Zoe's New Life

Please note: This story is a continuation of Zoe's Awakening, a different series. It may be best to read that first. However, this can be read as a standalone series, just know that you might not get a few references to other characters. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!

*****

The ad had seemed innocent enough, but something about it caught my eye. "Successful businessman seeks personal assistant. Must have experience. More details provided upon receipt of resume. Please contact our office at 555-555-5555 for address." Perhaps it was because the description, while vague, reminded me of Page. I circled it in red pen, intending to call the number as soon as I got home.

I'd been living in Boston for about six weeks at that point, and was in desperate need of a job. My emergency cash fund was alarmingly low, and I hated the idea of having to beg my family for money, especially when they were still reeling from my sudden, unexpected (to them) divorce from Mark.

As soon as I got home, I dialed the number listed in the ad. "Thank you for calling Wilcox Communications, this is Mandy, how may I direct your call?" The chipper voice on the other end of the line recited.

Wilcox Communications. I'd heard that name before. Suddenly, I realized that was the name of the corporation who owned the cable company that I got internet and T.V. service through. I was a little shocked at how such a large and powerful company had printed such a tiny, seemingly insignificant ad in the local paper. I was a little nervous now, and tried to steady my voice as I said, "Yes. Hello. Um. I'm calling about the ad? For a personal assistant?"

A pause, some clicking noises. "I see. Please hold," Mandy said, her voice more businesslike than chipper now.

A few rings, then another female voice, clipped, extremely professional, and - there was no other word for it - sultry: "This is Megan, I understand you're calling about the PA ad? Please tell me your name and qualifications."

Again, I felt nervous and out of my element. "Yes, hi, I'm Zoe. Zoe Wall... Alderly," I caught myself saying my married name and corrected hastily. "To be honest, I don't have much experience as a PA, but I worked for Goodman and Stern, back in Chicago, and..."

Megan cut me off before I could finish. "You can send your resume. Include two pictures, please. One of your face and one of your body."

I gaped at the phone, wanting to spit a nasty retort -What? How dare you! - but instead, I simply opened and closed my mouth like a landed fish. "Um. Ok..." I'd finally choked out, and Megan had simply said "Have a nice day," and hung up, just like that.

It was the strangest phone conversation I'd ever had. I was intrigued.

+++

The next day, I worked on my resume and took the requested pictures, printed them out, and put everything in a large manila envelope. I felt strange mailing it, but once it was done I had to admit that I was excited and nervous to hear back. I wanted to know more.

Luckily, it only took a few days before my curiosity was satisfied.

+++

I was at the coffee shop down the street from my apartment when my phone rang, an unknown number flashing on the screen. I normally don't answer numbers I don't know, but something told me it was Wilcox Communications on the other end, and I was compelled to answer.

"Hello?" I hated how eager I sounded. Dammit.

"This is Megan with Wilcox Communications, am I speaking with Zoe Alderly?" That voice again. She really could be a phone sex operator. She sounded like sex dipped in honey, rolled in sugar. It threw me off.

"Yes, that's me. I mean, you're speaking with Zoe." Ugh. So awkward. I could have kicked myself.

"Zoe, Mr. Wilcox would like you to interview for the personal assistant position. Are you available this evening? Around six o'clock?" She asked, still clipped and professional. It almost sounded as if she hoped I'd say no.

"Absolutely. Just tell me where, I'll be there."

A brief pause. "Wilcox Communications building, 123 First Street, 50th floor, the penthouse suite. See you at six."

"Who should I -" Click. Megan ended the call.

I put down my phone and realized I still had no idea what this position would entail. But I was about to find out.

+++

I decided on a simple black pencil skirt, not too tight or short, but one that clung to the curves of my thighs and butt in all the right places, and a simple, modest blouse in a light pink that complimented my dark hair and eyes. Plain black pumps completed the outfit, and I made sure my long, shiny hair had just the right amount of wave. I didn't overdo the makeup, just enough to bring out my eyes and accentuate my full lips. After several double-checks of my appearance, I finally made it out the door at 5:30, making sure to give myself plenty of time to find the right building.

I had no idea what to expect, but it wasn't the ultra-modern opulence that met me when I arrived that the building. I'd seen it in the distance many times on my walks around Boston, but having never been inside, I didn't realize how incredibly wealthy this corporation was. Glass and steel were the main components of the design, and every immaculately arranged piece of furniture and art screamed luxury.

