A Hard Business Lesson Ch. 1

She was nearly as tall as me, at least five feet nine. She was amazingly proportioned, maybe 39-23-36. She had natural blonde hair, hazel eyes that turned to blue when she was angry, and the softest skin of alabaster whites and pale pinks. Her looks could almost make you forget the steel set to her delicate looking jaw. She had full, luscious lips that were usually compressed into a hard line, and an aquiline nose from which piercing eyes stared down at people. She also had a no-nonsense stride to those long, firmly-muscled legs that made you believe she could squeeze you to death between them easier than a pair of pythons wrapped around a squealing pig. Her name was Erika Teufel, and she was a Class A, workaholic, money-is-everything bitch. She was also my boss.

My name is Jon. I'm no pretty-boy, but fairly attractive to those who like 'rugged' good looks. My hair is dark and curly, eyes a soft brown, and glasses that accentuate my intelligence. My main claim is my body, which is a shade under six feet tall. I do a lot to it – mountain biking, skiing, tennis, karate, weights, jogging and more – and I keep it in great shape, hard and lean.

I'm a stock broker, with a degree in economics and a master's in finance. Being a broker wasn't what I had wanted, but I needed the job. Ms. Teufel had taken over her father's small brokerage firm when she was twenty-four, and in seven years had more than quadrupled its size. She wants to be the Charlene Schwab of the industry, with a string of offices across the country doing a huge volume on fairly low margins. I was sure she'd make it.

When my phone buzzed, I was not terribly surprised to hear Fawn's voice. Fawn is Ms. Teufel's secretary, and she is literally the girl of my dreams. Hardly a night went by without me dreaming of her small, delicate frame, her long dark hair swirling around exotic, dusky features, her disproportionately large breasts standing out sharply above her tiny waist and perfectly shaped legs.

"Mr. Thomas," Fawn's soft, sexy voice caressed my ears. "Ms. Teufel would like to see you in her office." She sounded apologetic, probably knowing what was coming.

"I'm in the middle of evaluating a new prospectus, Fawn," I said, trying to sound businesslike. "Can it wait a few minutes?"

She sighed, a sound that sent shivers up my spine. "I'm afraid not," she said regretfully. "She said, 'Tell him to get his ass in here immediately,' and I'm afraid she sounded angry."

"Well, that's different," I said, echoing Fawn's sigh. "Okay, tell her I'll be right in."

"Yes, Mr. Thomas – and, I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Fawn," I said gratefully. I didn't even think she had noticed me. But she sounded like she was really sorry, not just because I was a fellow human being, but because it was me. As I walked down the hallway, I wondered how many more times I might be able to see her beautiful face and hear the voice that did such exciting things to various parts of my body.

I've worked here for nearly a year. This was my first real job after grad school, and it took over eight months to find it. I'm not really aggressive, getting much more enjoyment out of analyzing financial issues, manipulating stocks, and looking for investment vehicles that could make life a lot easier for my few clients. Which was my problem – going out and finding new clients.

I knocked softly on the door to Fawn's office, which stood guard between the rest of the staff and Ms. Teufel. I could have just gone in, but I wanted to hear her voice, even for those few words. As I entered, I watched her at her desk, her large amber eyes dripping with sympathy, her soft, full lips trembling a little, as if she were the one who was about to be reamed out. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss those lips until they trembled in desire, but I didn't want to add sexual harassment to my problems.

Her breasts seemed to heave a little, and her breath was definitely a bit labored. Was she actually concerned for me? Could it possibly be that she felt something for me personally? That was silly. She was just a deeply caring person, and she was very upset that someone – me – was about to lose his job.

I gazed at her for several minutes, not wanting to break the spell. Finally I blurted out like an idiot, "Well, I suppose I should go in."

"I suppose so, Mr. Thomas," she breathed, again with a sigh that sent electrical charges throughout my body, stimulating my cock even in this terrible situation. I took a deep breath, tore my eyes from that gorgeous body, and walked into the inner sanctum.

Ms. Teufel was seated at her desk, a golden glow from the window behind her accentuating her angelic looks. She ignored me, so I looked around at the office, just waiting. I had only been in here three times, once for my hiring interview, and twice to get told off for not finding more clients for the firm. The sparse yet opulent furnishings, demonstrating the excellent taste and wealth of their owner, seemed the perfect setting for this beautiful, elegant, totally cold bitch.

