Three Pink Boxes, Part 1

The morning Melinda found a pink box on her doorstep, inscribed with the name of a lingerie store, a silky black ribbon tied round the center, she guessed it was a gift from Mr. Carr.  When she was typing at her desk, he’d stand behind her, his stare so powerful she felt it beneath her clothes.  But Jesus, he was her boss!  Plus he was freshly divorced from a blonde with the eyes and manners of a saint.  Sure, when Melinda had done well, she felt excited by his pleasure, and yes, there were times when she longed for him to grab her, slam her against the filing cabinet and rip off her blouse¦but you didn’t have sex with your boss “ it just wasn’t right.  The very thought shamed her.

“What piece of shit thinks your underwear’s his business? said her housemate Wendy, as Melinda placed the box on the worktop.  Towel-drying her hair, Wendy smelled of warm baths.  “Well, open it!  Let’s see the damage.

“I think it’s from Mr. Carr, said Melinda, lifting off the lid.

“Your boss? gasped Wendy.  “Now that’s deranged.

Melinda paused staring down at the lingerie “ a classic black camisole trimmed with Parisian lace, nestled in creamy tissue.  With matching briefs in the same exquisite silk, it was the kind of underwear she’d always longed to own.  “It’s actually my size, she said, checking the label.

“The sleaze.  You should bloody well report him.

Melinda bit her lip.  She secretly had a crush on her boss, which was strange because all he ever did was tell her off.  And why the heck, when he was angry, did she like it so much that it even turned her on?

“But sod it, said Wendy.  “Play innocent with him.  That way, you can keep it.  It could have come from anyone!

Melinda raised the camisole, amazed at its lightness.  It was different to the white lycra she usually wore.  She’d never owned anything so fine, so sheer.  As she admired it, she remembered how much she loved lingerie.  It made her feel¦excited.  Not to mention the idea that Mr. Carr had picked this out from a high-class, London boutique, running it through his sturdy hands, picturing her in it.  “I suppose there’s no harm, she said, carrying the box to her bedroom, and by the time she’d put it on, it was too late to change her mind.  She felt exquisite with that silk against her skin, brushing her breasts, clinging to her sex; and when she’d put her skirt and blouse over the top, and had stepped into her stilettos, there was no going back.

“What’s it like? asked Wendy, as Melinda emerged from her room.

Melinda flushed, gave a shrug, and strode from the house.


Mr. Carr seemed so angry that day that Melinda decided the lingerie wasn’t from him.  Twice, he returned a contract saying she hadn’t laid it out right, when she’d done exactly as he’d said.  Alone at reception, he leaned across her, his hands on the desk, his blue eyes ferocious.  “Why do you think we pay you? he asked, leaning in closer.  “I gave you the instructions.  Now follow them, Miss Davenport.

Aroused, Melinda crossed her legs and wriggled in her seat, aware of the slippery feel of the silk against her slit.  Her boss felt so close, so utterly demanding.  At forty, he was ten years older than her “ which always made her long to do what he asked, in spite of the fact she so often got things wrong.  Christ, how would he tell her off this time?  Would he grab her shoulders?  Shout right into her face?  Or maybe wrench apart her knees and force himself on her?  At this last idea, she felt her breathing quicken, felt his glare travel down her body¦  Melinda had only ever been with super-shy boys “ like Tony who closed the blinds and checked the locks before they screwed, and Derek who wore his shirts buttoned to the throat.

“I’ll correct them, Mr. Carr, she said.  “It won’t take me a sec.

“Good, he said.  “We want to look like lawyers, not monkeys.  He reached his fingers towards her silk blouse, as if about to unbutton it, then leaned over and whispered, “Are you wearing them, Melinda?

She touched her hair and said nothing, expecting him to snap.

He cleared his throat. “I’m s-sorry.  I should go.  With that, he turned from her and Melinda felt terrible.  She’d never heard him sound so vulnerable before.  To try and make up for it, she reprinted the contract, checking every word.


