Peanuts
Chapter 2
Morning amnesia is a tremendous blessing to all of those who don’t care for their jobs. For a few glorious moments you can lay with your eyes closed, unsure whether you are actually who you think you are. Mel savored this sensation for longer than usual, trying to promote and reinforce the feeling.
She was successful enough that when she opened her eyes and got up she felt strong, purposeful, and in control of herself. She performed her morning ablutions and got dressed. She was not going back to that terrible place. She didn’t understand much of what had happened, but she was certain that she wasn’t going to let herself end up there again.
It was Thursday, she reminded herself, determined to return to normal life. She got the newspaper and opened it to the jobs section. As she ate her morning oatmeal she scanned for anything she would qualify for. She put a dish of kibble on the back porch for the stray cat that sometimes passed by, wishing as always that her apartment lease allowed her to have pets. She wrote her monthly check to the college loan people, effectively draining her account, and returned to the newspaper to review the options she had circled. Phone in hand, she determined that she had to get a healthy job prospect that very day or she was going to be out on the streets.
“Anderson and Sanderson, how may I help you?” asked the voice at the other end of the line.
Mel (no, Melinda, damn it) froze for a moment. Was that really the number she had dialed? It certainly wasn’t the number she was looking at. She hung up.
Steeling herself, she tried again, carefully matching each number she pressed to the one in the paper.
“Anderson and Sanderson, how may I help you?” asked the voice at the other end of the line.
Melinda hissed. Something was amiss or out of place here, she knew. She just didn’t know how to deal with it. But then, she reasoned to herself, she really ought to let them know she was quitting.
“Hello?” prompted the girl on the line.
“Hi, Ash? This is Melinda. Listen, I can’t do this anymore. Can you tell them that I quit?” Melinda managed to keep her voice steady, although her knees were shaking so badly that she had to sit.
“Oh, Mel,” began Ashley.
“Melinda,” corrected Melinda, trying not to grit her teeth. This wasn’t Ashley’s fault, after all.
There was a pause. “Ok then, Melinda. No problem. Just bring your letter of resignation by for processing and that will be that.” Ashley sounded a little disappointed, but still professional.
Melinda was expecting something of this nature and was ready with a firm response, “No. I don’t want to go back there again. I want a clean break with no tricks.”
“Of course, of course,” said Ashley, “isn’t that what we all always want? There’s just one little, erm, hiccup if you will.”
“What’s that?” asked Melinda, trying to sound cool but feeling distinctly nervous.
“Well, when you showered this morning did you do anything else?”
“Obviously I washed my hair and shaved my legs and cunt,” snapped Melinda, wishing that Ashley would get to the point.
“Uh-huh, and what are you wearing right now?”
Melinda glanced down at herself. “Just my collar, navy pumps, and trampy stewardess costume, what’s this have to do with anything?”
“Do you always shave your, uh, cunt and wear ‘trampy costumes’?” asked Ashley gently.
Melinda stood with furrowed brow, trying to figure out what the hell Ashley was talking about. What did her morning rituals or choice of clothing have to do with her quitting her job? When it finally sank in she burst into sobs.
“Oh Ashley! Am I permanently fucked over? There must be some help. Please!”
“It’s ok, dear. Calm down,” soothed Ashley, “we’re not bad people here…”
“Not bad people?” sobbed Melinda, “You’ve raped my mind. You’ve destroyed my humanity!”
“Well, there is that,” admitted Ashley, sounding a bit uncomfortable, “but we aren’t going to force anyone to do anything they don’t want to. Just bring in your letter and I’ll give you the last cup of coffee. The one that will make it all go away.”
There was a long pause.
“Look,” said Ashley reasonably, “I know it sounds like a trap, but you have to trust me. What choice do you have? You can’t go on like you are now.”
“I surely can,” Melinda asserted, “if I can’t stop wearing this whore’s uniform and spreading my legs for every sketchy dude who makes a pass at me at least I can be a whore on my own terms and be my own woman. I’m not going to bend over for Sanderson again.”
“Sanderson bent you over?” Ashley sounded surprised.
“What? No… it was a figure of speech.”
