The Secretary

This is the third installment in my series of Sultry SoCal Stories - stories of encounters inspired by events that have taken place over the years I've lived in SoCal and traveled around the country. The events of this story took place right after I graduated from college, when I had gotten my first job out in the real world. This was stuffy corporate America at its finest - downtown high rise, marble lobby, oak-paneled conference rooms and suits and tie every day, no casual Friday in sight. However, sexual harassment suits were also few and far between...

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Part I: New Life, New Challenges

The first time I saw her, I knew she was something special. She was not beautiful in the classic sense of the word, but she had an intriguing appearance that kept my eyes drawn back to her face time and time again. It was almost magical; I could not look away until I had figured out what made her so attractive ... so alluring. Her black hair was cut in a short page just below her ears, and she was wearing a tight red sweater and a black skirt. I could tell that although she was a slender girl, she was endowed with a generous chest, and she had the legs of someone who exercised regularly. She looked back at me as I gave her the elevator eyes, and gave me a serious frown. I was infatuated.

I was 25 years old, fresh out of college and in my first real job working for a real estate firm in a downtown high rise. I had my own office and a shared secretary, and I felt like I was on top of the world. A summer removed from the pool of relatively easy college fuck buddies, I was making plans for how to resume my adventures in face sitting as a working professional. But from the day I first saw her, those plans were put on hold. Now there was only one target for me, and I was determined to conquer her.

The conquest did not turn out to be easy, and turned out to be of a much different kind than what I had anticipated. I quickly learned that her name was Stacy; she was a secretary who had been transferred from another office and she was assigned a cubicle far away from me, waiting to be assigned to a broker or some other important person. As a result, I did not have many opportunities to socialize with her. I made forced small talk as we ran into each other by the coffee machine, and I oftentimes took a loop around the entire floor just to pass by her desk and greet her with a big smile and a few words.

But our acquaintance remained depressingly superficial. She did not respond well to small talk, and the few times I tried to flirt with her I was met with discomfort, sometimes bordering on embarrassment. I had never met a woman like that before. For a moment I wondered if perhaps she was Amish, but then again she did not have a beard. Perhaps Mormon then, but Mormon women are not allowed to work, right? I was mystified.

I was about to give up on my quest when fate stepped in and saved the day. Not just any ordinary fate, but the fate that makes the whole real estate market collapse in a matter of months. This soon resulted in layoffs on all levels of the organization. I was spared, because I was new, hardworking and relatively inexpensive. But a whole lot of admin folks were let go, including my then current secretary who was close to retirement anyway. The news was brought to me by a dour-faced limited partner of the company, who kept playing doom-and-gloom scenarios over and over as he told me from now on, I had to share a secretary with four other people. I did not care, so long as I still had a job and so I just smiled and thanked him.

The following morning, I was at my desk at my usual early hour reading the morning paper. My unofficial mentor at the company, a wily old real estate lawyer, had told me that in the corporate world, attitude and perception is everything. So if I start the morning with a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, I should make sure to do that in the office and not at home. True enough, some partners started to notice that I was one of the first people in the office every day, even though the first half hour was just unproductive coffee drinking and newspaper reading. But the perception was that I was a hard worker, and that I had the right attitude. Hence, I still had a job, when so many of my peers had been shown the door.

This particular morning my newspaper reading was interrupted by a knock on the door. Looking up, I was surprised to see Stacy standing there, looking a little apprehensive and with a nervous smile on her face.

"Hi there. I don't know if Mr. Mularkey told you, but I'm your new assistant." She looked at me with an insecure smile. I was no longer the rookie with the lame jokes in the coffee room; now I was the boss, theoretically with the power to promote or fire her at will.

"Hi Stacy, come on in. Please sit down." I pointed at one of the visitor chairs in front of my desk. I wasn't senior enough to merit a big office with a corner couch, or else I would have seated us within knee-rubbing distance.

