Dressed For Success 1

"And can you take dictation?" Harry asked. He watched the eyes of the young man across the desk as he asked the question. Harry liked to watch people's eyes when he talked. The way a person's eyes widened or narrowed sometimes told more about them than a whole résumé.

George's eyes widened. Not quite 'deer in the headlights' quality widening, but Harry knew he'd hit a vulnerable spot. "I've not had much opportunity to practice, Mister Keel," he said, rallying, "but I've taken dictation in business courses. Do you expect it to come up often?"

"Not in a formal sense, no," Harry said, jotting down a quick note for later. His desk had almost a dozen folders sitting on it now, with dozens of nearly-illegible notes on each candidate in each folder. This kind of mess was half the reason he was looking for a personal assistant to begin with. "But you will be expected to keep an ear out for my conversations for anything that I might need to be reminded of later on. After all, I'm hiring you to keep me on track. That starts with knowing what the track is."

George nodded, visibly relaxing while trying not to look like he was visibly relaxing. Harry jotted down another quick note, but he watched George's eyes while he did it. Sure enough, Harry could see just the tiniest touch of panic in them. Harry wasn't sure he wanted someone who got rattled that easily.

Then again, his standards might simply be too high. Harry really wanted a personal assistant like the one billionaire industrialists had on television shows, the kind who instantly and effortlessly anticipated their bosses' every need as though they had some sort of telepathic link with them. The kind that finished your sentences for you, showed up with coffee before you asked for it, and bought your wife flowers on your anniversary when you'd forgotten what day it was on. (Or when you bought them on the anniversary of your marriage to your second wife, he thought ruefully. Oh well. There'd probably be another woman along in a few months.)

So far, though, he'd just gotten a succession of men and women like George, here, a group of competent middle managers who thought the job was something like a glorified secretary with a bit of gofer mixed in. While those certainly were among the job requirements, Harry knew his personal assistant would need to be able to handle a lot more. They'd need to be able to keep him focused on the little details before they became big problems--sure, his habit of wool-gathering and brainstorming had resulted in a number of the innovations that made Even Keel Enterprises the hot tech company it was today, but you can only forget to eat so many times before it catches up to you. And George, here? Was he really going to be able to challenge Harry when he decided on something impractical? Was he going to be able to assert authority over his own boss when Harry tried to book three different meetings for three different cities in the same day?

Probably not, Harry decided. He doesn't even seem to know how to handle it when his boss gets totally lost in thought in the middle of an interview. "Thank you, George," he said, a little animation returning to his features as he returned to reality. "Naturally, I can't assess your chances before I've interviewed all applicants, but rest assured your qualifications have been most impressive."

He stood up and shook George's hand. The grip was firm, the smile was genuine, but Harry could see in George's eyes that he knew he hadn't gotten the job. "Thank you, Mister Keel. It's been an honor to meet you." Keeping the smile firmly in place, George turned and marched out of the room.

Harry sat back down and jotted a few more notes on George's performance. Absently, he reached out and tapped the intercom. "Send in the next applicant, would you, Nadia?" A crackling buzz on the other end indicated compliance, and Harry went back to scribbling notes. He didn't know why he bothered, really. It would only go on top of the pile. It was so much harder to organize paper files than it was to organize virtual ones--but then again, it was easier to write notes on paper. Hand-writing recognition software was a joke.

What he needed was a way of converting files back and forth between paper and virtual quickly and easily. Some sort of combination shredder/scanner/printer, perhaps? He thought about it, accidentally starting to write down ideas for the machine on George's job application. A device that could scan hard-copy files, store them in virtual form, then reconstitute them into printed form on request. A sort of post-paperless office, as it were. The real question was, could you recycle the paper efficiently enough to reconstitute the documents again and again if--

"Your coffee, sir." A woman's shadow fell across his desk. "Harar Sumatra blend, no cream, two sugars. I read in 'Geek Monthly' that it's your preferred drink?"

"Thanks," he said, writing a reminder to himself to talk to paper manufacturers on Monday. He paused for a second as his brain caught up with the conversation. Then he looked up.

