Lower your eyes and allow him to touch your cheek

Carly Monroe had never been someone who allowed herself to be taken advantage of, and her first instinct was to spit right in Mr. O'Connell's eye and call him a bastard.  And she might have done just that, ten years ago.

Oh, but hadn't her adult life just taken the most pleasure in beating down her once-indomitable spirit?  Doing everything in its power to break her, to test her limits?  Ten years ago it was just her, and she would have been happy to tell O'Connell to shove this job up his ass and she would have moved on to something else.  Whatever.

But she was no longer that girl.  Having a family had stilled her tongue, changed her priorities, and this crummy job was barely able to provide babysitter and rent money; could she afford to take the chance of not being able to immediately regain employment during these rough times when there were so many people out of work?  She was sure there were many folks who would be happy to have her crappy job.

Carly decided she dared not chance it, and stifled a shudder as O'Connell's grubby finger traced a line of sweat from her ear to her shirt collar.  She felt him press in closer to her back, throwing off an aura of heat and sweat and evil which encompassed her and made her stomach clench.  She set her jaw and flared her nostrils and was, by some miracle, able to keep from vomiting.

The greasy fat man with the permanent sweat stains on his shirts put his mouth to Carly's ear.  She imagined his hot and fetid breath seeping through a mouthful of black teeth as he spoke, the weight and meaning of his words perhaps even more disgusting than his unwelcome touch upon her neck, "I could even... maybe... put in a good word for you and get you a raise."

He ground his hips into the small of her back and she winced as one of his suspender buckles dug into her skin through her shirt.  She held her breath and willed the tears to go away as he added, "You know, if you deserve it."

The End

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