Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Claimed

Six years ago I went to France, for school, for culture, for something different. And that’s what I got, something different.

In my junior year of study I found a job as a receptionist. You know, answer the phone, send form letters, direct people to the right office. Mind you, I had no experience as a receptionist, I only applied because of the pay, and I was shocked when I got the job. As it turns out they only gave it me because I am fluent in English. They ended up putting me on the 39th floor - one floor from the top, with the ‘big wigs.’ I couldn’t figure out what they needed me for, you’d think someone that high up would know English. But the people of France can be just as ignorant as the people of America.

I almost fell over when they first showed me my desk. It was the only thing you saw when you stepped off the elevator. Five and a half feet wide and four feet fall, there was a step behind it so you could get to the chair. There was an hallway on either side of my desk. The hall to the left held four offices, while the one on the right held two offices and board room/conference room. Where the two hallways end and come together, there was another elevator. This second elevator was the only one in the building that went to the 40th floor, which was the office/apartment of Ms Lagrand, CEO and President of ClearWay Enterprises. And she was the only person with access to it.

I didn’t get to see too many people. If it wasn’t a day of meetings there weren’t too many people coming and going. But I also learned that with seven people sharing a secretary, I was not allowed many moments of peace either. Keeping their schedules, answering the phones, sending e-mails and forms, greeting people, delivering in-house memos, and translating and interpreting when needed. Not to mention keeping their mini fridges full, grabbing their lunches and drinks.

I got along with my employers pretty well, most of them anyway. I was their glorified secretary and I was damn good at my job, once I got the hang of it. I couldn’t help but notice that Mr Way and Ms Picknel were mad they had to share me, but since Ms Lagrand, herself, was also sharing me, they kept their mouths shut. She wasn’t going to pay for each of them to have their own secretary, but she wasn’t paying to have one either.

So I was keep busy and I enjoyed it. All but two things, but the money made up for what they lacked. I didn’t understand how they expected me to get so much done and stay at my desk? I lost so much weight running around that building, running around that floor. And can you believe how much time one can waste on a elevator? You couldn’t guess how many times I tried to figure out Ms Lagrand’s password. It’s so much easier to get from 39 to 12 when the damn thing doesn’t stop at every other floor. But, I digress.

The other thing that annoyed me beyond words was Ms Lagrand’s attitude. She interviewed me herself, after three other interviews with lower downs. you’d think she’d hired someone she liked, or at least someone she thought was capable of doing the job. Or at least fire me at some point. But no, she allowed me to work there for five years. The only time she ever spoke to me was she felt the need to correct me. Even when she was doing that she was short, like I wasn’t even good enough for her to waste her time yelling at. (Yes, the money was that good.) And while it made me a better receptionist, it drove me nuts. I mean three years of her bitching or not saying anything at all.

‘You got the wrong coffee.’ Or, ‘You need to change the colors on this presentation.’
And, ‘Answer the telephone on the 3rd ring. I don’t care if you are in another room, move faster.’ And let’s not forget, ‘Take a class, your French is not fluent enough.’ I don’t have a problem with criticism, I know how to learn from it, it made me a better receptionist. But that’s all she ever said to me. Ever. Either fix me or ignore me. For three years.

Now, if you remember, I said I worked there for five. So you might be wondering, why’d it stop? Well, my third year started pretty much like the second ended. I’m not sure when the ‘correcting me’ stopped, but I noticed in March. And without her telling me off in her high and mighty way, she wasn’t saying anything to me. When something needed to be done, she did as she always did, she sent an email or instant message. She had sent one saying I would be needed to interpret a phone call.

When the call was done, I stood for a second, waiting for her to make a comment of some sort. Like, ‘You do not speak quickly enough’ or ‘Your language is not formal enough.’ Oh, and I’ll never forget the time I stayed two seconds longer than I needed to, ‘You can leave now, the call is over.’ And I waited and nothing came. She said nothing. I almost fell out the door, I didn’t want to stay longer enough to piss her off, but nothing? I made my way to the closet they turned into a break room for me (not that I got to use it often) and had a moment. And she didn’t say anything about that either.

I’m not sure why, but her silence made me nervous, as hell. I was walking on egg shells, which I hadn’t done since my first year here.

