The Secretary and Finance Director

People always used to tell me that I was wasted as a secretary, 'you have the capacity for so much more' they'd insist. Perhaps, but it suited me. I was far from the stereotypical shy and retiring secretary though, a troubled childhood conditioned me to stand up for myself less be trampled all over.

As such I built my career on working for some of the toughest bosses in London, all of whom had broken my predecessors at record speed. By the time I came along the HR department would be ripping their hair out and so desperate that negotiating a salary far higher than they had previously considered was childsplay.

To break in in a new boss I utilised variations of the same formula I'd honed over the years. Firstly I'd let them see how good I am and sort out what ever shit hot mess the secretary before me had left behind. Then after a couple of weeks I'd get them to open up, usually interrupting them mid-flow whilst they were reeling off the tasks of the day, 'you don't seem yourself today are you OK?'. It worked wonders and never failed to catch them off guard, snippets of their personal woes would follow, never in too much depth but enough for step three, the tailored response.

This required a little creative thinking on my part. One boss told me that he was in the midsts of a divorce which had left him stressed and exhausted. The following day I bought a steamer into work and made him a steamed salmon and spinach salad. It certainly wasn't in my job spec to cook or even arrange for my boss' lunch and he'd never asked me to do it for him before so he was surprised when I waltzed into his office unannounced and placed the dish on his desk.

Visibly unnerved that I'd witnessed his surprise and therefore his vulnerability, he snapped 'I don't like fish'. I calmly looked him directly in the eyes and replied softly but firmly 'eat it, it will help with your energy levels'. I turned on my heels and left. He was not used to being told what to do, less so by a secretary.

I returned after half an hour to clear his plate away and it was licked clean. He didn't look up at me or say thank you but the subtle softening in his body language indicated that I'd have him eating out of my hand in no time.

They always try to test you after this and Mr Steamed Salmon was no different. The following Sunday morning at 3am he rang me on my mobile. I didn't wait for him to speak and chastised him severely. How dare he wake me up in the middle of the night, I didn't care if the office was burning down, weekends are my time and he had no right to expect me to work for him 24/7. I heard him stuttering on the other end of the line but hung up before he'd had the chance to assimilate his conflicting internal reactions to my outburst into a coherent response. Bosses like him aren't used to being told off and the telling off is the final phase. They're putty thereafter.

Stop. On reading the above what type of lover do you think I am, or to be more accurate what type of lover to you think I dream of being? If your answer involves me wanting to be in charge, you're wrong. Unfortunately this is how my confident personality is interpreted time and again and I end up being bitterly disappointed with lovers who want me to take control. On the same token why should I temper my character in order to find the lover I so desperately need, if I wasn't myself the sex would be just as bad.

If you were hoping that what follows would feature me and Mr Steamed Salmon in a state of undress, I'm sorry, I'm not turned on by bullies. However he was the one who toppled the first domino in a chain of events that would see me at the grand old age of thirty finally achieving sexual satisfaction. If only he knew, he'd probably choke on his spinach.

The Monday after I'd chastised my boss was the day of the monthly Board meeting, a day long affair which was beyond boring and for which I was required to take the minutes. Seven board members, all male, and myself. I dressed as I always did on Board days, ensuring that my summer dress revealed slightly more of my cleavage than was strictly professional. Honestly this show was more for my amusement than any sexual gratification, I knew full well that bar Mr Steamed Salmon the other Board members found the meeting just as dull as I did and my tits punctuated the boredom.

They all openly ogled except for the Finance Director, the consummate professional, quiet, unassuming. I never took much notice of him really. That morning as everybody took their usual seats, Mr Steamed Salmon stood over the Finance Director and said 'my Secretary sits there from now on'. The seat was at the business end of the table and the Finance Director was being demoted in front of the entire Board, there was an uncomfortable silence in the room as we switched seats. I was expecting the Finance Director to react but there was no visible signs that the snub had angered or upset him.

Mr Steamed Salmon was a predictable bully. There was a joke amongst the other Board members that he played scapegoat roulette, focusing an entire meeting, usually unfoundedly, on his perceived failings of one of the Board members. There were no prizes for guessing who was getting it this month.

