The Intern

Rating:
Total Chapters: 1

This is slightly different from my other fics, but I hope you enjoy the office smut. Light Sub/Dom issues, though nothing too kinky. Just an experiment I’d been thinking of and I hope you enjoy it! Sweet and spuffy.


Author’s Notes: I made a challenge for myself to write a one-shot with absolutely NO DIALOG. This was a lot harder than I imagined, but I’m pleased with the result and I hope you are, too! This will deal with very mild Sub/Dom themes, though it doesn’t ever go wild and crazy, which is weird for me, but again…CHALLENGE! This is all about trust and connection here, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, your reviews rock my little world! I may be doing a series of one-shots in this style, all different scenarios, different contexts, etc. I have said plenty!

And now the disclaimer: Hey, guess what? I don’t own Buffy, or Spike. I just used their names because they’re so pretty.


He was staring at her again.

Buffy didn’t know why it always startled her when he did, and even so, she purposely stuck the end of her pen in her mouth and twirled it, seemingly deep in thought. She heard the squeak of his chair and saw in the corner of her eye that he’d adjusted his position and was now staring just to the right of her at the power point presentation, where he should have been looking in the first place. She smiled.

Every Friday it was the same thing. A 10 a.m. staff meeting to go over company progress and chart out a ‘Fail Proof Attack Plan’ to get more clients. Buffy was only there to take notes, as per her boss’ instructions. Thirteen men sat around a long rectangular desk, her boss on one end and twelve associates lining the sides. He asked her to wear the pencil skirt today because he said it made him think of war. She didn’t get the connection, but she wore it anyway and he knew she would.

He never hinted at his intentions with her. He only stared. The first time he did it, Buffy spent fifteen minutes wiping her nose, positive that there was something hanging there. When he smirked at her and turned back to the monitor on his desk, she realized he was only admiring her. He looked at her as if she were a sculpture, or a rare flower, a sight reserved for his eyes only as no one had ever, ever looked at her that way before. And the weirdest part was that it never creeped her out, never made her feel dirty or vulnerable. He simply looked, studied, and observed her appreciatively. Because of this, she found that she was suddenly aware of every movement she made. She crossed her legs and shifted her skirt more often, trailed her fingers across her collarbone, chewed on her thumb, slowly sipped from her coffee mug, anything to make the experience more appealing for him. He noticed everything.

For the past two months, Buffy had been at Pratt Agencies, a very successful advertisement company owned and run by her very own boss, Mr. Spike Pratt. He was a good twelve years her senior, though he didn’t look a day over 25. Buffy herself was only 21, wanting to learn more about advertising and started an internship with P.A. as a glorified secretary. Mr. Pratt took an instant liking to her and told her she could start the next day as his previous secretary wasn’t worth his time any longer. After the first week, she learned from a few people in the office that Mr. Pratt went through secretaries as fast as he did his cigarettes, which he smoked at every available opportunity. He required a clean ashtray every two hours.

Buffy assumed that since she was only an intern and not getting paid that it was the sole reason she’d outlasted every secretary previously. She had a lot going for her: an eagerness to learn, a superb work ethic, and no friends to distract her socially. She’d become a regular fixture in his daily life. She was his errand girl, his assistant, his paper shredder, his practice run before making an important phone call, his receptionist, his personal coffee maker (two creams, six sugars, one shot of espresso), his dinner planner, his travel agent, his courier, and his piece of art to adore at his leisure.

She liked feeling useful, liked being needed and since Spike rarely asked anything unusual of her or anything outside of her capabilities, she never let him down. The second week of work, he asked her to sit in on their staff meetings to take notes. She didn’t find it to be an odd request; after all, secretaries did that sort of thing all the time and it was a great opportunity to learn how a multi billion dollar company was run and handled. She soon learned that her note taking was for his benefit, as he rarely paid attention. His eyes were on her. What was most remarkable about it was that his associates never seemed to notice that he so blatantly stared at his secretary. If they did, it was either a common occurrence with all his secretaries or they were too afraid of losing their jobs should they bring it to his attention. That same week, she started picking up his suits from the dry cleaners and hand delivered them to his estate.

He made her a key and instructed her to leave them on the chair in the foyer on her way to work. She never stepped further into his home, afraid that he might have some security camera around to spy on her. From what little she’d seen of the front of his house, she knew wealth was an understatement. She felt guilty for fantasizing about living in such extravagance every time she returned to her own apartment. She’d taken out a hefty loan after graduating from UCLA so that she could pay for her expenses while she interned. Financially, she was on an extremely tight budget, but positive she could handle it if it granted her a promising career from her efforts.

