tagInterracial LoveEustace Johnson's Private Secretary

Eustace Johnson's Private Secretary

byandtheend©

Susan's first job was working for a powerful, wealthy, albeit perverted, black man.

Oblivious to the horde of Christmas shoppers in his store below and with the music of Nat King Cole's Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire playing so much like elevator Muzak in the background of his private office, Eustace Johnson, a big, black man, had enough of his new, white secretary. She was bad. She was no good. She couldn't follow simple instructions. She made too many mistakes and now she must be punished.

"Go stand at my desk, put your feet shoulder width apart, bend at the waist, and put your elbows, along with your palms down flat on my desk."

The first time she heard him say that, she didn't quite understand what he wanted her to do. Then, when she understood what he wanted her to do, she couldn't believe what he wanted her to do. Yet, she was submissive enough to obey him without question. He was her boss, after all, the man who signed her weekly paycheck.

Even though her skirt was in place and he couldn't see her panty, with her ass sticking straight out in the air like that, she still felt exposed and vulnerable. She knew he was a pervert and she knew, no doubt, that he was staring at her sweet, round, firm ass. With the thought of him finally taking her, forcing her to have hot sex with him, she was excited that he was finally going to fuck her but, then, when he didn't and when he...

"Ow!" He slapped her again, only this time harder. "Oh!"

The first time he spanked her, he hit her with ten, hard wallops from his open hand. He slapped her ass hard enough through her skirt and through her panty, that when she checked herself in the ladies room, he left big, red welts. Her proof that he loved her.

She was shocked but, surprisingly, terribly excited that he cared enough about her to spank her. No one, not even her parents, had ever spanked her before. A bittersweet moment, she had no idea that a spanking could hurt and excite her, as much, at the same time.

"Do it again," she wanted to say, but didn't. "Fuck me now that I'm so hot for you, Eustace," she thought but without saying that either.

Now that this big, black man had spanked her sweet ass, she was so sexually aroused by his big, black hand on her round, white ass that she would have sucked and fucked his big, black cock right there in his office. All she could think of was having hot sex with this black man. Old enough to be her father, she had never had sex with an older man, just as she had never had sex with a black man before, but she wanted to now.

Now that I told you not quite how it ended, let's go back to the beginning so that I can tell you how it started, five years before.

Johnson's was a well known women's, retail, clothing chain that had stores in nearly every state, from the late forties to the late nineties when, after the high flying eighties, the economy fell in a deep recession. It was hard times for most, even for the Johnson clothing chain. Immediately after Christmas, in 1997, they were bought out by a much larger department store chain. A lucky break and a golden parachute for Eustace Johnson, the buyout was his way to disassociate and disenfranchise himself from his floundering business, before having to go through the embarrassment of bankruptcy.

Twenty-two years before the sale of his stores, Eustace Johnson was the sole owner, after his father, Earl, left him the business, when he died in 1975. Back then, it was a one store business his Dad started in Detroit, Michigan, just after the war, in 1948, with the five thousand dollars he had saved. Having his own business was a big deal to Eustace's Dad and he was so proud of his women's clothing store that the entire family worked there after school and every summer.

It was good times and happy days then and Detroit was a good place to start a women's retail clothing store. The car factories were turning out new cars and Detroit, along with Flint and Dearborn Michigan were the places to live cheaply, afford a house, and live the good life. Only ten years after a world war, with I Love Lucy and Cid Caesar making everyone laugh, people were happy that the war was over and that they could afford a television.

Fifty-two years after the war later, with more than 300 stores, Eustace sold his shares in the company for a lot of money, three quarters of a billion dollars, and was now very wealthy. Yet, our story begins five years before Eustace Johnson sold his company. It was during his busiest season, the day after Thanksgiving, black Friday, of 1992, a time when retail stores made the most of their yearly revenues in a mere six week period.

