Part 11: Man Servant
[Mid Show Interlude]
The window blinds are drawn. The room is lit from the overhead array of Peyleton White Glass Tech lighting, which augments the voltage track system perfectly. The walls are white and austere, except for one painting, 32 x 48, hung plumb, of a white background intersected perfectly down the middle by a five inch wide ribbon of pure white. The wooden floor is covered by a thirty year old Heriz Persian rug, in beige. There are no plants, no chairs, except for the two Global Ergonomic High-Back Multi-Tilter Managers Chairs, with the Air Grid backs and Metal Mesh seats, placed at the two desks. The desks are Tampa Glass, 3/4 of an inch thick frosted glass top with Dark Cherry wood frames, and both have Electronic Control Panels for the computers.
Ms. Hemple’s desk sits at a 45 degree angle to the far left, near the door to the office, and it is empty. All of her items, the few she squirreled away in her drawers, only taking them out when she knew HE was gone for the day, were packed in the rolling luggage she brought with her to the office: her Julie Bell and Yamato Fantasy Figure collection, which she did not trust to keep at home, but reveled in when she was alone in the office.
Ms. Hemple is sitting at Winston’s desk, in Winston’s chair, with her left leg in her FRYE Deena Harness Tall Knee-High Boots propped up on the 3/4 inch frosted glass top, the right boot (and leg) were spread out in an open male sitting position. Otherwise, she is naked. She is not alone.
A lone husky male hand, hairy knuckled, right hand, four fingers only showing, is gripping the edge of the aforementioned desk. If you look closely enough, you can see the tension exerted by the grip and the pulsing of the raised blood vessels, almost hidden by the growth of his hide’s fur.
Ms. Hemple, or as we should now know her name as Jennifer Rose Hemple, lets out a couple of “gasps” and “mmmsss” and “oh yeahs” as she stares at the computer screen. Her right hand jiggles the mouse and points, clicks, and aims, mostly on purpose, and a few times from some unexpected spasms.
This click, though, she stops, and smiles a smile the Cheshire Cat would admire. It is not a constant smile, but one of true extreme cruel pleasure.
She leans forward, her left breast smearing the frosting.
Male Hand: mljll;poohhall;
Jennifer: Stop that. I found something. STOP IT NOW!
Male Hand: (silent)
Jennifer: Oh, I’ve got you now, Mr. Wynne. You are so screwed. HEY..stop tha…mm.. oh.. oh…damn..
JRH reclines, and her eyes roll back into her eyelids.