Throughout the day, Melinda noticed the lingerie was having an effect.  When she crossed her legs, she felt the slither of silk, and her breasts, which were usually restricted by a bra, felt live and sensitive beneath the camisole.  When she entered Mr. Carr’s office to say she was going to lunch, she thought she might die if he didn’t tell her off.  Even the atmosphere made her breathless: the bookshelves lining the walls, the dark colored legal tomes, the faint smell of coffee, his broad oak desk¦  Please, she thought, as he set down his pen.  Say I’m not to go.  She’d have done anything just to wait there in his office.  How strange!  Surely she shouldn’t actually want to be berated “ you should aim to please people, right?  Not get them all upset.  Resolved, she told him, “I won’t be long.

Mr. Carr looked up through sad, worn eyes.  “Yes, lunch, he said.  “Of course.  Take an hour if you like.

Sitting on her usual park bench with a sandwich, Melinda tried to work through her confusion.  In truth, she rather liked it when Mr. Carr was barking orders, towering over her, telling her what to do; but today, she’d seen his softer side.  The thought made her drop by the deli on her way home to buy some wafer-thin chocolate “ the kind that costs an arm and a leg.  This she delivered with his three o’clock coffee, and a folder of invoices she’d printed.  She served the dark chocolate on a small, white saucer, and he blinked at it, strangely, without looking up from his desk.  “What’s this?  He sounded curious, as he prodded the chocolate with his finger.  “Melinda, this is luxurious.  Are you sure you want to share it?

“It’s Venezuelan, sir.  The best.  And it’s all for you.  Trying to stay bold, she took a deep breath and added, “Don’t they say chocolate’s the food of love?

He gave her the beginnings of a smile.

She perched on the edge of his desk, her knees close to his.  She could feel the lingerie against her flesh, tingling as if alive.  “Mr. Carr, she said, softly.  “I’m wearing your gift.  I’ve never had anything so beautiful.

His eyes flashed.  “You’re wearing it?

She nodded.

“Oh, he said, on a breath, as if he’d finally shed a weight.  He stared down her body.  “Melinda, I know it’s wrong, but all I can think of is you.  If you guessed¦how I need¦or¦the things I want to¦  He loosened his tie, watching her chest, her mouth.  If he’d just reach inside her blouse, force his lips onto hers “ push her back onto the desk and hitch up her skirt before filling her roughly, and telling her she was his.  Oh Christ, the thought of his cock pressing into her, while she was still wearing the silky briefs!  The thought of him filling her, over and over, her body slamming with the force of every thrust, and the glossy underwear, so delicate, so fine, against that bone-hard cock of his¦

She reached to undo the top button of her blouse, and he rose to his feet, grabbing her wrist.  “This isn’t right, he gasped.  “We shouldn’t¦  But he still pulled her towards him, opening his mouth on hers.  Before she knew it, his hand was inside her skirt, sliding up her thigh, and she felt his fingertips touching her through the silk, making her twice as slippery, seeking out her clit.  She had to take hold of the desk to steady herself, and again, he was kissing and touching her, his mouth so perfectly wild.  They sank together seamlessly, his hands running over her breasts.  She’d never been touched intuitively like this “ he seemed to understand her wants as clearly as his own.

There was the sound of knocking.  The two of them sprang apart, Melinda straightening her blouse, Mr. Carr neatening his brown-grey hair.  He cleared his throat, gesturing for Melinda to sit in front of his desk.  “Come in, he called, and in walked Tamara from Accounts.  Through her cat-like glasses, she inspected Mr. Carr, then glanced down at Melinda.  “Um¦sir, I’ve got those figures.  She passed him the files.

For Melinda, the magical confidence she’d felt had long gone.  Her face was burning as she mumbled her excuses and left without the slightest goodbye.

To be continued…

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