My Office Boss Fucked Me Hard

You can look, but you cannot touch. That space in between, that space beyond the abnormal space of the Plume that I could feel or 'see', wasn't even space they said. It was a medium, a conveyor, but not like the Plume. It was a kind of appropriately demure punishment for amounting to little more than a flee in the larger scale of cosmic evolution, to ride on the same subway across the stars, everyday, to the same place, talk to the same person. What a job though. More than that: what a ride, to ride the plume.It was long, and arduous, and for the better part boring. In essence, a real job. I played out a lot of fantasies involving myself. It was an advice Yar had given me and had paid off handsomely, saved some of my sanity. It was an inherent property of the plume: the lab monkeys had gone apeshit with all the data they were getting.I simply had to imagine it, merely think about something solid and irrefutably real, and it would make sense and appear. I could grow limbs, swim in. Once inside I would set about washing up the dishes left over from the previous night's meal. Next would come the ironing, all to be done in silence of course. As the clock ticked round towards nine o'clock, I would start to prepare the Mistress' breakfast - orange juice, cornflakes (cold milk and no sugar), kippers with a knob of butter, wholemeal toast, strawberry jam and Earl Grey tea. After picking up the tray, I would creep down the hallway, collecting the newspaper from the carpet by the front door as I went, before quietly climbing the stairs and knocking respectfully on Her bedroom door. After a moment of two She would bid me to enter and I would do so before placing the tray ever so carefully upon the duvet. I would then open the curtains a foot or so and prepare to answer the question that was always asked at this point - "What's the weather like today, Jane?"Jane! Jane?! Oh, how I hate being called that! But this She knew which is why She used the accursed name as.
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