What do I need? What do I need in order to get this done?
That’s always the question. Once I have all the necessary items, I should be able to power through this and just get it done. The problem is, I never know what I need. The screen before me displays a list of questions. Each one a roadblock. A complete, ass-grinding halt to any semblance of progress. At each one, I find I need to do more research before I even know how to answer. On my desk is a small stack of paperwork—which I thought contained all the info I would need to complete this. To the contrary, about a dozen browser tabs and half that in downloaded documents still haven’t filled the gaps in my knowledge and records.
How long have I been sitting here?
I take a small break to watch some dumb YouTube video. Of course, that leads to watching another. Damn. And now we know why I can’t do this quickly. I don’t care. It’s not interesting. Somehow worst of all, the deadline is a few months away. I can’t even use the pressure of a nearing deadline to force myself to just get this out of the way.
So again, what do I need? Do I need something? Is there something to make me finish this?
“Hi honey,” a familiar voice catches my attention. “What’cha doing?”
I peel my eyes away from the screen. Somehow they remain reluctant while the rest of me is eager to turn. Altogether, I face the beautiful woman standing in the doorway. A smile is upon my face, but I don’t recall exactly when it changed from the frown it was before. nor do I recall consciously smiling. It just tends to happen when she’s around. I do, however, have to actively continue smiling while I utter my short reply. “Taxes.”
Her smile shadows a bit, and she comes over to look. “How long have you been at this?”
I sigh. We both stare at the screen in silence. A moment of respite. My smile. Gone. “All day. This is doing my head in.”
“How very mature of you. “ I catch the playful sarcasm in her tone. “Is there anything more grown-up than doing taxes?”
“Dying.” I deadpan. “But of these two, I know which I’d prefer.” A grin pricks at the corner of my mouth. I’m sure she can sense it even if it’s not visible to her. I sense her smiling back, even as I continue to stare at the screen.
“You could use a break.”
I could; I ponder how to answer.
But suddenly, fingers alight upon my shoulder. They stroke my neck, then gravity pulls them down my arm, stopping at my bicep. She leans in from the other side. Close. Right up against my ear. “What if you had a little incentive?” She’s right behind me. Soft hair falls down, surrounds my vision, blurs my peripheral. Such a sweet smell to it. I feel mass. A presence behind me. Closer; pressing against me now. Her hand pulls mine up to inspect. Her breast against the back of my head. A cushion like no other. My fingers, like a police dog, searching, sniffing wherever they are lead. “Does this help? Or is it too distracting?”
“Can it be a bit of both?”
A have spoken wrong. My words were chosen poorly. I see that now that she has pulled away. Vanished, gone.
But I hear her; she soon returns.
My world spins as she rotates my chair to face her. Before I can respond, she’s undone the front of my pants; before I can speak, she commands. “Get up.”
My pants are gone in a moment. My boxers quickly follow. Before I can think, she stops me. Her finger on the tip just like she would on my nose. “Don’t get excited. It’s not that time yet.” She stands. Hands guide my shoulders, moving me across the room and out the door. Down the hall. Bedroom. I am laid down. My arms are put at my sides. I’m not allowed to move. I don’t know what she’s doing, but she has all of my attention.
She looks down at it—my attention—and smiles, shaking her head. “I told you not to get excited.”
I smile; I can’t help it. Neither the smile nor the excitement. She starts unbuttoning her blouse and—how am not supposed to get excited at that!?
There’s a split second when I think something doesn’t look right. But before I can discern, she stops—only a few buttons down. Reaching in, she pulls out the cause of the odd shape below her breast. I know what it is right away. Of course, she knows I know, and she’s fast about her work. I barely have time to even think the word in my head. Unfolding the square shape like a crinkle of lightning, she drops it, spreads my legs, and well, I basically give up at this point. I’m made to lift my rear while she slides a large, crinkling, diaper underneath. As I lower upon it, she’s already pulling the front between my legs. My excitement is covered, buried beneath the billowing mass of absorbency. Rip, crinkle; rip, crinkle; rip, crinkle; rip, crinkle. The tapes are secure and she smiles at her work.
I’m lead back to my desk. One wouldn’t think someone like her could even move me like she does. One would be wrong, of course, because she does. I’m back in my chair. “Stay,” she warns. I don’t budge, not even to look at the screen or to resume work. But she returns soon enough. “Here, this should help.” She holds a bottle to my lips. Or rather, its nipple. Yes, it’s a baby bottle full of white liquid. I begin to suck. Milk? Yes, but something tastes a little off. I’m sure she’s ‘spiced’ it up a little. I don’t taste any Kahlua, and the liquid is pure white. I’m pretty sure this milk is a little on the Russian side. It’s a small bottle, and the additive isn’t strong. I drink the whole thing. She leaves again; and again she returns.
Another drink, this time in a large plastic cup with a straw. She places it on the desk. Rolls me forward. Her hands hold mine to the chair’s arms. “Drink.”
I lean forward, taking the straw in my mouth. This drink tastes much like the one before.
“Good.” Her voice smiles at me and she lets go my hands. “That one is to help you relax a little. Don’t worry, it’s not strong enough to prevent you from working.” She pauses. “But we’ll go over everything when you’re done, just in case.” Another pause. “So, are you comfortable yet?”
I straighten in my seat. “Yes, very.”
“Good.” She draws in close from behind. Again I feel the soft of her breast against my head. “Now don’t forget, there’s also a reward waiting for you when you’re done.” I hear a click; I feel the cold of steel around my wrist. First one, then the other, both before she speaks again. “You’re all set. There’s no more reason for you to get up or move. Not until you’re done at least.”
I look up at her in surprise. She only smiles down at me. I do wonder how she thinks this will help. My excitement hasn’t gone anywhere; I’m completely distracted. But then, I worry. Her eyes tell me she knows this. Again, I wonder how she thinks this will help.
More clicks sound off as my feet are likewise fastened to the feet of the chair. I can’t move. “You can reach the keyboard, and you can reach your drink. Don’t worry about bathroom breaks, you’re wearing yours.” She leans in close, kissing me on the cheek. “But if I were you, I’d hurry up an get to work. I’m not letting you out until you’re done.”
I look at her, a question in my eyes.
“That wasn’t just milk in that bottle, you know. There wasn’t any vodka either. Let’s just say that I put in a little something extra to help move things along. Like I said; if I were you, I’d get to work. Unless you really want to sit in your own mess for… well, however long it takes you to finish up those taxes. I’ll be honest. I don’t know how long it’ll take for that stuff to work. But I don’t think it’s very long.”
My eyes widen. She wouldn’t.
“Oh, but I would.” She reaches down and pats the front of my diaper.Then her fingers travel to my lips. “And don’t even think about protesting, or I’ll take your speaking privileges too.” She leaves the room without another word. Well, I figured it out. I know what I needed. My stomach gurgles. Incentive.
I certainly have enough of that now.