“Oh,” Ashley giggled a bit, “sorry. You see, we’ve never seen him take an interest in any of us. There’s a rumor going around that, well,” her voice lowered conspiratorially, “that he’s trained as an accountant.”
Melinda didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
“Melinda, are you in your kitchen?” asked Ashley suddenly.
“What? Yes, but what –” Melinda began, confused.
“Good,” cooed Ashley in a saccharine-sweet voice, “do you have a soup ladle at hand, one with a nice, thick rubber handle?”
“Yes, but –” said Melinda, involuntarily glancing at the ladle hanging on the wall.
“Ok honey, lube up and fuck yourself with it,” said Ashley.
Melinda was at a loss for words, stunned by a mixture of the crude command from the woman that she had half considered a friend, the fact that she seemed to be obeying the command, and the discovery that she didn’t need much in the way of lubrication. Fresh tears welled up.
“I’m sorry,” Ashley said, sounding genuinely remorseful, “I just had to prove to you that you are still bound by the company policy. If we wanted to keep you against your will we would just tell you what we wanted you to do. We don’t have to trick you. We want employees who do their jobs with joy. If you want to go, all you have to do if type out a one-paragraph letter of resignation and bring it in. Have a quick cup of coffee with me and you’re free forever. Surely you can see now that if we wanted to force you, we could.”
Melinda sniffled, but stemmed the flow of tears. She could find no fault in Ashley’s logic. If they wanted her to go in she would have no choice. All she could do was what Ashley suggested and hope for the best.
. . .
“That took a little longer than I was expecting,” commented Ashley without looking up.
“Well, it’s hard to type or drive with one hand. Plus I had to avoid the elderly gentleman who lives next door. I think he’s getting the wrong idea about me,” said Melinda ruefully.
“One hand?” repeated Ashley in confusion, looking up. Melinda was still faithfully thrusting the soup ladle in and out of her dripping snatch, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Ashley, “I completely forgot. You can stop whenever you want.”
“In a minute,” Melinda grunted, then threw her head back and released an explosive breath of air.
It was actually several minutes before she removed the ladle, which she carefully stowed in her purse. She held a piece of paper out to Ashley, who made no move to accept it.
“I’m sorry, but affairs of this nature have to go directly to Mr. Anderson, who has to approve it,” said Ashley sympathetically.
Melinda sighed but, not knowing what else to do, went into Anderson’s office. She didn’t bother to knock.
Anderson politely rose from his desk as she entered, his face neutral. He accepted the paper from her, read it slowly, then carefully filed it before returning to his seat and regarding her for a long moment. “It’s a shame,” he rumbled at last, “you would have been a terrific asset to the company.”
There was a pause where neither said anything. Melinda felt a little uncomfortable, and a little awed. Aside from Sanderson she had never met a man who could look at her for so long without his eyes even flickering toward her chest. It especially astonished her today, when her cleavage was put on such glorious display by her uniform and when her nipples were so hard (this last thought surprised her, and she pinched them to confirm. They were like little diamonds). Suddenly seized by the spirit of scientific curiosity, she thrust her tits out even more aggressively. Those deep grey pools that masqueraded as his eyes never moved from her face. His own face remained impassive. She began to wonder if, perhaps, he also had training as an accountant.
“If you must go,” he said at last, “I’m afraid that company policy stipulates that you must be with us for at least a full week to draw any pay. We won’t be able to compensate you for your training time.”
“That’s fine,” blurted Melinda, “I wasn’t expecting any pay sir, I just want to go now please.” In the face of his impeccable politeness she couldn’t muster the rant that she knew he deserved.
He inclined his head gravely. “Certainly. Good luck. Ashley will be so disappointed to see you go. Be sure to have a cup of coffee with her on your way out.” He turned away dismissively.
That was too easy Melinda thought. There had to be a catch somewhere. Ashley, who was again wearing one of her three piece suits, was waiting for her with a steaming mug. Melinda took it with a great deal of trepidation.
Ashley’s gentle smile was belied by small, sorrowful lines etched across her face as she watched Melinda vacillate. “I’ll make the decision easy for you,” she said quietly, “drink it.”
Melinda didn’t realize what she meant at first, but when her hand started moving of its own volition she understood that Ashley had given her a command. She gulped the entirety of the mug’s contents.
