She dresses in her usual attire: a white button up blouse undone to just the top of her cleavage; a black skirt and matching blazer; black, sheer stockings, and black pumps. Her make up is done in a professional manner finished nicely with red lipstick. Her red hair is done up in a bun with wispy stray hairs hanging down on the side and in back. She takes one glance in the mirror and nods in approval before grabbing her handbag and leather briefcase to head out the door.
She was up pretty late the night before proofreading the complaint she had transcribed in the office for him the day prior. She had adjusted to not getting much sleep in the past year she worked for him. Most of the time she felt overworked and under appreciated.
He had a serious and controlling nature. He snapped out demands at her on occasion with expectations she'd get things done promptly. She often thought a smile would be nice; a verbal pat on the back, perhaps. However, she suspected that he needed to be this way in order to win. Being an attorney isn't an easy job, nor was being his assistant.
However, many days, as she sat there typing, she would daydream about bending him over his desk and spanking his bare ass to teach him some manners. Today was no different than any other. Her heels clicked on the tile entryway as she strolled into the office. As usual, he was already there. She wondered if he ever went home and how his wife could possibly handle him gone so much.
"Ah, Sierra, you're here. Great. Did you get that complaint done? If so, I'd like to look it over. While you're at it, grab a pad and pen and come in here while I dictate a quick letter for you to type up." He says from his office.
She lets out a sigh as she walks over to her desk and drops the briefcase. Damn, she thinks to herself, let me at least get in the door before you start barking out commands, you freaking slave driver. "Yes, Mr. Mitchell, I'll be right in." she says.
She retrieves the complaint from her briefcase, grabs a pad and pen and enters his office. "Here you go." She tells him as she sets down the document in front of him and sits down in the chair in front of his desk.
Again, thoughts of having him bent over that big, oak desk sends chills across her skin. Sometimes, it's the only thing that gets her through the day in a good mood.
After dictating the letter, she returns to her desk to do the day's work without many interactions between the two of them.
Finally, lunch...she thinks. She slips out of her heels and into a pair of socks and sneakers so that she can walk on her lunch hour and heads out the door.
She gets to the elevator before realizing she forgot to grab her handbag so she could grab a bite to eat while she was out walking.
When she enters the office again, she is stunned to find her boss on the floor on all fours with his nose in her heels.
"Mr. Mitchell! She stutters. "What are you doing?"
"Sierra. I...uh...dropped something under your desk. I...uh...oh, there it is." He says while attempting to pick up a pencil under her desk.
"Why, Mr. Mitchell, I believe you had your nose in my shoes." She smiles wickedly at him.
She walks over to him and looks down at him. How pathetic he looks on all fours like that, she thinks. She puts her sneaker on his head and pushes his head back down to her heels.
"Do you like my pumps, Mr. Mitchell? Why don't you take a deep breath. I think you kinda like that, don't you?" She snickers.
He breathes in deeply and moans slightly. She smiles and raises one eyebrow. She grabs his collar and pulls on it forcing him to follow her into his office.