Indeed, no sooner had we started on the first item of the day when Mr Steamed Salmon let rip, throwing one thing after another at the Finance Director. Why hadn't he done this? What the hell do you call that? The Finance Director remained calm throughout, a six hour grilling and he didn't even break a sweat. He knew he was the best accountant the company had ever had as did the rest of the Board, he never made mistakes and always did what was asked.

Mr Steamed Salmon, accustomed to reducing grown men to tears, was visibly frustrated, he was obviously seeking an extreme reaction which he was not going to get. His desperation amused me and I stifled a smile. Was I imagining it or did the Finance Director just smirk when he thought nobody was looking?

As I said before, I hardly took any notice of the Finance Director before. But as we all filed out of the meeting room I started to think, does he play mind games like I do to control people? I was intrigued. He could just as easily be the type who keeps all of his feelings inside and could be deeply upset by his public lashing. I chose to base my following actions on the latter, I do not like to witness people being bullied and I was going to find out if the Finance Director was OK.

I went to the kitchen and brewed a cup of tea, Mr Steamed Salmon always liked a brew straight after the Board meetings. I made it exactly how he liked it in his favourite mug. I walked up to his office with the mug of tea in my grasp, straight past his open door and into the adjacent office where the Finance Director was seated. He didn't look up as I walked around to his desk with the mug of tea, so I placed it on his desk and started to walk out. 'On a coaster' he said quietly. I walked back up to his desk, and found a coaster underneath an old mug, I switched them. I then looked directly at the Finance Director and said 'he's a Cunt you know, he shouldn't have spoken to you like that'.

He looked up at me and held my gaze for a good ten seconds, I couldn't tell if he was happy, amuzed, angry. I was trying so hard to figure him out that I didn't notice until I felt a sharp slap on my pussy that he'd put his hand up my skirt. 'That's a Cunt' he said, 'and don't swear'. Just as discretely as he'd put his hand up my skirt he had removed it and was taking a sip from the mug. 'I don't like my tea like that' he said. Not with any malice, just matter-of-factly.

I left the room in no doubt that the Finance Director, like me, knew how to work minds. I was wearing a tiny thong and it wasn't large enough to contain my excitement. As I walked into Mr Steamed Salmon's office and presented him with the now cold mug of tea that the Finance Director had rejected, a dribble of my juices escaped my thong and dribbled down my leg beyond the cover of my dress.

I wanted the Finance Director.

The following day the Finance Director wasn't in the office. I couldn't stand it, I wanted to see him, I wanted him to slap my pussy again, I wanted him to bend me over and take me. Where was he? He wasn't in the following day either or for the rest of the week.

I was feeling restless, I couldn't concentrate, for the first time in my career I made a massive mistake with a task Mr Steamed Salmon had set me. I don't make mistakes. When Mr Steamed Salmon summoned me into his office I uncharacteristically let him berate me and before I knew what was happening tears were rolling uncontrollably down my face.

The prospect of breaking another Secretary obviously thrilled him, my god I swear he had a boner as he stood up aggressively over me and told me to 'get the fuck out of his office'. I wanted to scream out that it wasn't him who was breaking me, it was the Finance director. I didn't. I turned and left.

I normally wouldn't have gone to work on the Monday feeling as poorly as I did, but longing to see the Finance Director I dragged myself out of bed and into the office. My heart sank as I realised he wasn't there and I set about trying to make sense of my workload.

At 11am I went outside for a cigarette. It was cold and as I took my first deep inhalation of the smoke I felt a gust of breeze travel up my skirt and awaken my sex. Relief. As I exhaled I let out an audible moan of pleasure. What was I doing?

I continued in this manner, feeling more and more aroused, resisting the urge to touch myself in public. I couldn't. I took my final inhalation and turned to go back into the office. He was stood there behind me, the Finance Director. I simultaneously exhaled and let out a cry of pleasure as I did so, my body shuddered and there was no mistaking what had just happened.

I looked down at my feet in shame, did he realise, did he know that it was him who had done this to me? He walked towards me and gently tugged my panties off, putting them in his pocket. He turned round and I followed him into the office. We entered the lift and ascended in silence, I waited for him to speak but he didn't, I wanted him to take me in his arms but he didn't. As we entered the office he said softly 'follow me', I blindly followed him and was surprised to find myself standing in Mr Steamed Salmon's office.

