Seized by the CEO: A sexy, submissive interview story (Interviewed by the CEO Book 1)

by Penelope Lusk

  Seized by the CEO

  A Sexy, Submissive Interview Story

  By Penelope Lusk

  Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

  I never thought laundry would be my undoing. The morning of the biggest job opportunity I’d ever gotten, and dirty clothes were going to screw me over. A photographer always wears black– those are the unspoken rules. Sifting through my closet, it looked like my only options were going to be a white oxford button down shirt and pale pink skirt, cutting off a little shorter than I would have liked.

  But what did these corporate guys know anyway? They wouldn’t expect me to be wearing black. I hoped.

  The opportunity was to take corporate headshots at a major household supply company, but I had to interview for it first. And I desperately needed it. I was out of art school, in five figures of debt, and not getting any paying gigs. At least I had a solid art school portfolio on my website, so that was probably why I got a call back from them.

  I slipped off my PJs, feeling the cool air nip at my breasts. Time to find a bra. I dug through my dresser, searching for my beige bra. Oh no. Come on. That’s in the laundry pile too? Ugh, this was not happening.

  My black bra sat there, taunting me, as if saying, “Go ahead and choose me, Lela. Wear a black bra under a white shirt.”

  “Damn you,” I muttered as I picked it up and slid it over my shoulders. I pushed my ample breasts into the cups and clasped the back.

  After donning the rest of my outfit, I checked myself out in the mirror. Lela, you hottie. My hair, once pink in art school, was now dyed a professional shade of blonde, and cut below the shoulders, skimming the top of my bra. And the shirt, even though the black of the bra showed through, was form fitting and so flattering against my waist. Not to mention how good my butt looked in this skirt.

  Yes! This was the confidence boost I needed to crush this interview. Plus, an inspiration dawned on me – I’d just wear a jacket over the shirt and everything would be fine. Hell yes.

  Now clad in my jacket and heels, I burst out the door, massive camera bag in hand. At the bus stop a couple blocks away, a skater boy in his late teens was leaning against the shelter. As I approached, he took no pains to hide his gawking at me. Hah, horny little boy.

  Though a tiny part of me enjoyed the attention. It’d been forever since I’d been all made up like this. I hated to admit it, but ever since David dumped me a month ago, I’d been moping around. My art school girlfriends kept trying to drag me out, saying that there were plenty of hotties at the club, but I wasn’t into that. Still, life was getting pretty lonely. How much masturbating could a girl do to console herself? I missed David’s touch, the caress of his hands in my hair, trailing down my neck, my back, my butt, and my favorite when he caressed my sweet spot from behind…

  I hopped on the bus, and let my fantasies of David’s and my sex sessions play through my mind. I hoped that the skater boy couldn’t read my thoughts, as he was sitting across from me and kept stealing obvious glances. My fantasies started mixing the skater boy, and as I shifted in my seat I felt a warm stickiness between my legs. Shit. Not before my interview. Still, I allowed my mind to wander back to David’s thick, veiny dick, kneeling before him, and tasting the salty pre-cum on the tip.

  “Grand Street stop,” the automated bus system chimed, pulling me out of my fantasies.

  My stop! I jumped off the bus and swung my camera bag around my shoulder, and immediately felt the wetness smear against my thighs. I’d have to use a bathroom and clean up. Or even...finish up. God, no, I couldn’t do that in the office building!

  I walked the couple blocks to the address and looked up at an imposing glass high rise tower. Damn, I knew this company was a big deal but didn’t expect such a sleek, scary looking corporate office. This could be huge for me though. I had to land this job.

  I pushed through the doors, the stickiness still present between my thighs and walked up to the lobby receptionist.

  “Lela Bowen. I have a meeting with a Ms. Green.”

  The receptionist didn’t even look away from her computer and said, “You’re expected. 30th floor.”

  I entreated, “Um, is there a bathroom?”

