Position 2 Ch. 01-03

Chapter 1: Position 2

The rain beaded and ran slowly down the bank's windows, obscuring the view of Grimsby high street. It was late on a wintery Monday afternoon, the sun disappearing fast and the branch smelling of wet wool and tedium.

Sarah Ellis sat at Position 2, counting out £20 notes for a builder who smelled of fags and sweat. She'd started with the bank at eighteen, fresh out of college--a "pretty little thing" according to Lynn, the old branch manager when she'd arrived for her first day. She'd agreed with her parents that a "proper" job with a pension was the right thing to keep her busy until she found her calling in life. Now 29, the woman in the mirror looked tired and filled out her uniform a bit too well. A fact clearly noticed by Keith, who'd replaced Lynn two years ago and whose eyes never quite reached as high as her face.

She'd married Mark at 22, bought the semi at 24, and somehow the "life" part hadn't happened yet.

Life was a treadmill of work, home to cook, clean and meal plan with 10 minutes of missionary thrown in on a Saturday. Sometimes she'd be on top but mostly she was on the bottom. Position 2 she called it. Things happened to her rather than for her.

As the builder shuffled away with an indifferent "ta, love" she noticed she'd received an email.Let me guess, someone at head office has been promoted and they need us all to celebrate it. Brilliant.

From: James Whitaker (Group Risk)

Subject: Thursday / Risk Interview

Hi Sarah,

I'm the auditor coming up on next Thursday. Please can I have an hour of your time to run through front-end controls. Would 2pm suit? I'll try and keep it quick--I know these aren't exactly the highlight of anyone's week.

Thanks,

James.

She groaned internally feeling a sudden pang of irritation--not at him, but at the "painless" tone of it. She knew it'd be the typical head office type trying to find fault to justify his salary.

She typed back, her fingers hitting the keys a bit too hard.

From: Sarah Ellis

To: James Whitaker

Hi James.

"Quick" usually means three hours of checking my till for 10p discrepancies while you try not to stare at the damp patch on the ceiling. I'll be here. I'm the one who's been behind this glass since I was eighteen. Hard to miss.

S.

She hit send, expecting nothing. But the reply came back before she'd even finished the next transaction.

From: James Whitaker

To: Sarah Ellis

You have a damp patch too? I'll have to bring a tape measure--check it's not grown too much and add it to the report. I swear the one in my office is where the guy on the floor above was trying to tunnel out. Don't think he'd thought it through being on the 8th floor.

Eleven years is a long shift, Sarah. How haven't you made an escape yet?

J.

Sarah gave a small smile. A kindred spirit it seemed.

From: Sarah Ellis

To: James Whitaker

It's Grimsby, James. There is no escape, just the docks and the North Sea. Plus the RNLI keeps bringing me back. Hope your escape plan is better.

S.

From: James Whitaker

To: Sarah Ellis

Can't reveal secrets like that over email--I think my boss is reading them and I'll end up with an ankle tag so he can keep tabs on me. Open to suggestions though!

James

From: Sarah Ellis

To: James Whitaker

You'd fit in here with an ankle tag so maybe let him find out then you can hide out in Grimsby--you'll need a trackie and cap to really fit in. Then you can help me make a swim for it.

S

She closed the window as Keith, the branch manager, walked past. The floor creaked giving him away. Doris from next door to Mum and Dad took her cash and left.

Everything was exactly the same as yesterday, but for the first time in months, Sarah didn't feel like she was invisible.

Chapter 2: Refresh

Signing on the next morning, Sarah was surprised to see a reply from James waiting in her inbox

From: James Whitaker

To: Sarah Ellis

I think I have some in the wardrobe--I'll dig them out and have them under my suit.

Happy to help you swim for it--but be warned. I do only have my 10m badge.

J

The surprise turned to a smidge of pleasure as she realised it wasn't work-related.

From: Sarah Ellis

To: James Whitaker

If you turn up in a suit then we have no chance. You'll have been clocked as an outsider as soon as you get off the train!

S

From: James Whitaker

To: Sarah Ellis

What? Even if I take off my tie? I have to keep a low profile to avoid my boss remember!

J

The rest of the week was a blur of small rebellions. Between counting out fivers for the usual Wednesday queue, Sarah was constantly hitting refresh. James was forty-three, married with two kids, and apparently spent half his life in hotels that all smelled like lemon bleach and had crappy mattresses. She'd laughed out loud when he told her his title--Senior Risk Auditor--and told him it sounded like something someone had made up in a panic.

Keith had seen her smiling at the screen a couple of times but his eyes never lingered there for long. Sarah had stopped caring. She just sat there, hand hovering over the mouse, waiting for the next notification.

