I want to thank everyone for reading and providing their wonderful comments on my previous stories, they meant a lot to me. This is the first chapter of a short series. As with my other stories, it is based on my real life experiences with a dash of fantasy thrown in. I'll let you decide which is which. Oh, and a special thanks to Dante Alighieri and Jim Morrison for a bit of literary inspiration. Thank you for reading and please, feel free to provide your comments and feedback either after the story or via email.
I shivered as I listened to the phone call from the VP's executive assistant, Ms Evans.
"He wants to see you at 6:00."
"I understand. Does he need me to bring anything?" I stammered.
"Just yourself." She replied and hung up.
I bit my lower lip, a mixture of fear and excitement rippling through my body. I felt a warmth begin to grow in my belly as I thought of previous late meetings.
I tried to focus on the prep work for my new client with marginal success. Finally, at 5:40, I closed the windows on my laptop and went to the restroom to check my makeup. I reapplied my lipstick, a bright red to match my blouse and shoes, and let my hair down, satisfied, I made my way back to my work station. Powering off my laptop, I closed it and slipped it into my bag and headed for the elevator. I remembered my Dad's saying that he picked up when he was in the Army, "If you're on time, you're late. If you're early, you're on time." When I was younger, it sounded odd, but as I grew up, I understood what he meant and applied it to my own life.
It was a relatively short trip to the building's top floor and as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, I took a deep breath and stepped out into the executive hallway. Coming to his office door, I took another deep breath feeling the flush begin to rise from my chest to my throat. I didn't know which was stronger, the feeling of fear or that of need. In the back of my mind, I knew which would win out, as it inevitably did.
"Hi, Miss Cassandra." I said as I stepped into the office. She seemed to enjoy it when I used the old southern colloquialism of a title and first name. She was normally very formal. I remembered the low key, but sharp rebuke she gave to a new employee who called her "Cassie." That employee never made that mistake again.
She looked up from her computer screen and smiled, "Hello, Alexa. Please have a seat, you're early."
I settled into one of the leather-covered chairs, the brush of my stockings seemed to echo in the office as I crossed my legs. These chairs were wonderfully cushioned, but presented a real challenge if one was wearing a skirt or dress because they were extremely difficult to get out of without giving a "show" to anyone who happened to be looking.
"Thank you. I know I am, but I didn't want to keep him waiting." I smiled as I tugged the hem of my skirt down past the dark band of my stocking top.
Before turning back to her work, she chuckled, "Good thinking."
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her thick auburn hair was up, as usual. I imagine what it would look like when she let it down. Her auburn mane, combined with her green eyes and statuesque figure never failed to turn heads on the rare occasions she was out of the office. I pressed my thighs tightly together at the image of her with her hair down, trying to resist the urge to grind my legs together as I let my eyes wander over the pictures on the walls. I didn't know whether or not they were original Remingtons and Russells, but I imagined that in this office, they were originals.
The buzz of the phone intercom on her desk startled me from my reverie. She answered and nodded as she hung the phone up and rose.
"He's ready for you."
I fairly leapt up from the chair bringing a smile to her lips as she caught a glimpse of my stockings and red thong.
She paused before opening the office door and whispered in my ear, "very lovely."
I blushed hotly and murmured a "thank you."
I stepped through the door into the office that was the size of a studio apartment and nearly as functional. The layout hadn't changed since the last time I visited. There was a small conference table to the right of the door. The VP's desk was straight ahead with a well-filled bookshelf with a small, but well-stocked bar behind it and along the right wall. His desk reflected the rest of the western-themed decor. The only other two times that I'd been in the office, his desk had been clear save for a computer and a lamp. Today, something glittering on the glass desktop caught my eye, but I didn't have time to focus on it. There were four overstuffed leather chairs that matched the ones in his reception area as well as the couch that was positioned to the left of the chairs.
Unable to resist a glance to the left, I could see the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling glass that made up one entire wall. I felt a slight blush as I remembered my breasts and face pressed against the glass while he roughly fucked my ass. At the time, I wondered if anyone could see me. I remembered the feeling of raw lust and fear; my fear of heights exacerbated by the irrational fear that the glass might break, sending us tumbling to the ground below. That thought deepened my blush and brought a sudden weakness in my knees.
A striking man, he stood about 5'11" tall, not terribly tall, but taller than me by 6". In his late fifties, he had close-cropped dark gray hair that matched his eyes. Having shed his jacket and tie, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled half way up his forearms, he stood at the bar pouring an amber liquid into a cocktail glass, liquid that I could only guess was his favorite whiskey, Blanton's. I was reminded of the conversation about whiskies that we had had at a party. He was a bourbon guy and I was a scotch girl. He was surprised that I favored the peatier, smokier offerings from the west coast of Scotland. I remember his comments about most women he'd met preferred the milder, Speyside offerings. Feeling in a playful mood, I responded, "I'm not like most women." He raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Here's to that."
Turning to face me, he took a sip of his bourbon and gestured with his glass, "Drop the jacket and bag cunt."
"Yes Sir." I replied as I shrugged my jacket off of my shoulders and turned to drape it over one of the conference table chairs.
"I didn't tell you to hang them up cunt. I said 'drop them'."
My face reddened as I dropped my jacket and bag on the floor next to me. "I'm sorry Sir."
"Yes you are cunt."
"Have you touched yourself today cunt?"
"Yes Sir." I stammered, looking down at the floor.
He nodded, "As I thought, something that will require punishment."
I shivered, looking down at the floor.
"Open your blouse cunt, down to the waist and pull your skirt up to your waist. I want to see that creamy satin ass-flesh of yours."
Fumbling with the bow at my throat, I untied it and unbuttoned my blouse to the waist, shivering slightly as I pulled open to the sides of my breasts. I knew that he could see the gold of my nipple bars glimmering through the lace of my bra. Bending slightly, I curled my fingers under the hem of my skirt and slowly pulled it up, giving a shake of my hips as I tugged it over my hips to my waist.
He motioned with his whiskey glass for me to turn and I obeyed, slowly turning.
"A garter belt to work? You are a cocktease slut, aren't you?"
My face turned a deeper red as his words registered the truth in my brain.
"Yes Sir." I whispered.
"What? Louder!"
I repeated the words, louder this time. "Yes Sir."
"Louder cunt!"
Nearly shouting, I repeated the words again. "Yes Sir!"
"Better cunt, are you wet?"
"Yes Sir." I replied.
"Show me cunt."
The fear that I had felt when I first entered his office was fading to be replaced by dark lust. With my eyes locked on his, I slowly slid my right hand into my thong. My lips parted in a soft pant as I ran my fingers over the slick folds of my slit, stroking slowly as I rocked my hips against them feeling my juices coat my fingers. His eyes narrowed slightly and a slight smile curled at the edges of his lips as he watched my tease.
Slowly, teasingly, I pulled my glistening fingers from my thong showing him my wetness before flicking my pink tongue out, licking them, savoring my sweet juices.
