The Boss' Toy

I was sitting at my kitchen table, mouth agape, the packet of papers unstapled and spread out before me. He had said this was a basic work handbook. I should have known...

My schedule was Monday-Friday, 7AM-7PM. I was on call all day, every day. "Punishment will be dealt out for any and all tardiness." It read. And, on Friday nights, it said I was expected to be at his house, no later than 9PM, to prepare for the following week. I would stay all night. On these nights, I was allowed to wear whatever I was comfortable in. For the rest of the week, he had laid out a strict dress code:

1. You will wear skirts, every day, no exception.

2. Skirts will be accompanied by stockings unless otherwise instructed. Not panty-hose, not tights, not socks—stockings.

3. Heels are required, at least two inches.

4. You will wear nice lingerie. Or you will wear nothing underneath. What I saw of what you had on today will suffice. Nothing of lower quality.

5. Your hair will remain down, or will be easy to let down.

6. Dark makeup or lipstick is not allowed in the office. It is encouraged on our Friday night meetings.

7. All shirts, blouses, or dresses must have a zipper or buttons, or be low cut to reveal cleavage.

I read and reread the instructions, realizing he wanted to dress me up like a doll. I glanced at my wardrobe. I had a few things that would suffice. But I would have to go shopping soon. Especially if I was going to wear my nicer lingerie every day.

The NDR was straight forward; don't speak of anything to do with the company, your job, or about the innerworkings of James Sinn's life. Ever. Period.

The waiver, though, was what had gotten to me. Signing it would sign away my body, my time—my life. It stated that I was agreeing to anything and everything Mr. Sinn would ask of me, on penalty of punishment or termination. It stated, "Ms. Evelyn Raleigh agrees to be a willing tool for use by James Sinn, in however he sees fit to use her." I knew what that meant; I had read enough smutty literature to understand. He was asking me to sign away my right to limits. He was asking me to give up my right to say no. It also stated I agreed to be slotted for his personal use alone, unless he gave a say-so otherwise. He wanted me to be his exclusively—although I wasn't sure what that second part was—he would order me to have sex with someone else? He didn't seem like the sharing type to me, though. The rest of the packet was fairly standard; it spoke of pay rate—which nearly stopped my heart when I read it—about notifying the receptionist in the main lobby whenever I arrived or left, whenever I would be away from the phones or off the clock, about my sick days and vacation time, and their benefits package—which was amazing, I noticed.

This was a dream job.

I just had to sign away my body and soul. The pen hovered over the paper for a full minute, my hand shaking. Then I sucked in a breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and signed the waiver. I let out the air in a sigh, signing the NDR next. Then I looked down at the papers. Had I done the right thing? Was I really able to do what he was asking? To be what he wanted? I glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 now. And Friday. I knew I was expected at his home tonight; he had left me the address. He lived in a gated house on the far side of town. I would need to live in about a half hour to make it there on time.

I found myself trying to decide what to wear that he would like the best as I stood and made myself a sandwich. But, it took me so long to eat that I didn't really have time to change. I threw together a bag with some toiletries, and grabbed something to wear as pajamas—a sheer black satin robe that fell to my mid-thigh and tied with a sash around my waist, hanging open to my naval. It would look great with my underwear and pumps. I head out quickly, and drove as fast as I could through traffic.

I barely made it with five minutes to spare. I paused at the gate and pushed a button.

"Welcome. May I ask your name and business here?" A man said pleasantly.

I paused, still unsure. I could drive away right now. Tear up the waiver and never see him again. I steadied myself with a breath. "Evelyn Raleigh. Mr. Sinn is expecting me."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Raleigh. He said you might be arriving soon. Follow the driveway to the front. I will meet you at the steps." There was a beep and the gates clanged and slid open. I drove forward. The drive was lined with fruit trees in bloom, beautiful, filling the air with the sweet scent of flowers. A house cam into view around a curve. Or, should I say, a mansion. It was massive and sprawling, with tall white columns and arches that put the museums in the city to shame. I stared in awe as I pulled up to the steps where a man in coattails waved me forward. I parked and got out of the car. The drive was cobblestone, with a huge white fountain in the center of a circle. "Welcome, Miss." The man said. "My name is Gerard. Master Sinn is expecting you in the living room. I followed him up the steps. "If you would be so kind as to give me your keys, I will pull your car around to the garage." He stated, holding out a hand. I passed him the keys without a second thought, still wondering at the house. He walked me through a heavy wooden door and I froze for a moment. If I though the entrance to Sinn Enterprises was beautiful, his house was stunning. A crystal chandelier adorned the ceiling, and priceless paintings lined the walls. The floors were a dark oak, with lush rugs every so often. "I will take your bags, Ms. Raleigh," Gerard said. "I will bring them upstairs and leave them in Master Sinn's room. They will be safe there." I dipped my head and parted with my purse and small duffle bag. "He is in the den, through that doorway, and then the doorway on the right."

"Thank you, Gerard." I said, nodding. I squared my shoulders and walked forward, my folder clutched in my hand. The first room appeared to be a sparsely furnished living room. I followed the doorway on the right to find another living room, this one lined with bookshelves filled with old, leather-bound books, with a fireplace glowing with warmth, and big cushioned chairs and couches.

