In comparison to the majority of jobs he'd interviewed for this future working space was spacious and bright. It offered a stunning view through the large open windows showcasing the beach. As well as offering ample sunlight it also offered opportunities for ogling attractive women in their bikini's, which was better than his previous job where the bloke opposite him had been known as fat Dave.
Before his imagination got too carried away, he instead focused upon the sharp-looking woman before him, who continued fiddling with several papers before her before speaking.
"So," she asked, "you are happy with the offer?"
Nodding, Victor couldn't quite believe the salary and benefits that went in it for what, on paper, appeared to be a basic receptionist position.
"Very," he admitted, "but I am confused by the generosity of the offer. Apart from my degree, I've only got two years experience working..."
"The Directors are aware," the woman interrupted, "but as is mentioned in the contract there are several special requirements that, if not followed, do reduce your pay to a base level, as well as the first six months being probationary. The expectation is that you follow any and all requests of both Directors, although you will be exempt from anything other than polite courtesy from the remaining managerial team. You answer to Director Manning and Director Donaldson only."
"Anything you can tell me about these special jobs?"
Smacking her lips, she seemed annoyed by the very question.
"Legally, not until you've signed the contract, as it binds you to an NDA."
Concerned that this job would lead to his involvement in illegal activities, Victor knew that if he turned down the offer he'd probably never get the opportunity to earn this much again. Being an insurance business, surely there wasn't too much illegal that he could be asked to do. Was there? According to the job specifications, he was barely going to be involved in that side of things anyway, rather being focused up sorting appointments and keeping the two directors happy as the bulk of the work.
Having met both Directors earlier he surmised that Director Donaldson was late forties, early fifties if he was any judge. She wore basic makeup and plain clothing over her frame, while her face was that of a teacher he once fantasized about. Sharp, prone to scowling, but when she finally smiled it caused shivers down certain organs. It didn't hurt that her hair was closer to silver than grey, attracting him like a bird to shiny things.
On the other hand, Director Manning was younger, in her mid-thirties, with dyed bright blonde curly hair, she was tall and curvy, wearing light blue shirts that clearly revealed her hefty bust. Her plump lips were bright red and her blue eyes sparkled, yet he felt like there were hidden depths not yet revealed.
Both of them, when they'd had brief conversations in their individual offices located directly next to the other, had been polite but stern.
If he took the job, Victor would be working for them, a necessary cog in their machine, but not a unique cog. They had been quite clear that, if he wasn't willing to put in the effort, there were others who both could and would.
"Then," Victor smiled, looking over at the sharp-faced woman, "if you're happy, I will sign."
"Good," she nodded, clearly happy even if she still didn't smile, "you will not regret it. If I didn't need to move in with my mother in Wales I wouldn't leave. I'm glad that both of them will be looked after by someone competent and able. Although," she admitted quietly, lowering her voice, "when they chose your application between them I was surprised. You'll be the first man in this position since it started a hundred years ago. Not," she raised an eyebrow as if imparting a secret, "that Directors Manning or Donaldson were around then, no, they are of course more recent. but historically, it's very strange."
"Colour me surprised," Victor smiled weakly. Putting down the pen, his signature on the contract, he couldn't get his mind off what had been dangled before him, so he asked once more.
"What exactly are these special jobs?"
------
Upon learning the content of the jobs, his eyes froze upon her face.
"Really?" He asked stiffly, "I'm expected to..."
"Yes," she confirmed, "the instructions are as I have informed you. Each office has a different manner to inform you if they require your services. Director Manning will call you in for a 'special meeting', while Director Donaldson presses her call button three times."
"That," Victor gulped, "is not what I, I must admit I don't, well, I didn't think..."
"It would be a shame if you changed your mind now," she warned him, "as you may find it difficult to find a job elsewhere, especially if any of the information you have just been told was leaked. It would be denied of course, the torrid revenge story of a man who was never offered a job in the first place. Or," she added, finally smiling, although it could have been smirking at Victor's discomfort, "you can turn up on Monday, get paid generously, and gather valuable experience as you do so."
He could leave. He could if he wanted to, and the special jobs... He was twenty-three years old! Was this really what he wanted to do? But also, he considered, he was
only
twenty-three years old. Did he want to lose his chance at such a role just because he lost his nerve?
"I'm in." He agreed.
Standing up to shake his hand, the previous receptionist smiled.