The steaming liquid didn’t feel hot at all. Nor did it have a flavor that she could discern. Somehow it felt pure and cathartic, however, and Melinda stood swaying for a long time, feeling as if pounds of dirt had been washed from her.
“Off so soon?” asked a cheerful voice behind her.
Melinda turned in horror. She had been hoping to avoid Sanderson. “Um,” she managed.
“Oh well. Oh well. All for the best I suppose. That’s another 125 pounds or so we don’t need to worry about.” Sanderson strode off, humming tunelessly to himself, clearly trying to make up for his lack of talent with a healthy dose of enthusiasm.
Melinda didn’t even try to make sense of it. She just thanked Ashley and left as quickly as she could. Ashley hugged her goodbye and gave her a conservative skirt and blouse to replace the flimsy bit of cloth that was suddenly making Melinda feel very naked. Melinda changed in the vestibule, figuring that it was probably more private than the parking lot, that naked women would not be out of place here, and that she didn’t want to go back inside far enough to change in a more private room.
Regrettably her new ensemble did not include any sort of underwear, but it was still a huge improvement over what she had been wearing. Unfortunately she was stuck with her towering navy pumps, and by omission she neglected to remove her collar, which she had become so inured to that she didn’t have a thought about it.
But fate, Melinda reflected, will not let you feel too good about anything for long. The relief at her facile escape from Anderson and Sanderson was promptly counter-balanced by her junker of a car. The old jalopy refused to make any acknowledgement of her turning the key.
Fortunately, Melinda had learned at least one trick from her father, who was fond of tinkering with his own cars. Which is to say, he couldn’t really afford to pay someone to do it for him. Melinda immediately implemented his favorite technique. She popped the hood, propped it open and surveyed it calmly for a few moments. Then she kicked the bumper and cussed at the top of her lungs for as long as she could without repeating herself.
As was mentioned, she had learned a lot from her old man, and carried on for a long time. She was just getting her second wind when she was interrupted.
“Trouble, ma’am?” A young man, maybe 30 at the most, stepped up. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and brilliant green eyes. He was also grinning broadly.
“It’s not funny!” she vented, shooting daggers at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, although he obviously wasn’t. He did manage to wipe the smile from his face. “I’ve just never met a lady with such a, um, diverse vocabulary before. May I have a look?”
Melinda reflected that he might not be so quick to call her a lady if he had seen her the night before, but she decided not to mention it. Instead she stepped aside and allowed him to look.
She began to describe the problem, but he had fixed it before she finished. “A connection vibrated off the battery post is all,” he said, grinning again, “give ‘er another try.”
Melinda thought that it was a bit odd for that to happen while the car wasn’t running, but she guessed that perhaps it had coincided with her parking the car and she had just assumed that she had turned it off manually. She had been a bit distracted, after all. She turned the key again, a few choice words ready just in case it didn’t work, but to her delight it started right up.
She turned to her new hero, eyes shining with relief. “Oh thank you,” she gushed. She opened her purse, blushing as she avoided the soup ladle, and fished out her wallet.
“Oh no,” he waved her money away, “it was nothing.”
“It was something,” she insisted, “you really just saved my ass.”
“Well,” he said, suddenly looking a little nervous, “if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride I’d really appreciate it.”
And so it came to pass that Melinda met Steven, who had been trying to figure out how to get the local bus to take him to the Holiday Inn when he came across Melinda. Apparently the county news station had hired him from out of town as the new co-anchor and was putting him up until he found a place. Melinda was immediately on the edge of her seat. Perhaps fate was smiling on her after all.
“The news? Wow. Listen, I’ve um, lost two jobs in the last week,” the man grimaced sympathetically at that, “times are tight, you know? But I have a B.A. in communications and some experience in the field, do you think you could help me get a job?”
Steven considered for a minute, then brought out his ever-ready, pearly grin, “how about this, you show me around my new town today and I’ll see what I can do?”
That sounded good enough to Melinda, who was starting to become more and more aware that the man in the passenger seat was strikingly handsome. As the day progressed it began to feel less and less like a business arrangement and more and more like a date. They went to a cute little restaurant for lunch, where he disgusted both her and the waitress by attempting to order a peanut-butter and grape marmalade sandwich (“who would eat such a thing?” she had demanded. He had just grinned disarmingly).