He cleared his throat and Mr Steamed Salmon looked up, 'she's taken a funny turn' he said. Mr Steamed Salmon looked back down at his papers and spitted 'you look like shit, go home'. Furious that my idiot boss had spoken to me so disrespectfully and angry at myself for not having the energy to put him in his place I walked out of his office, grabbed my bag and coat and went to leave. Just as I opened the door the Finance Director pressed a note into my hand. Startled I asked him 'what's this'. No response, no reaction. I looked down at the piece of paper and back up to him, but he'd gone.

I waited until I was in the lift and opened the piece of paper, there was an address on it. No explanation, no instructions, just an address. Was it his? Was this where he lived? At the train station I didn't get on my usual train. An hour and a half later I was outside a house in Surrey.

Why hadn't I thought of it before? I didn't have a key, how was I going to get in? I rang on the bell fruitlessly and waited, I knew there wasn't going to be an answer and there wasn't. I looked around for a key and found one underneath the doormat.

I put it in the door and turned, it worked, of course it worked. I opened the door and entered. I went up a flight of stairs and found myself in a living room, his living room? It was immaculately tidy, should I sit down and wait?

I looked round and saw another flight of stairs, tentatively I walked up them and reached a landing with four doors, one of which was ajar. I peered in half expecting to see him there, he wasn't, the room was empty, the whole house was empty. On the bed I saw a bathrobe and a note. I ran to it and opened it feverishly. It was his handwriting. 'Make yourself at home and have a bath, the bathrobe is yours. I will be home at 6:15pm'.

At that moment I wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath, in his hot bath. As I felt the hot water envelop my naked form and the tingle of the bubbles bursting against my skin I found myself wishing that he'd walk in. I soaked for an hour, dried myself off and walked naked into his bedroom.

Had he bought the robe for me? I sat on the bed and wrapped it around me lying back as I did so, I reached down and placed my fingers on the soft folds of my pussy and stroked myself, but exhaustion won out and before I knew it I'd fallen fast asleep.

I woke up to find him sitting next to me fully clothed. My robe was open exposing my full nakedness. Had he opened it? Had I shifted in my sleep and inadvertently knocked it open myself? He was looking at me but not reacting. How could he not react. With desire, with disgust, any reaction was better than nothing. He handed me a cup of tea. 'This is how I like it', he said, 'remember'. I looked at the tea, it was weak with very little milk, not how I liked it at all. I thanked him and took a sip, making no effort to close my robe. React, I willed him, take me.

He gently took the half finished mug from me and said 'follow me, you won't need the robe'. I wasn't used to taking instructions from men, but I felt compelled to do so and I let the robe drop to the floor as I followed him downstairs and into his dining room. He beckoned me over to the table and before I reached him stepped out towards me taking me by the waist and lifting me onto the table. Is he going to fuck me here? I thought. I felt sure he was as he positioned me on all fours, spreading my legs apart affording him an explicit view of my pussy and arse. I felt him looking at me. I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to fuck me but he didn't. 'You're shaved,' he said, 'I prefer waxed'.

'I think I want you to be mine', he said softly, 'but first I need to carry out checks to ensure that you're of the right ...calibre. You will look directly in front of you at all times', he continued, 'you won't like everything that is going to happen to you but it is important that you accept it and don't speak unless you're spoken to'. He picked up a pad of paper and a pen and walked across to the 'business end' of the table.

His next question could have easily been 'what football club' do you support given his gentle tones, instead he asked me 'how many men have fucked your cunt?' I was surprised at how quickly and honestly I answered him 'I don't know'. Spank. I felt his hand hit my pussy with considerable force, I fell forward and squeezed my vaginal muscles in an attempt to ease the pain.

In the same voice he repeated his question 'how many men have fucked your cunt?', hesitant but determined to be honest with him I said again 'I don't know'. The next spank was harder still, I felt a smarting pain shoot across my pussy lips lingering there before gradually reducing in intensity.

