The Secretary

Mr. Spader gazed upon the tight round curves of the young lady's derriere. There was something strangely appealing about a woman's bottom. He couldn't really understand why. The bottom was not a primary sex organ. It was just padding for sitting down. Still, he could not help but be strangely attracted to its roundness, its fullness, its provocative thrusting back away from her body, toward him.

Perhaps that was it, that the position gave the impression that the young lady was presenting herself to him, as the female member of the Hominidae species may have done in our ancestral years. He could feel himself swelling within his slacks.

"OH!" Maggie suddenly exclaimed. "I found one! I found one, sir," she again exclaimed, turning her head back to look at Mr. Spader, who quickly tore his eyes away from the girl's butt, but not before she noticed the true direction of his gaze.

"Excuse me? Yes? What is it, dear?"

Maggie hesitated to answer, still processing the fact that Mr. Spader had apparently been staring at her bottom. After a moment she responded, "Sir, an error. I found one: in the throws of passion."

"What?"

"A homonym, sir. I typed 'throws' of passion rather than 'throes.'" It was an understandable error, so she felt. Of course, it was a rather silly, if not poor, error. Why hadn't she noticed it? She clearly knew the difference between "throws" and "throes." Most likely her mind just made the spelling correction as her eyes quickly scanned the sentence.

"Yes, well," he replied, "you do understand the difference between 'throws' and 'throes,' do you not?"

Maggie's eyes widened with concern. Gracious, he thinks that I might not? "Oh sir, yes sir, of course! It was just an inadvertent mistake." It seemed a bit weird to continue to speak to him like this, bent over, looking back over her shoulder, presenting her bottom to him as he spoke. But she also felt it might be presumptive to just stand up and face him. Plus, she would have to return to the document anyway.

"A lack of due attention?" Mr. Spader inquired.

She answered more quietly, "Yes sir. Yes it was," she acknowledged.

"Yes, indeed. Well, there are two more errors."

"Yes sir. I'll find them, sir. I promise." It was a dangerous promise and she could feel her heart racing. What if she didn't find them? What if she discovered an additional error that he had missed? Would that also count against her? Still, that was unlikely, wasn't it? She was in any case impressed by his apparent self-confidence that he had discovered all of the possible errors.

She did not discover an additional error for the next seven pages. With some trepidation she turned to the next page.

"Take your time, dear," Mr. Spader quietly suggested. Normally he would by now have returned to his chair to work on his own papers rather than waste the time supervising this new secretary's proof reading. But, Mr. Spader was in no hurry. He did indeed have work to do, but given the amount he billed by the hour he could afford a few minutes. Plus, proof-reading was itself billable. There was no point in doing a poor job, and nothing that was released from his office should ever have any form of mistake, legal or otherwise. Lastly, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself. This young lady had such an appealingly curved derriere.

Maggie wondered if she was reading too fast. Had she in fact missed an error? Would he let her retrace her steps once she finished the document? Or, would she be given only one chance to find all three? She slowed the pace. Proof reading should be very, very careful and precise. She had probably been rushing, compelled by her agitated state of distress and anxiety. Plus, she was having a bit of difficulty getting it out of her head that he was probably staring at her butt. She nervously shifted her feet, but realized that she was then moving and shifting her bottom in such a way that might be perceived as suggestive.

Mr. Spader had naturally been instantly attracted by the young lady's eyes, but it was now apparent that there was more to this young lady's beauty, her appeal, than simply one particular feature. Miss Gyllenhall had a terribly sweet bum, so perky, so round, so delectably inviting. Perhaps our primitive ancestors had it correct when they routinely mounted their mates from behind. Of course, this was not how a lawyer as successful, as prominent, as Mr. Spader should be considering his secretarial assistant, but it was just so difficult to ignore.

"Jasons!" Maggie suddenly squealed.

"Excuse me?"

Maggie again looked back at him. She did not this time catch his eyes admiring her bum, but she was at least reminded again of where he was standing. It was unlikely to be without purpose, without intent. Mr. Spader was a very meticulous, precise man. There would be few things accidental in his behavior. "'Jasons,'" she explained. "I typed 'Jasons' rather than 'Jason.' It should have been singular."

