Chapter 35: IT services
## Chapter 35
The grand marble foyer of the chambers building felt cavernous and unnaturally quiet after the humid chaos of Camilla’s Cafe. Paul’s footsteps echoed sharply on the polished floor as he crossed towards the sweeping staircase, the memory of Astrid’s cool assessment – Satisfactory – and Odette’s terrifying command still clinging to him like a chill sweat. His mouth felt oddly empty, yet tainted. The phantom taste of copper and salt lingered despite gulping cold coffee."Mr. Ashworth? A moment, sir?" Barry, the bulky head of building security, stepped out from behind his polished mahogany podium, blocking Paul’s path to the stairs. Barry’s face was carefully neutral, professional. His thick fingers tapped the access control tablet he held.
"Barry?" Paul stopped, forcing a thin smile. His nerves, already frayed, tightened another notch. "Everything alright?"
"Your pass, sir." Barry held out the tablet. "It’s not scanning. System’s flagging it as inactive. Highly unusual." He frowned, genuinely perplexed. "You’re clearly you. Must be a glitch. Annoying, I know. If you wouldn’t mind popping through to the back office? Just need to verify manually and reissue. Won’t take five minutes." He gestured towards a discreet door tucked beside the elevator bank, away from the main flow of foot traffic.
Paul sighed inwardly, the administrative hiccup feeling like an irritating extension of the morning’s disorientation. "Of course, Barry. Lead the way." He followed the security man past the elevators. Barry swiped his own master card, unlocking the unmarked door. It opened onto a short, utilitarian corridor lined with monitoring screens showing various angles of the foyer, the stairwells, the loading bay. At the end was a small, functional office: a laminated desk, filing cabinets, two chairs, and a bank of whirring server units blinking green and amber lights.
Barry ushered Paul inside. "Just take a seat, Mr. Ashworth. I’ll pull up the register and get a new card encoded." He moved towards the desk terminal.
Paul stepped fully into the room… and froze.
Perched nervously on the edge of the spare chair wasn’t Barry’s usual deputy. It was Holly.
She looked up, her large brown eyes wide and startled behind stylish glasses, cheeks instantly flooding with colour. She wore smart office trousers and a pale blue blouse, her athletic frame looking taut with nervous energy. Her dark, glossy brunette hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail that trembled slightly. A faint, sweet scent of vanilla mingled with the room’s ozone tang.
"Holly?" Paul blinked, utterly wrong-footed. He knew her vaguely – the bright, efficient young woman from the boutique investment firm three floors up. He’d exchanged pleasantries in the lift, admired her quiet competence. Odette occasionally mentioned her – always warmly, calling her ‘sweet Holly’ or ‘adorably shy Holly’. He’d never seen her look so… terrified. Or so intensely focused on him.
Barry cleared his throat, strangely avoiding eye contact as he fiddled with the computer. "Ah, Miss Reed. Just assisting Mr. Ashworth with a pass issue. Won’t be a moment." His tone was deliberately bland, routine.
Holly swallowed visibly. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. "Barry," she whispered, her voice high and thin. "Could… could you give us a minute? Please? Just… a minute?" Her gaze darted desperately from Barry to Paul and back.
Barry paused, looking genuinely conflicted for a heartbeat. Then he glanced at Paul, a flicker of something unreadable – apology? complicity? – in his eyes."Right. Of course, Miss Reed. I’ll just… step out. Check the monitors." He moved swiftly past Paul, pulling the office door firmly shut behind him with a decisive click. The sound echoed in the sudden, charged silence.
The hum of the servers filled the small room. Paul stood rooted near the door, acutely aware of the security camera feed blinking silently on one of the screens – showing an empty corridor outside. Holly remained seated, trembling now. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
"Holly?" Paul’s voice was cautious, bewildered. The pieces clicked with sudden, jarring clarity. The conveniently faulty pass.
Holly flinched at Odette’s name. She finally looked up, her eyes swimming with a mix of panic and desperate longing. "It… it wasn’t Barry’s fault," she stammered quickly. "I… I flagged your pass. To bring you here."
The hum of the servers became the only sound in the cramped security office. Holly stared at Paul, her knuckles white where she gripped the chair’s edge. "To bring you here," she repeated, the words tumbling out. "I needed... I needed to see you. Alone."
Paul took a hesitant step further into the small space. "Why?" Genuine confusion warred with a dawning, uncomfortable suspicion. Her wide, frightened eyes held a desperate hunger he’d seen before, but never directed quite so nakedly at him. "Holly, what’s this about?"
She flinched again, her gaze dropping to the scuffed linoleum floor. Memories flooded her: Nadia’s cruel laugh, Clarissa’s commanding voice, Paul’s restrained figure on the expensive rug in Odette’s flat, the humiliation, the heat, her own urine splashing warm into the glass Clarissa then inserted deep into Paul. Shame warred with a sickening thrill. She forced her chin up. "Kneel!" The command burst from her, sharp but brittle, lacking any real authority. It sounded more like a plea. "Make me cum. Now." She fumbled with the button of her smart trousers, fingers trembling.
Paul didn't move immediately. The memory of that Wednesday night flashed too – the sharp sting of Clarissa’s fingers, the invasive pressure, the warm liquid intrusion, the distinct smell of Holly’s urine filling his sinuses before it filled his body. He saw the raw terror in Holly’s eyes now, the attempt to mimic Clarissa’s dominance failing utterly. It wasn't cruelty. It was need, tangled with fear. "Holly," he said, his voice deliberately softer, calming. "You don't have to pretend. Not with me." He took another step closer, lowering his own height slightly. "If you want me to taste you, just ask. Anytime. That's all."
The fight seemed to drain out of her. Relief mixed with embarrassment washed over her features. "Really?" Her whisper was barely audible. "You'd... you'd lick my pussy? Just because I asked?" Her hands stilled on her trousers. "Even though... even after Wednesday?"
