**1**
She came to slowly, through a fog, a burgeoning hangover the first thing she noticed.
Jenna was no stranger to waking up with hangover. The pounding head, the dry mouth. She rolled over to reach for her phone, and that’s when she felt the strange rough surface of carpet. Her eyes shot open. Again, not for the first time in her life, she had no idea where she had woken up. Except this time there was no stranger next to her in an unfamiliar bed. There was just a cold dark office floor.
She felt around her. The morning light was just beginning to shine through the floor to ceiling windows. She was under a desk, she realized. She continued groping, then peeked her head up. She realized it was her own desk. The open plan office around her was completely empty and silent, save the humming of some fans and computer equipment. It was Saturday morning.
*What the fuck…*She thought. She looked down. Her winter overcoat was on the floor. That must have been what she slept on. Her body ached from the stiff floor. She was clothed, but as she ran her hands over her body she suddenly felt something heavy and hard around her neck. She jumped, startled, nearly banging her head off the desk. She gripped at the object, momentarily terrified. She tried pulling it off her, but realized soon that whatever it was it was firmly locked around her neck and was going nowhere. *Okay…Okay…*She thought…*Don’t panic.*
She peeked up over the desk again. No one to be seen. Confused, hungover, and a little ashamed, she gathered up her coat, smoothed her wrinkled clothes a bit, and quickly set off for the bathroom down the hall.
As the motion sensor lights blinked on in the bathroom the first thing she noticed was her face. Her mascara had run all over her cheeks. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were bright red and puffy. She put a hand up to her head, and her wrist brushed against the heavy object on her neck. With another start, she leaned into the mirror. Around her neck hung a heavy, black bicycle lock. A flood of partial images came back…
The coworkers all at the bar…
The man across the room…
Jenna breaking away from the group…
Stephanie smiling knowingly and demanding that she be safe as Jenna left with him…
The walk back to the office, him pushing his bike, leaning in to whisper in her ear…
Her swipe card, them sneaking in…
Him pushing her down onto the desk, bending her over…
Okay, so she had snuck a stranger into her office and fucked him. *Whatever*, she thought, as she continued replaying the night in her mind. No one had the right to judge her. She was young, empowered, and she loved fucking. She saw herself slipping down to her knees in front of him. She saw him unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. Even with the alcohol he had been rock hard, and she remembered giving him a wet, messy blowjob in front of the desk. She was soaking wet by the time he pulled her up and bent her over it. She remembered him pounding her over the desk, fucking her so hard from behind that she nearly came. She remembered moaning and begging, “Harder… harder…”
What she didn’t remember was when he had left, when she had passed out, and why the fuck his bicycle lock was currently around her neck.
She pushed open one of the stall doors and went in. Pulling her pants down to pee, she realized that her underwear was gone too. She knew for sure that she had been wearing some. For one thing, she mostly always did. And for another, she remembered picking out a cute, sexy pair for work on Friday, knowing that everyone was going out that night to celebrate the end of the quarter. But whatever had happened to them, they weren’t there now. She peed and left the bathroom.
She felt sickeningly nervous darting around the office. There was almost no chance at all of anyone being there, but still she hurried quickly back to her desk. She sat down in her chair, wondering exactly what to do about this situation. It started to dawn on her just what a predicament she was in. She had an inch thick steel lock around her neck, with no clue how to get it off, and no clue as to where the person was who had put it there. Was this his idea of a sick fucking joke? Was he a straight up psycho? She had dodged more than a few bullets before. She wasn’t sure if she had dodged one this time or not.