They cruised the local parks and ate ice cream at the zoo. They spent several hours shopping for things for Steven’s hypothetical new apartment. They had dinner at a respectable restaurant and drank just a little too much wine. Steven was the perfect gentlemen, waving off any of her attempts to pay for anything, insisting that she was doing him a huge favor. He held doors for her, walked on the outside of the sidewalk, and Melinda – lost in her personal fairy tale – felt certain that he would challenge anyone who might dare to insult her honor.
“Oh Steve,” giggled Melinda, “I don’t think I should drive right now.”
Steven hiccupped. “I’m not in any better shape,” he admitted, “that wine went right to my head. Hey, the hotel is only six blocks over, why don’t we walk there and drop off the lamp we just bought?”
Melinda agreed that it was a good plan, so they picked up the few purchases they had made and walked to the Holiday Inn. Combined with the alcohol she had imbibed, Melinda’s high pumps gave her more than a little trouble. With this excellent excuse she made a point of stumbling every now and then, being sure to bump gently into Steven each time she did. Without fail he would smile and reach his free hand out to the small of her back to steady her. By the time they reached the hotel Melinda had figured out how to walk normally, but she still performed a strategic bump from time to time. Evening was falling, and the warm afterglow of the sun’s recent passing in combination with the gentle heat of the Chardonnay made Melinda feel happy and safe.
When they got to his room Steven tossed his new things into the corner while Melinda excused herself to the bathroom. Steven called after her, “You can get a nasty hangover from even a few glasses of wine. You should drink some water.”
So Melinda downed some water from the single plastic cup that was conveniently sitting next to the sink, draped with unsealed plastic. Typical, Melinda thought, the maid probably just wiped it out with a used towel after the last customer and tossed the wrapper back over it.
The water had a funny flavor – not worse than you might expect from a hotel faucet – but decidedly odd. Melinda shrugged it off, but elected not to have another glass. She relieved herself, washed her hands, and touched up her make-up. As she did she reflected on how her fortunes had taken a sudden turn for the better, and on how kind Steven was. She felt a heady glow of affection growing for him.
After Melinda stepped out of the bathroom Steven took his own turn. Melinda sat on the edge of the bed, impatiently waiting. The knot of affection was growing into something much larger and stronger. She couldn’t believe how fast it was happening. Her thoughts strayed from how nice he was to his emerald eyes and fit body. She found herself formulating lewd questions about bits of him that she hadn’t seen… yet. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. A moment later it was a lot more than that.
“Steve,” shouted Melinda, “come here!”
Steven rinsed and dried his hands quickly, then opened the bathroom door. “What’s all this ruckus about? Why – “ he stopped mid-sentence. Melinda was facing away from him, leaning on both arms with her palms firmly planted atop the dresser. She had shredded her blouse off and her modest skirt was bunched around her left ankle.
Her arms and legs shook and blotches of red were spreading from her neck down her shoulders. “I need to get fucked right now. Please Steven, no questions, just help me,” Melinda gave a plaintive mewling pule and spread her legs a little farther. Her back arched and her ass stood out invitingly.
Grinning, Steven pulled his pants off and came up behind her. He admired the way her lower back dimpled when she arched it and how her thigh muscles came into clear definition under the stress she was experiencing. He cupped her knees with his hands and then slowly drew them up, massaging her inner thighs but only offering a whispering tease of contact to the place she really wanted him to touch. He kissed her lightly on the back of the neck as he brought his hands up further, caressing her flat belly and then brushing her hard nipples with his knuckles.
Melinda moaned and panted, then bellowed, “Damn it Steve, I don’t need any fucking foreplay; are you going to ream me or what?”
Steven’s grin widened further. He didn’t need any more prompting. He placed the bulging tip of his cock at the juicy gates of her waiting pussy and pushed into the tight velvety hole just enough to be certain he was in the right place. He grabbed Melinda firmly by the hips, stopping her desperate thrusting, and entered her with very slow strokes, going in just a little farther each time.