"Yes, that would be correct, Miss Gyllenhall. Very good. Perhaps you can find the third error."

Maggie smiled triumphantly back at him, not in such a way that she felt she had triumphed over him. It was more like she was just so pleased and proud, looking to him for some sign that he shared her pleasure, like a daughter seeking the approval, the pride, of her father.

A partial, weak smile creased the corner of Mr. Spader's lips.

Maggie smiled more broadly. He was pleased. She could see that. Her so very pretty blue eyes twinkled with delight. She returned to the document with renewed vigor and confidence.

But, the latter quickly dissipated as time again passed with no apparent success. Maggie wondered if the third error was simply an extra space after a period. Could he be that picky? Well, of course, he would be, but it can be so hard to find those, particularly without the assistance of a word processor. She began to study the spacing more carefully, albeit knowing that if this was indeed the error she had most likely missed it somewhere within the first half of the document.

Mr. Spader quietly stepped up to his secretary, and leaned over from the waist, looking down over her shoulder.

Maggie sensed his presence, detecting the scent of his cologne. She considered looking back to verify her impression, but if he was as close as he seemed to be, peering over her shoulder, she might find it somewhat uncomfortable to turn to speak to him. It was troubling in more ways than one. She was reminded of when her math teacher, Mr. E. Edward Grey, would stand behind her, studying closely her work as she labored over some complicated algebraic equation. He considered his presence to be a help, in that he could offer some suggestions if she was having difficulty, but it only made her feel more self-conscious and uncertain, as any failure, any error, would be observed instantly. Rather than attempt various possible solutions she was immobilized, staring at the equation, trying to process it solely within her head.

Mr. Spader's presence was also troubling in that he was bending over her as she was bending over the desk. She could not ignore the implications. She couldn't get them out of her head. Perhaps it was Mr. Spader's cologne, so sweetly masculine. She forced her mind to resume concentrating on the task at hand. She only had to find one more error and she will have met his challenge.

Joy swept through her. "I found it!"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Spader inched up a bit to get a closer look, leaning over even further, resting his right hand on the gentle curve of her right bottom cheek.

Maggie lifted up her head. She stared forward at Mr. Spader's leather desk chair, her eyes wide with disconcertion, her lips somewhat parted, her impeccable top two front teeth appearing between her deliciously red, moist lips. Should she say something? Was it not inappropriate for him to be resting his hand there? It wasn't though like he was in fact copping a feel. He wasn't fondling or caressing her. He was just resting his hand to help maintain his position, his balance. There was nothing sexual about it whatsoever, was there?

"Miss Gyllenhall?" Mr. Spader prompted her.

"Oh, yes sir, yes. Um, 'the damn burst.'" Another homonym. "It should have been 'the dam burst.'"

"Yes, correct, Miss Gyllenhall," leaning down even more closely to speak softly into her ear. "This was a particularly egregious error, Miss Gyllenhall, as you would not want me to be suggesting that the client was somehow cursing, using foul language."

She naturally turned her head to speak to him, to discover his face was just inches from her own. He was even more handsome this close. Their faces were as if two lovers were about to kiss. Her face suddenly reddened, and she quickly turned away, hoping that he hadn't noticed. "No sir, of course not sir, it won't happen again."

Mr. Spader suggested, "Perhaps I should invest in a word processor. Would that make your job easier?"

"Oh, no sir! That will not be necessary. And, well, frankly, word processors will not detect homonyms. You must find these yourself." She really didn't want him to get a word processor on her account. He would clearly be very disappointed that she would need such a crutch.

Mr. Spader wondered if what she said was true, but he wouldn't really know. He lacked the skills of a typist.

He stepped away, but not before he gave her bottom a couple light pats of reassurance. "Yes, well, please be more careful, Miss Gyllenhall. This firm does have a degree of respect within the Asheville community, and errors such as these are rather incongruent with our reputation." He made his way around his desk and back to his chair, hoping that his secretary would not notice the bulge within his slacks.

