Male Secretary

I am what you call hardline assertive. But to be a female executive in the corporate world, you have to be.

I work right in the heart of downtown. My position is what you could call: "lead director of sales and marketing for a First Coast software company". And I take my work very seriously. Most men whom I work with are either intimidated or flat out hate me. I've been called all sorts of names in the office lunchroom: rude, a bitch, feisty, ice queen, and even a micromanaging cunt. It doesn't faze me. I embrace all of those names but represent none. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not here to make friends, I'm not here to be friendly, I'm here to get in there and get the job done. And if that means throwing my weight around in company meetings and not backing down from this male-dominated atmosphere, then so be it.

I will hold nothing back when it comes to furthering my career. I won't lie, but in this combative environment, I can proudly say I am unstoppable. Mentally, I'm ruthless, cutthroat, and over-ambitious. Physically, I'm hard to handle for most men.

If my body could be described in any way, it would have to be "Thick & Tall". My thighs are heavy, my ass is round; I have an hourglass figure with a pair of voluptuous, all natural double F-cup tits; my stomach is flat and my chestnut brown hair is long and flowing. I also wear a pair of black framed glasses, but I don't have a prescription for them - they just make me look more cunning and business-like. I also have a notorious resting bitch face. Even the most alpha of men in the office have a hard time standing up to me; I can thank my Italian and Dutch ancestors for that. I'm close to six foot five, and when faced with dissidence from my male co-workers, all I really have to do is push my tits out and hover over them when I need to be really persuasive. And if that fails (which is incredibly rare) I just play a little bit of backbiting and office politics to get my way.

Did I also mention I'm model material? It's true! My modeling career was short while I went to business school. I just couldn't break into that skinny-twig market fashion designers love and had to stick with mostly smalltime centerfold publications. Due to my heavy, amazon frame, I eventually began to attract sleazy photogs and porn directors looking to capitalize on my "giantess" body and wanting to hire me for their dominatrix films. No way. If I'm trampling or dominating any man, there's no money that can satisfy me because I symbolically do it every day in the office and make close to over a hundred thousand a year doing so!

I guess by now you might I have an idea that I hate men. That couldn't be farther from the truth; I just love going toe to toe with them in this corporate jungle. This is a Social Darwinist world; throwing those around you under the bus is not only completely encouraged but perfectly acceptable. As far as I'm concerned, I am one of the few women who can do it. In fact, I am so good at it that it is incredibly satisfying watching these ego and money-driven men wither under the pressure of my cunning and dominance. It's actually satisfying watching the looks of these men when they realize I took their ideas, shut down their proposals with such self-important pretentiousness, and pretty much send them to the office break room going "fucking bitch this!" and "god-damned cunt that!"

But even those basic semantics of the job can get boring.

Do you want to really know what I do to keep entertained in this job? I love, and I mean LUV, breaking down my male secretaries to the point of embarrassment and exhaustion. I guess I'm a reverse sexist in that capacity.

I like my secretaries of a similar type. I like young men, preferably white guys or Latinos, who are of the sensitive and introspective artist type - the type my male co-workers would call "beta bitches". I prefer them fresh out of college. They must be clean shaven, low in muscle tone but not fat, under six feet and still possess the boyish good looks of their teens. If these requirements are met during the interview, I then hook them in by boasting of the easy job workload, hefty starting pay, and lucrative benefits package. Most of these young men don't even hesitate on accepting, but once hired, I drag them through a hell of constant browbeating, emasculation, and just flat out losing my shit over the most minuscule mistakes.

I've had close to almost fifteen secretaries to date. Most put in their two-week's notice within the year; two others just stopped showing up; one ran out crying, and my last one actually suffered a panic attack.

Shoulder shrug.

I'm cold-hearted. What can I say? I guess that's why I'm single at thirty-nine. I haven't had a date in five years, not that I'm really looking either, and my sex life is really just meh.

To be honest, I really do enjoy sex with men. I've experimented with the other sex in college, but there's just nothing like a real, fleshy hard cock plowing into my pussy. But most of the one night stands I've had are from men who were looking to get it on with a tall woman; it's these same men who want to be dominated by a tall woman, and to get sex, I have to play that role. My performance in the bedroom could only be described as ravenous by these types of guys, but in reality, I personally love being the submissive role when in the bedroom. It's a really big turn of mine that no one seems to read or even pick up on, not that I'm showing it well, either.