***

The weekend started in the usual fashion--washing on, clean the house, takeaway and bottle of red with her husband, Mark, 10 minutes in position 2 and him snoring away before Match of the Day had even started.

However, this Saturday, Sarah felt particularly unsatisfied after they'd finished. She waited until she was sure Mark was in a deep sleep, then carefully climbed out of bed and eased open her knicker drawer. Hidden at the back was her secret plaything--an 8-inch, pink rampant rabbit she'd bought a couple of years earlier when she'd been in Ann Summers buying lingerie for a Valentine's Day that had ended in disappointment.

She snuck back downstairs to the living room and in the dark laid back on the sofa. She turned on the vibrator, lifted her nightie above her hips and began teasing her pussy with the tip of it, stretching herself out slowly. With one hand she freed her full, heavy breasts--her nipples hardening as the vibrations thrilled through her.

She lowered the angle of the rabbit and pushed it into her, the ears stimulating her clit as she felt her pussy clamp down on the vibrating length. She held there for a few heartbeats, enjoying the fullness she was feeling alongside the pulses through her clit before she started to fuck herself. She pulled the rabbit nearly completely out before pushing it fully back in faster and faster, feeling the ears rub her clit every time it bottomed out. She felt her orgasm building as she held the rabbit deep inside her, vibrations being delivered to her clit and pussy walls. Her other hand desperately played with her tits and hard nipples as she rode the wave of her orgasm. She came hard, soaking the vibrating toy and her hand that had held it deep inside her, gasping her pleasure to the empty room.

Her cheeks darkened as she realised the name she'd almost whispered in the darkness. James.

Get a hold of yourself, Sarah, you don't even know what he looks like. And he's married. And you're married!

She smiled despite herself as she lay in the dark, heart thumping almost in time with the rabbit's ears. The headlights of a passing car swept across the ceiling, washing over her for a second. She felt her pussy spasm around the still buried toy, the sudden, sharp thrill of being seen tipping her over the edge into another orgasm.

***

By Tuesday, she'd taken to checking her email before she'd even signed on to the till system.

On Wednesday morning, she'd broken a promise to herself and looked him up on the company website. Brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, crooked smile, quarter-zip over a shirt.Classic head office droneshe thought.Handsome though.

Keith had almost caught her looking so she'd used her emergency distraction tactic. She stood up quickly before bending down to drop a pen she'd "dropped". She knew he'd stare at her arse in the too tight skirt.I really need them to give us new uniforms, I've had this one for six years,she thought as Keith waddled off quickly, trying and failing to hide his stubby erection.Fuck off, you old pervert.

As she retook her seat, a Teams message popped up in the bottom right of her screen--James had started a private chat.

James Whitaker:Agenda for Tomorrow

James Whitaker:14:00 - I arrive and try to look important.

James Whitaker:14:15 - We pretend to care about "protocols."

James Whitaker:15:00 - The great escape?

James Whitaker:Also, serious question: Starbucks or am I risking the lukewarm machine?

Let me know if we need time for anything else.

Sarah grinned. He was in for such a shock when he left London!

Sarah Ellis:Nope - we aren't allowed a kettle so it's all from the machine in the banking hall. I don't think the water ever gets above lukewarm. Also - we're not allowed biscuits. No idea why!

James Whitaker:Ah that's terrible. I'll smuggle some biscuits or cake in for everyone. Any preference?

Sarah Ellis:Can't go wrong with some hobnobs or an iced finger! See you tomorrow x

Chapter 3: Pink Lace

Sarah was last home that evening, Mark having worked the 6-2 morning shift. He was sat in his usual armchair, PS controller in hand, playing Football Manager. He huffed as his virtual Grimsby Town lost possession again. He clicked away at the controller making tactical adjustments.

"I'm going for a bath," Sarah said.

"Ok, babe. Don't use all the hot water. I want a shower before bed."

She climbed the stairs to their bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and opened her phone. It didn't take long to find him. James Whitaker. Professional headshots, crooked smiles never reaching his eyes. Charity galas, work events. Not one smile was genuine, all looking as tired of protocols as she was. Then the personal ones: him and Nicole on a beach somewhere last summer. Him with his family at a family gathering.

Nicole was pretty in a safe, dependable way. Always there with the children but always leaning away from James. And there wasn't a single one of just the two of them.

She stood and looked at herself in the mirror. The cheap uniform stretched over her full breasts--she'd never been flat-chested but by the time she was 24 they'd filled out to a heavy 32E. She loved her "big tits" as her mum called them and used them to her advantage when she could.Never have to wait too long at the bar,she smirked. She ran her hands over her flat stomach and her full behind. Mark told her she was in good nick for 29. She agreed with him.Shame it's going to waste.

