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“Okay. Well, then, let’s act it out. Pam, you will be Girl A and Girl B will be… uh, okay! We’ll use the doll. Pam?”
Michael wields that plastic abomination with an earnest look that sees no issue with this, with any of it. At this point, she should know better—Michael hasn’t changed one bit since the first day she strolled in here for an interview and he glued those same wide eyes to her ass, as shameless as he is completely oblivious.
“Michael…” She shakes her head, barely able to rustle up any disbelief. How can she? He’s done much worse, and that’s only considering the past week. It’s just Michael. Just harmless, easily titillated Michael.
“Okay! Okay,” he amends, tossing the doll to the side. He lifts his palms in defeat, like she’s brandishing a gun at him, and he claps them together. “Just you. Come on, Pam, it’ll be like improv. C’mon.”
Made amiable by the promise of her mother’s visit, she gives in. The mood is too good to break, and what harm can it do, anyway? It’s only Michael. Jim beams at her from his seat, tickled by her bravery and willingness to submit to Michael’s poorly veiled antics. His smile fills her with light, straightens her spine as pride washes over her, and a giggle bubbles up through her lips as she meets her boss and turns to face him.
“Does this make you Girl B?” Jim sets his sights on Michael, feigning a serious interest in his response with his chin in the cradle of his palm, eyes narrowed. “And if so, does that give the doll your job? Should Toby talk to her about sleeping on the clock? That’s highly unprofessional and, to be frank, very distracting.”
“Because she’s naked.”
Without taking his eyes off Michael, Jim points behind him toward the annex. “Thanks Kev. Always on point.”
“I got you, Jim.”
“Oh, very funny. Real funny to make jokes during a sexual harassment… seminar. Meeting.”
“Presentation,” Pam offers quietly.
“A presentation on the review of the policy. Okay. So, Pam is—well, Pam works at an office. Let’s call it… Dunder – it’s uh, Munder… Difflin. She’s a receptionist at Munder Difflin, and I’m her boss. So, what kinds of things would be inappropriate to say or do to Pam?”
“Tell her that her boobs look fantastic in that shirt. Not as good as that cardigan, though—you know the one,” Kevin blurts, nodding knowingly at Michael. Michael returns the nod with an enthusiasm that makes Pam roll her eyes, hardly shocked at their crudeness.
“I think we all know which cardigan. Good! Good, what else?”
Nervous suggestions pepper the air—Ryan praising her ass, to Kelly’s displeasure (and begrudging agreement); Kevin tossing his hat into the ring once again to suggest pulling her blouse off; various incarnations of examples involving Michael abusing his power, to which he giggles and agrees through, casting eyes on Pam’s figure so noticeably that Jim starts feeling a sense of dread. It creeps through his body like a plague, like a blight, like they’re all on the brink of crossing a line into irreversible territory.
“These are all good examples of uh, of sexually harassing Pam. But… this is, you know, a demonstration of sorts, and we should probably have some demonstrating. Right? So, what if I just felt Pam up? That’s another example of sexual harassment in the workplace.”
Michael’s hand lands unceremoniously on her breast in a way that reminds her of junior high – a big, fumbling paw that has no real idea what it’s doing, squeezing too roughly, not appreciating the subject matter whatsoever and only trying to claim a kill. The shock of it makes her gasp, joined by an echoing chorus of them as her coworkers look on in horror and confusion. Is this really happening? Michael’s mouth is still moving as if anyone needs any further interpretation of how this act goes, but his words and the very sound of his voice fall on deaf ears; the weight of his hand on her breast is suffocating at best, the way he squeezes her like her body is a novelty toy instead of a fine-tuned instrument of pleasure makes her laugh.