I looked at the notepad in her hand. "Ready for some dictation?" I asked with a smile.

"No sir, I was thinking that I need to get some information from you to better do my job. You know, your home phone number, frequent flyer numbers..." She never called me sir before, not when we were mere coffee room acquaintances.

"How about you drop the sir? It makes me feel old. I know some of the curmudgeons in this place would disagree, why don't we just do first names?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Mr. Studman." (No, that's not really my last name. Don't know why she called me that.) Stacy was protecting her reputation within the company. If it became known that she was on a first-name basis with a younger associate, it might have been perceived as her taking advantage of my inexperience and perhaps even as a sign of disrespect.

"Well, how about Mr. Studman then? Makes me feel somewhat younger."

"Yes sir." This was hopeless.

"So you are here to discuss my preferences and predilections?" I smiled at her again, and she looked embarrassed. Her level of discomfort was both annoying and endearing at the same time.

I decided to stab a little more, just to see how she reacted. "After all, you are here to help me, to cater to my needs, right?"

She looked up. "Yes sir. You just need to tell me what you need."

"I will do that. It sounds like we will be getting along just fine then."

We looked at each other, and that's the moment I realized that my flirting had been fruitless all along. She was not the kind of woman who would ever allow herself to be flirted with. She could not be seduced, tempted or allured. But she could be had. In fact, she wanted to be had. I just needed to go about it differently.

Stacy moved to a cubicle near me, and we went from being strangers to acquaintances in a matter of weeks. She was a morning person too, and we soon found ourselves establishing a new morning routine, where she stopped by my office to chat for a few minutes as I was enjoying my coffee and newspaper. We almost never spoke of things of a personal nature, but often of the office and our coworkers. I told her about the remarkable web of inter-office politics that was changing on a daily basis, depending on the deals that came through our doors. She in turn talked about the strange habits of some of the people she assisted.

Of Mr. Mularkey, who wanted a cup of coffee at exactly 8:30, 10:30 and 1:30, one sugar, no cream.

Of Mr. Lieberman, who wanted his desk cleaned and neatly arranged every Monday morning, with three pencils lined up on the right of his desk blotter, the ink pens cleaned and the ink bottles refilled.

And then there was Mr. Carson. "You know, he makes me take his suits to dry cleaning every Friday. And last Friday I was handing them over to the lady, and as she went through his pockets she found a condom." Stacy was blushing at the last revelation.

"Really? Did you give it back to him?"

"Shush. Of course not. But why would he have a condom in his suit pocket?"

"Because he doesn't want to have any more children. He already has three, you know. Besides, you know he meets with Mr. Mularkey behind closed doors every Friday afternoon." That made her giggle. "You can imagine the love child of Messrs. Mularkey and Carson would not only be outrageously ugly, but also quite toxic and abusive. I'd say using a condom is the responsible thing to do!" By now she was laughing.

"Stop it! I won't be able to talk to Mr. Carson, or Mr. Mularkey for that matter, ever again without getting that terrible visual in my head."

"What's terrible about it - I find it kind of hot, actually."

"Oh stop it, you're awful."

She was about to find out just how awful I could be.

Part II: Let the Games Begin

Our working relationship was perfect; Stacy was very intelligent and able to anticipate everything I needed, sometimes even before I knew I needed it. And she sometimes expressed frustration that I often did work myself that should have been delegated to her. In all honesty she was correct, but work was light at that time, and I liked to keep busy, or at least look busy. And I knew the more senior folks kept her plenty busy, including with work that in all fairness was more personal than business. Such as taking the suits and condoms to the dry cleaner. I was still flattered that she wanted to do more things for me, and I was indeed planning for that ... though they would not necessarily be work related.