"You've made the right decision, Victor, and with good timing." This time her smile appeared genuine as lights flashed on her desks landline. "Director Donaldson is calling. Enjoy your weekend young man because, come Monday, you're going to find out if you're good enough to earn that paycheck."
Walking out of the office, removing the tie that was stifling even without the twenty-five-degree heat, unusual for spring. He walked along the beachfront, completely ignoring a gang of bikinied beauties walking before him. Even the sight of women essentially wearing thongs in public couldn't take his mind off his current worry.
Either he'd made the best decision ever, or the absolute worse. Only time would tell which.
----------------------
At eleven AM on a Monday morning, Victor felt that he was enduring a trial by fire. He'd arrived early at seven-thirty and was following the list of instructions exactly to the letter, yet it seemed like every five seconds there was either a new email or phone call to contend with, a new problem to manage, be it cancelled meetings, other managers concerns or just emails from countless other businesses either keen for a meeting with the directors or trying to sell something to them. So far, he'd managed to prevent any problems more serious than a smudge of coffee on his white shirt sleeve from occurring, which was in itself was irritating as he'd only bought the bloody thing from Marks and Spencer's on Saturday. Honestly.
Feeling overwhelmed, it was sheer luck that he noticed when three lights flashed upon his desk phone, which, according to the instructions, meant Director Donaldson was calling for the 'special meeting.'
Picking up the sheet of paper that carried the instructions for this particular job, he stared at it for a few seconds before dropping it to carry out the instructions in order.
1. Turn emails to 'Out of Office', and phone to silent. Lock office door, turning sign to 'Busy.'
Okay, done. He let out a breath. Now for instruction two.
2. Enter the office without knocking. Do not speak to Director Donaldson. Crawl under desk, complete task, return to desk.
His hands sweating, he almost immediately fucked it up by knocking on the door. He caught himself before he did so and, with sweaty palms, opened the door.
Walking into the office it was impossible not to be intimidated. Like his own, it contained a large window, although this room was decorated with antique wooden furniture, including a couch, a coffee table and her desk. They were surrounded by perhaps thousands of books covering the walls, with not a centimetre of empty shelf space available.
Director Donaldson's desk faced the door, yet she didn't bother to look at him. As instructed, he did not communicate with her, instead silently moving beside her before getting on to his knees. From here, her wire-framed glasses and tight white top became even more intimidating, especially as the desk was solid wood and didn't leave a lot of space in which he could get in front of her.
Having finally crawled under the desk he didn't use his time to admire the fine craftmanship of the expensive mahogany. Instead his eyes were affixed to the immaculately shaved cunt that greeted him between her thick thighs. From this viewpoint, he wouldn't have guessed she was about fifty, but instead barely thirty, all toned and young-looking. The appearance was a lot better than some of the mincemeat he'd took home after meeting in clubs, but when you were drunk by the time you finally saw the mixed meat delight you might as well just get on with it and get your rocks off. In the here and now, he was sober and surprisingly eager.
The enclosed space gave little room for him to move around, but he eventually managed to find a position where his feet weren't too cramped, even as the top of his hair brushed the underside of the desk. Moving his head into position, he could still hear her typing on her computer. Christ, was she still working even when she expected her pussy eaten? This was less romantic than his drunken fumbles.
From this angle, he could see that her pencil skirt had a hidden zip, allowing it to be parted to allow better access. Custom-made he assumed, and if you don't wear underwear, you're never going to have a visible panty line. Smart. To his surprise sat like this she appeared to be sitting upon a fair-sized arse, so perhaps not as average a build as he'd assumed after all, not that he'd had much time to ogle her lower half.
Unable to use his fingers without causing both himself and Director Donaldson discomfort, whom the latter Victor assumed to be a major no-no, so instead he began with focus upon her slit.
Having assumed she'd already be moist anticipating her treat, he was surprised to find that wasn't the case. He'd just assumed someone horny enough to call in their secretary for daily oral sex would already be eager, but he didn't mind the challenge of working her up from zero to sixty. This was why he was getting paid the big bucks after all.
His tongue, gently sliding up and down her slit had the intended effect, her pink lips parting from the increase in moisture. He continued this for a few minutes before he felt his tongue begin to cramp. Uncomfortable and painful, he had half-planned for such an eventuality, and moved onto her generous clit, sucking and kissing it as if he loved it. This appeared to have the desired effect as she began to moan appreciatively before moving onto light gasps. The time he spent 'kissing' her clit gave his tongue enough reprieve so he could return to licking, but even then it was touch and go that his tongue would last long enough until her orgasm.
