"Tom, you idiot, you left out interest on the loan." She points this out in the most demeaning way possible and shakes my report at me.

I'm 32, she's only 27, but . . .  she's the boss. I generally don't believe in hating people, but . . .  she's the exception. And fuck, she's right. It's a mistake.

"You didn't say there would be a loan." I realize how lame that excuse is as soon as I say it; I try not to cringe.

"Of course there's a loan. Even if there isn't, the money still has to come from somewhere. Do I see loss of interest anywhere in your cost-benefit analysis?" She throws my report on her desk in front of me. I'm still standing, she never invited me to sit. I hate her petty power games.

I don't need to look at the report. "I guess not." The bitch made her point. "I'll fix it." It's not hard to fix. Can I go now? We're done here, right?

"Were you planning on providing the money yourself? So the company doesn't have to?"

She's ridiculing me. I can't answer. She made her point. I SAID I WOULD FIX IT.

She stands up from her desk, walks around it, and shouts in my face, "Do you have any excuse?" She half-sits on her desk. "I'm actually curious."

I was rushed. She works me too hard. I'm given no respect here and I really don't give a fuck if the report is right or not. I have more excuses than I know what to do with. But she just wants more excuses to attack and destroy me.

"No. I'll try to do better the next time." She wins again. Can I possibly act more subservient?

She jabs her finger into my chest. "I don't know if there's going to be a next time."

I'm one of her best workers. So she's probably not planning on firing me, she just makes me want to worry for the next two weeks. What a ball-busting bitch.

"I was doing my best." She just keeps criticizing me and criticizing me. I don't know how much more I can take this.

"Well, plainly, that wasn't good enough."

I.

Lose.

Control.

The office disappears, civilization disappears, and it's just us in the jungle. I reach out and grab her wrist. Hard. She tries to pull away and I don't let her. I say, quietly but forcefully, "Fuck off, bitch."

My rationality knows how self-destructive I'm being. But losing control feels so good. Too good.

I see the anger in her eyes. She spits out, "Let go of me, Tom."

"My name's Thomas. I've told you that twenty times."

"Let go of me, Thomas. Right. Now."

There's something in her eyes that's not anger. A higher pitch is sneaking out in her voice.

I'm also feeling more than anger. Fear. Regret. The rational part of my brain is screaming This is a mistake and frantically trying to regain its usual firm control.

But rationality and civilization are still losing. My other hand reaches out and flicks the tip of her breast.

Professional suicide. Sexual harassment is the American equivalent to harakiri. Except she does need me working for her so she can look good.

She hardly reacts. Underneath the coat of her power suit, her nipple probably didn't feel a thing. I am so fucking frustrated. I reach under her coat and pinch her nipple. Hard. She felt that. I see pain flash across her face. That's what I wanted.

"Thomas. Leave. Now." Her voice is filled with controlled fury.

I want to see her scream. But she won't scream in front of me, that would show that she lost control of her emotions. I want her to call out for help. But that would be admitting she needs help. I just pinched her fucking nipple and she's still in control of herself, the situation, and me. I've become the idiot sex-maniac with no self-control. I hate her.

So she wins yet another power struggle; she's beaten me again. I want to hit her, but I can't hit a female. I do the most violent thing I can – I reach down and feel her cunt.

She bats my hand away and says with that same cold fury and determination, "You're fired."

My rationality is still trying to fight its way to the top, to take control. There is some small chance this situation can be saved. Somehow. Kiss her over-exercised ass until it's chapped. Cut off my dick, I hope symbolically is enough to satisfy her. Plead and beg. She does need me.

But my anger is still winning. I again reach down to fondle her cunt. She again tries to bat my hand away, but this time I grab her hand. I bring it up to my other hand, so I'm holding both of her hands with my right hand, then I use my left to fondle her cunt.

My cock is rock hard. I suddenly see her in a new way: This powerful woman, who can frighten an entire office, who can make grown men cringe and jump to her commands, is physically small and weak. In the jungle, I would be the boss.

I have hated her ever since she came here. I reach under her skirt and start rubbing her clitoris. Violating her most intimate privacy. It's the most cruel thing I can think of to do to her.

I jab: "I don't know who you slept with to get your job." That's the cruelest thing I can think to say to her. She's good looking, so for all I know she actually did get her job that way.

"I earned this job." She graduated from Harvard Business School, so she probably got her job that way. "This office runs better than it ever has."

"The previous manager was a drunk. Anyone could have done a better job than him. Even a woman."

"You, Tom, are the most despicable person I've ever met. Even for a man."

"You're wet, aren't you." We're both surprised by my change of topic.

She glares at me. There's anger in her eyes, lots of anger. Fury. But there's more. She could be yelling. But she's not. She could be fighting me. But she's not.

I slide my finger, first into her panties, then into her vagina. She is dripping wet. I was right. "You have a rape fantasy, right?" Guessing again.

"That's ridiculous. You have the brains of a gorilla."

Interesting choice of animals. My finger is sliding up to rub her clitoris, then sliding down to enter her vagina. I lean forward to kiss her, to force my tongue in her mouth and violate that too, but she bites my lip.

As her teeth sink into my lip, she moans and presses her cunt up against my finger. Then there's a quick shudder – I think that bite gave her a small orgasm. I can taste blood. She could be dangerous in bed.

Now she's staring at me with anger and raw sexual excitement. They're fighting inside her, and sexual excitement is winning. She has a really powerful rape fantasy.

I keep my finger inside her as I talk. "Here's your current problem. I know I can violate you any way I want. You might fight me, but only because that's part of your fantasy. You want me to violate you."

She says nothing. I'm on a roll. My cock has never been this hard.

"You'll never complain to anyone, because you want more. And if you did complain, no one would listen to you."

"They'll listen."

"Everyone hates you. They'll believe you, but they'll pretend to believe me."

"Get back to work, Tom. Do your job."

She's not even threatening to fire me. "This office can run better. You're going to be taking advice from now on."

"Not happening."

"We'll see what happens."

I slowly take my finger out of her vagina. Then out of her panties and then out from under her skirt. I rub my oily finger against my thumb. Evidence. We are still staring at each other like fighters before a fight. I let go of her hands.

Her hand flashes out with lightning speed to slap me, but I catch her wrist midair – I knew that was coming. She closes her eyes for a moment in sexual pleasure. When she opens them, she looks vulnerable for the briefest moment. She can look beautiful, I didn't know that.

"I mean it, Thomas. Get out of here. Do your job. This is never happening again."

Interesting time to call me Thomas. This is so much happening again.

She adds, "And no one hears about this."

She's trying to speak as firmly as she can, in her best boss-voice, but I can hear the pleading. She can hear the pleading too. And now she's finally showing weakness.

That's what I want to see in a woman. "If you're good." I leave.