(I posted this two-part story some years ago under my then username DomNovel, later perversely replying to comments as DominantStranger. I recently reMastered miss phillips. Here is the result.)
*****
She came up the stairs on nervous high heels, her overnight bag full of what he'd instructed her to pack. In her hand she clutched her transcription of his voice mail which she had typed while sitting in a steno chair, wearing a tight black skirt, a starched white blouse, and a black push-up bra and lace panties. Just as she was wearing now under the outer clothing he had instructed - her most conservative business suit covering her most daring lingerie. She recited the text of the message as he and told her to memorize it, listening to his voice, powerful and gentle and firm. Her lips now caressed the words as he had taught her to do.
"Writer seeks secretary he will mentor.
"Sexy, creative, mature, sporadically brilliant, dominant writer is seeking a submissive curious secretary who has reached the point in her life when she is ready to explore her need to take dictation . . . and occasionally be disciplined in a mutually satisfying way. You have organizational skills, you are attracted to writers - you've always wanted to write.
You're attractive, sexy, single, divorced or separated, literate and articulate, and have deep memories or fantasies that maybe you believe you shouldn't have . . . but you feel the need to explore in a safe environment. . .
During our interview, you'll find yourself naked and draped across my lap - open, vulnerable and exposed - as I ask you intimate and probing questions about your earliest sexual experiences and wildest fantasies . . . with bare bottom encouragement.
60, neither built like Arnold nor hung like Northern Dancer, wild imagination, deep, commanding voice, powerful sex drive. Write much more than erotica - where your secretarial assistance is equally required. I'll nurture your writing with encouragement, informed editing, a gentle voice, surprising suggestions, practical advice and a fun, firm hand.
If you find yourself wet and aroused at this point, even though you've never done anything like this before - because you've never done anything like this before - I invite you to submit. If we click, could be a long-term position. If not, we'll have had a fun, creative night, exploring - and you'll have had a writing lesson.
Photo and honest letter earns courteous, firm, response."
"Good evening, miss phillips."
Warm, welcoming smile. Rumbling, sophisticated baritone like iron in velvet. Piercing blue eyes seemed to be bending her over, inspecting her, impaling her. She shuddered and it was like a wet dog shaking itself; actually felt a drop of moisture fly from her pussy, splashing against the skimpy fabric of her panties, seeping, warm and embarrassing against the bare skin of her inner thighs as she climbed the stairs.
"Come through," he said. She watched his tight, masculine ass in black jeans lead through a bachelor's kitchen into a library. Bookshelves and filing cabinets towered like escalating ideas. A black steno chair faced a black desk chair leaning facing away from a large desk and computer screen.
As she entered the room he stopped her in front a full length mirror, taking her overnight bag and setting it on a table.
He had told her in their discussions - still it took her breath away when it happened - he would strip her at the beginning of the interview.
He turned her around as if she was a young girl, about to be undressed for bed. His expression calm, unhurried. Her face red and flushed, her breathing best described as trying not to pant.
He quietly undid each of the buttons on her starched white blouse. He pulled it open roughly, then turned her toward the mirror while he took the blouse down and put it on a hanger.
(They had some comedy there because the garment wouldn't stay on the hanger. She had to suppress her giggles, half suspecting he was doing it to relax her. He casually enjoyed the moment with her - "smooooooth" his ironic baritone vibrating through her - then was instantly stern again.)
He turned to the mirror and removed her push-up bra, tossing it aside. His hands tickled her nipples as if they young buds. Her blush covered her face and her breasts. Her nipples jutted, accusing her, betraying her arousal. He tweaked them almost contemptuously. She moaned and arched her pelvis forward.
She remembered a flash of their online interview.
"How do you feel?"
"Embarrassed and aroused."
"You so often feel both at the same time don't you?"
"Yes." Wondering how he knew. She had told him little about herself then.
They both stared in the mirror now at her body, and into each other's eyes. Man and Woman, Dom and sub, Master and slave. Their eyes discussing trust, dares and needs.
He ripped her skirt off. She stood there like a panting animal in her black suspender belt as his hand slowly reached for the elastics of her panties. In an agonizingly slow and humiliatingly revealing motion he pulled them down - exposing the tips of her glistening lips.
The room was full of the pungent aroma of her need. She stood in garter belt, stockings and heels, in front of the mirror, reciting in her mind the message he had told her to memorize like a mantra. He threw her panties away.
He inhaled slowly and spoke in her ear, his voice: rough silk.
"That's a lovely perfume you're wearing, miss phillips. A man could get used to having that around his office." He turned her around by her shoulders and smiled into her eyes.
"Please be seated."
She walked, more or less naked, to the black secretarial chair. She sat down on its rough fabric and crossed her legs. He raised an eyebrow. Almost hyperventilating, she uncrossed them, leaving them only slightly parted.
"Now, miss phillips," he said amiably. "Tell me why you want to be my secretary."
"Oh, God," she gulped. "Well I've always been attracted to creative men and dominant men and I'm a good secretary, and I like to read, and your ad made me so wet and made me think about things that happened a long time ago but I'm turned on by them and confused about them, and you seemed to understand. And I think you're a really good writer, I mean, just from your ad, I mean I'm sure you write more than online personal ads, much more, and I really think I'd like dictation from you. Oh God, I can't believe I'm doing this. I've never done anything like this before. I'm babbling. Please stop me."
His smile widened as she spoke, "I thought you put that rather well."
"I always wanted to write," she blurted, shocked herself that she'd said it even though, of course, he knew it.
"You do write. All the time," he said, "e-mails, memos, letters."
"But it's not creative writing."
"More creative than you think. Do you sometimes struggle to find the right word?"
"Yes. It proves I don't have a very good vocabulary," she smiled.
He smiled back at her, "Proves you care enough about words to wait for the right one to arrive - even when you're in a hurry."
"I hope so," she nodded, thinking the interview was going rather well. Although she'd never done one half-naked before . . .
"Do you have ideas for stories?"
"Lots of them, but I can never get started."
"If I told you your literary house was burning down and you could only save one story idea, what would it be?"
"It's a love story set in England in the Regency period, you know Pride and Prejudice, but I don't know enough history."
"Google it later. In the meantime write a letter to a friend."
"I beg your pardon."
He smiled.
"And you beg so prettily."
He enjoyed the blush that spread over her body as he continued.