'Are you a virgin?' he asked. 'No'. 'Have you slept with more than ten men?' 'Yes'. 'Have you slept with more than twenty men?' 'Yes'. 'Have you slept with more than thirty men?' 'Yes'. Have you slept with more than forty men?' 'No'. He scribbled on his note pad.

'How many men have fucked your arse?' he went on. Embarrassed I whispered 'one'. 'Did you like it?' 'No'. He wrote something on his notepad and then I swear I heard him crossing it out furiously.

'When did you have your breasts enhanced?''When I was 21.' 'Why did you do it?' because I wanted to control all aspects of my life including my physical appearance.' I hadn't realised until that moment that my decision to go under the surgeons knife was more deep seated than plain and simple vanity. More jotting on his notepad.

He left the room. I didn't want to disobey him and move from the table but I desperately wanted to know where he was. I listened out for clues. He was upstairs, was that water I could hear? Was he having a shower? Did I just hear him moan? What was he doing?

Eventually I heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, he entered the room and sat down again by my exposed rear. Behind me I heard a slapping noise, was that fluid? I felt his hand rub something wet into the folds of my labia and into the entrance of my pussy. Yes it was fluid. It was lube.

I heard another noise and I couldn't place it, but as I felt it cold and hard pushing against the entrance to my lubed cunt, slowly inserted then twisted, when I heard the clunk as he opened it I knew that he had just inserted a speculum inside me. He was examining me!

Was that the sound of a torch? It was definitely the sound of a camera. I felt my pussy pulsating, I was more turned on than I'd ever been and I was getting very wet indeed. Could he see how turned on I was? Did I really hear that? Did he just let out a moan of pleasure. Please let it be so. I needed affirmation that he was enjoying what he was seeing. I felt so exposed and without his affirmation I felt vulnerable. Once again he was scribbling frantically on his notepad. What had he written?

Leaving the speculum in place I heard the now familiar sound of him squeezing the bottle of lube onto his fingers. I felt him rub the lube in to my tight anus, pushing firmly against the opening. No, no, no, no, not there I willed him silently, please not there.

I felt something large and alien being pushed gently into my anus, I wanted to please him but all I could remember was the pain of the last time I'd allowed a man to go there and I tensed and resisted. He drew one arm around me and lightly touched my waist kissing the small of my back as he said 'this is for your own good, relax, for me.'

He'd kissed me at last! My body trembled, all I could focus on was his kiss, his soft lips. He sensed me relaxing and in one deft move with a satisfying suction sound he pushed the object into place. 'Good girl', he whispered.

Even there on all fours, completely naked with a speculum in my pussy and something else in my anus I felt proud of myself. I had pleased him. He was pleased with me. I only wanted to please him. I heard the camera again and then nothing as he left the room.

I wanted to scream out, don't leave me again, please just fuck me, just fuck me. But he hadn't given me permission to talk and so I remained in silence determined that if I gave him what he wanted that he would in turn give me what I needed. He must have been gone for half an hour, it felt like half a year and yet I stayed exactly where he'd left me knowing that ultimately he would return and resume his checks.

I smelt his arrival before I heard or saw him. He'd been cooking. Was that lasagne? He placed what I guessed was a plate of food at my feet and walked up to my head, reminding me as he did that I wasn't to look at him. 'Open your mouth', he said. His voice was so soft, why did I feel compelled to do what he was telling me? I opened my mouth, of course I did, and he inserted a carrot before returning to his plate of food.

The sound of him eating his dinner was punctuated by occasional silences, my imagination was running riot, was that his warm breath I could feel on my pussy? I wasn't sure but the thought alone made my clit tingle and a trickle of my excitement slowly traced its way down my inner thigh. I felt it, could he see it? I heard the sound of clattering cutlery as he finished his meal and cleared his plate away.

He walked round to the side of me and took my head and shoulder into his chest in a one handed embrace taking hold of the carrot with his other hand. 'Eat', his soft voice again. In this position I could see the outline of his crotch through his trousers, he was erect and as I munched down on the carrot I longed for him to unzip his flies and let me drink him. I thought I'd finished his carrot, but he held out the green leaves and repeated 'Eat' and I ate every last scrap of those bitter leaves.