He knew he probably should not have placed his hand on her bottom, and most definitely should not have given her a few pats. As a lawyer he knew he had opened himself up to a charge of sexual harassment. Of course, he really shouldn't worry about that. It's not like he wasn't effective, to say the least, in defending himself in court. Plus, there was nothing overtly sexual in the contact. That wasn't how his cock felt about it, but his dick was unlikely to be called as a witness. As long as she hadn't noticed his erection he would be fine. And, frankly, she was, of course, unlikely to file any complaint in the first place. He slipped into his chair and pretended to be looking for something within his top right drawer.

He glanced up at his secretary and noticed that she was still prone over his desk, her round blue alluring eyes looking plaintively at him. "Yes yes, you can go now, Miss Gyllenhall. That will be all."

"Yes sir," Maggie softly replied and stood back up, her back feeling a bit stiff. She had been hoping for some statement of congratulation, of appreciation for her fine work. Perhaps that had been the pat on her bottom? She turned and made her way out of his office.

It was a rather long walk to the door, his office being so expansive. But, perhaps that was just her perception. With each step she could not help but feel Mr. Spader's eyes following the sway of her bottom. She wondered if she should try to keep down the swing of her hips, but that might just make her appear awkward and clumsy, and that could hardly make a good impression. She opted to just let nature take its course, letting her hips swing and sway as she strode to the door.

She did though glance back as she opened the door.

He was sitting at his desk, a half-smile on his face, revealing nothing. He wasn't necessarily looking at her bottom. His eyes were on hers, but it was clear that he had at least been watching.

"Thank you, sir," she softly exclaimed, smiling appreciatively, although not entirely sure what she was thanking him for. "You're welcome, Miss Gyllenhall," Mr. Spader replied and then turned his attention back to a document he had retrieved from his desk drawer.

Maggie had not been asked to type any additional material for the rest of the day, much to her disappointment. She had wanted a second chance. She felt quite pleased with herself for having found the three errors, but of course she was equally disappointed in having committed the errors in the first place. She would like to demonstrate, particularly the first day on the job, that her performance could in fact be impeccable, could in fact meet his standards of excellence. But, instead, he had her researching some lawsuit, which she found to be more interesting than simply typing, but hardly a true test of her skills.

She in fact appeared to be performing rather well for the next few days, as there were no calls to review her work, no lectures as to the quality of her performance. She was naturally pleased, of course, but she also found the days to be rather routine, if not tedious. Mr. Spader was most definitely not a talkative, gregarious man. He was all business, if not stern and cold. Still, she was most definitely pleased that he was apparently pleased, or at least satisfied, which was a considerable relief given how much time she had been taking to proof her own work before she turned it in. If there had been a mistake in any of her work she would probably have had a considerably difficult time finding it.

She was feeling so comfortable that today she had worn one of her more feminine dresses, a nicely form fitting yellow cotton summer dress, all sprinkled with white daises. It outlined her breasts well, evident by the heads of men which naturally turned as she made her way down the hall to Mr. Spader's wing of the refurbished townhouse, carrying a little yellow vase filled with daisies. She was quite the sight as her heels clicked and clacked down the long hardwood floor.

It was apparent that she even caught Mr. Spader's eye as he passed her desk to enter his office. He didn't just flop down on her desk a stack of work that he had developed the previous evening. Instead, he actually briefly paused, noticing the matching dress and flower vase. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. She had clearly made an impression, and hopefully a good one. After he entered his office she wondered if perhaps her outfit was too informal, too feminine. Maybe his look was one of disapproval!

"Miss Gyllenhall, could you come in here please?"

It was from her intercom. He was calling her in, once again. She did not, however, expect any difficulty. He was now calling her in numerous times each day. She retrieved her pad and pressed down the switch to respond, "Shall I bring my pad, sir?"

"No, no," she could hear him responding, his voice kind of scratchy through the old speaker. "That won't be necessary."

"Yes sir," she responded, but she brought the pad and pen anyway, just in case she might need it.

She entered his office, only to see her latest work lying on the desk, front and center, Mr. Spader standing once again to the side.

He noticed the pad. "Miss Gyllenhall, did I not tell you not to bring the pad? That it would not be necessary."