My current secretary Elliott seems like the latter of men who have that Amazonian fetish. I always see him ogling my boisterous legs coming out from under my knee high skirt. Sometimes I even unbutton my suitcoat to expose a little bit of my plump cleavage as to say, "Here's something you can never have!"

He does fill my criteria for my ideal male secretary, though. He's twenty-two, five foot seven with boyishly handsome features like sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, square jaw, narrow chin, nerdy black-framed glasses, and even a faint speckle of freckles that resembles the splatter of dirt. He is everything I look for in a secretary, and the perfect fantasy image I use when I drill my pussy with my pink vibrator at night.

Work wise, though, he is terrible. And I mean really terrible; one of the worst secretaries I've had! He constantly misplaces files, messes up my reservations, and has put my schedule into chaos for two months. It's gotten to the point where the enjoyment of browbeating him has turned into actually having to be a boss and micromanage his every move! Apparently, he's some kind of "writer" which explains why his head is always in the clouds and eyes on my tits. When I interviewed him, I asked what he went to college for, and he said creative writing. I scoffed and asked if he was currently living on the street. The only reason I gave him the job was because he just sat there and took it like a pussy.

***

Friday night.

I usually end my work days at this high-end, but local, health club and gym down the street from my office building. It's my way to unwind from the day - a time where I shut everything off, do thirty minutes on the elliptical, work on my lunges and crunches, and then take a long steam in one of the four saunas the gym provides. Sometimes if I'm feeling a little risky, I'll find an empty one, and use my vibrator until I squirt all over the wood seats.

But tonight I'm frazzled, threatened, and honestly annoyed because I see Elliot is here. This is a high-end gym with several amenities! How can a low wage, lit nerd, pansy novelist-wannabe pussy like my secretary afford a membership like mine? I, unfortunately, do pay him sixteen an hour, but hell doesn't he know his place?! He should be working out at the Planet Gym two blocks over where they don't even let you lift and keep you fat with free pizza. Why must he be at my gym of all places? And even worse, he's in the weight room! Yeah, like Elliot actually "lifts". Even worse he's actually trying to deadlift!

I'm watching him right now from the corner of my eye as I'm doing my lunges.

Oh?

Pleasantly, he really is surprising! The...kid...can...squat?

In fact, he's squatting with some decent weight, using the perfect form by having his back straight, knees shoulder width apart, and keeping the bar close to his legs. He's squatting so good that he's barely making any noise. How is he even doing that?! Even worse why I am transfixed by that firm, tight butt of his!?

These feelings are mixing me up!

I feel I need to call him out on something. I must give him flack, the same kind of shit I give him when I turn the office clock ahead five minutes and berate him for coming in late. But there is something about Elliot that just does not add up. Sure he is one of the worst secretaries in probably the entire Gulf Coast, but it's almost like my constant badgering and rudeness has no effect on him. It's like just he takes it, and comes back to work the next day like it was nothing. It's like he has thick skin or something!?

Maybe I'll finally set him over the edge if I catch him doing something minuscule and embarrass him when he's off the clock.

I'm ready to call Elliot out on not putting the weights back...

But he put them all back.

Maybe he'll fail to wipe away his sweat when he uses some of the machines...

But he not only wipes them down but swabs the one next to him from another member!

What the hell?! I'm so flustered by his perfect gym etiquette that I can't even do my lunges now!

Here I am now just standing around in my tight green two-piece with my hands on my hips and eyeing down my secretary. My tits are hanging out a bit, and the passing other men are casting me glances, but who cares about them? I care about Elliot!

Oh...wait, that came out wrong! What the fuck am I even thinking?!

I continue to watch Elliot. He's now moving from the weight section to the treadmills and stops to talk with a girl. A young millennial like him, a skinny girl. When he leans over and kisses her on the cheek and it all makes sense.

How could Elliot have a girlfriend? He can barely balance my office budget! Maybe a little boss honesty is in line. I'm not going to talk to them long, just...set a fire and go about my way.