  Still typing away, she responded, “Not in the lobby. You’ll find one on the 30th floor.”

  Fine, I would just do it there. Desiree Green was the woman I was corresponding with, surely she’d understand the need for a bathroom break. When I entered the elevator, I found that the 30th floor was the top floor of the building. Whoever Ms. Green was, she was probably important.

  The elevator dinged, and bright light flooded the car. The view of Dallas’ downtown was beautiful up here. One problem with all the sunlight and floor to ceiling windows is that, the office had a greenhouse effect and it was sweltering hot up here. Hadn’t they heard of air conditioning? I did not want to take off my jacket, revealing my black bra under white shirt combo. So unprofessional.

  There was yet another receptionist, a stunning brunette with sharp features and hair tied back tightly in a bun. She looked up, studying me.

  “Hi, I’m Lela Bowen, looking for Ms. Green.”

  She stood up and shook my hand, “That’ll be me, Ms. Bowen. Thank you for coming. He’s expecting you. Let me show you the way.”

  He? Who was he? I thought my interview was with her. And, there was the pressing matter of needing to get to a restroom.

  “Great to meet you too. Um, is there a bathroom I could use?”

  She kept walking, and I trotted to keep up. She said, “Certainly, though I hope it can wait. The CEO is a busy man.”

  I couldn’t help it, I burst out, “C-CEO? I had no idea...absolutely no clue that’s who I’d be speaking with today.”

  Desiree stopped dead in her tracks and spun to face me. Her voice was borderline chastising. “Yes, Ms. Bowen. We take our company brand very seriously, and our highest level executives are quite...involved. He wanted to meet you personally before letting you, or anyone else, take on such a huge project. I hope you will respect his time. He manages literal billions of dollars and takes meetings with some of the most important people in the world. So, given that, I think your bathroom trip can wait.”

  Kind of bitchy, but she had a point. What had I gotten myself into? I was sure to bomb this. I was a twenty-two year old unemployed former art student who couldn’t even put a proper outfit together for an interview. Yes, granted, my portfolio was strong, but I still couldn’t imagine why in the world a CEO of the magnitude Desiree had described wanted to meet me. And I didn’t even know his name. This was insane.

  But I didn’t want to throw away my changes on the spot. Instead of voicing my concerns I replied, “Got it. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

  I was so woefully underprepared for this. I was sweating now, both from the heat and panic. Desiree marched on, oblivious to my discomfort, and halted in front of a massive dark door into an office I couldn’t see. One of the only non-glass areas of the floor, it seemed.

  She rapped on the door, and a man’s voice boomed, “Come in.”

  Oh boy, here we go. Time to prove yourself, Lela. You’re not prepared but you’re a damn good photographer, remember that. Desiree pushed open the door, revealing an immense office, full of windows, and most importantly, a tall, suited man facing away from us, staring at the Dallas skyline.

  “Mr. Archer, this is Ms. Bowen, here for her interview.”

  Archer. I better not forget that. He slowly turned toward us, and I took him in.
He must have been in his mid-forties, and in great shape. He had a former-jock jawline, maybe rugby, I guessed. To top it off, he had perfectly styled chestnut hair, an immaculately cut navy suit, tan skin, and striking green eyes. And the way those eyes drilled into me, I felt like he could read straight into my thoughts. I would never have expected a man who looked like this to be behind that door, and now my nerves were skyrocketing.

  Deliberately, he walked toward me, each step imbued with power.

  He spoke, his voice deep and smooth, like a fine scotch. “Ms. Bowen. Such a pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”

  I had never even thought about an older man, but without a doubt, this was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. He held out one large, confident hand to me, a hand decorated with a shining gold watch. I met his, and the instant our skin touched, I shivered. His hand was cool, hard, and his grip so firm my bones nearly crushed under their weight.

  “I, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Archer.”

  He shook it for much longer than I was ever used to, then once he released my hand, he graced me with a smile.

  His eyes flicked up to his assistant. “That’s all for now, Desiree.”