Melinda was in a torment of ecstasy. She needed it hard and fast and felt teased, but the slow treatment she was getting instead was simultaneously the most fantastic thing she had ever experienced. After only a few slow thrusts her arms gave way and she collapsed, crushing her sweaty tits against the top of the dresser. Her legs would have given way also if Steven hadn’t been holding her up.
Steven, his own passions fueled by the desperate noises coming from the busty blonde that he had impaled on his dick, thrust faster and deeper, his hips making a rhythmic smacking noise as they impacted Melinda’s juicy ass cheeks. Melinda began to wail and thrash, her arms knocking the complimentary brochures and the dried flowers from the dresser to the floor. The vase smashed loudly. Neither of them heard it.
Melinda had instinctively known that she wasn’t going to last long, but she was still amazed as she felt her orgasm approaching. She thrust back against Steven with more and more desperation. In between gasping moans she heard creaking at first, then a sharp crack. She paid it no mind; there were more important things going on in her world. The best fucking of her life, for instance. As her pussy clenched about its delightful intruder Melinda thrust with all her might, screaming out her lover’s name. In response to her mighty push the cheap dresser gave way, collapsing under the combination of stresses it had been subjected to.
Steven didn’t miss a beat. As the flimsy piece of furniture began to fold in on itself he smoothly slid his hands from Melinda’s hips, one hand snaking up her sweat-soaked body to seize her by her left tit, the other well-muscled arm encircling her waist. He lifted her free from the wreckage even before she had a chance to fall, still thrusting into her as she reached the pinnacle of her climax. Melinda was totally unaware of what was going on aside from the extra stimulation to her boob.
Steven waited until she was done, holding her easily while bouncing her up and down on his dick. Once she went limp he unceremoniously tossed her on the bed, spread her legs, and climbed between them. Melinda barely gave a murmur when he entered her for the second time, but after a few hard thrusts she came to life again, thrashing and moaning with as much fervor as ever.
Melinda was astonished that she wasn’t comatose. She was even more astonished that she felt a second orgasm building in her that threatened to rival, if not outdo, her first. She thrust her hips up to meet Steven’s strokes, feeling very little control over her motor functions. She was vaguely aware that her hands were gouging Steven’s back, and that her feet, still in those Navy pumps, were planted on the bed to help her push up more strongly. Her eyes were barely open and she feared that she was in danger of drooling; she was almost too far gone to remember to swallow.
At last Melinda felt her pussy muscles clench again. She howled, arching her back as fireworks danced in front of her eyes. This time she also heard Steven gasp and felt his cock twitch inside her. She locked her legs around his waist, dug her nails into his back, and pulled him deep inside, where he seemed to be releasing gallons into her as he shuddered through several final thrusts.
Both lay for a long time, breathing heavily. At last Steven pulled out of her and stood on shaky legs. He looked down at the smashed vase and the broken dresser, which exhibited two round clean spots on its dusty surface where Melinda’s breasts had pressed, and streaks in other places where her arms had scrabbled. He laughed. Melinda didn’t have enough energy to do even that. She just rolled over, cum starting to leak out of her well-used snatch.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, “that was the best I’ve ever had, baby.”
Steven laughed again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “you’re a pretty hot fuck. But then, they always are on their first day.” He found his pants and reached into a pocket. “It was worth every penny.”
Melinda sat up, not sure about what she just heard, but disliking it nonetheless. “Sorry?” she asked.
Steven leered at her, then tossed her $40. “There’s a tip. You were pretty decent. Oh, and Sanderson told me to make sure you know that you’re due in by nine tomorrow. Try not to be late or I might lose my preferred customer status.”
Mel paused only long enough to scoop up her purse before fleeing into the night, chased by Steven’s coarse laughter. She ignored the looks she received from the lobby as she dashed through, wearing only her collar and navy pumps. White residuum coated her thighs and more leaked out with every step.
Sprinting in what she hoped was the direction of her car, she barely noticed as she ran past a makeshift stand behind which a formidable middle-aged whore with dark hair, fishnet stockings, and a black micro skirt watched a client drop a nickel into her can. The client, a portly man with spare hair and a yellow t-shirt, gaped at her as she dashed past, a comically morose look embedded in his plain features.