I got into the elevator and pressed 50, the top level. The penthouse suite. I could only imagine what sort of insane displays of wealth awaited me there, and I was not disappointed. Spread beneath me was an entire floor of carrera marble, and enormous floor-to-ceiling windows all around allowed for breathtaking views of the city. Stepping out of the elevator, I was suddenly ambushed by an incredibly tall, stunningly gorgeous woman. Blonde, blue-eyed, with legs that seemed to go on for miles, she appeared as if from thin air to my right and came to stand in front of me.

"Zoe?" she snapped, arms crossed, looking like the angriest, most beautiful Victoria's Secret Angel there ever was. I felt very small and insignificant in her presence, which I'm sure she had intended. She was dressed in what I call only identify as lingerie. It was definitely not business attire by any stretch of the imagination. I suddenly felt not only small and insignificant, but also seriously over-dressed. Or under. I wasn't sure which, really.

"Yes," I managed to squeak out.

"Hmm," she said, eyeing me like a piece of meat at the butcher's counter. "Short, but pretty enough. I don't know if you're his type, though. I guess we'll find out," she gave a little smirk and turned on her heel. I followed as quickly as possible. The tile was rather slick. Megan must be used to it, I thought, as she walked with confident ease in her towering heels, whereas I was terrified I'd fall at any moment.

We entered through a large arch to the left of the elevator into an adjoining room. It was a massive space, circular, with a recessed sitting area in the middle. Pillows and blankets were strewn everywhere with in the recessed part, making it look as if a giant sleepover had recently taken place. There were a few girls spread around the room, talking, relaxing, idly scrolling on their phones. Each and every one of them was gorgeous. There were all shapes and sizes, but the vast majority of them were blondes. Some were curvy, with hourglass figures and large breasts. Others, small and slim, almost boyish. All of them were in various states of undress, most of them wearing lingerie like Megan. I stood out like a sore thumb in my professional attire, my dark hair and eyes calling lots of unwanted attention to me as I walked in their midst.

I'd been so busying looking at the girls that I hadn't noticed the man until I was almost directly in front of him. He was tall, taller than Megan, and probably at least a foot taller than me, at 5'2". He was imposing, with broad shoulders and the kind of face that, while maybe not the most handsome one you would ever see, was memorable and intriguing. A faint line of stubble stood out on his jaw, and his dark eyes were quick and gave the impression that nothing would escape his shrewd gaze. Megan stood in front of him with her head bowed respectfully until he looked up from the iPad he was staring at, apparently lost in thought.

He spoke, and his voice struck me as oddly familiar. It took me a moment to figure out why, as I knew for a fact I'd never met this man in my life. Then I realized: when he spoke, he had the same steely control that Samuel Page had possessed. He spoke like he knew he was in charge, and that for anyone around him to believe otherwise was a farce. "Megan. Introduce our guest," he said, and his eyes flickered over me with only the slightest hint of interest. He set his tablet down on the table next to him, and rested his hands casually on his thighs.

This whole thing was very, very strange, I decided.

Megan spoke, and I was shocked to hear how small her voice sounded. Demure, simpering. "Sir, this is Zoe Alderly. Your six o'clock interview."

"Thank you, Megan. Sit." It was like he was speaking to a dog, and Megan reacted as such, immediately sitting at Mr. Wilcox's feet.

I watched this whole interaction unfold with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was definitely not a personal assistant job I had applied for, but something was keeping me from sputtering an excuse to leave and running out the door. I think it was the way Mr. Wilcox was staring at me. I had missed being looked at like that. It was intoxicating, and the high I got kept me planted firmly in front of Mr. Wilcox, in his fancy penthouse, wondering what the ever-loving hell I was doing there.

"Zoe," he began smoothly, my name sounding incredibly sexy when he spoke it in his deep, commanding voice. "I'm Scott. Scott Wilcox. I understand that you may have thought you were applying for a position as my PA, and to some extent, that's true...But I'm actually looking for much...more than that. I'm sorry I had to be so vague in the advertisement, but we do have to protect the company's image," he says, and he's clearly a salesman, because I'm starting to think it's not so crazy at all, that's it's totally normal that I'd be here, applying, it seems, to be a prostitute.

I say as much, and Scott laughs heartily. "No, not a prostitute. More like... a concubine, a mistress. A member of my modern harem, if you will," he laughs, his eyes dancing with mirth, making a motion with his hand to indicate all the girls throughout the room.

I continue to stare at him, trying to wrap my brain around this new development. Suddenly I'm all business. The reasons rapid-fire through my brain. I need a job. I'm sure this bigshot pays well, and he's nice to look at. And, admittedly, I don't mind using my sexuality to my advantage. I have Page to thank for that. "I need more specifics," I start, and my suddenly brusque tone seems to surprise Scott. "Salary, benefits, what's expected of me, hours I'm to be available..."

