"Miss Jones, can you come to my office please?" the intercom buzzed on Michelle's desk. Her boss, attorney Derek Proctor, was back from court later than he had planned. Michelle was beginning to pack up her desk for the weekend, ready to go home and enjoy a chilled glass of Merlot. The week had been long and stressful. Mr. Proctor—Derek as she called him in private—was working her harder than ever, now six days a week. Monday through Friday, he loaded her with extra work. This was his public punishment for the costly mistake she had made, which cost the firm more than her salary doubled. He had intended on firing her until she agreed to work Saturdays too.
Saturdays had become a different kind of work for Michelle. Rather than sit behind her desk, she was often kneeling under Mr. Proctor's desk, or bent over his desk. He had arranged for her to work exclusively for him 9-5 on Saturdays under the pretense that she was working twice as hard for the same pay to make up for the money she had lost. No one in the office knew what types of jobs she was expected to perform on Saturdays.
It had been two weeks since their arrangement. Derek had begun testing the waters with Michelle. They tested out positions on his desk. He made her dirty talk in his ear while he jerked off to a porno. She had swallowed loads and loads of his cum. She had taken it in her pussy so much she'd lost track. The one perk seemed to be how hard Michelle came when he screwed her in his office. The thrill of someone coming in to grab something and catching them excited Michelle. The feeling of helplessness whenever she walked into his office on Saturday mornings and sat down in a chair as she waited for him to show was more exciting than anything she'd ever experienced with her old boyfriends.
Michelle pressed the intercom button on her phone and said she would be right there. Cindy, the last secretary to leave for the day, waved goodbye and Cindy slung her purse over her shoulder and left. Now Michelle was alone with Derek. 5:05 on a Friday.
She wondered what he needed from her. Would he torture her by making her file for the next few hours? Would she have to type a small pile of handwritten letters he had created over the week? Would he have something dirty in mind? Or was he simply giving her instructions for their rendezvous tomorrow?
Michelle stood in her Jimmo Choo nude stilettos. Straightening the bottom of her cream colored dress, she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and walked into Mr. Proctor's office. As usual, Mr. Proctor had his chair turned around. She could see only the top of his hair behind the large leather chair. She heard him clacking away at his laptop, furiously working. "Derek, you wanted to see me?" she asked.
"Is everyone gone for the day, Miss Jones?"
"Yes sir," she replied. She took a few steps further inside and sat down on one of the small leather chairs across from his desk. He had no knick-knacks cluttering his desk. He kept them on a bookcase along with intimidating volumes on civil law, contract law and some terms Michelle didn't understand. More than once, Michelle had been tempted to ask what torts were, but she bit her tongue. His desk was bare, clutter free, and his filing was organized. He kept his office and his appearance crisp and clean and professional.
He swiveled in his large chair, his shoulders straight, his arms relaxed. "Good," his smile bordered on a smirk. Michelle's stomach fluttered with nerves. She knew from the flash in his eyes that he had dirty images rushing through his mind. He was planning something kinky and torturous for her tomorrow. She was afraid to ask what. "Don't look so frightened of me, Michelle. You know I won't hurt you more than you can handle." His smile turned friendly, as if this was just joke to him.
Michelle simply nodded. She bit her cheek so she wouldn't say something she'd regret. She wanted to tell him off. She wanted to tell the dirty old man to go screw himself. He was twice her age. He was manipulating her. He knew how badly she needed to keep this job, and he knew she was stuck.
He stood, his handsome face staring down at her. He walked around his desk, his shoes squishing on the plush carpet. He stopped a foot in front of her and leaned back against the edge of his desk. Last week, he had dragged Michelle to her knees and made her give him a long blowjob in this same spot.
"I don't want you to come to the office tomorrow, Michelle," he said. His face gave no clue as to why. Was he letting her go?
"Um, ok?" she said.
"I plan on working from home tomorrow. I have a lot to do and I think the day will be much more productive there. But, since our arrangement says you have to work Saturdays, I see no reason why you can't work from my house as well. Don't you agree, Miss Jones?"
Alone in his house for eight hours. Michelle's stomach lurched at the thought. The sicko would probably throw her in his basement and keep her locked in some damp dark room for hours. He might even be one of those perverts with some sex dungeon.
Her brows furrowed. Derek almost laughed at how adorable she looked when she was angry. Her skin flushed red and she was about to scream. Her chest heaved and strained against the tight, heavy material of her dress. Derek's moth watered as he stared at her large chest. His stiff cock jerked in his pants. "Remember our deal, Miss Jones. I'd hate to see a pretty little thing like you out on the street with no job."
Michelle sunk lower in her seat, her face still red, and her eyes damp and dewy. She wanted t curse him out, slap her hand across his cocky grin and leave. He knew she hated their arrangements. She hated him for forcing her. She hated him for how hard she came when he fucked her. She hated that she had no choice if she wanted this job. "Here's my address Michelle. I still expect to see you at nine sharp," he handed her a post-it note with his address. "That will be all Miss Jones. Have a good night." He turned and walked back to his chair. He sat down, turned around, dismissing her. She heard the keyboard keys clacking away again. She stood on numb legs and left.
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Michelle took a long deep breath as she stood on Mr. Proctor's doorstep. She had thought a dozen times about turning around and running away. She wore her running shoes just for the occasion. And sweatpants. And an old high school cheerleading t-shirt. Which she covered with a baggy hoodie that had a red wine stain on the left breast. She was determined not to impress him. She wanted him to think less of her and to end this ridiculous arrangement.
She rang the doorbell. Her stomach fluttered as she heard a shuffle of feet behind the door. Seconds later, Derek pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped aside. "Nice outfit," he commented with a smirk. Michelle had the gross feeling of snakes sliding up her spine.
He ushered her inside with a wave of his hand and closed the door behind her. "You're late," he said. She looked at the clock. It read 9:05.