  I could feel her bristle next to me as he addressed her. She stormed out, bumping me on her way. I stumbled but quickly regained myself. The door shut behind us.

  It was just me and Mr. Archer. The room seemed to be growing hotter and hotter. I wished I could take off my jacket.

  He chuckled. “Don’t mind her, she can be a little jealous.”

  Jealous of...me? Desiree was beautiful, what did she have to be jealous of?

  I laughed feebly. “I see,” even though I did not see.

  He turned away from me suddenly, stalking back toward the windows, and put one hand on the glass. Was I supposed to follow him? Stay in place? I had no idea what to do. But he looked so gorgeous like that – what a perfect photo it would have been. He began again, “So, Ms. Bowen. Lela. What equipment have you brought with you?”

  I loved the way he said my first name. I wanted to get drunk on that voice. Plus, this question I could answer. Photography was my domain. “My SLR camera, a couple lenses for portraiture. A tripod of course.”

  Still turned away from me, he said, “What are you waiting for? Set it up. Let’s take some test shots.”

  Him not facing me was unnerving. When would he turn around? Regardless, I squatted down and began opening the contents of my bag. Finally, he turned and walked over to a spot along the edge of his desk. My heart leaped upon realizing that at his position he could probably catch a glimpse of what was under my skirt. My eyes darted up to his gorgeous green ones, and I caught him staring in a straight line to my crotch. He didn’t even try to hide it, he was looking straight at my panties, maybe even at the wet spot from earlier.

  What surprised me was that I didn’t shift my legs to try and cover up. In fact, I parted them just an inch more. Look at me, Mr. Archer. This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it? My fantasies on the bus plus this hunk of a CEO were making me act out of my mind. This wasn’t who I was, usually, but right now, I wanted him to be looking at my panties and fantasizing about the tender flesh underneath them.

  I stared back down at my camera bag, feeling like I could melt under the intensity of his gaze. The room was sweltering. In between screwing on a lens, I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead.

  His voice rang out, slow and confident. “Ms. Bowen, you can take off your jacket. We can be casual here, despite appearances. I’d like you to be nice and comfortable.”

  He glared at me, as though it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. He wanted me to undress. Oh god. I took a deep breath. Keep it together, Lela. You’re here for an interview. Stop projecting your fantasies onto this man.

  I nodded. He’d already seen my panties, which I practically served him on a golden platter. Why not my bra too?

  Still from the floor, I slipped off my jacket, one arm at a time and dropped it on the floor next to me. His eyes widened for a split second, as if he couldn’t believe his luck at being able to see right through my shirt. And the show didn’t stop there. I noticed that the top button I had previously buttoned had come undone, so my cleavage was peaking through the top. Mr. Archer was getting a show and he was loving it. Watching him watch me was getting me hornier still. Couldn’t he just stride over here and rip this blouse off me?

  He smiled at me. “Mmm, that’s better isn’t it?”

  My breath caught in my chest. His voice was killing me. I felt powerless to it, like I would do anything he asked. But, not now Lela. I had to take professional test shots, and I had to crush this evaluation. I finished setting up my camera, and stood up, noticeably bouncing. That I couldn’t help. I may have been petite all over but I was blessed with these full, natural Cs. The snug bra only pushed them up further.

  “I’m yours to command, Ms. Bowen,” he said, arms out, putting on a false pretense of obsequiousness.

  Clearing my throat, I said in my best authoritarian voice, “Stand in that corner please. It has the best light.”

  He walked over to the spot as instructed. It felt good to boss him around. What else would he do?

  “Now cross your arms.”

  He did so.

  I continued, “And look at me.”

  His grinned, deviously. “As if I could look anywhere else.”

  Oh God, I couldn’t believe he just said that. But still, he kept glancing at my chest. Only one chance. I’d take it. “Well, at the camera, if you please. Try not to let your eyes wander.”