Mr. Sinn was stretched out on the couch, wearing flannel pajama pants—and nothing else. His hair was damp; he must have just taken a shower. His pants hung just right, revealing his perfectly sculpted body. His arm was thrown over his face, and he looked exhausted. It didn't show in his voice, however, when he spoke. "Evelyn. You came." He said simply.

"Yes, sir." I answered, stepping toward him and holding out the folder. "As instructed." My voice shook a little—from fear or anticipation, I didn't know.

"Yes, very good." He sat up and rubbed a hand over his face in a gesture that seemed quite out of character for a man such as he was—a business man who was known for a distinct lack of weakness in any field. He looked at me. "Strip." He deadpanned.

I frowned at him for a second. "Strip?" I asked, certain I'd heard him wrong.

"Strip. Remove your clothing. Now. Shirt and skirt, place them on that chair." He gestured to a high-backed arm-chair. He had a no-nonsense sort of look on his face, the exhaustion fading out to be replaced with what I could only describe as predatory.

Glancing around to make sure no one was near, I unzipped my skirt and slid it down my legs to pool at my feet, then unbuttoned the shirt and let it fall from my shoulders. I stepped out of them and placed them where he had said, then stood, waiting for instructions, unsure if I really wanted to be there.

"Come here. Bring the folder." He held out a hand expectantly, and, a little shyly, I walked to the couch and handed him the folder with the papers inside. I crossed my arms over my bare stomach. Sure, I was standing in his living room in my underwear, but handing him that waiver, the one that said I belonged to him, made me feel naked. "Arms at your sides." He said without glancing up from where he was checking over the paperwork. I reluctantly did as he wished, and after a moment, he nodded, satisfied. "Good, good, all in order." He closed the folder and set it on the coffee table. "Gerard," He called. I sucked in a quick breath, eyes going wide. "Don't move," He said with a stern look into my eyes. I was just supposed to stand there, exposed, in not only his presence, but also his servants? "Gerard, take this into my office and file it under Ms. Raleigh's name, please." I felt a slight breeze over the bare skin on my back as a hand appeared in my peripheral, almost touching me as it reached for the folder. I closed my eyes with shame. What had I done? How had I agreed to this?

"Right away, master Sinn." He chirped back, as though nothing were amiss.

He waited until Gerard had left and I could no longer hear his footsteps, before leaning back against the couch and eyeing my body from head to toe. "Let me be clear on my intentions. Most of it you probably understood from the paperwork. You are to be mine. You will do whatever I say, whenever I say. At work, you will hold quite a bit of power in the company, but it will be only the power which I give you. You will answer my phones. You will attend every board meeting. You will usually travel with me when I am visiting our international holdings. When we are at work, I am Mr. Sinn, or sir. It will be professional, at least when we are in public, or unless I say otherwise.

"However," He met my eyes and held them, pinning me to the floor. I could see a dark light in his eyes, one that sent shivers down my spine and made heat pool in my core. "As you said, this job is a stressful one, and I need ways of relieving that stress. My methods are...unorthodox. I do not like being without control in any situation, but with the company, I have to delegate much of the inner workings. This does fill me with the need to have something in my life that I can control completely and entirely, with no question. That something is now you. With that waiver, I now legally own you." I blinked and swayed for a moment. The way he said that...it almost had me purring and curling up in his lap. But he'd told me not to move. "When we are out of the public eye, I am Master Sinn, or just master, or sir. However, I do not expect you to speak unless spoken to. You are not my secretary when we are alone, or when we are here; you are my toy, nothing more. I will allow you tonight to adjust to that concept; you may ask all the questions you wish. After tonight, though, speaking out of turn will earn you a swift, harsh punishment. Disobeying me in any way will earn you a swift, harsh punishment. Failing me in any way will earn you a swift, harsh punishment."

It hit me then, because it hadn't before, that I had just become his slave. Except, a slave was still a person. He wasn't even seeing me as a person. No, I was property, another asset that he held. I could feel my juices beginning to drip down my legs.

"That being said, tonight is also a test." He leaned forward again, and placed a hand on my hip, pulling me toward him firmly, yet gently. I stepped forward between his parted knees, my thighs brushing the front of the couch. Both of his hands slid to the back of my thighs and up to my ass, squeezing them lightly.

"A test?" I asked quietly. I thought I had already passed his test.

"This is not going to change your employment status, Ms. Raleigh," He assured as he began sliding my thong down off of my ass. "This test is going to show me how much training you will need." I stiffened in his grip. "I am going to test your limits, because once you have been trained, you will no longer have any. Lift your right leg." He finished. I complied without a thought, and he slid the thong off of my leg. "Now the left." He sounded as though he were speaking to a child, or an animal. "Good girl, now, take off the bra." I took another deep breath and reached behind me, unhooking it. "Hand it here." Fetch, I thought. What was he going to have me do next? Sit? Roll over? Beg? I smothered that darker, kinkier voice in my head. I placed the bra in his hand. "Good. Good. Now follow me." He stood, and for a moment, our bodies were pressed together, from knee to neck, and I could feel his muscled torso under his clothes, and his bulge against my stomach. Then he broke the contact and walked out of the room. I jerked and followed quickly after him, still wearing nothing but my stockings and heels. We passed a couple of house-staff, and I flushed, but they didn't even blink.