"Yes sir," she softly acknowledged.

"Do you feel that I am not capable of making this judgment?"

She shook her head. "I'll but it back, sir," she offered.

"No, no," he replied, waving her forward.

She quickly made her way to the desk. Once she arrived she asked, "Shall I leave the pad here, sir?" She gestured to the right side of his desk.

He silently nodded.

She carefully laid the pad and pen down and then shifted over so that she was standing a couple of feet from the desk, right in front of the document. "How many errors were there, Mr. Spader?"

"Just two this time, Miss Gyllenhall," he quietly replied. It was good that she fully understood his concern, and the necessary recompense.

Well, that wasn't many, but it was clearly two many too much. She slowly leaned forward, bending at her waist, until her hands and elbows rested on either side of the document. It was a contract for the purchase of a rare oil painting, which required considerable detail given that the party receiving the painting wanted quite a few stipulations for its transfer and transportation. She began to slowly and carefully study the initial sentence as Mr. Spader made his way around so that he stood just to her left, by her out thrust bottom.

Maggie's dress clung to more than just her breasts. It also outlined very well the curves of her sweet apple bottom. It might as well have been painted on, as it traced so nicely the graceful curve of her round tush, thrusting out and then curving back down to her thighs. It was such a soft little delightful pillow. Mr. Spader could even detect the curving down into the valley of her crack. He had to wonder if perhaps she had worn this dress on purpose, knowing that she had committed some typographic errors on the Kellerman contract, perhaps even committing the errors purposely? Well, that was probably going too far, but it can be difficult not to believe, not to at least wonder, if this pretty girl was purposely dressing provocatively precisely to draw his attention and interest. Otherwise, why dress in such a manner? His cock once again swelled in satisfaction at the sight of such a spell. His hand was yearning for an excuse to touch the soft sloping curves. He considered letting his hand absentmindedly lie across the gentle cheeks. Would she object?

Maggie wondered if Mr. Spader could see the outline of her panties through her dress. The cotton was fairly thin. She now had serious doubts as to the soundness of her decision in what to wear. It clearly had not helped in avoiding his disappointment.

"Goodness!" She suddenly exclaimed, "considerant."

"Yes, Miss Gyllenhall, what precisely is 'considerant'?"

"Well, sir, of course, 'considerant' isn't anything. I should have typed, 'considerate.'"

"So, you do know how to spell 'considerate'?"

Maggie was mortified. "Of course, sir. I was just typing so fast that apparently it just came out that way." However, in all honesty, the error was in fact due to her failure, at the moment, to recognize the correct spelling. The spelling she had provided just seemed to better fit the sound of the word. But, now that it had been pointed out to her, it was clearly wrong. This was a pretty bad mistake.

"Yes sir, absolutely sir, it won't happen again, sir."

He gave her bottom a few pats. He just couldn't help himself. How could any reasonable man? And her cheeks felt so precious through the thin fabric of the summer dress. "Yes, well, let's see if you can find the second error."

Maggie looked around in front of her, not looking at anything in particular but wondering how to react to the gentle pats on her bottom. These pats felt a bit more personal, a bit more intimate, than the ones a few days ago, although perhaps it was simply a reflection of the thinness of her dress, allowing a bit more intimacy in the touch. "Thank you, sir," she replied, shifting her attention away from his hand, and her bottom, to the contract.

She studied it further, and then quickly discovered the error. "I should have typed 'admissable' instead of 'admissible'!'" She has been pretty sure 'admissible' was correct but no longer entirely sure.

THWACK!

Maggie lurched forward and her face rose up in shock. The room was filled with a deathly silence. She froze in place.

Was that really what she thought it was?! Clearly it was. It couldn't be anything else. Mr. Spader had actually given her a whack on her bottom?! Well, yes, most definitely he had!

She didn't know quite what to say or how to respond. Did he do this with all his secretaries? She was speechless and dumfounded. This just didn't seem right for so many reasons. Her mouth was open, her large pretty blue eyes were wide in wonder and concern, staring straight out in front of her, wondering what to say or do.