Susan had been looking for work without success, since she graduated from college in June. Jobs were hard to find, especially a job in her field of study and especially for someone without experience. The boom that happened in the United States in the fifties with plenty of jobs for everyone, was now being broadened to embrace a global market, one that promised union busting cheaper labor and long-term unemployment for those that worked at manufacturing jobs that suddenly disappeared overseas.

It wasn't that long ago when company recruiters came on campus soliciting talented college seniors, those bright stars, who were about to graduate, to offer them high paying jobs with big starting bonuses. Back then, before computers, cable TV, and cell phones, just a high school diploma was enough to get a good paying job. Not anymore. Now, with the Internet making the world smaller, you needed a college degree and sometimes a master's degree to barely make more than minimum wage.

Times changed with free trade and the global economy, and now, with American companies intent on making American labor more competitive by outsourcing higher paying manufacturing jobs for the higher profitability of third world labor, salaries no longer kept up with inflation. With retirement programs replaced by employee funded 401K's and 100% health insurance subsidized by half by employees, and overtime gone with part-time jobs instead of full-time jobs, employers expected employees to work much more for a lot less.

With McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts, and Starbucks on every corner, with one stop shopping of chain hardware and retail stores selling goods made in countries that most Americans never knew existed, America was slowly becoming a service economy rather than a manufacturing one. After taking on high five figure student loans, college graduates were lucky to get part-time internships paying nothing or paying minimum wage.

Johnson's was looking for a secretary in their corporate office. Susan applied for the job and was hired on the spot. Scheduled to start the very next day, finally, a job and with a month until Christmas, at least, she'll have made some money to afford to buy her family Christmas gifts this year. A poor college student for the past four years, she thought it was going to be another lean holiday season, but opportunities were suddenly presenting themselves to her, such as this job. She was happy to find a job, but to find a job in her field of study and be paid a decent salary was a dream come true.

A tall, stern, and imposing man, Susan didn't meet Mr. Johnson, until the day she started work. Human Resources didn't tell her she'd be working for the big boss, even they didn't know the sudden change of plan. Scheduled to be the secretary to some middle manager, a serendipitous first meeting in the elevator, changed the best made plans, when Eustace Johnson first laid eyes on her.

She had no idea what was in store for her working for Eustace Johnson at Johnson's Clothing Store. She was shocked that her employer, a 40-something-year-old the man with his name holding up the building, was her boss. She figured she'd be just another secretary in the secretarial pool working her nine to five job with a half an hour for lunch.

Our story starts when she rode up in the elevator with Mr. Johnson on her first day. Susan was so very young, barely 23-years-old and still young enough that she hadn't yet grown tired of hearing the Christmas music playing the same dozen songs over and again.

"Good morning," he said without evidence of a smile.

Still a few years before workplace sexual harassment laws were enacted, in 1995, as if she was standing there naked, he leered long enough at her to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Hi," she said looking up at him, giving him a smile, and looking away, when he returned her smile with a stern leer that was more akin to a sexual act than a look.

"This is the employees elevator," he said without directing his comment to her, even though they were the only people in the elevator. He said it as he would in the way of an afterthought and as if talking aloud to himself, while staring up at the floor numbers lighting up, before looking back down at her.

He was tall enough that she wondered if he could see down her blouse and she involuntarily put a hand up to close her top, if it was opened and it was. She didn't know at the time that Eustace Johnson was more interested in her panties than in her bra and more interested in her pussy than her tits. He gave her a look, as if accusing her of stealing something from his store, even if it was only his private elevator space that was unavailable to the public and expressly meant for his nearly 30,000 nationwide employees.

"I know," she said giving him a nervous smile. "I was directed to take this elevator by the security officer downstairs. This is my first day. I was hired yesterday, as a secretary," she said giving him a longer look, while suspecting that he worked there, too, after he told her this was an employee elevator. She hoped that she wouldn't be working for him.

"I see," he said giving her a look that suddenly made her feel naked again. "Good luck to you, Miss," he said holding the elevator door open for her.