Flipping my towel over my shoulder, I approach them. I walk up and they are already in the middle of a conversation. Something about food or a dog, I don't know, but I just butt myself right in.

"Hellllo there, Elliot," I say.

Elliot looks over and his face grows pale. I see the fear in his eyes, remembering that I am the only real head bitch in his life.

"Oh,...hey Vic-I mean, Ms. Vicki."

Yes, he sure does know his place. I demand him to call me Ms. Vicki when he talks to me at work. I have no problem expecting the same when he's off.

"And whoooo's this?" I say, arching an eyebrow.

"Um, this is my girlfriend, Jamie?"

I look over and size her up. Jamie resembles the type of girls I used to make howl in college by eating their pussy, only to be let down when it was their turn. The bitch doesn't even say hi to me, and instead just glares my way like Elliot comes to their apartment every night to rant how bad I emasculate him. She also looks like the typical girl a pussy like Elliot could nab - a plain Jane, brown-haired girl with black framed glasses and a fishy pale body that is flat as a board.

"So what are we working on today, guys?" I ask.

"Just a treadmill and the sauna," Jamie responds coldly.

"Good stuff!" I say, putting on my fakest friendly voice possible. "But just remember the thirty-minute limit is the maximum in the sauna," I add to Jamie. "If your Elliot stays in any longer, I might have to call the doctors and arrange an appointment. He's already showing signs of brain damage. Have a nice night, by the way!"

I pivot my back to them and left them speechless as my glutes pop with each step through my tight shorts. Boy that felt great!

***

Stepping into the empty sauna, dressed in nothing by an extra-large towel that wraps around my already sweaty, curved body, the room is extra moist and humid tonight. I kinda wish I brought my vibrator. Dripping some water on the rocks and filling the room with new clouds of steam, I lean back into one of the top benches and close my eyes.

I see nothing but Elliot there squatting and it confuses me, so I open them again. I still can't get over how good Elliot looked lifting those weights! Watching that boyish, undefined body of his has made me hot. It's weird, I know, but his calves were so thick and the only thing muscular.

On a side note, chicken legs on a man are such a turnoff! I love a man with heavy set legs, makes him more studier when he's fucking you...

BZZZZZZZTTT

Huh, what?...Oh, that's just great! A roll of thunder outside and the weak power system just shut off and now I'm left sitting here in a pitch black sauna with a wet pussy.

What a way to start the weekend!

***

The sauna holds its humidity for some time, but the lights remain off and it's too dark for me to move unless risking myself slipping and cracking my head on the tile floor. All of a sudden, I hear the door open and the sauna loses a little bit of its moisture. I call out, figuring it's an employee, and ask how long the power is going to remain off. The person who enters does not respond. I call out again, but my words stammer when a pair of rough hands slid up my inner thighs, making a beeline for my vagina.

I immediately shriek and lean back until my shoulder blades hit the wall behind me. I go to stand up and scream, but lose the urge as a wet tongue runs up my freshly waxed pussy lips.

The tingling sensations are immediate. I've been eaten out plenty of times, but nothing is like what I'm experiencing! The waves of sensation that roll down my thighs match the slithering of the tongue that edge up and down my pussy. I gasp and moan, too consumed by the moment to scream out or tell him to stop.

The stranger is too good. So good in fact, I want more. I open my thighs wider, turning my feet to find his hips and pull him closer into me. His tongue suddenly catches me off guard and massages around my clit. My eyes roll and body twitches. His hands reach up and pull down the towel until my heavy breasts flop out. His cold hands grab them, barely able to hold the entire fullness of them in his grasp. There was also a startled jolt in his grasp, like a sudden reminder that the stranger had just made a horrible mistake.

Maybe he needs some encouragement.

"Keep going...whomever you are, just keep going," I whisper in the dark.

A deep exhale comes from his mouth and dampens my pussy. He suddenly loses himself between my thighs, pushing his tongue deeper into my vagina, back out, and slathering it around my nubby clit. He's eating my pussy so good that I begin to twerk my vagina upwards with each lick, grasping the back of his head, and holding his head there as I cum. My chest heaves, the energy is overwhelming! Demanding he to put it inside me, I explain that my tubes are tied, and say that if he's ballsy enough to creep in here and eat me out, the least he can do is finish inside me.

