Only two weeks had passed since I was hired to do data entry before I was called into Jane's office. She was the owner of the small business, so I was immediately concerned my employment was going to be terminated. The job was my first since getting out of college, and I felt it was a step up from working retail or in food service. That's why I was so worried as I walked from my desk to Jane's office.
Jane was an intimating woman. She was taller than me, had a thick, curvy build, and always dressed in sharp looking business skirts and jackets. Her outfits never failed to accentuate her shapely form. Her hair was long, black, wavy, and worn in a prim bun or held up by a clip in the back. Occasionally she would wear it in a tight ponytail that looked as if it would pull her hairline back. Her face, with high cheekbones and a subtly strong jaw, was quite attractive, even without much makeup.
On top of that, she had a no nonsense attitude that often bordered on condescending and somewhat mean. Of course, if you stayed on her good side, she would treat you with respect. But the moment you did something wrong, the bitchy side became quite apparent.
Her life outside of work was a mystery to me. I assumed she was married based on the ring she wore on her left hand. But beyond that, there was little I had learned. I wasn't even sure how old she was, though if I had to guess I'd say she was in her late 40s.
"You've been doing great work so far," she said after I was seated across from her. She clasped her hands together on the desk. "How would you feel about being my personal assistant and getting a dollar raise?"
My eyebrows went up and I looked at her for a moment. "Sure, that would be great," I replied and smiled. The relief I felt must have been obvious on my face.
"Good. You'll start immediately," she stated. "There's much to do, so get whatever you need and bring it in here. You'll be at that desk."
I didn't hesitate to follow her directions. Once I had what little I needed, I set up on a desk in her office. I was a bit concerned by the desk because it was higher than usual so that whomever used it could stand rather than sit. Nevertheless, I didn't complain.
At first the work wasn't any different than what I had been doing, except I was reporting directly to her and she was giving me tasks. However, as the weeks went by my work began to involve other activities that had nothing to do with data entry, and were more fitting of a secretary or janitor. First it was getting her coffee, then emptying her trash basket, cleaning the floor of her private restroom, and so on. Eventually she even had me scrubbing the toilet.
Not once did I object, complain, or ask why she was giving me such tasks. I was making decent money and didn't feel like putting my job at risk. Perhaps she knew that and was simply taking advantage of the situation. Regardless, I accepted my role as her subordinate and continued to work hard.
"I need you to stay late today," she told me one Friday afternoon.
"Okay," I replied. I was a single 24 year old guy with a very minimal social life, so sticking around didn't bother me at all.
When 6 o'clock rolled around and the other six employees had gone home, she closed the office door and locked it. This wasn't all that unusual during normal hours when she had to place an important phone call, so I did not think much of it.
"Wet this for me and lather it with soap," she said as she pulled a washcloth from a leather handbag next to her desk.
I did as she asked while wondering what in the world she was going to have me do next. I assume it was just another one of her unusual chores for me. When I was done, I found her sitting on her desk peeling the nylons from her legs.
"Sit," she said and gestured to the chair in front of her. "Good, now wash my feet."
I glanced up at her, and upon seeing her looking back expectantly, I held back on asking why. For the next several minutes I washed one foot, paying special attention to getting between her toes. Once she was satisfied she set the clean foot down between my thighs and presented the other to me.
As I washed the foot, I could feel the clean one moving closer to my crotch. I wasn't sure what to think, and I certainly didn't feel comfortable speaking up to express my discomfort with the situation. Jane was too intimidating, and I really needed the job. By the time I was finished washing, only the fabric of my pants kept her toes from touching my genitals.
"Good, now rub them," she said with tone that suggested she was enjoying herself.
I sneaked a sigh of resignation and started to massage one foot. "At least they're clean," I thought to myself. Occasionally she would moan softly while I worked, so I felt confident that I was doing a good job. When I finally finished the first foot, she placed it in the same spot as the other against my crotch, and lifted the one that needed attention. Though I hadn't found any kind of sexual appeal in what I was doing, my cock felt differently. It was quite hard and I worried that her foot would soon discover my arousal.