She stripped unhurriedly, wondering if James would find her attractive. Wondering why she cared.

She thought of Mark downstairs, eyes never leaving the screen.

Sarah reached a decision. She was going to fight the boredom.

***

Sarah stood in the doorway, the silk robe soft against her skin. Underneath, she wore the unworn pink lace set she'd bought with her rampant rabbit years before.

She crossed the room and slid onto the arm of his chair. The robe fell open, exposing the pale skin of her chest, the buds of her hardening nipples visible through the delicate pink lace. She leaned in, letting her lips brush his ear, her hand sliding onto his lap, covering the controller.

"Babe," she said, voice low. "I've put something special on for you. Wanna put the game down and play with me...?"

Mark didn't even glance at her. "Hang on, love. I'm two-nil up here--two matches left and I'm in the Champions League. Five minutes, yeah?"

She pressed harder, fingers curling into the denim over his thigh. "I don't want five minutes. I want you now. I want you to actually look at me."

Mark sighed, a man being inconvenienced. Glancing over, he caught her wrist--not hard, but firm--and set her hand back on her own lap like he was moving a misplaced remote. "Fair play, you look good, but babe, I'm shattered. Eight hours humping crates today, back in at six tomorrow. We'll do it proper Saturday, alright? I'll even grab that nice bottle of red from the Co-op."

Sarah stayed where she was.Is that it? Good? Has he even fucking looked at me? Where's the man who used to surprise me with weekends away? The man who wanted me so much he'd drag me into the nightclub's disabled toilets for a quickie?

"Saturday and the Co-op red," she repeated, voice flat and thin. "Jesus, Mark. Treat me to the fucking high life why don't you? You talk about shagging me like it's a bloody MOT on the van. Saturday for ten minutes if the footy's not on. Sunday morning for five if you're not too hungover. Same positions, same 'you alright, babe?' while you roll over and start snoring before I've even got me breath back."

Mark finally paused the game. The sudden silence felt worse than the clicking. He rubbed the back of his neck. "What's got into you tonight? You've been proper mardy since you got in."

"I'm not mardy. I'm bloody suffocating. Do you ever think about anything else? About doing summat different? About anything that isn't exactly the same as last week, last year, last bloody decade?" Mark looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "What do you want me to say, love? I graft forty hours a week so we've got this place. Roof over our heads, bills paid. People would kill for our life."

"I wouldn't. I want to feel like I'm living for something other than sitting behind a counter. I'm twenty-nine and I feel like my life's over."

"You're just fed up 'cos it's raining," he said, eyes already drifting back to the frozen screen. "It's Grimsby, love. It's always raining. Go have your bath. You'll feel better in the morning."

The fucking rain?Sarah thought.As if a bit of dry weather could ever make up for eleven fucking years of a dry life.

"I won't," she whispered, but he'd already unpaused, the click-clack starting up again, rhythmic, plastic, filling the space where a proper conversation should have been.

"Dinner's in the microwave if you're hungry," he added, voice already distant.

Sarah stood up, pulled the robe tight around her, hiding the itchy lace, hiding the shame of begging.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

She walked upstairs, but she didn't go to the bath. Instead she chose tomorrow's outfit with care.Let's see if James notices me.

The standard navy pencil skirt and cream blouse. But for underneath, she picked out a black lace bra that lifted and framed, sheer stockings, suspenders, four-inch heels she hadn't worn since her hen do. Her own hidden rebellion. She'd feel sexy even if no one else thought she was.

She got undressed, the pink lace whispering against her skin one last time before she shoved it to the back of the drawer. She pulled on her old comfy pyjamas--soft and familiar--but they felt wrong, like putting on a costume. She climbed into bed, opened her phone, and stared at broad-shouldered James Whitaker.

Her hand slipped into her pyjama bottoms, searching for the wetness below. Her fingers slipped inside her, feeling the heat. She used the slickness to rub up and around her clit. Her nipples hardened and scratched against the soft fabric of her pyjama top as she started circling her clit, strokes becoming faster, more urgent, as the warmth built inside her. She increased the pressure, feeling the wetness spreading down her legs, her orgasm nearing.

She heard the familiar groan of the third step just as it hit, hips bucking upwards for the cock that wasn't there. She rolled over, biting the duvet to stifle her moans as she pretended to be asleep.

She lay there in the dark, watching the red glow of the numbers tick away towards 7am.Fucking rain, fucking Mark, fucking...fucking everything.