All That She Couldn't Control

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is not a work of fiction. The events portrayed in this story are based on real-life experiences, with a few details altered to protect the identities and privacy of the individuals involved. Some scenes may have been reconstructed for storytelling purposes.

Nila, 25, is 5'3" and quit her job to build a startup. But financial constraints have forced her to look for work again. After applying through several job platforms, including LinkedIn, Indeed, Jobberman, and others, she finally lands an interview with a shipping company.

Sloane, 31, is the Head of Operations at Bowen Resources Limited. She is ill-mannered, bad-tempered, rude, and the total definition of a bitch. She doesn't want any more people on her team because she already thinks the ones she has are incompetent enough. The last thing she needs is another employee and, worse, the new girl, Nila, has no experience in shipping. She doesn't even know how to fully operate a system, which is already enough to irritate Sloane.

Nila isn't the regular feminine type of girl. She's around 5'3" or 5'4", compared with Sloane's 5'9", and she wears Crocs.

Fucking Crocs. To an interview.

Great. Another completely incompetent fellow to complete the team.

Sloane already hates Nila before she's even uttered her first word. And, to make matters worse, Dan Sloane's direct superior wants her to employ Nila and show her the ropes.

The fuck?

NILA

I've been working at Bowen Resources for three weeks, and I could tell from the start that my direct boss didn't like me. That impression doesn't seem likely to change anytime soon.

The problem isn't just that Sloane is adamant about disliking me. It's that no matter what I do or how I prove myself, she doesn't care. She barely gives me tasks, let alone teaches me anything. And God, people said she was rude, but rude was an understatement. She's evil. Too uptight, always demanding perfection, and capable of making a tiny issue seem like a major disaster.

She doesn't give people a chance, even though I've heard that Mr. Dan gave her one three years ago, when she had no skills and knew nothing about the systems or shipping. That's what hurts the most. Instead of understanding me, she hates me. She gives off witch vibes.

Still, no matter what she does, I'm staying. Of course, I don't like her, but I'm not going to quit just because one insecure perfectionist thinks I'm going to take her position.

SLOANE

It's been two months. Two fucking months, and Nila is still here. That's not how this is supposed to go. Nila should have been gone by now, especially after the way I shouted at and humiliated her in front of the transporters. I thought that would be enough to make her stay home after receiving her salary.

But the short devil is still here.

And God, I dislike everybody, but my dislike for Nila is worse. I hate her. I hate her guts, her confidence, and her stupid smile whenever she cracks a joke that makes someone laugh. I even hate the fact that she seems gay.

I don't actually hate the LGBTQ+ community, but anything associated with Nila irritates me. And, worse, I've given her my deadliest stare, shouted at her in private and in public, and ignored her. I've tried everything, yet she's still here.

Nobody has ever stood up to me before, and I know that's what Nila is doing in her own way. The little pauper. Every time I think about it, I get even angrier than I already am.

NILA

After two months at Bowen Resources, Sloane's outbursts seem to come with the job. But I don't care. I know Sloane's type: people without a stress release tend to become pent-up and cranky.

The only thing Sloane and I have in common is that we use the same kind of handkerchief. So, wanting to get back at her just a little after another gruelling day, I took hers and used it to scrub the sweat from my armpits after running errands under the hot sun.

I also hadn't shaved in three weeks, which is a lot for a hairy person like me, especially since I have a strong scent. I made sure to squeeze as much of it as possible into the handkerchief, then inspected my work.

It's strong and musky.

I folded the handkerchief neatly and left it on her desk before clocking out for the day.

Yep. Fuck, that felt satisfying.

SLOANE

I don't usually spend much time in the restroom, but I chose to today because, I didn't want to see Nila when I came out. I thought running errands to different terminals to collect the seal would take her the whole day, but the snake came back in record time with the requested seal!

When I came out of the bathroom, Nila was no longer in the office. She must have clocked out already, since she works in my office.

I picked up my handkerchief to wipe my face because, I could feel a migraine coming on. Then I took a deep breath.

It's strong.

The odour of a day's work musky and masculine. I immediately knew it wasn't mine. Nila must have mistaken hers for mine.

Is this how her handkerchief always smells?

It should have disgusted me, but for some reason, I pressed it closer to my face.

Why does it smell so heavy? And why do I keep breathing it in?

There's something relaxing about it. It makes me want to breathe it in and unwind. Yes, I'll shout at Nila tomorrow, but that doesn't mean I have to let the scent go to waste.

So I held it to my nose until I dozed off.

NILA

Okay, I know I said, "Fuck it," yesterday, but maybe I overstepped. Maybe I shouldn't have rubbed my sweat all over the handkerchief. I know how strong my odour is. What if she finally gets an excuse to sack me?

God, what have I done? ????????

When I entered the office, Sloane wasn't there. I turned on my system and resumed the draft I'd been working on the day before. Then she came in.

I knew she was there even before I saw her, but I kept my face neutral, expecting an outburst at any moment. I greeted her with a good morning, and then we sat in dead silence for about five minutes which felt like hours before she finally spoke.

"How's the draft coming along? We need it before Thursday."

That's it? No handkerchief incident? No outburst?

"Um, yes. I'm almost done. It'll be ready before then."

"Hmm."

That was all she said. Just a short hmm.

What the fuck? I couldn't sleep throughout yesterday because I was expecting a sack letter or an outburst, and all this time, maybe she hadn't even noticed the handkerchief.

After my lunch break, the door was already ajar, so I walked in. That's when I saw Sloane holding the handkerchief against her face.

I was completely dumbstruck.

What the fuck?

I make an effort to greet a colleague loudly before entering, just to let her know I'm there. As expected, she was perfectly composed by the time I stepped inside. The rest of the day passed in a blur.

what the fuck?

At close of business, I still couldn't find the handkerchief. Deciding to be stupid, as seemed to have become my signature over the past twenty-four hours, I took my own and squeezed in as much musk from my armpits as I could. Then I folded it and left it on her desk.

This time, it would be obvious and intentional. I was leaving my own handkerchief, carrying my own odour, with her.

I left before I could overthink it.

SLOANE

I was pressing the handkerchief to my face in the restroom, of all places.

Fuck. I needed something stronger. The odour was fading. I'd practised what I wanted to say to Nila, but for some fucking reason, I couldn't bring myself to shout at her. And I hated it.

I needed something stronger. Maybe I could sneak her handkerchief away and swap it for this one.

After composing myself and checking my reflection in the mirror, I left the restroom. Nila would probably be gone by now. Tomorrow, I'd try to swap the handkerchiefs.

That's when I saw it.

Another handkerchief.

She knows.

She did it intentionally. I should be angry. I should feel exposed. Disgusted.

But, the odour was so fresh, straight from the source. I could still feel the dampness of the handkerchief.

Why did she have to smell so earthy?

Before I knew what was happening, my tongue had already decided to lick the handkerchief, and my thighs trembled.

I hadn't felt like this in ages.

Suddenly, the air-conditioned office felt too hot. I unbuttoned the top of my shirt and stroked a finger over my nipple. My breath hitched. They were hard as rocks and sensitive. My skirt felt restrictive, so I dragged it up a little not much, just enough to feel less confined.

But my fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. They went straight to my damp thong.

My thong was damp. It shouldn't have been, but I didn't have the capacity to think clearly right then. I rubbed myself against the damp fabric, and the orgasm hit like a storm. I pressed the handkerchief against my face to muffle my moan, which made the climax ten times more intense.

I hadn't come like that in ages not even when I'd last dated, seven years ago.

And now, as the final waves of pleasure faded, I felt truly disgusted with myself.