When, he reached up and over her to open the big, glass door that led her to Johnson's Corporate Offices, she didn't have to turn to look to know that he was staring at her ass. As if his eyes were red hot lasers, she could feel his lust. With Burl Ives singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in the background, she stood at the reception desk listening to his heels clicking against the shiny, linoleum floor, while watching him walk away.

She envied his walk, more of a Rooster's strut, so full of self-confidence and self-assuredness. Without doubt, he was so full of himself. He was an arrogant, pompous man. Yet, she respected that about him. She was so submissive and she wished she was more like that and like him. A man with a mission, she watched him disappear down the long, bright, white corridor, as if he was God ascending to Heaven.

"May I help you?" The receptionist, a pretty black woman, gave her a smile with a curious look.

"Hi, I'm Susan Harris," she said putting out her hand. "Today is my first day as a secretary."

"Oh. Hi Susan, I'm Chantelle," she said giving her a smile. "When I saw you, so tall and so pretty, I thought they were doing another photo shoot. They always forget to tell me. I'm sorry," she said with a laugh. "I thought you were a model. You look like one of the models. We have photo shoots weekly for the clothing we advertise."

"Thank you, no, I'm not a model. I'm just a secretary."

"Please, have a seat. Someone will be right with you. I'm sure it will just be a moment."

"Thank you," she said taking a seat that gave her a view of the long corridor.

Unaware the gentleman she rode up with in the elevator was Eustace Johnson, she waited long enough in the lobby to hear the Christmas songs repeating, before someone came down to get her. She was there for quite a while, more than half an hour, waiting, while watching everyone walk by her. Nervously, she scanned the magazines and smiled up at everyone as they approached, expecting them to be the one coming for her, while wondering if they were her new boss, and feeling disappointed when they passed by her and left.

She wondered if they had forgotten about her. Feeling uncomfortably obvious sitting there for so long waiting, she wondered who she'd be working for, while hoping they'd be nice and not naughty. Obviously, the second time around for I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, the Christmas music was even beginning to get to her. Then, she saw the human relations person scurry by her holding a folder of papers and after fifteen or so minutes, she watched her scurry back. Finally the receptionist received a call.

This was more than just a job to her, albeit her first job, and she was so very excited to get a job. With nationwide unemployment numbers approaching unprecedented double digits and higher in many of the depressed areas, such as California, Michigan, and Ohio, and the stock market still rebounding from the crash it experienced in 1987, too many of her graduating classmates were still looking for work. This job earmarked the beginning of her fashion career, even if she started as a mere secretary.

Having never shopped there before, she knew little about Johnson's stores. None of his stores were in any of the malls she frequented. His stores were located in mostly black and Hispanic neighborhoods, but she never put two and two together, that he was the big boss, the owner, until she started working there and for him that day.

More than half the employees were black or Hispanic and all the secretaries, except for her, were of color. With her long, lush, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and nearly translucent peaches and cream skin, looking as if she was Icelandic or as if she had just stepped off Scandinavian Airlines, she couldn't be any more Caucasian than she was. The stares she received from many of the employees made her feel, as if she was in the minority and so she was, while working there at Johnson's Corporate Headquarters.

"Follow me, please," said the receptionist.

Yet, here she was, her first job out of college, with a bachelor's degree in fashion design and a minor in communications, little did she know that she was about to have a title, too, the Private Secretary to the President.

"Wow."

She was so excited. At $400 a week to start, along with full benefits and a generous 30% employee discount, the pay wasn't the greatest, especially for a college graduate, but she was inexperienced. Hopefully, once she proved herself, she'd make more, if not there then elsewhere, that is, once she had some retail and fashion experience behind her.

The first thing she needed to do was to buy clothes. She only had the one pair of flat shoes, the one pair of heels, she was wearing now, and a pair of sneakers. The rest of her wardrobe was comprised of jeans, tee shirts, and sweatshirts, none of which was appropriate for working in the corporate offices of a clothing retail chain store, but was perfect for a college campus, while living in a dormitory.

"Mr. Johnson, your secretary is here. Susan Harris, Eustace Johnson," said Chantelle introducing Susan to her boss, before leaving for her front desk post.