Two days later I was stuck there late, meaning I was supposed to leave at 5, but at 6 I was still there putting together an presentation. I didn’t even know she was still there, until she pooped up. Scared the shit out of me. I was typing when I felt something like a chill. When I looked up there was Ms Lagrand, just looking at me - she didn’t say anything and a minute had passed with me staring dumbly at her, waiting for her say something. Instead, she walked, slowly, around the desk. I looked down hoping to distract myself from her presence, and it almost worked, but seeing the movement of my hands, the shaking, reminded me I had reason to be unstill.

When I looked up again she was less than a foot away from me and, somehow, I knew why. She said two words, ‘Stand up.’ And I obeyed, not so much out of fear, that was slipping away, but out of curiosity.

Then she just stood there and looked at me. I know this sounds strange, but it felt like my eyes were burning and I couldn’t blink. It was like I was seeing her for the first time. She stood up straight, but I’m 5”6’ and at something around 6 feet she could have been towering. I never did figure out who her parents were, but Ms Lagrand’s skin has a creamy shade of tan all year run, lighter than Spanish but darker than Italian. Her hair is thick, black, and wavy when you got to the ends, not a spot of gray and she had to be 20 years to my 26, Can you imagine the color black glowing lightly? If you can, you got a pretty good idea of what her eyes look like. And her body is shaped like a thick black woman’s, meaning she’s got curves and bulk in all the right places, but she couldn’t have been more than a 160 pounds.
And here I was, staring at this beautiful woman who got on my nerves.

Later, what happened next would surprise me (and anyone I told) but as it happened, it was ... well, expected. Her right hand laid on my side, in such a way that her thumb was underneath my left breast, while her fingers moved slowly on my side. Her left hand made it’s way to my cheek and fluttered there. The shaking in my hands grew worse as they grew a mind of their own, they were both on her hips, moving up and down her lower back. I couldn’t help but ask myself a number of questions: When did you become attracted to her? And why does this feel right? And why in the hell would this woman be here touching me? And why the fuck do I WANT her touching me? None of which would get answered. My eyes were still on fire as we did not break eye contact until our lips were so close we would of had to go cross-eyes to keep it up. That didn’t matter much, the fire moved from my eyes to my entire body. And the kiss. Damn. There were no fireworks, no bells, no song, but there was ... fire, moving through my body and melting into hers. And then it was done. I’m sure the whole kiss itself was less than three minutes, but it felt like an lifetime and a half.

Then she just walked away. Without a word. For a moment I figured that just meant I was a good kisser (I can be cocky sometimes). But, with the way she had been acting, would she have had said something even if I wasn’t?

Two days went day and still she hadn’t spoken to me. I had started tripping. Ms Lagrand, the woman who has never said a pleasant or positive word to me (outside of ‘You are hired.’) walked up to me, kissed me like our lives depended on it, and has nothing to say to me, not even to ‘correct’ my kissing style. Talk about a head trip.

The following Monday damn near killed me. I needed a break from the heat her name brought on and the lack of seeing her. And the stress of egg shells had only gotten worst. I didn’t even get home until 8, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but a friend had called, needed an ear and a shoulder, so it was something like 11:30 when I finally got a chance to relax. I was thinking I really should call off Tuesday.

At 11:47 my doorbell rang. I know it was 11:47 because I couldn’t figure out who would be at my door this late and wanted to know exactly how late it was. Anger pushed me to the door, after I opened it all anger was gone and I was fighting against the urge to slam the door in my visitor's face.

‘Ms Lagrand, um, what can I, um, do - I mean, what brings you.’ I sighed. ‘Why are you here?’

‘For a head massage.’

And again, I stood in front of her looking like an complete idiot. What? Then she walked past me, without waiting for a invite, and sat with her back against the couch, directly in front of where I was sitting.

And then I was worrying that she wouldn’t like it. That I wouldn’t do the massage to her liking and then I’d have to deal with being ‘corrected’ in my own house and I couldn’t even began to deal with the idea of that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done head massages before, it’s just that usually end up with playing in the hair. But still, how do I know what she likes?

And again with me figuring out things I didn’t know I wanted. I would have never thought about touching this woman, let alone playing with her hair, until I was climbing over her to get back to my seat. Once my butt was in place and my legs still at either side of her I wanted to touch her hair as if it was a desire born years ago and now was the only chance it had of becoming a reality.