After looking up, he looked up quite a bit more. The woman standing in front of the desk loomed over him, six-inch stiletto heels adding to her already-considerable six feet of height. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, which only emphasized her air of authority. She had pale blue eyes, but for the first time in ages, Harry didn't look much at her eyes. He was too busy looking at her outfit.

She wore a black vinyl peek-a-boo bustier that displayed a generous amount of cleavage, and an even more generous amount of toned mid-riff. Below that, a matching black vinyl skirt only came down to her thighs, but Harry didn't see much in the way of exposed leg because those six-inch heels were on shiny black leather boots that came up almost all the way to the hem of the skirt. She held a riding crop in one hand and, incongrously, a cup of steaming coffee in the other.

Harry's jaw hung open for a long moment as he stared at the woman in black. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to process it. There wasn't anyone else in the room, this had to be the next applicant, but...she couldn't be. It had to be a joke of some sort...but who would play it on him?

"Mister Keel?" she said briskly. "I think we should probably get started. I'm Eryn Zane." She set the coffee down on the desk and extended her hand. He noticed, even as he automatically reached out to shake it, that she wore long black vinyl gloves that came up to the elbows. "I'm here to be your new personal assistant. I've already read the brief you provided on the job requirements, and I'm not afraid to say that I can handle them admirably."

Harry blinked. "Um...you, you're serious?" he blurted out. "You're really here for the job?"

"Of course, Mister Keel," Eryn said. "I'm a great admirer of yours. You're intelligent--a visionary thinker, in fact, if I might say so. You're also personable and friendly, with a good sense of humor--all desirable qualities in a boss, especially in a position that requires as much personal interaction as this one. And by all accounts, you're scrupulously ethical and fair in your business dealings--definitely a desirable quality in a boss. All you really need is some guidance on a day-to-day basis." She waggled the crop just slightly, causing the end of it to quiver alarmingly. "A...firm hand, as it were."

Harry simply goggled at her. "You're really serious?" he said. He knew he was being rude, but frankly, she couldn't have expected any other reaction under the circumstances. "But--but your outfit--"

She looked down at herself, clearly quite proud of what she saw. "I understood that it was common practice for people to dress for interviews in a way that made them look confident and powerful. I think you'll agree that this fits both those conditions, yes?"

"Well, I--" Harry had always heard that one should dress conservatively for job interviews, but as a founder of his own company, he'd never actually had to go to one. "I mean, I guess, but--"

"Then we'll speak no more about it," Eryn said, punctuating her words with another tiny wave of the riding crop. "After all, my job will be to keep you on track and focused. What kind of a job would I be doing if I let you spend the entire interview chatting with me about fashion?" She walked around the desk, showing an easy grace that impressed Harry despite the sheer insanity of the whole thing. She must have practiced a long while to be able to walk so well in those heels.

"Naturally," she said, coming around to stand directly in front of him, "I assume you've already looked at my qualifications for the position, at least those on paper. But I suspect you've already determined that the real assets that matter for this job are entirely intangible." She leaned forward slightly, exposing certain assets that were a little bit too tangible, and Harry shifted slightly in his seat. Standing this close, she looked a lot more imposing than she had on the other side of the desk, and that was saying something. She towered over him in those heels, her outfit giving her an air of firm command without detracting from her sexuality in the slightest.

"A man as intelligent as you has already determined that what you really need isn't a paper-pusher or a glorified secretary." Harry started a little as Eryn echoed his earlier thoughts. "You need someone to take control of things. You need someone to bring discipline to your day-to-day routine, Mister Keel." She tapped the riding crop gently against her thigh as she spoke, and despite his best efforts to drag his gaze up to her eyes, Harry was drawn down to the gleam of the office lights on the vinyl that encased her long, shapely legs. "You need someone to take charge of you, Mister Keel, and free you to be the best person you can be."