With the laugh comes a change – she sees it in everyone, rippling over their features, a sense of uncertainty at her reaction, a few nervous smiles. Jim is on the edge of his seat, eyes wide and brows furrowed with unmistakable panic, anger welling in the back of his eyes like tears, and Pam has to look away. Jim can always see through her; she doesn’t want him to see this. He might sense the spark blooming in her belly, a kind of taboo heat that Roy never had the want or will to stoke inside her, content to rut into her for ten minutes without so much as a mercy clit-rub. This is the closest she’s been to foreplay in years. Had Michael been any other man, she’d still have to fight the intrinsic urge to lean into his touch and encourage him with the lift of a shoulder, perking her chest up as if an offering.
Michael slows his ridiculous rambling for a beat as he realizes her intent. He continues speaking and watches her, notes the creeping flush coloring her throat and the coy sparkle in her eye. He may not be a man of much action, but even Michael Scott recognizes arousal when he sees it, when he can practically smell it coming off of her in waves. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up, so he seizes it, testing the weight of her breast in his hand, pressing him palm into it, running his thumb over the edge of her bra through her blouse and dipping to trace over her nipple.
“Michael, stop it,” Jim finally says, voice firm above the murmurs around them. He searches Pam’s face for a sign of solidarity, for a sign of anything, but she stays silent. She barely looks bothered, instead focusing on Michael’s tie and grinding the point of her Keds into the carpet, hands wringing themselves, and Jim recognizes it like a familiar flavor on the tongue: shame. There’s a knot in his chest that won’t allow his lungs to fill all the way up, leaving him grasping for a breath that won’t come. “Pam? Right? This is… I mean, right?”
“Now, Jim—hey—she’s, she’s an adult woman and she can consent to this. To volunteering. For the uh… Pam?”
“The presentation,” she says meekly, and still she can’t meet Jim’s eye. That delicate blush paints her cheeks with high color and he swallows hard against the shame of it all. Somewhere behind him, Phyllis and Stanley snicker knowingly to each other and he wants to turn around and punch the both of them.
“This is not a presentation, Michael.”
Angela sidles up beside Jim with her arms crossed under her chest, lips pursed with disapproval. “He’s right. This is disgusting.” She looks pointedly at Dwight and lifts an eyebrow. “This is inappropriate and we should be working—I’m already behind.”
Dwight licks his lips, looking between Michael’s display and Angela’s glare, as if juggling all possible outcomes before attempting to throw his two cents in. There isn’t a logical answer for this one. He lifts a hand as if defeated, tone low and easy like he’s charming a creature from the wood.
“I’m Michael’s right-hand man. I support Michael and… support… the pursuit of knowledge. Sexual harassment is an important issue in the workplace, Mo—Angela. I’m dedicated to nothing more than my professional duty.” He shrugs sheepishly and turns back to Michael, ever the apt pupil to his superior.
Angela rolls her eyes with a harsh, clipped little sigh and nudges Jim’s arm politely before turning on her heel. “No, thank you. I’ll be taking an extended lunch with anyone else that won’t say for this—this filth. Since we’re all breaking rules today, I’ll take my lunch on the clock. Goodbye.”
Oscar follows her out, along with an aloof Creed. Angela turns for a moment to regard Jim with her insufferable stare and he reluctantly shakes his head, unwilling to leave Pam to do this by herself—whatever ‘this’ is. She turns and marches out with two in tow and by the time Jim swivels back to Michael and Pam, both her breasts are in his greedy palms, and Michael looks as though he’s discovered the secret to nirvana. It boils his blood that Michael is not only touching what he can’t have himself, but he’s getting away with it. His hands, cupping her breasts, rolling them around in his fingers, pressing them together and kneading them the way he’s dreamed of doing himself for years.
“…So, so—this isn’t the only form of sexual harassment. Right? Dwight? A little help?”
Pam turns, set on protesting as soon as Dwight rises from his seat. He favors her with a wry grin and comes up behind her, stooping just slightly to run his hand up the side of her thigh and around her hip, stroking the pert curve of her ass before squeezing. The edges of his fingers brush lower, tracing the edge of her panties through the fabric until he’s nudging at one swollen, soft lip of her cunt. He leans forward to scoff and run his nose along the line of her throat, lifting a lock of her curly tresses to his face. She whips around in the first true show of discomfort and he smirks.