Immediately, she recognized him, as the stern looking man in the elevator, who didn't smile and he still wasn't smiling now. Great, she thought, maybe once she learns the ropes, she can transfer to another manager, one who smiles and who doesn't leer at her. Even though Chantelle said his name when introducing him, it still didn't register that he owned the place. Johnson was a fairly common surname and she still didn't know he was the man whose name was on the building.

"Hi, Mister Johnson," she said giving him a smile and shaking his big, black hand, a hand that would soon become intimately familiar with her round, white ass.

When he escorted her into his huge, private office was when she realized that he was the big boss, the owner, the one with his name on the building, and the one who signed the paychecks. He had the double corner window with the best 180 degree view, of course. Completely paneled making it look more like a home library than an workplace, his office was fully decorated compared to the Spartan offices of the other managers. He had an oriental rug, where the other offices had tile floors. He had more subdued lighting with lamps, instead of the impersonal brightness of overhead fluorescents. It was obvious that Mr. Johnson traveled extensively because he had knickknacks, brick-a-brack, and artwork from all over the world spread throughout his huge space.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Harris," he said finally cracking his face with a half smile. "May I call you Susan?"

"Of course," she said and wanting to say, call me anything so long as you sign my paycheck.

"This is where you'll be working," said Mr. Johnson lifting his hand in the direction of her desk, while closing and locking the door behind him.

She never expected to be working in the same space as him, albeit, a huge office. Then, when he closed and locked the office door, she panicked. She expected him to close his door, of course, but she never expected him to lock it. The clicking sound that the lock made sounded so final, as if he were a jailer locking a cell door and it startled her. Suddenly, she felt trapped, as if she were a prisoner held against her will.

With everyone else out on the floor or in cubicles, all the other office doors were left wide open and never locked, unless the occupants left for the day. Moreover, all the other secretaries had their desks outside their boss's offices. She thought him locking his office door more than peculiar but it was a job, her first job and she had nothing in her non-existent work experience to compare.

Maybe had she more work experience, maybe had she worked somewhere else before, maybe what happened to her, while working there, would never have happened to her, at all, but it did.

"Do you always lock the door, Mr. Johnson?"

"Please call me Eustace."

"Do you always lock the door, Eustace?"

She looked at the locked door with misgivings before studying him with apprehension.

"I don't like to be disturbed. It's a waste of my time," he said still without evidence of a smile and, judging by the stare he gave her, she'd best take what he was saying now as a warning and never disturb him or waste his time. "It ruins my train of thought and it makes me forget things. In my business, especially this time of year, Christmas, the busiest retail season of all, I cannot afford to forget anything. It's sometimes impossible to get things done when I have a continually flow of employees in and out of my office soaking up my time with stupid questions. There's never enough time in my day to do all that I need to do," he said with earnest sincerity.

The explanation sounded totally believable to her. The busy CEO of the company needs to focus his attention on the whole pie, instead of wasting his time with the crumbs that can be cleared by his lowly managers.

"I understand. I'm the same way sometimes when--"

"Everyone knows that, unless the building is on fire, whenever my door is closed, I don't want to be disturbed, no calls and no knocks," he said interrupting her and suddenly looking preoccupied with his thoughts, as if remembering something he had forgotten. "Messages are collected in my in basket outside my door. My secretary handles all of that, collects them, and transcribes them to one sheet of paper for my review later," he said with a wave of his hand. "Most days there's no need to bother me at all. I have enough people in place to handle whatever the emergency and if they cannot do their job, then there's enough people out of work that I can replace them within a day."

"I see."

Even though he was laying out to her how he worked and what he expected from her, she was hung up on his word choice, when he mentioned his secretary collecting his messages. His secretary? Why is he referring to her in such an impersonal way? She thought she was his secretary. At the time, she didn't know she was his Private Secretary nor did she even understand the difference between the two, a secretary and a private secretary. Besides her, he had three other secretaries.

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