His tongue pulls away without hesitation and I see the muscular outline of his body in the dark. He's tall, dark, and handsome! As his hips press further up into my thighs, I feel the rock-hard stiffness as his cock rubs up against my pussy. It's much bigger than I have ever taken before.

Just as he was about to penetrate me, the lights suddenly turned back on. Opening my eyes, my pupils widen when the lustful stallion of a man I had envisioned was barely a male at all, but my pussified incompetent secretary Elliot!

We look at each other blankly, frozen in the position of my legs open, eager and ready for his cock to insert inside me. Elliot just stands naked in front of me, his large penis still erect. I make the first move and push him backward. There was a look in his eyes at that moment that I've never seen before. He was confident, standing upright, and fully intent of giving me the sex I wanted.

I...I...I just can't handle it. Pulling my bathrobe back over my trembling body (that was near another orgasm) I quickly flee the sauna.

I rush down the narrow hallway where the doors to the other saunas line both sides of the corridor. The last door to my right opens and I jump out of the way. Jamie walks out of it, looking around as if she was looking for something. We connect eyes only briefly; she scowls at me again and I almost say, "oh yeah? Well, your boyfriend just licked the shit out of my pussy and it was great!" but am too caught up in the moment. I run to the end of the hallway and turn to hide around the corner. Placing my back against the wall, I clasp my hands over my pounding heart.

No one, and I mean no one, has ever handled me like that. I am confused, turned on, and bewildered. That was definitely not the same Elliot who I micromanaged while on the clock.

Remaining against the wall, I hear Elliot's voice come back down from the hallway.

"I thought you were in room four?" he whispers.

"No, I said two," Jamie says with impatience.

There came a pause in silence, then a simple oh. "Do you still wanna?" he adds.

"No! You took too long like always."

"Yeah, okay, sure, sorry," Elliot says in typical timid manner.

That's when I hear something that was a shade of me. "How long were you in sauna four?"

"Just a few seconds," Elliot lies. "I startled my boss a little, I think."

Jamie sighs. "She's a real big bitch. I don't care that she pays you sixteen an hour. I want you to start looking for a new job, you understand? And put on your towel again before someone sees you, idiot!"

My heart sinks down to my stomach. I didn't mind being called a bitch. I'm used to it as I said, but I'm distraught. Who is this woman? What was her deal?! Where did she come from? And why does Jamie think she's head boss of my secretary?

***

Monday Afternoon.

I've been pretending like nothing happened all day. In fact, I turned the clock forward another extra five minutes so I can get on Elliot for being ten minutes "late" just to show him that I forgot. Again, he takes it all in stride.

I've been remaining inside my office for most of the morning and afternoon. This Brunson File I'm reviewing is really getting on my nerves because of its length, and when I do look up, you know what I see? Elliot through my inner office windows just sitting at his desk! Which is, of course, he needs to be, of course, but really? Like, do something! Of course.

It's strange. I gave him enough minimal tasks to do! I lectured him over some petty stuff earlier. Why are his eyes just glued to his laptop screen? It's almost like he's looking for something, maybe internet surfing, which I do not allow, or maybe something else?

Panic is setting in - what if he's looking for a new job?

As much as I can still feel his tongue and mouth eating me out, I can also feel the anxiety in me. But why? He is just another male secretary...a male secretary who could lick pussy like a wizard...who can pack a punch with his thick cock. A male secretary who caught me off guard and...has yet to honestly quit on me.

I hate to admit it now, but the thought of losing Elliot...scares me. He's a terrible secretary, but I've had worse even though I said he's the worst. Sure he's a little scatterbrained on the organizational side of things, but what guy isn't? Is it really me? Am I that much of a psychopath to make everyone around me miserable? I'm sorry if come off as a hypocrite, but no secretary has ever...I-I have to change his mind somehow.

***

It's past five and going onto six-thirty.

I sent an email earlier to Elliot's desktop demanding he stay late and re-file everything he has for me. The look on his face and his ability to hold his tongue is astounding! I've never seen such passiveness or patience in my life! We are the last ones here. I've actually never seen the office so empty. It's just us and the janitors.