Angela always dresses like an old schoolmarm, all high collar and gray colors and right angles, so Kelly can’t really say that she was shocked when Angela pulled out a ruler, the slender piece of wood tracing patterns across her bare thigh.

“Seriously?”

Angela smacked the pillow once, causing the bed to jiggle as she strengthened her face into stone, but there was a flicker behind her eyes.

“No talking!”

Kelly nodded obediently, tilting her head to the side and keeping the words you kinky bitch plastered to the roof of her mouth. Later, Angela’s digging sharp lines that won’t fade until morning on Kelly’s stomach as her knuckles curl upwards against her clit, her thumb thrumming a monosyllabic chant that almost feels like letters recited from a book, alternating rhythms to trip her up and it brings her closer to the edge.

So she can’t help that when she finds a pink plastic ruler at the bottom of her desk drawer on Monday it gets her a little hot. Kelly glares toward accounting as if she can actually see it and there aren’t layers of plaster and staplers and paper between them because it’s totally Angela’s fault that now she can’t even look at boring everyday objects without getting turned on.

When Angela comes back from lunch there’s a red apple sitting atop her chair. She hides her smirk in a cough.