Cabin Fever - An Erotic Novel

Chapter 3 - Bella Domina (FINAL EDIT)

The boss lady has the top floor to herself. Well, it's not a whole floor really, just sort of a largish pavilion on top of the roof. Gives her an even better view than mine — and a terrace running all around her personal office space. Quite ostentatious, but done in a classy, tasteful manner.

To get upstairs, you can take the elevator – or walk up the stairs from the reception, like Abbie and I did. There is a small waiting area, with some chairs, a couch, some plants, and artwork. There is even a pond with live fish in it and a miniature waterfall. Nothing garish, all very artsy and tasteful.

Abbie walked over to the door, opened it, and went through. I waited outside. I heard her announce my presence to the boss. I heard her getting the green light. She came back out and addressed me rather formally. "Bella will see you now, Mr. Felix."

"Thanks, Ms. Abbie." I shot her a grin and walked inside. I heard the door close behind me.

Bella.

That's what my boss insists on being called. It's not her real name — I've seen her personnel file — which begs the question: why that particular nickname? It didn't fit her real name at all, so there had to be another connection.

Chances of her being a secret Twilight fan were slim — any similarities between my boss and sweet, innocent Bella Swan were nonexistent.

Her true name did, however, have a very Italian ring to it.

So we — that's me and Abbie — had decided it was 'Bella' as in the Italian word for 'beautiful.' You might have heard some Italian guy shouting 'Bella Donna' – beautiful woman – after a pretty girl. Our Bella was undoubtedly pretty — and vain — enough to go by such a name.

Abbie and I had our own nickname for her: Bella Domina. As in Bella, the Dominatrix. We came up with that one years ago, during a seminar-dinner-turned-late-night-party. Since she's something of a control freak — and an utter bitch — we thought it was rather fitting.

My boss, this beautiful bitch by the name of Bella, was standing by one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows, reading. It was a nice view. My boss, that is. The way her body curved when she leaned just so against the window frame. I moved to stand a few paces in front of her spacious desk. My new position gave me the perfect angle to appreciate the sight of her, without making it blatantly, impolitely obvious. Most women, Bella included, crave male attention, but there is no reason to be boorish about it.

She was a tall woman: in her heels, she was taller than me, and I'm not a short guy. Regarding heels: you would never see her in public without at least four inches. Never.

Her face had the kind of classic feminine beauty you only find in works of art. The lines were too elegant, the proportions too balanced, the features too symmetrical for it to be real. Such looks are found only on the faces of the filthy rich, vain women who can afford to buy beauty from the best surgeons but end up with that off-the-shelf look. Not so with Bella. She had probably visited those same surgeons, but she had the force of personality needed to turn what could have been the face of a doll into the face of a goddess.

Beauty like Bella's needed no garish embellishments, only the lightest touch of makeup to enhance what was already there, rather than cover some flaw, real or imagined. The only exception was her lips: it was a rare day when her lips weren't painted some shade of red.

She preferred to keep her long hair up, always artfully arranged and kept in place with an ever-changing array of accessories. I was sure she had enough hair decorations to buy herself a small tropical island should she ever decide to sell them. The hair is one of Bella's little quirks, along with the lipstick — and the high heels (her collection of footwear put Abbie's shoe closet to shame).

But it wasn't her face — or her style — that was the real marvel. Barring Abbie's to-die-for body, Bella was the hottest bitch ever to walk this Earth. Where Abbie was slender and softly curved, Bella was the perfect blend of toned musculature and the curves of a full-bodied woman. And those tits of hers... I guarantee you they are fake — but if there was a Nobel Prize for boob jobs, whoever made them should receive it.

She was somberly dressed, the very definition of an elegant businesswoman. A very tight black pencil skirt that went to just below the knee, over very lightly patterned stay-ups. A starch white blouse with nice cleavage, offering only a hint of the lingerie underneath, without being cheap. Hair up — of course — accentuating her elegant neck. A pair of 5.5. inch (we use the metric system for everything else, but somehow that feels wrong when talking heels) Louboutin Biancas. I'm not a big fan of platforms, a lot of them try too hard, but this model pulls it off.

"Felix. How good to see you," she said and looked up from the papers in her hand.

She had, no doubt, deliberately given me time to admire her. That's Bella for you.

"And you, Bella. Always." I gave her my very best roughish grin.

She moved towards me, tossed the papers expertly on the desk, and stepped in close and kissed me on both cheeks, Italian Mafioso style.

"You brought me breakfast?" she said. She took the paper bag out of my left hand and pulled out my breakfast roll. I could tell she wasn't impressed.

"White bread, scrambled eggs, and bacon?"

"I got you extra bacon," I added.

"Do you have any idea what this will do to my figure?" she said accusingly. She regarded the roll with all the disdain she'd typically reserve for a limp dick. Yet despite any misgiving on her part, she had a bite. A small one. She chewed for dear life and swallowed. How it's possible to look sexy eating a breakfast roll is beyond me, but she pulled it off.

"I guess it doesn't taste so bad when you get used to it." She returned the roll to the bag, gave it back, and licked her fingers clean.

I was starting to get a little bit aroused. The awkward-moment alarm began chiming somewhere in the back of my head. But instead of focusing on the now, my mind started to drift. Abbie was with us, on her back on the desk, skirt hiked up around her waist (wait, where did her jeans go?) and legs wrapped around my back as I...

I tried to think of something else, but it didn't help one bit. All I could think of was fucking Abbie on the desk, while Bella sat behind it, giving us commands.

I glanced around. Bella looked at me as if she knew what I was thinking.

"My thoughts exactly," she said and took my coffee cup. "This better still be hot. Lukewarm coffee makes me a right bitch."

"I..." I tried to think of something to say but failed.

"I'm taking Greg," that would be her husband, "up to the cabin this weekend. You are also invited."

"Err..." I answered. That I had not expected.

"So it is possible to get the better of that deft tongue of yours. Who would have thought," Bella said and had a sip. "Americano? Why would you ruin a perfectly good Espresso by putting water in it?"

She handed the cup back. Then she surprised me — again — by French-kissing (or maybe Italian-kissing is the right term) me. I didn't resist. I was too surprised. Plus, she's an excellent kisser. I can tell you that much. So I opened my mouth and let her have her way. Unfortunately, it didn't exactly help with my growing erection. She bit my lower lip for good measure. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for me to let out a very unmanly yelp. I was getting quite hard.

"That's settled then," she said, sliding away from me and to the side.

She gave me no choice in the matter. She never did. Well, I was a big boy now. Time to man up. "Sorry. I'm busy this weekend," I lied.

She just laughed and put her hand on my shoulder. "Even if it was true, which it isn't, you'll cancel." She pirouetted in behind me like she was a dancer and wrapped her hands around my chest. "Abbie is coming too," she whispered in my ear.

"Abbie?" was all I managed to say.

"Abbie," she said in a husky voice. "This is your chance. Come with us, and I guarantee she will give up everything to you." Bella's breath was hot and moist against my neck.