  His wicked grin stayed planted on his face. It worked. “That might be difficult. I’m sure you understand.”

  What was I trying to start here? I had to reign myself in. I spoke in my most professional voice. “Let’s begin. I’m going to take a series of shots, where I’ll have you stand in a couple different positions.”

  I bent behind the camera and started clicking. He followed my instructions and looked into the lens, but his face never dropped his greedy stare, like his appetite for whatever was behind the camera was insatiable.

  After a couple poses, he broke away and strutted up behind me to review the shots. I hadn’t indicated that I’d finished, but apparently he’d had enough. Nothing I could say to counter that. He was standing so close to me now, I could smell his intoxicating, fresh scent. I wanted to lean in closer, but I retained my composure, on the outside anyway. I shifted my legs and felt the wetness in between my legs. Shit. It was starting again.

  “Show me,” he commanded.

  I switched the camera to review mode, and without warning, he put his finger on top of mine, against the camera’s buttons. Fuck, he was touching me. Just a finger, but it felt like he had just put his finger on my clit, it was so sensual. I could feel his hot breath against my neck, and I stiffened, trying to steady myself from melting into a puddle right there.

  His finger applied pressure, pushing the button to scroll from the next photo to the next. Click, click. Each photograph reflected the reality of our session, the absolute hunger in his eyes, like he wanted to devour me whole. I should say something.

  But before I could, his voice prickled in my ear. “Do you know why I brought you in here today?”

  This question sounded loaded, dangerous, but I didn’t know why he was asking me. “To interview me for—”

  He cut me off, still cool as ever. “No, I mean do you know why I brought you, in particular, here today?”

  My heart was pounding, making my breathing louder. Could he hear? I wondered myself, why did he choose me? I squirmed, “I don’t know. My portfolio caught your eye?”

  He moved around to face me, still close. His emerald eyes dug deep into mine. My heart was pounding so fast. He could see that his questions were agonizing me, and he loved it. “It caught more than my eye. Let’s bring it up, shall we?”

  He shot away, grabbing my hand, and pulled me over to his computer. What did he mean, and what the hell was he doi
ng? But even in my confusion, his firm grip on my hand was getting me so hot. I wanted him to touch so much more than that.

  “Sit,” he commanded, and let me go.

  As if without a will of my own, I collapsed into his immense, soft leather chair. As soon as I sat, I knew the wetness must have permeated through my underwear and onto my skirt. Pale pink? That was going to show. I’d have to make sure not to turn my back to him.

  Mr. Archer stood behind the chair, and grasped both edges of it in his hands, right by my face. In front of me was a keyboard and huge monitor, with some awards around the edges. One in particular caught my eye, it had the shape of a human, sort of like an Oscar, but thicker. “Man of the Year, William Archer”, it read. So that was his full name. Hot.

  Before I could explore more of the objects on his desk, Mr. Archer said, “Now, let’s go to your website.”

  But what was going on? We were so close a minute earlier, I could have sworn he was about to swallow me up. Now we were surfing the internet together?

  I couldn’t keep quiet. “Mr. Archer, excuse me but what are we doing?”

  His voice rang like steel. “Just. Do it.”

  I wanted to be angry with him. How dare he think he was so important that I would do what he said without question. But I wasn’t mad. At all. I was turned on. And I wanted to know where this little game was going.

  I typed in the URL and my photography website appeared on the screen. Along with some of my best shots, a small picture of myself sat atop the page.

  “Beautiful work,” he murmured behind me. My heart fluttered at the compliment. He liked my work. So why was he making me show him my website if he’d already seen it?

  Slowly and deliberately, he ordered, “Now, go to your categories, and choose ‘Other’”.

  Oh fuck. No, no, no. As soon as he said it, I knew. That was it, that was the answer. He had seen my “other” category. I didn’t click since I knew what would happen as soon as I did. We’d both be face to face with the photos from my self-portrait class. The provocative and very nude photos of myself. No way.