Private Secretary

by Sindra van Yssel

  She turned to him. “I need to go home, Sir.”

  “You should be held.”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir. I need to go home. Please.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Babysitter,” she lied.

  “Oh. I understand.” He shrugged. “Can’t do much about that. Next time we’ll start earlier, so we have time for aftercare.”

  I don’t do aftercare. Aftercare makes my mind wander. Makes me think about cuddling with my daughter, or Clive. Just let me go. But she said, “Yes, Sir,” anyway. She suspected she’d say just about anything to leave before he knew who she was. And in that respect, the babysitter was a good lie. Blake knew Carrie had lost her only child, and it would make yet another distinction in his mind between Carrie and C.

  He was talking. “Would you like me to get your clothes so you don’t have to get them?”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir. I should be fetching things for you, not the other way around.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  It was strange, in the same way his handshake earlier in the day had been strange, and even his movement to open the door for her. It wasn’t that he was incapable of chivalry. He could be quite nice and did little things for her. But he never opened the door of his own office for her, because that would be inefficient when he could stay at his desk and work. Similarly, if he fetched her clothes, what purpose would that serve? She would have to wait for him. It would protect her modesty, but that was what the mask was for. She would rather have him drag her up there by her hair and humiliate her than have him serve her.

  “I do,” she said.

  “You,” he said, “are the strangest person. You remind me of someone.”

  Uh oh. “Who?”

  “It’s not important,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs, where your clothes are. Follow me.” He stood, picked up his bag, and headed for the door.

  She got dressed in the living room. She was tempted to take her clothes and go elsewhere, but having gotten undressed there, there was no reason not to put her clothes back on there as well. He walked her to the door, and she wondered if he was going to offer to walk her to her car. Maybe even kiss me goodnight.

  But she couldn’t let him walk her to her car. She’d given him a ride in it once, when his Jaguar had been in the shop. So at the door she said, “This is where I have to go. Goodnight, Sir.”

  He nodded. “Goodnight, C.” He leaned over, and instead of a kiss he gave her a swat on her tender backside. “I will be in touch.”

  He turned away, and she walked to the car, dreading and looking forward to the way her ass would feel sitting in the driver’s seat for the forty-five-minute drive home.

  Chapter Three

  Blake looked out from his office to the adjoining suite. Carrie was typing away, personalizing a generic proposal he’d written for specific clients. Her profile was to him, her head turned just slightly away.

  He’d arranged with Meg that she would stay at Quinn for three weeks rather than two, but work half the time with him and half there, and he’d pay her salary throughout. Now the last shared week was about to come to an end. The months without her had made him realize how much more efficient he was with her around. She was smart, capable, and incredibly dedicated. He understood that. Work hard, play hard, had always been his motto. For Carrie, only the work part seemed to apply. Whenever he asked her what she did in her spare time, she told him she read books.

  He wasn’t about to tell her the specifics of what he did in his spare time.

  Clearly, however, she’d spent some of hers lately shopping. The raise he’d given her was being spent on clothes. He’d noticed the difference from day one. Her blouses were lower cut, or she’d wear a chemise made of smooth silk under a jacket. Her skirts were shorter, tighter and usually had a slit in them that offered tantalizing glimpses of her thighs. Her stockings were consistently black and lacy, and she seemed to have a new pair of high heels every day.

  It was driving him fucking crazy, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her to stop. For one thing, it’d be practically admitting that he was lusting after her.

  Time to get all that out of my system. He swiveled his chair to look at his computer and brought up his private email. He suspected several women would be happy to play with him, but he already knew which one he was going to contact. The masked girl, C, had the same general body shape as Carrie, a fact he’d been well aware of when he’d fucked her in the club. Her voice was even like Carrie’s. He had a trace of guilt for wanting to hook up with someone simply because she was like someone else, but if he read C right, she craved a kind of impersonal touch.

  Would she play with him in private, however? There were dangers to that, and she had no good reason to trust him.

  He tapped out mail. “You may serve me again this Friday night, at my house. 8:00 p.m. Tell a friend where you are and that you’ll be leaving by midnight and will message. Short skirt, no panties.” He thought of Carrie’s outfits and added, “Heels.” He finished by typing in his street address.

  Maybe she’d show up, maybe she wouldn’t. If he didn’t get a response in twenty-four hours, he’d try to line something else up. In the meantime, as hard as Carrie was working, he needed to buckle down and pay attention to business and not come up with some excuse to go over to her desk and look down her blouse.

  A moment later, he heard a low buzz. He had excellent hearing. He saw Carrie fish a phone out of her purse, look at it, and smile.

  I do believe my little mouse has a boyfriend. Well, good for her. And now I don’t have to take it personally that she didn’t even respond to my offer of a date a few months ago. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Carrie look at her cell phone during work before.

  An hour later Carrie knocked on his half-open office door. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Carrie?”

  “May I take my lunch break now?”