"Especially after Wednesday," Paul murmured, a strange pang of protectiveness surprising him. He sank smoothly to his knees before her chair. "Show me." It wasn't a command from him. It was permission granted.
A shaky breath escaped Holly. She pushed her trousers and simple cotton underwear down past her hips, just enough to expose herself. Paul leaned in. Her skin was pale, smooth, completely bare. The scent was fresh, clean, with a hint of vanilla body lotion – sweet and inviting, utterly unlike the remembered tang of urine. He pressed his mouth against her, his tongue finding her entrance easily.
Holly gasped, her head falling back against the chair with a soft thud. "Oh! Paul..." His tongue slid inside her, smooth and sure, tasting her intimate sweetness. She was incredibly tight, her inner muscles fluttering around his probing tongue. He licked slowly, deeply, exploring her folds, finding her sensitive bud with practiced ease and circling it firmly. A low moan vibrated in her throat, genuine and unfiltered this time. Her hips lifted instinctively off the seat, seeking more pressure, more of his mouth. "Yes... like that... oh god, yes..." Her fingers tangled hesitantly in his hair, not pulling, just clinging. Her thighs tensed against his ears. The taste was pure, innocent arousal, a stark contrast to the degrading memory she carried. Paul focused entirely on her response, the increasing wetness, the tightening of her body. Her breathing hitched, became ragged little gasps. "Don't stop... please... Paul...!" Her voice rose, losing its shyness in the rising tide of sensation. Her release built quickly, intensely, washing over her in shuddering waves that squeezed his tongue deep inside her. She cried out, a sound of pure, surprised pleasure echoing softly in the server-humming room.
Holly gasped, shuddering against the hard plastic chair as the last tremors subsided. Her fingers loosened their grip in Paul’s hair, sliding down to rest limply on her thighs. "Oh," she breathed, the word soft, disbelieving. "Oh, Paul." Her cheeks flushed deeper crimson, but a dazed, radiant smile broke through the lingering embarrassment. She looked down at him, still kneeling between her legs, his chin damp with her release. "You… you really did it. Just like Odette said you would."
Paul leaned back slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Her taste, sweet and clean like summer fruit, lingered pleasantly. "Whenever you ask," he confirmed softly, his voice steady, reassuring. He met her wide, astonished eyes. "No hesitation. Odette promised you that."
Holly nodded slowly, absorbing the reality. The crippling fear instilled by her ex-boyfriend’s cruel mockery – the shame over the sheer force of her own orgasms – seemed momentarily distant, overshadowed by the profound relief of being desired, served, without judgment. Yet, a flicker of something else stirred beneath her astonishment. Clarissa’s sharp commands, Nadia’s cool detachment, Odette’s effortless control – their potent examples whispered in her mind. She needed… something. A tangible claim. Her gaze darted past Paul, landing on his laptop bag leaning against the leg of Barry’s desk. The stainless-steel water bottle protruded from a side pocket.
"Wait," she murmured, her voice gaining a new, tentative firmness. She quickly hitched her underwear and trousers back up, the fabric rasping softly. Before Paul could rise, she stood, her legs still slightly unsteady. She stepped around him, her movements purposeful now. She grabbed the water bottle, unscrewing the cap with a decisive twist. The plastic lid clattered onto the laminate desktop.
Paul watched, curious, kneeling still. Holly dipped two fingers into her damp underwear, just inside the entrance. When she withdrew them, they glistened with her slickness. Without hesitation, she smeared the viscous fluid thickly around the entire silicone mouthpiece of Paul’s bottle. The scent of her arousal mingled faintly with the sterile office air. She held the bottle up, a triumphant, almost defiant glint in her brown eyes behind her glasses. "There," she declared, her voice stronger. "Now you’ll have a bit of me with you all day. Every sip." She placed the bottle deliberately back into his bag. "A reminder."
Paul understood. This wasn't cruelty; it was her fledgling assertion, her way of marking him as hers, however briefly, in the wake of her vulnerability. He rose smoothly to his feet. Instead of words, he stepped close to her. One hand gently cupped the back of her neck. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto the soft, downy cleft above her clothed mound, right where her outer lips met. He felt her sharp intake of breath. "Holly," he murmured against the fabric, his breath warm. "I meant what I said. Whenever you ask. Wherever. Odette gave you that right." He lifted his head, meeting her gaze squarely. "Your pleasure isn't something to be hidden. It’s something to be tasted."
Holly stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The defiance melted into pure wonder, touched by a profound gratitude. She reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek where her wetness had been moments before. "Thank you," she whispered, the words thick with emotion. A sharp rap on the door made her jump. Barry’s muffled voice came through. "Everything sorted in there, Miss Reed? Mr. Ashworth?"
Holly quickly smoothed her blouse, composing herself with remarkable speed. "Yes, Barry! All sorted!" she called back, her voice remarkably steady. She gave Paul one last, blazingly intense look, a mixture of shyness and newfound power. "Remember," she breathed, nodding towards his bag. Then she turned and opened the door. Barry stood there, holding a freshly encoded access card. Holly slipped past him with a quick, professional smile. "Thanks, Barry."
Barry watched her retreating ponytail bob down the corridor towards the lifts, then turned back to Paul, holding out the new pass. His expression was blank. "Glitch resolved, Mr. Ashworth. Should work perfectly now." Paul took the card, the cool plastic stark against his skin. "Appreciate it, Barry." He slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the water bottle suddenly palpable. The faint, intimate scent seemed to bloom in the confined space as he walked past Barry towards the stairs. He didn't look back. The phantom taste of copper from breakfast was gone, replaced entirely by the promise of sweet vanilla clinging to silicone.