Harry started to open his mouth to tell her that he was looking for a personal assistant, not a personal controller, but he'd barely gotten the beginning of a sound out when Eryn snapped the crop down against her thigh rapidly, producing a sound that startled him into momentary silence. In the pause, Eryn took charge of the conversation. "You've always needed someone like me, Mister Keel, even if you haven't let yourself know it. You've been waiting for me to walk through that door your whole life, in fact."

She shifted position slightly as she spoke, just enough to cause the light to glisten off of her outfit in ways that drew attention to her figure. "You're so easily distracted and your mind is running in so many different directions that you don't even know what you really want. And all along, you've needed a strong, powerful woman to take control and tell you what to focus on in a way you can't ignore or argue with. You need to let me direct you." She slowly stroked the crop all the way down to her knee, then back up to the hem of her skirt. "It will simplify everything."

Harry wasn't sure whether to be furious or turned on, so he settled for both. "Now look here," he said, "I'm not 'easily distracted'!" The most frustrating thing was that right up until he'd heard someone else say it, he'd been thinking almost the exact same thing. But he wasn't about to let someone walk into his office and tell him that, especially not someone who was...was...

"Oh, really?" Eryn said, breaking into his train of thought. "Then this doesn't distract you?" She pulled down the zipper on the bottom half of the bustier, letting her breasts hang open.

Harry gulped. Before he could speak, Eryn pre-empted him again. "See? You're totally lost for words. Just the sight of my breasts sends your mind into a distracted haze, while I'm still completely focused, completely in control. Which one of us is in charge right now, Harry?"

"I--I am," he said. And he was, even if his cock had gotten quite a bit harder since the conversation had started, Even if he wasn't quite sure what part of her argument was wrong, exactly. Even if he still didn't seem to be able to look her in the eyes while that outfit kept directing his attention to every other part of her body. Even if exposing her breasts didn't make her look any less like she could order him to kneel at any moment and he wouldn't have any choice but to do it...

"No, you're not, Harry," Eryn said firmly. She didn't sound angry, simply...commanding. "You're not in charge of your eyes, Harry. They're still staring at my tits." Harry finally jerked his eyes away to stare up into hers. "See? Now I told you to look somewhere else, and you did. You were distracted, you weren't thinking clearly, and I took command and helped you. You needed me to tell you what to do. And that's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You just need to accept it."

"But I--" Another sharp tap of the crop stopped him mid-sentence. He couldn't help but be nervous, even though he knew she wouldn't actually use it on him...would she?

"You're not in control of your cock, either, Harry," she said, taking advantage of his hesitation again to dominate the conversation. Knowing she was doing it didn't help him, either. It only made her arguments more convincing. "Your cock has decided to stiffen...and throb...and ache with need, Harry, and you can't stop it. Your cock wants me to take charge, and it's not listening to you. It's listening to me. Your cock has already let me control it. And the harder it gets, the harder it is to deny me."

"This, um..." Harry's voice sounded weak and lifeless in his own ears. "This is...inappropriate," he stammered out. He was aware that he'd just conceded huge chunks of the argument to her; but he wanted to get her out of here now, before he did something foolish. His eyes were already beginning to water from the effort of looking up into hers, and it didn't help that she'd positioned herself so that her breasts were exactly at eye level. But staring at her breasts would mean admitting that she was the one in control. Or did staring up at her eyes mean that she was the one in control?

"Don't be silly, Harry," she said. She sounded like she was chiding a favorite pet. "We're going to be working together very intimately over the years to come; a certain degree of familiarity is simply unavoidable." She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, revealing a pair of vinyl panties with a zipper of their own. Harry couldn't help himself. His eyes dropped down to her crotch, all on their own. "You'll become quite used to the way I look..."

She reached out and took his hand in her own. He felt somehow like he should pull away, but she just seemed to be guiding it right to where he already wanted it to go. "The way I feel..." she said as she pressed his hand to her pussy and rubbed against it. He could feel her warmth through the vinyl panties, but somehow she seemed far more in control of her obvious arousal than he was. He'd given up trying to conceal his erection at all, now, letting it form a tent in the crotch of his slacks.