Week three, she had a new chair at her desk. It was a padded leather high-back swivel chair with lumbar support. When she asked him about it, he merely stated that he got tired of hearing her squeaking about in that piss-poor excuse of a desk chair and had it replaced so he could concentrate. She tried to thank him, but he waved her off dismissively and pretended to have an incoming phone call. She was his secretary, and knew for a fact there were no incoming calls, but she let it go and left his office to return to her desk. The next day, he asked her to come to his office to draft up a letter. She didn’t refuse him when he asked her to let her hair down. Perhaps it was the way he asked her, in mid-sentence, as if it was an after thought and continued with his letter. She didn’t miss his smile when she obeyed him.

The fourth week, he called her on her cell phone. She was on her way home from the gym, dressed in a sports bra and a pair of sweat pants and panicked when he asked her to pick up a very important package from the post office before it closed and deliver it to his house. When she told him her predicament, he chuckled and told her that she could just leave the parcel in the foyer. She was slightly disappointed that he wasn’t home, bad outfit or no. After a much needed shower from her workout, he phoned again and told her he loved her ‘sweat gear’ as he called it. Her theory of security cameras was confirmed.

That’s when things started to get really interesting.

The following day, he’d instructed her to sit in his office for an undetermined amount of time, claiming that he could focus much better when she was around and he could get more work done. It allowed her to observe him for the first time. He was incredibly handsome, that much she knew, but she’d never seen a person with such an expressive face, and he was only staring at a monitor. The lines on his forehead creased when he was deep in thought, his full lips twitched as he read as if he were restraining himself from speaking aloud, his cheekbones were highlighted with every tick of his jaw muscles when he crunched on hard candies that he hid in his desk drawer, and his blue eyes were ever changing in emotion. He was an exquisite study of human form from his white blond hair to his muscular hands. He wore the navy suit that day. It just happened to be her favorite of all his many expensive Armanis.

However nice it was to observe him, Buffy started to get bored just sitting there. She’d been there for two hours, sitting primly on the couch across from his desk, unsure of what he required of her. She wondered if he was testing her, seeing how long she could sit quietly. Her eagerness to please him constantly evaded her thoughts and at that moment, if he’d have asked her to bark like a dog, she had no doubt that she’d be acting the part of a cocker spaniel with gusto. There was something about taking orders from this man that made her feel wanted, somehow, even if the thought was silly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact mirror and a tube of lipstick. As soon as she’d colored her bottom lip, he loudly shut a folder on his desk. She froze; her lipstick inches away from her top lip. His eyes darted up to meet hers and he cocked an eyebrow, popping a hard candy into his mouth and he stood up and walked over to the couch, sucking away on the treat.

Wordlessly, he sat down beside her, lodged the candy in his cheek, and wiped the lipstick off her lip with his thumb. Her eyelids fluttered from the tender drag of his digit across her mouth and she could smell the sour apple scent on his breath as he leaned close to inspect her mouth. She jumped slightly when she felt his hand on hers, but relaxed when she realized he was only removing the lipstick. He twisted it down, placed the cap on it and handed it back to her. He cracked the hard candy with his teeth, chewed and swallowed, quietly observing her hair and outfit choice that day. It was the first day she’d worn the pencil skirt. She sat still, unsure of what to do.Then his hand was on the collar of her shirt and he pushed the top button through the hole, then the second button. His face was stoic, almost uninterested as he did this and Buffy shivered, unable to control the hitch in her breath as his fingers grazed her sternum before he retracted his hand. He excused her from his office after that.

The fifth week, Buffy noticed that her desk and chair had been moved into his office. She never mentioned the sudden change of scenery and neither did he. That same day, Spike asked her to sit on the edge of his desk while he typed out a document. As soon as her uncertainty started to vanish and she began to be comfortable on his desk, she felt his hand on her ankle. His eyes never left the monitor, though his hand gently caressed her calf. Never did she feel mistreated or think that he viewed her as something less than he. It was almost domestic the way he touched her as if they’d been married for years and he only wanted to assure her that he knew she was there; that she was important. There was something touching about the gesture and also something incredibly arousing. His large hand spanned the back of her calf, softly rubbing up and down while his thumb stroked her shin. His hand glided down her leg and slid the red patent leather heel off her foot, letting it drop to the floor. Spike’s eyes turned from the monitor then to her foot and he commented on her pink nail polish adoringly. After a few moments of him massaging the arch of her foot, he released it and then very casually ordered her to remove her blouse. When she didn’t immediately comply, he looked at her in the eyes. That was all the confirmation she needed and she willingly unbuttoned her top.

