The Nymphomaniac at Work (M/F;Dominatrix;Workplace)

Sharp bronze rays of sunlight reflected off the tall glass and steel city buildings down ‎into an empty parking lot in front of a Costco, placed between them like a pimple among tense ‎hairs on a woman’s arm. Her concrete skin was awash with veins of cracks and fillings and ‎tattooed with yellow parking designations. Confident pigeons walked about her body in search ‎of crumbs, unphased by the footsteps of vacuous customers on their way back to their cars. The ‎December air was thin. Neon signs waited to clock in for their shift as the sun packed its bags ‎to leave for the night. Puddles of melted snow littered the asphalt lot like blemishes. It had been ‎a warm winter.‎

Rob stood out back at the loading docks passing the time. Men in bright orange and ‎green vests passed by one final time before they too were done for the day, only to return then ‎next morning and do it all over again. Their small talk and chatter kept this dead world lively, ‎Rob thought. He took a sip of the hot coffee in his hand and burned his lip. He lifted his wrist to ‎check the time and his watch stared back at him, telling him he had twenty-eight more minutes ‎to kill. He began making mental notes about what he needed to do once he got home. It was ‎almost the end of the semester and finals were steadily approaching, and brought with them ‎nothing but stress and anxiety.‎

She looked at me, “It’s just a bit of fun.” [M/F] [College] [Dorm] [Cheating].

There was a raucous applause as the professor concluded his lecture, “Next week, we’ll ‎be going to Africa, and seeing how Things Fall Apart.” A giggle erupted as the students stood ‎up from their red theatre chairs and funneled towards the doors to leave the beloved professor’s ‎class.‎

I stood outside waiting for Julia, watching as my peers chattered about their weekend ‎plans, getting ready for the many Halloween parties which Norton University was so famous ‎for. Clouds in the sky began cumulating ‎— ‎marking the nearing of the forecasted storm. I ‎stepped back into the theatre lobby, seeming to wander aimlessly, until she caught my eye. Her ‎soft white figured was clad in a fawn sweatshirt, her shoulders exposed and her pierced nipples ‎poking out from beneath. Her elegant face peered out from behind the golden locks which ‎framed her face, and her big, beautiful, blue-grey eyes met mine. Michael, rotund and gay, ‎followed behind her, sporting an ostentatious long brown leather coat, which feigned at hiding ‎his gut.‎

‎“There you are!” she squeaked.‎

‎“Here I am,” I replied, bumping fists with Michael.‎

‎“I literally fell asleep in the lecture,” she told me.‎