amazing what a few days off to rest and breathe will do to my mind… ~nilla~
He pressed the button on the intercom, calling for his secretary.
“And tell the floor that we are not to be disturbed. I have a lot of things to cover with you this morning,” he finished, his voice curt. As always, she mused. You’d think after two months of being Mr. Chisom’s personal secretary that he’d have warmed up a little bit. But no, always business as usual. Taking up her notepad, a pen and a spare, and her laptop, she duly passed on his message to not under any circumstances disturb them.
“What if the building catches fire?” quipped her pal, Marcy. Pert, brunette, slender, she’d occasionally had serious body envy over her friend’s slender form. Not that she minded being round. She’d rather forgo exercise than ice cream, and was overall comfortable in her skin. Even if there was a lot of it. But Marcy, well she was damned near model-perfect. Damn her!
“Well, I’d suppose–no, I know–he’d rather perish in a fire while working than stop to evacuate the building.”
She barked out a laugh, accompanied by Marcy’s perfect little giggle. Seriously, if Marcy wasn’t such a good friend, she’d absolutely hate her for being so frigging perfect. Smoothing her long dark skirt over her soft belly, she took a deep breath. Standing before his door, she took another deep breath, knocked once, then stepped inside.
He looked different today. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was standing at the large window behind his desk, looking all ’50 shades-like‘ she mused. Not that she’d enjoyed the movie overmuch, but that guy who’d played the main man, he’d been hot. Not as hot as her boss though. The Boss, well, had a tremendous ass. She paused for just a moment, looking at it, before quietly shutting the door.
He turned at the soft snick. Leaning over his desk, he depressed a button. She gave a little start of surprise at the chink sound behind her butt as the door locked.
“Come on, Mae, stop hovering around the door.”
Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the door, and into his office. The room simply overwhelmed. It was spacious. Open. Peaceful. Yet the office was a study in contrasts. On the one side, a large bank of windows let an abundance of light into the room, and illuminated his sleek stone desk, flashing sparkles of light from the metal chairs in front of it. His own chair was sleek, yet designed for comfort. Thickly padded black leather seating, back and arms were juxtaposed by sleek metal framework. The space was designed to be Spartan, an ode to working with minimal distractions. The wall that surrounded the entrance door was also glass, but thick, soundproofed, and opaqued. Light and a sense of movement came in, but nothing else from the outer room would disturb the stark serenity. Yet on the far side of the room, his minimalist leanings were softened by a plush couch, comfortable chairs gathered around a sturdy low table. The table was a thick slab cut from a wide tree, supported by a section of trunk. It appeared that the table had simply sprouted from the floor as an exotic plant. In the corner, lamps gave off a pleasant glow, and a small forest of green plants created the illusion of outdoor space. Relaxing, inviting, this space could be closed off with the push of a button. A thin bamboo wall would slide silently from the walls, and leave one with just the utilitarian side of his workspace.
His desk was enormous. Long, sleek, it was the antithesis of what she privately called the “comfort side” of the room. A single thick slab of stone rested on twisted iron-worked legs. The stone, dark as night, had flecks within that glittered in the sunlight. The pen he favored, of light marbled stone lay on his day-planner beside his phone, the only objects on the desk.
She never failed to be impressed at he overwhelming beauty of his space. Her “office”, a small half-circle of stone blocks separating her from the rest of the group on the Bosses Floor was a rat’s nest of cubbies and papers and file drawers lining the wall behind her. This, well, this was an oasis.
“Come. Here. So much wool-gathering today.”
She snapped out of her reverie. Wool gathering? Who said that in this day and age? Spaced, yeah, she’d definitely spaced, but wool-gathering? Sheesh.
“Yes, Mr.Chisom, sorry. Your office is so…” her voice trailed off, even as her hand waved to take in the expanse.
“So?” His left eyebrow shot up. For a moment she regretted her temerity. She’d only been here a few months. Well fuck it. It was time for him to see her as a person, and not just a robot.
“So beautiful. Peaceful. Verrrry different from the place out there. Where you have 10 people working and trying to be professional while everyone can hear everyone else’s conversations. You know–barely controlled chaos?”
His right eyebrow rose to match the other. She refused to buckle under the stare, but her knees shook just a bit. She’d had no idea that was inside her, poised to erupt from her startled lips. Her eyes widened a bit even as she held back the cliched need to bite her lip.
“Is that so? How it is that no one else has brought this to my attention?”
“Maybe because you’re closeted in here and don’t take time to notice?”
Geezuz. He was gonna fucking fire her now. She just knew it. In for a penny, she thought, and taking a quick breath, continued.
“We all figure you just don’t give a fuck.”
“Touche. That puts me very neatly in my place, doesn’t it? The typical boss who works his employees down in the trenches whilst he sits in an ivory tower.”
She waved her hand and smirked just a little.
“You’re a smartass, aren’t you?”