“You know, Pam, I never considered you a suitable mate before—but now, I’m not so sure… round, firm buttocks. Ripe scent. You’ve always been there for the plucking, haven’t you? All this time.”
Michael curls his lip at his inferior. “God, Dwight, she’s not a piece of meat.”
“Isn’t she? Aren’t they all?” Dwight, like Michael before him, helps himself to two handfuls. “Anyway, she likes it.”
“Shut up.” It’s the only thing Jim can manage through the aching constriction of his throat, choked by the lump throbbing there above his Adam’s apple. There’s so much more he wants to say, so much more he wants to do, but the sight of Dwight sniffing her hair has reduced him to burning in his own jealous, blinding inferno, too astonished to do much but gape at them and drum up the will to do something.
Dwight reaches down to trace his way back up her thighs, inching her skirt slowly up until it’s rucked up around her ass, twin curves of generous cheek showing underneath the bunching of fabric and lace edging. He trails a finger along the gusset with his eyes locked on Jim, on his obvious pain, and his fingertip comes back shiny. Even Michael looks on incredulously, hands still working her tits as though on some kind of perverse autopilot.
“She likes it,” he repeats, tone firmer than Jim is used to. “Flushed skin, hot to touch… hot everywhere. Dilated pupils. Dripping wet panties—pretty rudimentary, Jim.”
“Is this some kind of, you know, free-for-all? Because…” Kevin trails off in the middle of the tension, gesturing loosely at Pam and garnering the attention of several of the staff. Phyllis playfully nudges Stanley and he rolls his eyes, muttering two words as he turns dutifully back to his puzzle: too small.
“Kevin, she’s not a buffet, okay? She’s a human being. But—yes, okay, in the name of… sexual harassment awareness, she is technically a free-for-all.”
As a few of her own friends and acquaintances meander up to grope her, Dwight pulls her panties to the side and presses his fingers into her. He hilts them to the knuckle until her perfect ass is seated in his palm and he rocks them forward, brushing that sensitive swell of flesh that electrifies her with sweet little sparks, hips bucking against it as she rides them out.
“God, Pam, you’re really itchin’ for it, huh?” Dwight is laughing, scooting a little to the side so that Kevin and Toby can take a closer look. The farmer kicks her feet apart and Kevin takes the honor of pulling her panties to the side enough to grace them all with a view, the four of them combining their efforts to arch her spine and bend her forward. Her breasts push into Michael’s hands and Toby’s there, in a combined effort with Michael that suspends their hatred for each other into the void, forgotten in the face of Pam’s increasingly pliant body. Toby’s hands are quick, fingers nimble as they fly down the buttons of her blouse and they pull it over her shoulders together. Just enough to see the swells of her tits, heaving against her bra until Toby frees one and leans to take a pink, stiffening nipple between his lips and worry at it with his teeth, his tongue, noisy licks and sucks that draw the first real moan out of Pam.
Again, Dwight’s voice cuts through the mist, low and teasing. “Does Roy even touch you? A real man takes care of his things. It’s a shame—such a well-oiled machine, going to waste.”
Someone touches her clit. Dwight’s fingers are still buried inside of her, wriggling relentlessly against her G-spot in an attempt to drive her mad, muscles taut and winding steadily towards climax, and now she has a whole new level of pleasure to contend with. With Toby’s help, Michael has her breasts pulled free from her bra, still hooked around her ribs and pushed down to accommodate their greedy hands, Toby’s wet, warm mouth.
