Her ass meant sexual employment for his dictation!
Ms. Therrisa Athena Cleopallis could be a real B I T C H of a boss. She wasn't often, and her administrative assistant, Randolph Stefano, liked her, a lot; in fact he liked her in a certain way - way too much. He would have liked to make love to her, but she was his employer and she didn't socialize with the staff. He couldn't even have thought of asking her out, much less hitting on her for a liaison.
It quite late this Wednesday evening and they were both at work finishing a project for a fresh ad campaign that would be presented the day after tomorrow. They were the last to leave. Actually, Randy was done with his end and just waiting for Ms. Cleopallis; Terry, as she allowed him to call her in informal settings, to approve the final draft of the presentation, then copies could be run off tomorrow in time for the meeting on Friday with the new clients.
The CEO of the firm which she had started six years ago was a drop gorgeous gal, a dead ringer for Farah Cassidy, the flame-haired actress who played the executive secretary on the popular American Network series, "Legal Ties"; the show where all the lawyers wore color coordinated shirts and ties, and grey conservative Brooks Brothers' type suits. The redheaded 'paralegal with legs' and the 'clever one with cleavage' as she was sometimes referred to by the male cast members in their scripts was a knockout.
He was about to don his suit coat that hung on a brass hook by the side of the door, just then he heard a knock. He opened it to see Terry. "Randy, could you come into my office? There is something we need to discuss." He followed her the few feet to her corner office on the 17th floor of the Manhattan skyscraper. The view to the south looked over Wall Street and the Statue of Liberty, to the east was the Seaport Museum and Pier 17. A spectacular view, though the best looking thing to be seen in that office was the lady herself, to Randy's perspective.
"Need any final revisions for the presentation?" he asked expecting last minute jot and tittle corrections she found to make; she was a perfectionist in everything.
"No, it's something else entirely." Terry turned to face him and indicated for him to take a seat at his usual spot where he took dictation. But then, as he was just getting settled, she made an 'up' wave with her hand and spoke again. "Better yet, for this why don't you bring in Jane's chair. It'll be easier to roll through the door than your comfy lounger." He did as she requested, and when he returned with the typist's more utilitarian perch, his hottie-honcho pointed indicating he should roll the chair to sit next to her. With her other hand she turned the computer screen so that they both could see it.
The desktop screen was an aerial view of her family's home island in Greece. Her father was a shipping magnate; he had financed her move to be independent when she wanted to split from the agency she had spent her apprenticeship with. The company The Ad-riatic Agency was one of the fastest growing firms in the field according to a recent report in the Wall St. Journal. Randy was of Greek decent also and at thirty-five, just three years younger than his boss; he had a George Clooney sort of look but with a larger proboscis.
"Mr. Stefano," she began with unexpected formality, "You understand that this new client's account will mean that the pair of us will be required to be traveling to far places and spending several days at the locations associated with the campaign? He nodded, she continued, "As my administrative assistant I shall need you at my elbow to help not only with the business at hand, but to keep me appraised on any developments back at the office that would need my attention."
He nodded again; it was in his job description, so he knew all of this already. What was she getting at, he wondered? It was strange for her to review something that was a given, which they both were well acquainted with.
"Our IT department runs an internal scan of all the computers once a week. This is made clear to all of our employees. Any other items such as laptops for taking home to work on etc. are also checked." she paused, "and if they find something on a desk, such as a company phone they will check that as well." She held up a thumb drive, "These too."
Oh, oh! Randy recognized it by the white-out he had put on one end to insure that special one was distinguished from his others. Therrisa put it in a slot on the desktop and clicked the menu to open the list of files. When she put the pointer over the one titled 'Drop Dead Ringer' he got an ugg in his gut and a thrill in his crotch at the same time. He perfectly understood that his secret lust would be now exposed and that he might well be fired this very evening.
She didn't just click; she opened the slide-show function and let the review begin. Several dozen pictures began to be displayed, dissolving one to another as Farah Cassidy's photos gleamed from the internet got progressively more and more risqué from business attire to casual to bikini to a few nudes even.
"It's not actually pornography," Randolph tried to defend himself, a futile attempt he knew even as he spoke.