Scott becomes brusque, too, but he's smiling while he looks at me, pulling up the details I've requested on his iPad. I arch my eyebrows at the salary. Whoa. I could afford a place twice as nice as my apartment on that paycheck. Benefits are excellent as well; full medical, dental, vision, life insurance, the whole nine.

"Your job duties are simple, really. As a member of my... household, you'll be expected to be available to me in any way I require from five every afternoon until five every morning except on your days off. Otherwise, your time is yours. You'll have your own lodgings here, a wardrobe provided, as well as any meals while you're in the penthouse. You have two days off a week, Sunday and Monday, and can do anything you like with that time." He says simply, and it sounds pretty perfect. There must be a catch. I decide to ask point-blank.

"So, what's the catch?" I say, my eyes narrowing a bit at him, trying my best to look skeptical and savvy.

He stares at me for a moment, then laughs, a real laugh, his head thrown back, the sound echoing throughout the massive space. Megan looks as if she isn't quite sure what to do. I get the feeling he doesn't laugh much.

Once he recovers, he fixes me with that steady gaze again, the laughter still in his eyes. "Well, my dear, there's really no catch. Unless of course you object to being my possession, used in every possible way you can imagine, forced to have multiple, mind-numbing, body-wracking orgasms every night at my will?"

Megan looks smug, and crosses her arms, staring at me, as if daring me to argue with that.

Admittedly, I'm a little taken aback. And intrigued. And yes, dammit, turned on, slut that I am. I raise my eyebrows. "I see. Is there a contract or something I can look over?"

Another chuckle. "Of course," he holds out a hand, lazily, casually, and Megan scrambles to grab a folder from the briefcase at Scott's feet. She hands it to him, her eyes never leaving his face, searching for acknowledgement and approval. He thanks her without a glance and she shrinks back into her position at his feet.

He leafs through the folder, making sure everything is in order, and hands it to me. It's thick, it seems I'll have quite a bit of reading to do this evening. I shove the folder in my bag and look at Scott.

"Well. I'll just...read over everything here, and...call you, I guess?" I say, not really sure if we're done or not. I shift awkwardly on my feet, feeling exposed under Scott's calculating gaze.

"I like you, Zoe. I'd like it very much if you worked for me. However, I do usually request a full inspection of my new...property, during the initial interview." He grins, and it's warm, coaxing and... hungry.

"Well, I haven't decided whether I'm to become 'your property,'" I spit back, a little more forcefully than I had intended.

Megan looks scandalized, but Scott just continues looking at me evenly, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You make a fair point, Miss Alderly. Go home, then, and read over everything. Come back tomorrow at 6 o'clock if you decide to join the team. And if you do come back, I will take that as your tacit consent to all of the terms listed in that paperwork - so be ready." Like that, I'm dismissed, a casual flick of his wrist indicating that the conversation is over.

As I walk away, I swear I hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone. I don't turn back to check.

+++

Back at my apartment, I collapse onto the couch with my reading material, interested to find out more about this job, but also knowing that I'll probably end up taking it no matter what. Something about the way Scott had looked at me, about the humor in his eyes, even as powerful as he clearly is, intrigued me. There was no way I was going to pass this up.

Most of the paperwork turned out to be typical Human Resources stuff you'd get for any job - insurance papers to fill out, salary agreements, and a background check form to fill out. Only one set of papers gave any indication that this was an unusual job: an NDA as well as a Sexual Will/Won't/Might list that I was to fill out, with my limits, likes, dislikes, and things I'd be interested in trying. He was nothing if not thorough.

I filled out all the paperwork carefully, making sure I didn't forget a single detail, and went to bed. Little did I know it would be my last night in that apartment.

+++

I'm strangely restless all day, flitting around my apartment like a hummingbird, folding and re-folding the blankets on my bed, fixing my hair several times, and just feeling generally anxious. Six o'clock can't come soon enough.

I hope I haven't made a huge mistake. All I know is that while I understand that what Page did to me when I was his PA was wrong, I've been craving that high again, in need of the intoxication that being utterly owned - there's really no other word for it - brings.

The elevator doors leading to the 50th floor of the Wilcox Communications building open at six o'clock sharp and I step onto those expensive marble floors, a bundle of buzzing, humming, nervous energy, my blood pounding sluggishly in my veins, my stomach doing odd little flips.

Immediately, Megan is at my side, looking especially predatory, even dressed in a gorgeous, flowing dress the exact same shade of icy blue as her eyes.

"Come with me," she says, turning on her heel and leading me down a corridor to the right of the elevator.

I follow.