  She always asked him, even though he’d told her a long time ago that she could take it whenever she wanted. “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  If only she knew what her calling him that did to him. But he knew she was just trying to be polite and respectful. “Enjoy. And bring me back something, will you? I’ll be working at my desk.” He regretted saying the last. Now she’d be feeling obligated to work at her desk too. There had been times when he’d gotten a thrill out of pushing her that way. But I should be channeling those urges at women who like it, like C. “You stay out as long as you like,” he added. “At least a half hour. Go shopping, if you like.”

  She smiled. “I just might do that. I was thinking I needed some new clothes for the office. So much of what I have is so conservative. I don’t think it’s really me anymore.”

  She turned around without saying another word, leaving him to stare after her, watching the way her ass moved underneath the short skirt and admiring the curves of her legs.

  If she dressed any less conservatively he was going to have a hard-on all the time and have to hide behind his desk.

  Hopefully, C will take care of that and distract me. Although maybe I should find someone completely different. Maybe C will just make it worse.

  A few minutes later his personal mail flashed, and he took a look.

  “Yes, Sir. C.”

  He smiled and went back to work.

  * * * * *

  Friday afternoon came and Carrie had never felt so alive. She knew she was living dangerously. If Blake ever made the connection between C and herself, she didn’t know how he’d react.

  At the same time, now she knew that Blake liked women her shape. She’d always enjoyed flashing a little skin at him, but now she was feeling more confident about it, and the raise was making it difficult to resist some sexy clothes shopping. There were only so many clothes her alter ego could wear. Besides, she had to be careful. She’d worn the bra and panties she’d stripped in at Iron Butterfly to work a dozen times, just because she enjoyed feeling sexy un
derneath her clothes. But now it was very important that C and Carrie had completely different wardrobes.

  The danger of getting caught was part of the thrill. But actually being discovered might cost her both her job and her play dates with Blake. She had to walk a fine line, but living life on the edge occasionally was part of how she pushed her demons back. A little nervousness about the present was preferable to rehashing the past.

  “Does this look all right, Sir?” She leaned over his desk as she showed him the draft letter, knowing that her blouse gaped and gave him a generous view of her cleavage. Her pretense was that she wanted to look at the letter at the same time he did, but she could in fact read upside down fine, and since she wrote the letter she was perfectly familiar with it.

  She noted with satisfaction that it took him a few seconds to focus. I’ve been driving myself crazy with anticipation, so there’s no reason he should get to keep his mind on work. Maybe he won’t wait so long before he takes his pleasure from me. Maybe he’ll push me down to my knees the moment I get there, and I can take his long, hard cock in my mouth.

  “Carrie, you with me?”

  Okay, I am more distracted than he is. “Yes. Sorry.” Flashing her breasts at him had another motive. She’d been painting a small beauty mark on the swell of her left breast each day, and making sure he had a good view of it. C, of course, would have no such mark. It was a small thing, but something he was sure to notice, and if he started to have doubts, she doubted he’d suspect. He’d figure out that C was wearing a wig, if he hadn’t already, but she wouldn’t have a way to make a mark disappear.

  “It’s fine.” He handed it back to her. “You’ve changed.”

  She straightened. “I’m sorry. What am I doing wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re the same model of efficiency you’ve always been. But you’re looking less haunted. More radiant. Is there…never mind.”

  She knew she should let it go, but she was curious. “Is there what?” Radiant. That night at Iron Butterfly had changed something more than her necklines, and she was glad he’d noticed.

  “Someone new in your life? If it’s none of my business, please tell me straight out.”

  She nodded. “I think you could say that. Kind of.” To say that someone old had seen her in a new light was playing with more fire than even she wanted.

  “Well, he seems to be doing you a lot of good. Why don’t you take off now early tonight and enjoy the weekend.”

  It was only four o’clock. “There are the Longdale papers to do,” she said, out of habit. She kicked herself mentally. She didn’t want to be late to his house, and disappoint him, and the Longdale account could have her working quite late. She could skip dinner.

  “Come in early Monday and we’ll work a long day then.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I have a date tonight,” he said. He seemed to be watching her for a reaction, and she felt a moment of panic. Did he suspect?

  More likely he’s noticed my flirting and wonders if I’m going to get jealous. He’d mentioned dates before, and she’d always tried to be the perfect secretary and push her own feelings aside. Several times she’d called and made dinner reservations. Once he’d even had her run out to buy flowers. It was bittersweet, at best. This time, however, she could engage in such a task with pleasure. “That’s good, Sir. Is there any way I can help you get ready for it? Dinner reservations?”

  She knew full well he wasn’t going to be taking her out for dinner or buying her flowers. Men never treated C that way, nor did she want them to. She enjoyed the escape of being an object to be used, a human sex toy. She would be amused if Blake had her run to the store to stock up on condoms, but she knew he wouldn’t. He was too much of a gentleman.

  He shook his head. “No, Carrie, none of that will be necessary this time.”

  She turned and headed back to her desk, hiding her expression. A moment ago she had been quite content with her role. But she couldn’t help but wish that Blake would take her out to dinner, even though he could hardly take a masked woman out in public without attracting attention, and she couldn’t take off the mask.