I had made a habit of sometimes touching her an a very non-offensive way ... a slight pat on the forearm when I made a joke, sometimes a hand briefly on her shoulder as I thanked her for work she had done, or a hand on her back as I had her walk through a door in front of me. Note that this was the roaring 80s, and even whipping out my cock in front of her would barely qualify as sexual harassment. But I just wanted her comfortable with my touch before I took it to the next step. I could be a patient man when I wanted to. I had a feeling she would be worth it.

Stacy stopped by my office several times per day to deliver documents and mail, and to pick up my work product, letters and so forth. My office had an in-and outbox (the tangible kind, this was years before Outlook) and she could stop by and do her business even if I were not there or busy on the phone. To make more room on the desk, I had placed the boxes on the credenza along the wall. That meant when Stacy came to pick up the mail, she was facing away from me and bending slightly forward. And those little miniskirts of the 80s allowed for the most perfect view.

I had noticed that she was very much a perfectionist, keeping her own desk immaculately clean, and sometimes arranging mine, almost unconsciously, while we talked. On a whim, one day when she was wearing a particularly alluring miniskirt, I "dropped" a pen on the floor in front of the credenza. Indeed, she immediately squatted down to pick it up, and I got an even more alluring view of her legs and behind. Even if she somehow missed my stare, there was no way she could have missed the look of satisfaction on my face.

To my surprise, the next time she was in the office she looked around, and found a paper clip on the floor next to my desk that she slowly and seductively picked up. As she put it on my desk she gave me a look that said, 'yes, I'll continue to do this, if this is what you want.' From that day on, the item on the floor became our little game. I strategically put some office item in a strategic location on the floor, and when she came for the mail, Stacy dutifully lowered herself to pick it up, taking her time and positioning herself to give me a nice, if never fully revealing, peek. Then she would go about her business as if nothing had happen. We never spoke a word about it.

The game changed because of a piece of paper that accidentally got swept to the floor by a partner who was leaving my office in a hurry. I wasn't looking and didn't notice it falling down or landing right behind my chair. In fact, I didn't see it until Stacy came in for the mail and paused. Every time she had picked up a dropped item, it had been laying a safe distance away from me. But the piece of paper was only a couple of feet from my chair.

I started to reach for it when Stacy shook her head a little. I looked at her, frozen in motion leaning a little bit forward. She came towards me and kneeled right in front of me. That day she was wearing a short sweater with a large neck that she kept off shoulder, Flashdance style. As she leaned over to pick up the piece of paper she gave me an unobstructed look at her breasts barely contained in her bra; a pose that she held for several seconds too long. She slowly stood up and handed me the piece of paper, and our fingers briefly touched. She was so close I could smell her perfume, and my pulse was racing.

The rest of that day I was obsessed with what had taken place, and my mind kept going back to what I had just experienced... and to what I may experience the next time Stacy came for my mail. I realized that if our little game was becoming up close and personal, a coworker passing by the opened office door may get the wrong impression. That afternoon I moved the mailbox trays from the credenza to the file cabinet that was directly behind my desk, as far away from the door as possible.

The morning after when Stacy came for the mail, she noticed that the boxes were not in their regular spot, but rather that she had to walk around me to get to them. She also seemed confused that I had not left any office item on the floor. She walked to the mailbox and dropped off the interoffice mail. When she turned around she saw that the new location partially concealed her activities from the corridor outside. I know that because the next time she entered my office she left the door ajar, even further restricting the visibility from the outside.

Yet again I had not put an item on the floor, but when she was emptying my outbox I asked:

"While you're there, could you please get me the Torrey Pines file from the cabinet?" She looked at me, and then bent over and opened the file cabinet. After having rummaged through it for a while, I gave her a hint.

