“A perfectly average, unremarkable dick. Made remarkable only by the sheer lack of discipline behind it. He’d probably come in his trousers if you blew on it.”
A strangled sound escaped his throat.He bowed his head.
“Look at me,” Julianna snapped.His head jerked up.Tears of shame now glossed his eyes. “You will not look away.You will watch her as I describe you.” She took another drag. “Evelyn, he’s a middle-class striver with good grades and no imagination. He thinks a 401k match is a life achievement. He’s here because he believes hard work is its own reward.” She flicked ash onto the floor near his knee.“He’s wrong. The reward goes to those who understand what real work is.The work of ownership. Of will.”
She finally touched him then, not with her hand, but with the sole of her stiletto. She placed it gently, almost delicately, on the inside of his thigh, just beside his scrotum.He gasped, frozen.
“This,” she said, applying the slightest pressure, “is not a weapon.It’s a liability.It makes you weak. It makes you transparent.It makes you ours.” She increased the pressure. Not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make the threat vibrate in the air.He whimpered. “You will leave here today knowing you got hard in a professional meeting.You knelt naked on your CEO’s floor. You were assessed and found wanton.”
She removed her foot. A red mark bloomed on his skin.“You may go. Get dressed.”
He didn’t move at first, stunned by the sudden dismissal. Then he scrambled up, limbs clumsy, and gathered his clothes with fumbling, frantic hands. He didn’t try to dress in front of us; he clutched everything to his chest, covering himself as best he could, and almost ran for the door.He forgot his shoes. They lay discarded by the armchair.The door closed behind him, softer this time. Julianna stubbed out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. She looked at me, her green eyes alight with a cold, satisfied fire.She didn’t smile.
“The Senator’s vineyard,” she said, as if the last ten minutes had merely been a brief intermission. “Pack something expensive.And white. He’ll want to see the dirt after.”