  She shook her head, annoyed at herself. She had him during the workday, and starting next week, that would be five days in seven. As C, she’d be in his bed, too, figuratively if not literally. That should be enough for me. It’s definitely more than I’ve ever had before.

  Besides, if I let him get any closer, he’ll just betray me. He never keeps a woman for long. At least through C, I have a sense of mystery going on.

  It was a warm night, but Carrie wore a long coat over her costume. He had said short skirt and she wanted to please, so she had bought a very short leather skirt that hugged her ass and barely covered her cheeks. There was no way she was wearing it in public without undies unless she also had an outer covering. Besides, she had sewn a pocket into the lapel of her overcoat where she could stuff her ID and credit card.

  She’d added a new touch in colored contacts that turned her eyes from blue to dark violet. She didn’t know if he’d noticed her eye color before, but she felt she needed to put a little more distance between C and Carrie, and this was one way to do it.

  She took a taxi over. Normally if she was going over to a Dom’s house she wanted to have her wheels handy in case things went badly, but she knew Blake well and trusted him. He’d probably recognize her car if she parked it out front and insist on walking her to it if she parked anywhere else. Reluctantly, she’d ignored his demand that she tell someone where she was going or arrange a check-in time. She wanted to obey his every command to the letter, but he really didn’t know what was going on. If he did, he’d understand why she didn’t obey.

  Or he’d fire me. Or have nothing to do with me. She felt a twinge of guilt. Safe, sane, and consensual were the touchstones of the BDSM community. She’d skirted safe at times, and she’d definitely skirted sane. Usually, it wasn’t the Dom’s consent one needed to worry about, but this time, he wasn’t informed. How could people consent if they weren’t fully informed? They’re never completely informed. I never tell them about what drives me.

  She pushed the thought out of her mind as she made sure her mask and wig were secure. She tipped the taxi driver and got out. Even without seeing Blake she was already aroused. Her nipples were hard, and her pussy was wet and gently tingling.

  There was a note on the door. Was he out? But the note simply said, “C. Let yourself in.”

  She opened the door and walked inside. Then she blinked.

  The outside of Blake’s townhouse was unassuming. She knew he’d made quite a bit working at Quinn Cosmetics, and while the place was in a nice neighborhood, he could certainly have afforded something bigger. But the inside startled her. She stepped onto an ornate Persian rug. She looked to the right and saw a teak dining table. To the left, there was a living room, the walls white, the trim dark wood. A giant television screen covered the near wall. It was off, but slow ethereal music was coming from some source she couldn’t see. Another Oriental rug covered much of the living room, but not so much that she couldn’t see the perfect pale hardwood floor. A couple of beautiful landscapes adorned the larger walls, but the smaller walls had simple black and white photographs of women. They were tasteful and yet erotic, and she wondered if they were women he knew, women he had slept with. Perhaps even women she’d made reservations for.

  There was a black leather couch and a matching comfortable chair, in which sat Blake, reading a book. He had changed from his work clothes and was wearing leather jeans and an open-neck white shirt. He looked gorgeous. Setting the book aside on a side table that matched the one in the dining room, he looked at her. “You may hang your coat up in the closet,” he said. “And take off your heels.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She realized she’d been gawking, and she wasn’t sure for how long. Unbuttoning the coat, she prayed he’d like what he saw. She looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. She wore a silk underbust c
orset and nothing more up top, and she knew her bare breasts would shortly come into view. The less time he spends studying my face, the better. The more he thinks of me as breasts and ass and a pussy to be used, the less likely he is to realize who I am, and the more likely I am to get what I need.

  She got her coat off. She wanted to pause to take in his reaction, but he had said to hang up the coat, and so she turned to the closet instead.

  The heels she wore had tall spikes, and she had hoped they would please him. They certainly weren’t easy to walk in, and she associated difficult with pleasing. Instead, she’d probably managed to choose the shoes most damaging to his hardwood floors. She bent down to unsnap the buckles on them, aware that in her very short skirt she was giving him a view far more exposed than the one she’d been teasing him with in the office. He could probably see her pussy, which she’d taken extra care to shave perfectly smooth for him. The thought would have made her wet had she not already been anticipating for the last several hours. As it was, it heightened her arousal. Maybe it was better not to show him too much, too soon.

  She toed off her shoes and walked barefoot across the floor, her feet taking in the difference in texture and temperature between the soft warm rug and the cool smooth floor. Her soft footfalls were the only sound besides the music in the room.

  She knelt in front of him, her thighs together, her head down, and waited. The seconds drew longer, but she relaxed. She was where he’d directed, and where she wanted to be. She belonged. He said nothing as he reached down to fondle her breasts, his thumbs rubbing across the hard and sensitive peaks. For what seemed like several minutes he played with her like that in silence, until the pleasure was almost too much.

  “I see that you followed directions,” he said at last.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And I like that your breasts are bare. They look beautiful that way. And feel even better.”

  She smiled, still looking down. “I am glad, Sir.”