Mr Sigit's Mistress

“Ah… umm…” Lastri sighed as she sat on my lap; she rolled up her skirt slightly to just above her knees so she could sit comfortably on my lap. “I love you, Las…” I said, still holding her waist from behind, moving up and down in a pleasurable rhythm. “I’m satisfied, Mas…” whispered Lastri, who’d agreed to call me “Mas” when we were alone together. “I can’t hold back any longer; your v****a feels so good, Las, I’m going to come,” I said, still feeling the pleasure from down there. "Just go for it, Sir..." Lastri moaned, making no secret of the fact that my c**k was giving her immense pleasure. "Aah....aah..." I moaned as my c*m shot out. My office wasn’t in a noisy area, but on the second floor, separated by ten-centimetre-thick soundproof glass. From here, the entire shoe production process looked like a line of obedient ants. The room was filled with heavy, intricately carved Jepara teak furniture, giving an impression of sturdiness, tradition, yet great expense. The scent in the room was a blend of old wood, expensive coffee and sandalwood air freshener. The smell of shoe glue and the roar of the factory machinery usually give me a headache, but today, it all sounds like a symphony of victory. From behind the soundproof glass of my office window on the second floor, I watch the line of workers going about their tasks. Amidst the hustle and bustle, she stands tall. Lastri. She was wearing the still-stiff supervisor’s uniform a position I’d promoted her to just three months after she joined. I could see the scornful glances from the other senior workers. Of course, who wouldn’t be envious? The previous supervisor had to serve ten years to receive full health benefits. But Lastri? She got more than that: a salary three times as high, flexible working hours, and a small city car parked neatly in the designated slot for factory executives. I sipped my bitter coffee, smiling slightly. People out there know me as the generous Uncle Sigit, who built an orphanage and donates sacrificial animals every year. They think my heart is made of gold. In reality, my heart is made of steel that can only be softened by one thing: the obedience of a woman like Lastri. There was a gentle knock at my office door. Without waiting for a reply, she entered. The delicate scent of jasmine instantly overpowered the stuffy smell of the factory. “Did you call for me, Sir?” her voice was soft, yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that always made me feel young again. “Take a seat, Las,” I said, gesturing towards the leather chair in front of me. “How’s this week’s production report? And… how’s your new flat? Are you settling in well?” Lastri sat down, crossing her legs gracefully a movement I’d taught her. “Very comfortable, Sir. The mattress is so soft, a world away from the cramped boarding house I used to live in. Thank you for being so kind to me.” She took my hand, her delicate fingers stroking the back of my hand, which was beginning to show wrinkles. I felt triumphant. I felt loved. This was what I’d been looking for all along an innocent girl who looked at me as though I were her whole world. I was certain Lastri stayed by my side not for my wealth, but because she genuinely needed the protection of a grown man like me. “Is that all?” I asked teasingly. Lastri smiled sweetly a smile that to the untrained eye seemed sincere, but behind it, she was calculating the price of the designer handbag I’d hidden behind the desk as a surprise gift. “Of course not, Sir,” she whispered coquettishly. “I love your kindness so much. I honestly can’t imagine going back to being an ordinary cigarette roller who has to travel home on a sweltering minibus.” I laughed heartily, gently ruffling her hair. I wasn’t aware or perhaps I chose to turn a blind eye that every time she said ‘I love your kindness’, her eyes were actually fixed on the black credit card lying on my desk. To Lastri, I wasn’t a lover, I was a golden ticket to a life she’d never even dreamt of before. And for me, that was the fair price to pay for an illusion of love. Amidst the silence of the chilly office, my gaze was vacant, piercing through the large window facing the factory gates on the ground floor. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly slowed, and my memories were dragged back to an incident three months ago. That day, the sun seemed to be in a rage. Its heat baked the tarmac in front of PT Sigit Sepatu Utama, creating an exhausting mirage. Sigit had just stepped out of his air-conditioned Alphard, preparing to enter the lobby, when a minor commotion at the gate caught his attention. There, amongst the crowd of desperate job seekers, the figure collapsed. At first, only his knees trembled; then his gaunt body slumped onto the hot tarmac. The brown folder containing his job application was flung aside, the papers inside scattering like dry leaves blown by the wind. The people around her panicked and shouted, but no one dared to approach for fear of being accused of something. I, in my neat silk batik shirt, moved closer. The security guards tried to stop me: ‘Don’t get too close, Uncle, let us handle this.’ But I saw something. I saw a face that was deathly pale, yet still radiated pure beauty beneath the street dust. The girl had fainted from hunger and exhaustion; this was clearly evident from her gaunt cheeks and her shabby yet clean clothes. “Take her to the factory clinic. Quickly!” I ordered, my voice booming, drowning out the din of the road. When the girl—whom he later learnt was called Lastri—regained consciousness, her eyes met mine for the first time. She looked terrified, like a deer cornered by a lion. “Don’t be afraid, you’re safe,” I said in the gentlest tone I could muster, the same tone I usually used to calm the orphans at the children’s home. “What happened?” “I… I’m an orphan, Uncle,” whispered Lastri, her voice hoarse from dehydration. “My mother has just passed away, and I’ve spent all my money on the funeral. I want to apply for a job—I need to eat.” My cold heart suddenly began to beat faster. Not out of genuine pity, but because he saw an opportunity. Before him lay a blank canvas, unblemished and extremely fragile. A canvas he could paint however he pleased. “You don’t need to apply for a job anymore,” I said, placing his business card into Lastri’s trembling hand. “From today, I’ll provide for you. But you must obey me.” (Back to the Present) I smiled slightly in front of the large mirror in his office. That memory made him feel like a god who had brought a clay statue back to life. He turned to look at Lastri, who was waiting patiently on the sofa. “Do you remember that day at the gate, Las?” asked Sigit, his voice heavy with a possessive tone. “When you collapsed on the tarmac?” Lastri set down her tablet; a sweet smile spread across her face, yet behind it, she recalled her brown folder, its contents scattered not just job application letters, but also her diploma, which she hadn’t yet been able to collect due to outstanding school fees. The day she felt completely shattered. “Of course I remember, Sir,” replied Lastri in a tone so sincere it reached Sigit’s ears. “Without you, I might have starved to death on those streets.”