"But there is more, my fine fellow!" She interrupted his focus on the beauty shown on the computer screen with a tone that contained both amusement and scorn. She used her mouse and a file within the file began to present even more damning pics. This was the much the same set, but with Ms. Cleopallas face photoshopped over the star's, and included some of her from the office which he had surreptitiously snapped with his phone. His obsession was obvious.
"Legal Ties - eh?" Terry gave a dismissive snort to punctuate her short sentence. She clicked with her mouse and a new photograph appeared on the screen. One he had never seen before; one he had not collected or modified, one of his employer on a beach in a tiny swimsuit. Randy's eyes were riveted to the image, capturing the radiant and ravishing russet-haired siren for his memory. The stunning image stultified his brain as she had intended. "Give me your tie!" she demanded. To his 'huh?' she reiterated, "your tie - GIVE IT TO ME NOW!"
The command of the CEO, the warrior goddess of Greece as her moniker implied, made male staff jump when she used that tone, she understood how to rule. Meekly Mr. Stefano undid his neckwear and offered it to her as a supplication. She took it from him with a firm pluck and moved behind him. With surprising strength in her slender arms she brought his right hand behind the seat, held it with a knee and reached for his left. With the deftness of a rodeo champion she had his wrists bound in just seconds to the central support of the chair's back, like a calf-roper binding the legs of a dogie.
With a detached understanding of her reason for this particular seat to be used, simultaneously he wondered what the hell the bitch was going to do to him as punishment for so egregious a violation of her trust in him. "Let me make you a little more comfortable." Terry spoke gently, as she undid his collar button. "You don't like the way I dress? This suit I'm wearing is an original Chaz Stacy outfit, you've heard of the famous designer?" The executive removed her jacket, turned and took a few steps away from him. He could see her firm globes beneath the skirt as her legs moved.
She swiveled around to face him, swung the jacket over her shoulder, and then she struck a pose like a model on a runway in a fashion show. Gracefully she gestured to her shirt, in the process calling attention to her ample breasts. "The blouse is from Channel, a chic and sheer silk." She popped the highest snap on the garment. You could see her lacy brassiere underneath through the translucent material now that the short coat had been removed. It was very alluring apparel indeed.
Randy was getting a rise even though his mind boggled at the bizarre behavior the exposure of his infatuation with his boss had unleashed in her. She tossed the grey tweed top to the credenza along the wall and closed the gap between them. Purposefully she undid the leather strap around her middle. "I'm taking off my Chaz Stacy belt, Randolph; you like word-play so much, don't you?" The last words said with a sultry lilt.
Suddenly she knelt and whipped the belt around his ankles; slipping the end through the buckle she secured his feet. "Hmm - the male-chauvinist pig is now hog-tied!" she said with a smirk on her mouth and a glint of fire in her eyes. "You missed that picture didn't you; she said pointing and drawing his attention back to the computer display of her near nude beach layout. "That's from the Playboy issue that had the 'Vestal Virgins of Vassar' one of the college-girls editions. It didn't show up when you Googled to ogle, because I used my nickname," she bent low to whisper in his ear, 'Theena'," and in an even more breathy and seductive timber she added, "And I was no virgin!"
With that statement and still bending down to him, she undid the second snap of her white sheer silk. Then another. Next she unbuttoned the second on his shirt. "You see, my dear Randy - oh so fitting a name, right? - or should I say, Mr. Stiff-ano?"
He could give as good as he got, "You're the one who is the executive sexy-Terry!"
"Oo," she snickered, "banter my boy? Well, as I was saying, you see you're not the only one who can play at this fantasy-foosball of photo erotica," she undid a third button on his shirt, "see what I found?" She reached for the mouse, did a couple of clicks and his underwear shoot from back in his modeling days began to run as a slide-show, the tighty-whities giving way to a selection of high cut bikini briefs which left little to the imagination of what equipment he was packing.
It made him smile. "Turnabout is fair play." He quoted the adage.
"Oh, we haven't begun to play, and it's my game, not yours Mr. Peek-a-boob!" she now undid the remaining snaps, though the skirt held it together at her waist. "How can I go traipsing all over creation and run my advertising business too when I am saddled with an adjunct who adores me and is an Adonis? Do you imagine that I don't dream about your masculine muscles, especially the jumbo magic-marker in your pants?"