"I think it may be in the bottom drawer. To the right somewhere." She was wearing her customary short tight skirt with high heels and black stockings with a seam up the back. When she bent over to fetch the file, the skirt hiked up until I could see a part of her naked thigh. It was the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

She was searching through the cabinet for another minute, taking her time before finding the right file, and letting me enjoy the view. When she handed the file to me our hands touched again, and we let the file open and all the papers spill to the floor. We both laughed as it was so clearly an accident and not a part of the game we were playing. Yet, she dutifully picked up every piece of paper on the floor as if I had put them there on purpose. When she was finished we were both blushed ... she from the exertion, and me from the excitement. We both knew there would be more files to fetch in the future, and that she would chose her clothing accordingly.

Part III: An Unexpected Discovery

That night I had to work late, as we had a big deal closing the next morning. Back in the 80s all transactions were done on paper; there were no documents emailed back and forth, or electronically signed. The closing of a transaction usually took place in a conference room, where all documents were laid out on a conference room table in triplicate copy, and the principals walked around the table, clockwise, and signed each document in turn. I was setting up the conference room for the meeting, making sure the correct and final versions were laid out, and the signature pages affixed with the appropriate stickers.

Just as I came in early in the mornings to impress the partners, there were others who preferred to show their dedication by working late. But around 11 or so it seemed I was the only one left in the building; even the most determined of night owls had departed for the evening. I had to make a final trip to the supply room, which was located in the center of the building next to where the big copy and artwork center was located. This area was the home of giant copy machines capable of spitting out huge prospectuses for real estate investments, as well as a department that generated sales brochures for properties we had on the market. The supply room was a short corridor with shelves on both sides, and a door at each end, and could be reached both from the copy room and from the corridor that ran around the periphery of the building.

I quickly searched through the supply room for my missing items when I heard the door to the copy room slam shut, followed by the sound of voices. I assumed they had staffed a night shift to print some urgent investor materials, when I realized that one of the voices, a woman, was making unmistakable sounds of pleasure. Yes, she was moaning and occasionally shrieking, followed by periods of muted silence. I switched off the lights in the supply closet and quietly moved over to the door, which I opened very slowly.

The copy room was lit by a single desk light in the far end. Standing in the middle of the floor was Jessica, a secretary trainee in her early twenties, being groped by a man with his back to me. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants, and something about him looked vaguely familiar. They continued the kissing and groping for a while, until they broke free of each other and started to undress. The man turned around and I instantly recognized Jason, a junior associate.

Jason was in his early thirties, married with two or three kids and a house in suburbia. He was one of those guys whose desk was adorned by pictures of his wife and children, and who could not stop talking about the wonderful family times they experienced every weekend and holiday. Yet here he was, Jason the family man, with his tongue down the intern's throat, and his hand grabbing her pussy.

I watched as Jessica removed her blouse and bra. She had a pair of fantastic tits, perky and firm, and Jason went right for them as soon as they were liberated. Jessica helped him off with his pants, and then dropped to her knees. As he pulled his underwear down his cock sprang free, and I was surprised at the size. Jason the family man was huge! Apparently this was not the first time Jessica was confronted with his manhood, as she expressed no surprise. She just grabbed him and started to suck.

I got strangely turned on by watching them, Jessica, the little intern on her knees sucking Jason's big cock. She did a very good job on him, working him with her hand while taking him deeper and deeper into her mouth. Jason put a hand in her hair and guided her. She finally had to come up for air.

"I love your big cock" she said, stroking him slowly. "When will you fuck me in the ass with it?" Jason was moaning softly.

"You know I don't do that" he said. What? I made a mental note that once my infatuation with Stacy was over, Jessica should be the new target of my affections. Although I wasn't quite as big as Jason, I could hold my own. And I never declined the opportunity to fuck someone in the ass.

Jason pulled Jessica up by the hair, and led her to one of the big tables in the center of the room. She laid down on her back, and he started licking her. She squealed with pleasure, and grabbed his hair with both hands. When she sounded close to climaxing he disengaged, and positioned himself between her legs. She moaned loudly as he entered her, and as he found his rhythm she put her legs on his shoulders. The table was rocking on the floor, and Jessica's moaning could wake the dead, but they didn't seem to care.