She guided his hand to pull the zipper down now, and Harry found himself so engrossed in exploring the warm, wet folds of her cunt that he didn't even notice she'd let go of his hand until he felt her vinyl-covered fingers entwining in his hair. "The way I smell..." she said, pulling his head closer to her pussy. Involuntarily, he inhaled when he heard her words, and the scent of her arousal made his cock twitch. He could feel pre-cum dribbling down the shaft and soaking into the fabric of his pants.

"The way I taste..." she said, pressing his face to her crotch, and Harry really couldn't do anything but lick. He knew she wanted him to lick, and he knew that meant that he was doing what she wanted...again...but there didn't seem to be any real alternative. There never seemed to be any real alternative to her decisions. She just removed all the objections, all the distractions, until the only thing in his world was her smell and her taste and her words.

"We'll be working this closely all the time, Harry," she cooed as he licked her pussy. "You'll be so happy to focus on the things you need to focus on, Harry, because your cock will remember all the wonderful rewards I'll give it. It's going to feel so good, Harry, and you can already feel your cock swelling and throbbing, because it knows I'm in control. And you feel so good when you give in to your cock and your cock gives in to me. You feel so good when you accept my control, Harry. It's what you need. It's what you always need. You were born to be mine, Harry. Born to be...mine..." He felt her juices flow freely onto his tongue, and he shuddered in pleasure. He felt like he was lost in warm, dreamy pleasure--it just felt so nice to do what he was told and drift in lazy, sexual heat as he obeyed.

Eryn pulled his head back abruptly. His eyes couldn't quite seem to focus as he tried to adjust to the sudden change. "Now, Harry, let's talk salary."

"I, uh, um..." The sudden shift to clinical business discussions left him even more confused. His cock still ached, rock hard inside his pants. Desperately, he tried to remember what he was planning to offer, but dollar amounts jumbled together with visions of black vinyl and the taste of pussy in his mind. "A hundred...and, um..."

Eryn cut him off again before he could even work out the rest of the figure in his head. "Absolutely unacceptable," she said firmly. "Stand up."

Something in him almost reasserted himself there, but one look at those stern blue eyes told him that Eryn wouldn't tolerate it. Even without her skirt, even with her pussy juices smeared on her panties, she presented such a total picture of dominance from head to toe that his legs seemed to take the decision away from him completely. "Good boy," she said as he rose to his feet.

She stepped around him and sat in his chair. Even sitting, she somehow seemed taller than him. The boots made her legs look longer, sleeker, more powerful. "Now, off with your pants."

He froze, his mind making one last effort at reasserting control. "I--"

Eryn slapped the riding crop down on the arm of the chair, full force. "Off with your pants," she said with icy precision. She didn't speak any louder, but somehow Harry knew he had better not force her to repeat the command again. He undid his belt and pulled his pants down, stepping out of his shoes as he did so. After a moment, he pulled his boxers off as well.

"Good boy!" Eryn said warmly. "Now, come lie on my lap. Face down."

Harry looked nervously at the riding crop, but disobedience wasn't even an option anymore. He complied, shifting position awkwardly to get as comfortable as he could with his ass directly on Eryn's lap. His cock rubbed slightly against the slick vinyl of her boots as he moved.

Even though he knew it was coming, the first smack of the crop came as a surprise. "Now, Harry," Eryn said as she spanked him, "I know you want to make me happy." Harry jerked as he felt the crop come down again. "And I know you want to pay me as much money as you can afford to. That's not the issue here."

Even through the sharp blows of the crop, Harry felt the pleasure building as his involuntary motions caused his cock to slide back and forth against Eryn's legs. "The issue is that I'm supposed to be keeping you on track. I'm going to have to assert authority over you like this--" She punctuated the words with another stinging crack of the crop. "On a regular basis." Harry whimpered, no longer sure whether he was frightened or aroused by the thought. "Now how can I do that if you're my boss?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Eryn slapped his ass again, and he yelped. "Sorry!" he said, as he finally realized she was waiting for a response. "I, I don't...I don't know." Harry didn't know much of anything anymore, not between the throbbing in his cock and the entirely different, but somehow equally pleasant throbbing of his ass.