Kevin seems content to watch. He strokes her thighs, but mostly studies Dwight’s ministrations and only reaches up to pull her panties about and spread her cunt lips, watching her rock down against them. Pam sneaks a look at Jim and finds him infuriated, big hands folded tellingly over his lap. She thinks of Jim, of his thick fingers and soft mouth, of his touch instead of these men. In her giddy excitement, drunk off the firework-bursts of heat in her cunt and the force with which these men manhandle her, Jim’s discomfort is like some muffled alarm. It rings off in the distance like a ship on the horizon, miles and miles away from the strange place she finds herself in. The eyes of her coworkers titillate her almost as much. They look rapt, speechless. Their faces reflect the very same sense of unreality that blankets the office, like a safety net, and it brings a strange sense of comfort, the same comfort that comes from taking the blame as part of a group, or perhaps carrying a heavy secret with one. Everyone’s silence marks their complicity. Pam allows these hands and allows Jim’s pain in her own selfish pursuit of something, of anything, whatever might stir the thing inside of her that’s screaming for attention.
“If she wants to be bred so badly, we should just bend her over and be done with it,” Dwight continues feverishly, casting furtive glances about his cohorts. He shrugs as if noncommittal. “Unless, of course, we want to waste time playing doctor and get absolutely nowhere.”
“I’m—I’m getting somewhere,” Pam interjects, voice coming out high like a whine. She stutters her words and the joint laughter from the men feels warm, it feels dirty and encouraging and bad, and she spasms hard enough on all of the fingers between her thighs that she considers begging.
“That’s the ultimate form of uh, sexual harassment, right? Sex in the – in the office? So, I guess I should… I mean… and since I’m the boss and all –”
Dwight pulls his fingers from the snug confines of Pam’s body and hums, reaching wordlessly for his own belt buckle. Pam responds to his nudging and adjusting, bending for him when he braces her against the edge of the receptionist desk and yanks her hips back. He delivers a hard smack to her ass, the edge of his hand brushing the sensitive swell of her cunt on contact. The sting of it coaxes a moan from her constricted throat. Every muscle in her body trembles with tautness, with the delicious urge to clench and release, spiraling her into a heady mix of humiliation and pleasure. Doesn’t she deserve a little pleasure? And at the very least, doesn’t she deserve to be punished for enjoying this so much? She leans back into Dwight’s soothing hand just as he rears it back again, eyes gleaming at Michael with a smug sense of triumph.
“This isn’t a job for a regional manager. This is pure, dumb, animal lust, Michael—”
“Stop saying things like that, Dwight.” Jim’s voice cracks with the strain of his suffering. In Hell, you are oblivious to the suffering of others; Jim wonders if this isn't Hell, embroiled in his own misery, weighted down by the throbbing lump in his throat and the traitorous ache in his briefs, his wayward eyes that can’t help looking at Pam, opened up and begging for it, that visibly slick, pink place between her thighs. He should have seen her this way himself. He should have been able to unwrap her like a gift, to worship her, and he’s caught between his own aching loss and the clear pleasure Pam takes in being treated this way by the hands of her peers. He stops short of begging the other man to back down, too proud to give in and play Dwight’s game.
“Is poor Jim gunna cry?” Dwight rains a series of slaps down on Pam’s ass, shifting his aim so that the blossoming welts overlap each other in lattices of hot, prickling pain, throbbing along with her heartbeat as well as her neglected clit. “It’s simple biology, Jim. There’s a vocabulary word for you. And, hey—you know what else starts with a ‘b’? Beta. That’s you. Allow me to show you how an alpha takes his bitch.”
The second Dwight reveals his cock, there’s a hush over the disjointed giggling and murmuring, all the whispers coming to a stark halt, and he regards the room with a quiet dignity. The sudden silence is eerie, and it only takes the fat, swollen tip of his cock nudging between her lips to signal why. He skims over her clit, teasing her there until she’s making those pathetic, soft noises he likes, kittenish, like everything about her. He takes in the way she trembles and the way she pushes her shapely ass back into him, encouraging him to do what comes naturally. He sinks into her inch by torturous inch and there’s a collective sigh at the sight. He pauses, stealing a moment to lean back and admire the way he shines with her slick.