“No Sir. Well, yes Sir, kind of. Look, I’ve not worked here for as long as the others, and you did promote me over staffers who’ve been here for decades. And some of them hate me for it, and I don’t care. I know you picked me for my skills, and if I’m going to be a good secretary for you, I have to be fully honest with you. So I guess you can fire me for my speaking out of line, or you can just accept that this is how I am and we can work together more effectively.”
There was a bare hint of a smile on his face.
“I do appreciate effective workmanship. I’ll look into this. I’m not going to fire you. I told you when I hired you that I’d work you hard.”
“You did, yes. And you have. I’ve worked my ass off for you, Sir.”
“I hope not.”
His head canted to one side as he looked pointedly at her hip. She giggled, yet flushed, too.
“Well, I could stand to lose a few pounds off my ass, so no worries there, Sir.”
“I like your ass just as it is, actually. Now come, sit here.”
He pointed to his desk. She began to sit on one of the bronze chairs at the front of his desk. They were lovely to look at but frightfully uncomfortable–for a purpose, she supposed. He always had people he didn’t particularly want to meet with sit in them, which often kept the conversation brief. They were either cold and hard, or warm and hard, depending on the time of the day and the sunshine-on-metal factor.
“Not there.” He twirled his finger, indicating that she should move around to his side of the desk. What the fuck? she mused. He was going to have her sit in his chair? No he was not….
He pointed her to the edge of the desk.
“Sit your butt here.”
“On your desk.”
“On the edge.” His head canted to the side again, a look she found particularly attractive. Likely he knew that, too. Boyish, charming, cute. She knew he knew that she was now quite nervous. She took a breath, seeking calm, as she lifted one buttock onto his desk.
“All the way up. There you go.”
He stepped closer, placing his hands on her thighs.
“If you say ‘no’ this stops.”
Her heart raced, all those fantasies of him doing something like this to which she masturbated many nights flashing through her brain. Was she sleeping and dreaming all this? The warmth of his palms dispelled that thought. The husky whisper of his voice, his eyes looking deeply into hers assured her that she was indeed awake.
“Spread those luscious thighs, sweet Mae,” he directed. Hands dropped to her ankles, his body between her legs. She felt her skirt rising, the quick brush of thick fingers on her stocking-less skin.
“So warm. So soft.”
The words slipped out of her mouth. She almost bit her tongue at the look he slashed at her.
“You are fat. Soft, warm, pillowy. I love the feeling of a soft woman. Sure, thin girls are pretty to look at, but give me a woman I can lay upon and not be pierced by bones at every position. I want a woman I can pinch and suckle upon, someone who, when I tie her up and she squirms and wriggles, gives me the pleasure of all that flesh to sink into. So you’re fat…but you’re also beautiful. Smart. Kind. Sexy. I want you. Want to slide my mouth between your generous legs and taste your cunt. Want to nurse against your clit, want to fuck your gorgeous tits. I know you have those….”
He paused a moment.
“Urges?” she offered. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Proclivities. You like to be used. Fucked. Tied. Forced. You like to be dominated. You like to be spanked upon the wide terrain of your ass. Say it. Tell me you want that, you naughty little slut.”
How the fuck had he found that out? For a moment, panic fought for control. Her throat slammed shut and she could not have said a word. His eyes held her as firmly as a pin holds a butterfly to a canvas.
“I profile all my employees..and certainly the one I choose to be my personal secretary. You will find all the inner workings of my company, of myself. You’ll be in and out of my office, and eventually, my home. You will be my most trusted companion, my confidante, my helper. Of course I would discover your most interesting secrets. You had a dom…several in point of fact, but no one recently. You have an active sex life, and have a favored club to visit when you’re in the mood for some action.”
Points for him for not saying “scratch an itch”, which always felt demeaning. What she did and who she was wasn’t the hugest secret in the world, but it wasn’t something she put on her resume.
“Okay,” she finally said. “All of that is true. I–do not have a dom, and I do have …certain…needs. But what does that–”
Her words were cut off with a gasp as he sank fingers into her pussy.
“Do go on,” he urged, his smile wolfish.
She gasped, swallowing air and spit and coughing. His fingers diddled inside of her, hooking up and rubbing her spot. She moaned, long and low.
“Please,” he smiled at her, “do continue. You–?”
A quick shudder rolled through her as his fingers brought her to a swift orgasm. It had been a while since a guy had his fingers in her snatch. Head thrown back, legs clamped around his hips, she arched, shuddering as her cunt clutched his fingers and spurted.
“There’s a good slut.”
His free hand reached up, grasping her hair, tugging her forward. It pushed his fingers deeper into her, continuing the rippling sensations surging through her. His voice became a growl as his mouth moved across her cheek, rested against her ear.
“Come for me, come hard for me, slut.”
Ever the good secretary, she complied.
(side note: when I was trying to decide whether to include an image of the stone pen, this is one of the images that Google uploaded for my perusal. It made me laugh–and decide to not put in a picture of the pen after all…but I had to include it here! ~nilla~)