I knew that Mr. Quint, a more masculine guy than his name might suggest, called me into his office with the intention of firing me.
And while he's cocky, white and 51, I couldn't blame him. He's a partner in a prestigious District of Columbia law firm, where competence and conservative appearance are of utmost importance.
I have neither of those qualities.
Twenty-seven with a sketchy work history, I was only hired a week earlier because of a Covid induced labor shortage. To be honest, my legal secretary skills are as poor as my uncaring attitude. Those alone were reason enough for Mr. Quint to can me.
But the real problem was my appearance. The most striking thing about me is my red hair. It's natural, but I kick it up a few notches to bright red because that's just the way I am. My hair color would be more appropriate on a stage.
In addition, I have spectacular 36D breasts. They're natural, nothing I've juiced up.
A lot of women would try to hide such breasts in a business environment, but I'm not like most women. I'm proud and I'm bold, so I wear bras that prop my breasts up and at the same time allow them to bounce when I walk. Naturally I wear fitted blouses to emphasize my bosom.
Why? Because my showcased boobs award me an immediate increase in status over all other women around me. They are jealous of my breasts and of the way I feel so comfortable showing them off. It's their problem, not mine.
As for the men, what can I say? They are complete suckers for boobs like mine. They have a terrible time looking me in the eye as opposed to my boobs, and they often forget what they wanted to say to me. Men are such children.
When called into Mr. Quint's office, I brought a small FedEX package with me, and sat down in front of his desk.
Did I mention I enjoy wearing short skirts and the sheerest nylons, too? Well, I do.
"I want to apologize," I said to Mr. Quint before he had a chance to speak.
"For what?" he asked.
I think he was hoping that I'd say that I knew that I was wrong for the position and I would quit without a fuss. No such luck for him.
"There were two small FedEx packages that arrived this morning," I said, "and I think I opened the wrong one. It's for you and it was marked 'personal'."
He gave me a cautious look.
So I came up at the edge of his desk and shook the content of the small box out in my hand. Then ceremoniously dropped it onto his desk.
It made quite a bit of noise hitting the surface of the desk because it was stainless steel.
A stainless steel cock cage.
Mr. Quint didn't say a word or change his expression. But his stone face turned the deep red of an old cabernet.
I continued to lean over his desk, offering him a prime view of my generous cleavage. He looked everywhere but there, as though it might blind him if he so much as took a peak.
"I had no idea you were such a fun guy, Mr. Quint," I said with a conspiratorial smile. "But you called me in, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
He couldn't speak.
"If it's not too personal of me asking," I said to break the silence, "is that cock cage something you bought to play with yourself, or did you wife demand that you order it so she could put you in chastity?"
No answer.
"Look," I said, "we're both adults here and I'm aware of the different needs men have. And you're no doubt aware of my economic needs. I don't see any reason why we can't work something out."
Yeah, a little old-fashioned blackmail.
"I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the best legal secretary," I continued. "On the other hand, I'm a talented key-holder for locked up cuckolds. If you're looking for an attractive young woman, one with a sensational rack, to take control of your sex life, I can be that woman. In return, of course, for continued employment while my still not doing a very good job."
There was continued silence from him.
"Let me open the cock cage up while I give you some time to think about it," I said.
I picked the device up, and began to loosen a couple of the screws. Then, just because I enjoy beinging a bitch, I licked the end of it while looking Mr. Quint in the eye.
I finally got a reaction. He squirmed in his chair, his cock no doubt having started to swell.
"You know this model is for beginners, Mr. Quint," I said. "More advanced models feature sharp barbs on the inside of the tube. They must really hurt."
He still couldn't speak.
"Oh look, Mr. Quint, here are the two keys to the lock to your cock cage," I said, emphasizing the last three words. "Would you mind if I slipped one onto the gold chain around my neck to see how it would look?"
He didn't say anything, so I just went ahead and did it.
"I think the chain is a little long," I told him, "because your cock cage key falls way down into the deep valley between my breasts."
I unbuttoned two buttons on my blouse to give him a better view.
"See what I mean?"
He squirmed in his chair some more. I can't remember ever having as much fun before in my life.
"But I think there are times when you'd like to have the key much higher up on my chest so everyone could see it. You know, when it would make your cock hard to have people think that I'm your wife or girlfriend and that I'm advertising for a cocksman to cuckold you."
He was still mute. I was wondering if he'd had a stroke except that he kept squirming in his chair.
"I'm going to lock the door to your office, Mr. Quint, so we can slip your cock into your cock cage right away. I can just imagine how many months, if you not years, you've been waiting for this moment. How eager you must be."
A little smile broke out on his lips, and a bead of sweat slipped down his forehead.