“This is going to be quick and efficient – your mother’s coming, after all. I’ll have you bred and satisfied in minutes.”
“I’m on birth control.”
Dwight clucks his tongue and sinks his fingers into the soft, generous flesh of Pam’s hips, nearly hard enough to bruise. “That’s a shame.”
If there are punches to be pulled, Dwight isn’t interested in them. He buries himself to the hilt in one mean jab of the hips before working into a hard, fast rhythm, flesh slapping flesh as he pounds her and her fingers scrabble for purchase against the smooth edges of the receptionist desk.
“Jesus, Dwight, don’t – don’t break her,” Michael mumbles. Any disappointment he may feel at being denied is masked by the look on his face. It’s the same one on everyone’s face, mouths agape and eyes wide, unsure if this is really happening in front of them. It’s like peeling back the veil and seeing something from another world, something so surreal and inconceivable that there’s nothing you can do but watch. Not one to shy away from the unusual, Michael hurries his own slacks open and curses under his breath, taking his dick in hand and turning her face by the jaw so he can see it, so she can watch him, and Pam is horrified that disgust is only her second strongest emotion. Dwight roars with laughter and high-fives Michael in a tacky show of camaraderie, Pam stretched between them like so much flesh on the spitroast.
“She likes it. Isn’t that right, Pam?”
Pam gives a miserable moan that wavers with the tug and thrust of her body, shaking her frame and taking her breath away. The sounds of her whining should be enough, the way she parts her lips on reflex as Michael inches his dick closer to her, dripping wet in his excitement, but she glances behind her shoulder all the same with her cheeks burning and faces the crowd, doing her best to face Dwight.
“Yeah.” She bites her lip and shudders as he adjusts his angle, snaking a hand between her legs, rubbing mercilessly at her clit. He does it without any real regard to her comfort, just his quick, calloused fingers forcing her cunt to constrict against his cock. “Oh, God—Dwight—that’s too much!”
Michael teases the tip of his cock against her lips in little ghosts of contact, swiping against her outstretched tongue, dragging her bottom lip along the curve. The sight and sensation of her mouth is too much, and Michael slows his fist to let Pam lap at him instead, the flat of her tongue dragging a wet stripe from the base of his cock up to the tender knot of flesh under the slit.
“Your body doesn’t lie, Pam. You can take it. Hold on—there we go,” he grunts. He rocks his hips and Pam stiffens in his grip, breaths quickening to sharp, ragged gasps that melt off into a wail. It feels like liquid fire burning low in her belly, in the tense, rippling muscles of her pussy, squeezing down on him until she’s dizzy with it. This is all Dwight needs to finish; he rides into her until he can feel it, the mounting pressure, and he pulls out to stroke his cock over the small of her back. Cum spurts from him in milky ropes, pattering over the cleft of her ass, dripping down over the cheeks and between them. He grinds out the last of his cum against her ass while Michael chases his own climax, so wet that his stroking is obscenely audible. His eyes roll back and he’s cumming on her face, over her soft lips and pink tongue and her chin, and she swallows without thinking. She licks her lips and uses her trembling fingers to get the rest, sucking them clean without having to be asked.
“Why did… I thought you wanted to finish.” Pam sounds cheated, bold enough to ask but shy enough to duck her head. Dwight has his cock put away and his belt buckled before she’s done speaking, tucking his button-down into his slacks. He smirks at a seated, utterly dumfounded Jim, his baleful gaze shot through with delicate red veins.
“If you’re on birth control, it’s pointless. Besides, I left my mark, didn’t I?” He pats Jim on the shoulder as he walks by, headed for the restroom. “Now you get to do the thing you love so much—being the best friend! Go help her clean up. You should be proficient in chasing after her once she’s been had by another man, right? Better get to it.”