Eighteen year old Tommy was fresh out of High School when he landed his first full-time employment as a clerk/messenger for a distribution company, eager to finally make some real money.
The job was low-paying for new employees but according to his friend Steve who got him the interview, there was plenty of room for advancement if he worked hard and kept his nose clean.
A tall, thin young man, Tommy was assigned to the stock room, where he filled requisitions and delivered them around the office of 300 employees. Everyone was welcoming and friendly to the newcomer and he got to know most of the employees, if only by face, but they all knew his name.
There was only one person who wasn't very pleasant: Mrs. Flam, the owner/office manager, who inherited the company when her elderly husband passed away. Though short in stature, she cast a huge shadow, never nasty with anyone but not warm, either.
Tommy was intimidated by her, as were most of the employees. She remained in her glass-walled office, rarely communicating with anyone but her personal staff.
In the first month he was on the job, he only spoke to her once. Her secretary ordered supplies and when he delivered them, she was away from her desk. Tom stood there peering through the glass at his employer. He estimated she was in her fifties, attractive with short blonde hair and too much makeup for his liking.
As if sensing she was being watched, Mrs. Flam looked up and saw the young man who she knew had been hired recently. Tommy, for his part, looked away, almost humbled by her gaze. He heard the door open and the clip, clip, clip of her heels. "Can I help you?" she demanded.
Tom felt his face redden as he looked up at her. She was even shorter than he had imagined, wearing what he guessed as four-inch heels. Her shirt was tight to her thighs so her steps were small, too. "Um, I'm sorry, I'm delivering supplies but Betty isn't here. I didn't know what to do with them."
"Well, standing there staring isn't the correct answer now, is it?" When he fumbled for an answer, she cut him off. "Just pile the stuff on her desk. She can sort through it when she gets back."
She pivoted on her heels, all four foot eleven of her and walked away, only to stop and spin around again. "What's your name?"
"Tommy, ah Tom, I work here," he stuttered.
"Yes, I know that." She seemed to almost smile. "Welcome aboard." She turned and was gone, back into her glass fortress.
When he caught his breath and unloaded the supplies, he glanced inside again, gratified that she had almost smiled, but she was busy reading some report and didn't seem to notice him.
For the next two months, he kept thinking about her, how cold and distant she seemed but that one half-smile told him there was a warm person inside the cold exterior. When they made eye-contact after that, which was rare, she would nod acknowledgement and move on, and Tommy found himself fantasizing about her. For a person her size, her figure was curvaceous, with her ass accentuated by the heels and her arched back and head held high. Her breasts seemed to thrust forward, causing the young man to day-dream about breaking down her iciness and releasing the tigress within.
It was a Friday at 4:45 that there was a knock on the stockroom door. It was also payday, so Tom was planning to really enjoy this weekend. He answered and there was Betty, Mrs. Flam's secretary.
"She needs you, now."
He followed her to the glass office and she knocked on the door. Mrs. Flam looked up and waved him in.
"Tom, right? I need you to do something. I have a report that has to be hand-delivered immediately. You will have to wait for a reply, hopefully not too long." She was busy folding and sealing the report, then writing the address down.
"I know you get off at five, and may have plans, but this is very important. Of course, you will be paid over-time for this along with any expenses." She looked up at him. "I hope this won't be too much of an inconvenience."
Tommy thought of what Steve said about opportunities and working hard and knew he couldn't refuse. "Oh, sure, no problem. Then I bring the reply back here?"
She shook her blonde head. "Unfortunately, I have a furniture delivery at home after work that I can't break. Take a taxi to my home. The number is listed on the envelope. I'll reimburse you and pay your cab fare home from my house."
It was an order, but the look in her eye said please. He nodded, took the envelope and left. It took an hour to get there and another hour before the reply was ready. Taxis are rare on a Friday evening and it wasn't until eight o'clock that he arrived at Mrs. Flam's home, a spacious estate in the elite part of town.
After paying the fare, he rapped at the large oak door. In a few minutes, he heard the clip, clip, clip of Mrs. Flam's heels.
"You made it!" she exclaimed in relief. "I called their office and they said you had just left. Please, come in."
He followed her into the lobby with a high, spiral staircase, to a book-lined den. Herr tight ass swayed in perfect timing to her heels clicking and she went to a bar where she grabbed her martini glass and sipped.
"Let me look that over," she said, reaching for the envelope. "I just want to make sure they signed all the appropriate places." She tore it open. "Oh, and fix yourself something while I do this. I'm sure you could use one after your day."
Again, he saw that half-smile, as he obeyed, taking a glass, then ice from the bucket and finally selecting a Scotch that he'd heard of but never could afford. He poured a healthy drink and sipped. Excellent. I could get used to this, he thought.
He watched her as she read and noted that although still in heels and a skirt, the top was different, with a few buttons undone, and he could see freckled cleavage that heaved as she took her breaths. The memories of her fantasies came rushing back as he scanned her face, with green eyes, red lips, and what was beginning to look like a smile.
"You're staring again," she said, matter-of-factly, and he looked away self-consciously.
"Sorry," he replied.
After a bit, Mrs. Flam folded the report and put it aside. "Thank you, Tom. You did me a great service. You spent three hours of your time, but let's put you in for six hours overtime. My way of saying thanks."
