stevenbasic: “Knock knock,” came the voice from the door. I looked up from the struggles
stevenbasic: “Knock knock,” came the voice from the door. I looked up from the struggles at my computer to see Marisela, one of my medical assistants, leaning into the frame. She was wearing head-to-toe black and her usual smirk. “Welcome back, boss.”
I glanced at her and her uncharacteristically tight outfit - high-necked, form-fitted top and high-waisted pants - and then back at my screen. I’m going to have to rethink some of the changes in that memo of Melissa’s, I thought to myself in my already-brewed frustration, I don’t know if I like this new dress code for the medical staff. Scrubs were fine. I knew I was already too stressed out, this early on a Monday, first few moments after a week away.
“Thanks,” I replied, running my mouse pointer all over my screen again, clicking impotently, “Hey you’re just the person I wanted to see. What’s going on with my computer? There’s some sort of password…”
As if anticipating my complaint, she was already in the room, and coming around to my side of the desk. Marisela is a funny person. Sleekly tall-ish, vaguely latina, super dry of wit and probably too smart for this job. She was also my ersatz tech support, really the only one around the office who knew enough to keep our technology running without having to call in a professional. I’d only seen her out of her typical work scrubs and basic makeup a handful of times, usually in some dark, rock-goth getup, and tended to forget what a knockout figure she had when she decided to show it off - which was basically never. I know she’d be loathe to admit it, but before Melissa arrived on the scene with her bod-squad friends - Amelia, Josie, Randi, the others - it was Marisela herself who, likely to her chagrin, probably had the best figure in the office, thin but curvy and surprisingly well-endowed. Girls, employees blessed like her had been my downfall in the past (see also: Rina, Deanna) but I’d never tried anything with Marisela. I liked to think I’d smartened up over the past few years, but really it’s probably because she likely would have just laughed me off and made me feel like an idiot. And, anyway, also…Sheryl. I was married.
I peeled my thoughts out of my reverie and my eyes off Marisela’s startlingly nice ass as, immediately, she saw it, the new photo on my desk. “Hey this is cute,” she commented, sarcasm dripping as she reached out to turn the framed picture towards her…

I flushed in embarrassment. “Oh jeez…” The picture. I’d found it here waiting for me just a couple minutes ago when I first came in, a little surprise gift from Melissa. She’d obviously already printed out one of the selfies she’d made me take down by the beach last week, found a frame, and snuck it into my office before I arrived. Christ, I’d immediately thought, what am I supposed to do with this? Look at it! I knew I couldn’t keep it on my desk (had she really expected me to??) but forgot to hide it. Especially with what went on with Sheryl last night, I knew I had to be cautious and on my game if I was going to fix things at home and here at the office…I just hoped nothing had already gone too far. Anyway, a picture of me and Melissa in a bikini was not going to help.
“Sorry…Melissa must have put that on my desk this morn-”
“MmHm,” Marisela snickered, examining the picture with a wry, judgmental eye and - I’m sure - comparing the size of my head to Melissa’s enormous breasts -, “You three look like you had a nice time. How was the conference?”
Did she just say ‘you three’?
I reached out, moved the picture away from her, and turned it face down on the desk. “It was fine,” I covered, face reddening further as I recalled how I’d spent the last week…’the three of us’. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, especially now, after last night. She was so mad…I thought, Sheryl’s steely glare, her icy words still burning coldly in my brain. “But it’s Monday, back to work.”
“Yep I guess so,” Marisela replied, then asking, “So what’s up?”
“Oh, yeah uh…” I began, remembering what I had her here for, “I can’t get into anything on my compute-”
Immediately in her element, Marisela took the mouse from my hand and - in an uncharacteristically physical move for her - pushed my rolling desk chair aside with the curve of her hips.
“…there’s this new password screen-“ I continued, lamely, as I began to explain my troubles and watched her take over my desktop. It always made me nervous when other people worked on my computer, knowing the damning stuff I had on the hard drive. “Whenever I try to-“
“It’s the new security system we had installed, last week, on the whole network,” Marisela explained, plainly, “the company was here on Tuesday, Melissa had asked me to arrange it.”
“She…she didn’t tell me about it…”
“Well, surprise…” she joked, pulling up a password screen and standing back, letting me take the terminal again. “It’s actually pretty great, we’re much safer now, HIPAA compliant, more secure, blah blah blah. They set me up as admin, I can see everything.”
‘S-see everything’..? What does that mean?
“But you should be all set,” she finished, pushing her long, dark hair behind her ear. “You just have to ask me for your new password every week.”
“O-okay…” I agreed, though not knowing how much I liked this new arrangement…I was going to be dependent on her to get into my own computer? What sort of access, what sort of powers did she have that I didn’t? It all made me uncomfortable but somehow feeling like I didn’t have a choice. What would it look like if I put up too much argument?
Marisela smiled down at me. She could be strikingly pretty when she smiled, a relative rarity.
I lamely looked back at the screen, at the blinking cursor. “So, uh…what’s my password?” I acquiesced.
”You didn’t say ‘please’,” she teased. Or, at least, I hope she was teasing.
“Please,” I offered, the submissive streak in me giving me a surprising little jolt, “please, Marisela, what’s my password?”
“I made it ‘462238’.”
Hm. What was up with those digits, and why did they sound familiar? Couldn’t I choose my own password? But, with the terrible night of sleep I had on that poor excuse for a bed, I was in no mood to squabble with another woman and found myself yielding. At least it worked; in a few keystrokes my new screen opened up.
“So, uh…what did you stop by for?” I asked, watching Marisela walking away from my side of the desk.
“Oh yeah…”she retorted, looking over her shoulder at me with a strange twinkle in her eye, “Melissa wants to see you in her office.”
“Her office??”
…
From a hidden corner atop a high file cabinet, unseen from the room, a small red light blinked.
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I honestly don’t know the source of the render I (clumsily) photoshopped onto his desk. It’s from some game. Anyone with more info hit me up and I’ll credit the artist. Edit: render for the image was done by Darkhound for his game “Holiday Island”. Thanks to reader @lastendlessnight for the lowdown and check out Darkhound’s DA and Patreon Also- I’m sorry if the formatting is totally screwed up. I’ll look into fixing it. -- source link
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