As my feet touched the ground she leaned back, tilted her head, and I felt she was waiting. My hands were now floating over her head, trying to figure out where they wanted to start, but they found a spot and began what some women have called ‘magic.’

Ms Lagrand was quiet and working my nerves. She had sat down and picked up the remote and changed the channel from the movie I was watching. And I swear, every channel she stopped on was playing something I hated. I wanted so bad to say something, but I didn’t, and to this day I’m not sure why I keep quiet.

Annoyed with what she was watching, I tuned out the TV and focused on my fingers moving over her head. How do you walk into someone’s home, demand a head massage, then ignore the person as they do it? Why am I doing this? Then my thoughts moved back to our kiss and the confusion that surrounded that. I wanted so bad to be able to climb into that woman’s head and figure out what the fuck was going on. But I was distracted, the memory of the kiss felt good, there was no blazing fire this time, but there was a flame (still to this day) that came with the memory, that floated, and made me want the fire. My hands began to move with more ... passion, There was hopes of building that flame in a fire that could kill me. Maybe I can make her feel as good as I did when she kissed me.

Then I noticed the TV. She had changed it back to the I was watching, not that it mattered much, I had seen two times already. I can’t tell you when she changed it back, but at this point I could have cared less. I was focused, I wanted to make her burn, and I barely noticed my hands moving from the top of her head to the back. I did, however, notice the only thing to escape her lips since the request was made - it was a small moan that was pulled from her throat. As the sound washed over me the single flame became two and I felt almost gitty (yeah, gitty). Oh, the joy one feels when they see they might reach a goal, no matter how small. Once I got started on the small of her neck, small parts of her shoulders, and behind her ears her small moan became a few real ones. Without questioning it, I started to wonder what type of noises she made in bed. I wondered if she was as much as a control freak in the bed as she was in the office. A new want I didn’t know I had. Then I realized that even after working with the woman for three years I knew nothing about her.

And then my thoughts were broken as she said, ‘That’s enough. Thank you.’ And she stood.

Thank you? Since when do you say thank you? Again, me looking like an idiot.

‘I have something for you. If you want it.’

It was my turn to stand. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

She reached into a dark blue gift bag I didn’t see her bring in and pulled out a collar. It was not a dog collar, that thing was not made for animals. It was black, with a loop in the middle, it looked like it used to have a charm there, but if fell off or something. It was the same shape and make as a choker necklace, but I knew it was a collar. I also knew who wore them and why. I’m not sure if my eyes got big as I looked from her eyes to the collar and back again, but it would make a nice line if they did.

‘Do you know what this is?’

I could do nothing but nod. And listen to the voice in my head yell, ‘WHAT?’

‘Do you want it?’

Again, I nodded.

With that she smiled and stepped what felt like two inches away from me. It took an lifetime for her to get that collar around my neck, she moved slowly like she was working with an delicate piece of art. Once she finished, she took a step back, as if to get a good look at her handy work, and my hand went straight for the loop of metal hanging from the middle, and I started to twist it in it’s hole.

‘If you are good, we’ll hang something from it.’

I stood there, wondering who this woman was and hear my voice say, ‘Thank you.’

After that, working with her became a dance, that I enjoyed (although, not nearly as much as the one we did in the bedroom, oh, the noises that came from her when she allowed me to give, we could have melted metal with the fire that united us, but that’s not what I was talking about).

On my birthday, during my fifth year working for her company, Silva gave me a number of gifts. One was the request that I quit working and stay at home. She wanted me to keep the house and be ready for her when she came home. I say it was a gift because it gave me time to write. I only requested she fire the hired help so I’d have something to do when I wasn’t at the computer. She just smiled and said, ‘As you wish.’

At the end of my first week at home she gave me a small charm, an ‘S’ with a circle around it, to hang from my collar. That was a year ago.

It’s amazing. I came to France as an escape, I could have studied Library Science in the states. Now, I’m a stay at home wife, with Silva. And I wouldn’t change any of it. But, it’s almost 6, so she’ll be home any minute now and it’s bubble bath day. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find the bubbles and get the wine chilled.

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