Once she’d slid the garment down her shoulders, he tilted his head and licked his bottom lip. Her back stiffened under his scrutiny. Then she heard the sound of a zipper and realized he’d pulled out his cock. He didn’t say a word. He just looked her directly in the eyes and started to stroke himself. Slowly. Languidly. No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t look away from his gaze. She could see him touching himself in her periphery, but she was paralyzed by the expressiveness of his eyes. Without laying a hand on her, he fucked her with his eyes. She felt every inch of him inside her, slowly dragging his cock out of her and sliding back in with the same deliberate pace he had with his hand, his fingers stroking her clit, his hands on her tits, his tongue in her mouth, his hips against hers, and his sweet breath on her neck.

Sitting on his desk in her bra and skirt with one shoe missing, she started panting. His breathing was ragged and he licked his lips. She moaned. His hand moved faster. She clenched her legs together. He came, and so did she.

He wiped his hand off with a Kleenex, tucked himself into his pants and then delicately placed her shoe back on her foot, trailing his hand up her calf. He stood then, ordered her to lift her hips and his hands quickly slid beneath her skirt and removed her panties. He tucked them in his pocket. Spike helped her into her blouse and buttoned her up, and then he sat down and started typing again. He left for New York that evening.

Spike was gone for four days on a business trip. He called on day two to ask what she was wearing. Satisfied with her reply, he ended the call.

Two weeks ago, he returned from New York and barely said two words to her when he entered his office. Something was wrong and she knew better than to ask him. He walked to her desk and dropped a file in front of her, asking her to fax the contents to his lawyer and mail the documents to an address he provided on a sticky note. His voice was softer that day, almost insecure, and when he turned to go back to his desk, she immediately carried out his request. Buffy opened the file and sent the first page. When it spat out on the other side of the fax machine and she sent the second page through, curiosity got the better of her and she realized she was sending divorce papers dated almost three months prior and signed by William Pratt on the day he ordered her to sit on his desk. Somehow, she knew he wanted her to see them. Each page cited the terms of the divorce, his ex wife, Drusilla Rayne, originally sued him for a cool 5 million in alimony, which she would likely never receive. His counter suit cited page after page of infidelity by the woman and the contract finally settled on an annual sum of 100 thousand, paid for the next ten years or until she remarried. Seeing numbers that large almost gave her a headache.

Finished with her task, she returned to her desk and continued her assignments for the day. Spike looked up at her when she entered, but never said a word. At 4 p.m., one hour before she was due to leave for the day, Spike called her to his desk. He twirled a finger in the air, instructing her to turn around. He stood behind her and ran his hands down her arms and back up again, slowly pressing his chest into her back. His mouth was next to her ear and she closed her eyes as his hand swept her hair away from her neck. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse and slipped his hand beneath the fabric, lightly touching her chest. She leaned back into him, sighing softly when his mouth pressed against her neck. He took her hands and linked them behind his head, then trailed his hands down her arms and cupped her breasts, rolling his thumbs over her nipples. She arched into his touch and whimpered when his hands moved down her stomach with flattened palms until he reached her hips, tugging her backward and into his erection.

Suddenly, he bent her forward at the middle and placed her hands on his desk. He lifted her skirt and bunched it at her waist and tugged her panties down to mid thigh, exposing her ass. Spike’s hand trailed across each round globe and then he sat down in his chair and finished checking his emails. She stayed perfectly still, though her legs were cramping and her inner thighs were slick with her juices. At one point, he reached over her to grab a pen and he swatted her on the behind before he returned to his computer. She bit her lip in wait for another.

At five o’clock, he continued to work beside her. Spike placed his hand on her calf and she struggled to remain standing, though she was determined to prove her submission and stayed perfectly still. Thirty minutes later, he spanked her again. Hard.

At six o’clock, he slowly inserted a long finger inside of her. She came instantly.

Last week, he made her phone clients while she was bent over her desk, lying on her stomach. He was on his knees behind her, pulling her panties off with his teeth. If her voice wavered, he bit her thighs. If she managed to complete a phone call without moaning, he rewarded her with one long lick to her slit. This lasted for two hours and Spike finally took the phone out of her hand and hung it up mid-call. As soon as he did, he buried his face in her pussy, sucked her clit into his mouth and fingered her until she screamed. He yanked her panties away from her feet, wiped her clean with them and stuffed them into his back pocket.

The next day, she had a vase filled with tiger lilies on her desk. They were her favorite. The card attached read, ‘Thank you’. She had a feeling those two words meant more than just gratitude for her submission, though she wasn’t going to guess.

Today, he stared at her during the staff meeting and she rolled a pen in her mouth. He asked her to wear the pencil skirt today because he said it made him think of war.  She didn’t get the connection but she wore it anyway and he knew that she would.

Once the meeting was over, they walked silently to their office. Buffy sat at her desk and checked her email. There was only one, and it was from him. He wanted to take her to dinner and would she be interested in staying the weekend with him? If not, she was not to respond to the email and ignore it. She replied and clicked send, then returned to her assignments.

Spike opened his email inbox and smiled.

The End

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