He led me into another sitting room—just how many did this place have?—and stood next to an oddly shaped piece of furniture. It looked like a gymnastics vaulting table, with extra padding. I stopped in front of him and gave it a curious glance. Without a word, he pulled me closer and turned me, pushing me forward until my hips were pressed hard against the edge of it. My eyes widened as I saw a set of four leather cuffs resting on the ground, attached to the base of the table by strong fabric straps. I didn't resist as he placed a hand on my back and pushed me down until I was pressed down against the table, my head hanging over the edge. I felt a tickle of fear down my spine as he buckled the cuffs around my ankles, then pulled my wrists down to copy the motion. Then he pulled at the straps until they were tight, pulling my arms down and my legs inward so that I was completely immobile. I whimpered as I imagined how I looked in that position, stripped down to just stockings and heels, spread open, helpless to stop whatever he wanted to do to me.

He moved around to my mouth, slipping something out of his back pocket that I hadn't noticed. I opened my mouth, but before I could inquire as to what it was, a cold metal ring was shoved between my teeth. My eyes went wide, and I tried to shake my head to dislodge the new strange object, but he held me still and buckled down the leather strap that held the gag in place. I stared at him in shock—and a flash of hot desire that I would never admit to. He just smiled and patted my cheek.

Then he did the one thing I wasn't expecting: he walked away.

I watched him as he stepped away from me and dropped onto a couch, grabbing a remote off the table and turning the television on to some cheesy crime drama. He was ignoring me. Here I was in the most vulnerable position I had ever been in, open and ready to take whatever he could give me—and nothing. I could feel my juices running down my leg. Time ticked by slowly, one episode, then another. He seemed to forget I was there.

I was just another furnishing to him, I realized. That's what he was trying to convey to me. I was there, but I was just something for him to come over and use when he felt like it, ready for him on his terms. When I realized that, I whimpered with need, squirming a little bit, trying in vain to rub my thighs together where my heat was gathering.

"Hush." He said off-hand, like he was quieting a restless dog. I whimpered again after a few more minutes, this time in frustration. I needed—I needed something—anything, just touch me, God damn it! He sighed, and flicked the TV off, turning to give me an exasperated look. "It appears patience is not one of your virtues." He twisted deeper into the couch, stretching out his legs. "Gerard," He called. The man in question appeared silently in the doorway. "Fuck the toy."

If my mouth hadn't been stretched open already, my chin would have hit the floor. Did he just...? Did he think I would just...? Gerard didn't seem phased. "As you wish, Master Sinn." Without even an apologetic glance at me, he walked around behind my prone form. I hear the rustle of clothing as he undid his pants, but I couldn't turn my head and look.

"No," I tried to say, but couldn't get the word out of my open mouth. Drool was hanging off my chin. "No' 'im." I tried again, but it just sounded like a garbled mess.

I felt a hand on my ass, spreading me open a bit more, and felt a large object line itself up to my drenched pussy. I twisted in my bonds, but they held firm. I closed my eyes in defeat, and felt my body tense, betraying me, rejoicing at being touched finally.

He thrust into me, and I cried out around the ring gag, eyes snapping open. I was close to cumming already, just from feeling his cock fill me up. There was no grunt of satisfaction, no pause to make sure I was okay; as soon as he was inside me, he began pumping his hips in a steady, quick rhythm that left me gasping for breath and whimpering. I locked my eyes on my new boss, giving into the satisfaction filling me, the heat coiling in my core. With a scream, my pussy clenched down on him, again and again, as I came. He didn't slow down, keeping his brutal pace. I came again. And again. My eyes rolled back in my head. I could feel my body on the brink of another orgasm, but it needed an extra push. If he would just touch my throbbing clit, or maybe my asshole eve, or if he would change the angle so he hit that sweet spot inside me, or changed his pace just a little, it would throw me over the edge. But he didn't. He just held my ass and continued to thrust steadily. Finally, after several minutes, he grunted, and thrust a little deeper, and I whined—it wasn't deep enough—and I felt something hot fill me. My eyes widened more, and I tried to tell him to stop, to pull out, but I wouldn't have been able to form the words even if the gag had been removed. He thrust a few more times, then pulled out. I went limp and gave another frustrated whine, still on the edge of that orgasm.

"That will be all, Gerard." My boss said, and the butler bowed and left the room wordlessly. My mind was working hard, trying to wrap itself around what had just happened. I understood that second part of the waiver now. He didn't mean for me to fuck other people on his orders. He meant for me to be fucked by other people, if he allows them to. He meant that I was not just his toy; I was simple a toy. A toy with no limits and no say, to be used by whomever, whenever—he just had first dibs.

And I wondered what else he had in store for his plaything tonight.