FORWARD: After years of reading erotic fiction, I decided to write stories with themes that I like. That includes lesbian incest, identical sisters, pre-op transgender women, and most of all leather. The sex might get a little rough, but I avoid heavy BDSM. As well as adult/child grooming, power imbalance abuse, smoking, and any description of sexual activity of people under the age of 18.
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"Nervous" is an understatement to what George was feeling at this moment. Sitting in the large ultra modern waiting area, George's mind races with possible answers to possible questions about possible scenarios. You have to when you're called to a private meeting with the CEO and founder of your company with hardly any notice.
This is a situation Veronica Hasely has seen all too often as the personal secretary to the CEO and founder. From her large glass desk she looks at George with a slight grin through her ruby red lips. She may be an executive assistant, but her impeccable and expensive fashion taste suggest otherwise. A crisp white blouse with just enough cleavage, tucked into a tight leather pencil skirt, ending with a pair of black Jimmy Choo leather 6 inch pumps. Her jet black hair is tied up in a severe bun, matching her black framed glasses. She doesn't need to say a word to know she's a formidable woman.
She gets a message on her phone. "Send him in."
"George --" She ignores the startled reaction from the worried man. "You're up."
George takes a deep breath, buttons his blazer, and walks to the large oak door.
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George sucks in his fear and enters massive modern office. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the entire Manhattan skyline, but that's far from the most impressive sight. The office has some of the most expensive designer furniture he's ever seen, including the overly large oak desk where Tracey DuMont sits.
"George, please have a seat," Tracey gestures to a chair that George is rather nervous to even touch. He takes his seat and looks upon the woman before him. She's more stunning in person than in the company memos and high society magazines. With the face similar to Ana De Armas, and jet black hair tied in a pony tail, she disarms with a smile, but her outfit rearms her for action. The tight leather blazer shows off her cleavage in a way that dares you to look, black kid leather gloves encasing hands that wouldn't have to move an inch to destroy you, all adorned with classy modern jewelry that's probably worth more than George will ever see in a lifetime. Though he can't see the rest of the outfit under the desk, one would assume it would complete the power bitch look.
However, George is a little puzzled.
"Wh... where is your" --
"Let me ask the questions here, George." Tracey leans forward, clasping her leather covered hands together, staring right into George's eyes...
"Why are you so damn good at your job?"
What? George doesn't know how to react. "I... I don't know... I try my best to" --
"Mmmmfhh" Tracey makes a sound, eyes closed halfway for about half a second before she snaps back, at full attention to George. He tries to Ignore it.
"... see all avenues that we could increase profits" --
"Nnnngghh" Tracey's hands hit the table, her face winces, but once again she shakes it off and goes back to staring at George. Almost daring him to say something.
"... But I do have to share credit with my incredible team."
"That's a good answer, George. Everything you just said that I was totally listening to. Listen. I called you in here because I'm giving you and your team a 15% raise. Your quarterly report is one of the best this company has ever seen."
"Wow, thank you! I'll let the team know. It's been really hard on us all" --
"FUCK!" Tracey takes a deep inhale and rolls her head back. Something is driving her either to extreme pain or extreme ecstasy, or both.