She left me standing there for several minutes while she made notes on a thick document. When she was certain I was as nervous as possible, she slapped her pen onto the teakwood desk with a loud smack and looked me right in the eye.

"Well, Mr. Thomas," she said sharply. "It's been three months since our last meeting."

"Yes, Ms. Teufel," I agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"And where are the ten clients you agreed to bring in last quarter?" she demanded.

"I'm afraid I've only acquired five, Ms. Teufel," I said, knowing any excuses would be shot down with a vengeance.

"Yes, and four of those came from recommendations, if I read your reports right."

"Which surely must mean my existing clients are very pleased with my recommendations and handling of their portfolios if they're recommending their friends…"

"I'm not quibbling with your financial acumen, Mr. Thomas, or your ability to deal with your clients and their portfolios. Only with the number of those clients. Not to mention your lack of aggressiveness in making cold calls or other efforts that might bring in new clients. In fact, it's only your obvious talent for investments that has kept you employed – up 'til now."

I gulped. This was it.

Ms. Teufel stood up abruptly, walking around her desk like a hunter stalking a sure kill. In spite of the circumstances, I couldn't help but admire her large, firm breasts pushing out her finely tailored suit jacket, or hear the enticing swish of her nylons as her legs carried that incredible body all of the way around me. She finally stopped in front of her desk, staring at me sternly from only a couple of feet away.

"Do you like your job, Mr. Thomas?" she said suddenly.

"Why – well, yes I do," I stammered.

"Do you feel your base is satisfactory?"

"Well, my base pay is very generous, Ms. Teufel, although I believe the commissions I've been earning from increased client activity certainly…"

"Are not nearly what they should be if you were acquiring a lot more clients. Are they, Mr. Thomas? You haven't lived up to your quotas, which we agreed to last quarter, which every brokerage firm demands, and upon which your continued employment depended."

Her eyes were now icy blue, and her face had lost that angelic look. I came from a poor family with no connections. It had taken be quite a while to get this job. Truthfully, my base pay wasn't all that great, but it was better than anyone else would offer me. Losing my job would be very tough, and she knew it. Then she rubbed it in even more.

"Do you think that, if I fired you now, you could find another job very easily?"

"No, Ms. Teufel," I said quietly.

"Then perhaps we should find another basis for keeping you employed."

"I – what?"

She turned and started walking slowly around her desk. "You're not aggressive in seeking out clients, Mr. Thomas, but there are certain qualities of yours which I have noticed. You're very intelligent, and I admire intelligence. You're extremely good with investments, and could perhaps be allowed to manage some of mine on a trial basis." She leaned against the desk towards me, and her gaze was still piercing, but her eyes had turned a much softer color. "I've also noticed you down in the gym. You're one of the few of my employees who bother to use it, and the only one who does it seriously. When you work out, you have an intensity, a dedication. I also admire that."

I was totally confused. The building her father had left her, an old three-story brick structure near the financial district, had a large basement. Approximately three-quarters of the basement had been converted into a very modern and extensive gym, which was where I worked out frequently. I had seen Ms. Teufel down there a number of times, giving me the chance to become familiar with the figure normally hidden in business suits. But I hadn't thought she had ever bothered to look at me.

"Because of these…assets of yours, I believe there's still a chance that you could prove to be a very useful, even a very valuable employee. Would you care to explore those possibilities, Mr. Thomas?"

"Explore the possibilities…. Well, uh, sure, Ms. Teufel. What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me," she said, heading for a door I had thought to be a closet. I followed her into a small elevator that only had two buttons. She pushed the lower button, and the elevator started down.

My mind was in a whirl. She couldn't want a personal trainer to help her in the gym; she obviously knew as much about fitness as I did. Maybe she kept her personal records in a secret part of the basement, and was going to try me out on them as she had suggested. When the elevator door opened and she waved me past her, the last thing in the world I expected was to step out into a torture chamber.

The brick walls were padded on three sides, with closets and large drawers on the fourth wall. There were a lot of things I didn't recognize, but most of the equipment was obvious. There were various places someone could be hung from walls or the ceiling depending on the position desired, including something that looked like a swing with stirrups. There were benches of different heights and shapes, there were a couple of different chairs that had clamps and straps attached, and there were two beds that also had straps. There was also a large shower stall and hot tub in one corner of the room. All of the equipment looked very chic; leather on shining metals, well-padded clamps, even fur coverings on some of the pieces. And they all looked very painful.