Lindsay Wilson arrived a bit late. As she struggled to walk upright in her high heels and a briefcase under her arm, she spilled her coffee on passersby. Vera, her assistant, looked up over her reading glasses, distracted by the commotion.
"Ms. Wilson? Can I help you with that?" she asked, and got up to relieve Lindsay of her briefcase.
"Thanks Vera. What would I do without you?"
Vera knew the ropes. She was Lindsay's global positioning system. A trim and fit, fifty year old woman who could still turn heads, she wore an updated June Cleaver hairdo and Coco Chanel style suits.
Lindsay sat in the oversized leather chair and looked out the coveted window in her office while she lazily sipped her latte. She lost herself in erotic reverie.
She visualized herself showcased as a young woman chained to a large metal cage; her form taut, like a violin string ready to be plucked. The smell of leather couches, bouquets of pubic hair on her lips, and spankings, heightened the musings, and were certainly not meant for the office. The caffeine kicked in and real life intruded on her daydream.
"Vera? Can you order me some lunch? The usual. Thanks."
Lindsay took lunch in her office to avoid distractions and unnecessary gossip. Office politics were stumbling blocks to promising careers at the mere whisper of impropriety. Being the only female executive at the firm made her an obvious target. Lindsay commanded attention just by her presence and was not intimidated by the good old boys club. The fair haired child was an undisputed success under her boss's wing. It had been the same situation in college. The male students called her teacher's pet, but they all wanted to be her study buddy. Lindsay would smirk and tell them to take a number.
"Ms. Wilson? You have an appointment with Mr. Hertz in five minutes." reminded Vera.
Dick Hertz, one of the firm's principals, was a distinguished business man that wielded a lot of power. Tall, he had a square build with bulked up arms. Piercing eyes, punctuated by thick eyebrows tinged with gray, complemented his dark hair. Considered a ladies' man by his cronies, Dick Hertz was depraved.
In college, he was one of a group of rowdy students who loved to initiate brainy girls to the pleasure of decadent sex through humiliation. They would take trophy photos of their conquests, posed on all fours, wearing a dog collar with a leash held by their master. It wasn't until one of the girls threatened to press charges that the group disbanded.
When Dick set his eyes on Lindsay, her fate was sealed. He met her at a college career fair and was acquainted with her mentor. She was the smartest young fluff out of college and he groomed her for a position on his team. It had been with iron self control that he kept his hands off her.
As Dick ushered Lindsay to his office, he sneaked a look at her magnificent firm ass. She was exquisitely feminine. Dick pushed down a newly sprung hard-on and began to brief her. He he pined for her like the class president after the brainiac cheerleader. His fantasy involved turning her into his little pleasure slave, complete with collar and leash, licking his balls for attention. That vision always gave him a diamond cutter hard-on that men his age would give their eyeteeth for.
"Lindsay, we have to expose you to some marketing experience to make you a more rounded executive." Dick said. "There are several contracts outstanding that need to be closed in order to meet our bottom line by the end of the year."
"You want me to close some contracts?" she asked, her posture straight. Dick turned to smile as he pretended not to notice that puppy dog pose.
Lindsay thought of Dick as a sugar daddy without strings, a father figure.
His eyes twinkled, "It would be a feather in your cap."
Lindsay didn't need any inducement to please him. She was his protege and Dick played on this. He was an extremely sharp judge of character, and counted on manipulating her into submission.
"Your first client is a a tough nut to crack, a real piece of work." he said, tossing a dossier on Loren Leslie into her lap. "He's a well known commercial developer based in Boston."
Lindsay read between the lines. Of the challenges she'd faced so far, forging a relationship with a complete stranger in order to sign a contract, was a tall order to fill.
"Got any tips sir?" she asked.
As her eyes examined the dossier, she focused on fulfilling the job's objectives, with no holds barred.
"You're a smart cookie, Lindsay. Use your pluck to find his weak spot, then pounce." he smiled.
Dick and Loren Leslie were college rowdies together. Briefed on Lindsay's visit for the set up, Leslie drooled at the prospect. The two men had often exchanged proteges and assistants for entertainment without the young women's knowledge. Having played this self satisfying game for many years, they could have written a How To Blackmail Your Assistant Guide for other executives.
Camcorders were hidden in their offices to capture every sordid detail. Each couldn't risk molesting one of their own employees, so they traded victims and shared the videos with colleagues and clients in their super deluxe home theaters.
***********************
Loren Leslie specialized in building office parks for technical firms. The dossier painted him an arrogant, pompous, and eccentric man. He was paunchy with large facial features. In his late sixties, he was divorced and had grandchildren. Although known to flog his underlings in front of co-workers for costly mistakes or bad decisions, these employees never quit or filed charges because they were well compensated. Leslie was like an old school bully who'd been an enforcer in kindergarten.
Lindsay memorized quirks and little tidbits like his penchant for antique equestrian accessories, especially crops and whips. She rubbed her ass when she saw the word "crops."
A vision in a black power suit, Lindsay clutched her briefcase as she waited outside Mr. Leslie's office. She'd been shivering throughout the cool and rainy morning and the smell of coffee warmed her up. Taking out her compact for a lipstick check, she tried to tame the tendrils that flew about her face.
"Ms. Wilson?"
The cultivated voice sounded like maple syrup on nails. From the side, he had the profile of Alfred Hitchcock, right down to sandbag eyes and pouty lower lip. He stood in the doorway and waited impatiently for her to be quick about it.
