by Tia Siren
My mom saw an ad for a secretary, and she figured she would apply. She didn’t know it was a spot for the personal secretary to Gerry Harding, the man who ran the company. His father had inherited it from his own father, who had taken it from his, the man who had built the company. Gerry was good looking, rich, and for some reason, smitten with my mother.
That wasn’t to say my mother was not a catch. She was a beautiful woman. Her hair was long and brown, like mine, though I didn’t have to dye the gray from mine since there wasn’t any. Our eyes were similar as well, dark and expressive. Her skin was much tanner than my own, hers the color of caramel, mine somewhere between that of a porcelain doll and snow. I’d ever been one for the tanning bed.
I wasn’t there, of course. I was knee deep in college stuff then. But I can just imagine what my mother wore to her interview: low-cut shirt—she had great breasts, big and round, another trait we shared—and short skirt. Our legs were long and slim, but shapely. My hips were a bit more pronounced, my butt bigger, but my mom could work it. She was a total MILF. She didn’t get the job, but she did get Gerry Harding’s number.
Two years or so later, I was out of college and she was getting married. I had been staying with her for the two weeks since my graduation, but after the wedding she was moving in with Gerry, and I wasn’t sure where I was going to go. But I had to put the worries aside and be happy for my mother. On her third perfect day. Her third wedding. Her once-in-a-lifetime ceremony, for the third time.
She came into the hotel room, her bridal gown over her arm, followed by her stylist, a severe-looking Mexican woman named Marie.
“Oh, honey, I’m so excited,” my mother said as she stopped in front of me and we embraced.
“I’m glad, Mom,” I said.
“Help me, Josie,” she said to me. “I feel rushed. Let's get this dress on.”
“You cannot rush perfection,” Marie said in her thick accent. And so, we couldn’t. I stood in that room, helping my mother with her dress and makeup and hair—whenever Marie would permit me—for much longer than I would spend on my own wedding preparations someday. But finally she was ready, and we went down to a waiting limo, which drove us to an oversized church.
My mother and I had never been religious. Gerry Harding wasn’t as far as I knew, but the church they had rented was massive and ornate, and I was pretty sure the pope would weep tears of joy if he saw it. The ceremony was beautiful, and it was obvious Gerry had thrown a lot of money into it. The party afterward was even more fun.
I had no date. I had gone to college out of state and had come back so recently that I hadn’t really had time to reconnect with any old friends. Going stag was fine. I danced with who I wanted and made out with some guy I didn’t know in a stairwell for a bit.
He was a nice guy, and he smelled good, but I found I was really smitten with one of Gerry’s sons. Both of them actually. I hadn’t met them before since I hadn’t been back much during school. They were twins, a few years older than me. Tyler and Bradley. Tyler had a small scar on his chin, a white streak through tanned flesh. Otherwise, they were identical: tall, with muscular arms and toned stomachs, at least as far as I could tell beneath their impossibly expensive suits; blond hair kept about the same length; blue eyes and dazzlingly white teeth. They were handsome. They were hot. I wanted one of them to take me into that stairwell and hike my dress up and bend me over. I didn’t care which one.
I’d always been a sexual being. It was just who I was. High school, college, I liked sex. I experimented. I didn’t need to be dating guys just to sleep with them. I was tipsy at the reception. Tyler and Bradley both had dates—thin little things with fake tits. They weren’t married or anything, but I chalked it up to a missed opportunity and had more drinks.
When I sobered up the next day, sleeping in my bed at my mother’s house—I could at least stay until she was back from her honeymoon—I realized that Tyler and Brad were my stepbrothers now. I shouldn’t have wanted to have sex with my stepbrothers. That was a little too southern for Chicago.
2
I had a degree in advertising, and I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. My mom and her new husband spent two weeks in the Bahamas. Then he was back to work, and his secretary, the cute young thing who had gotten the job my mother had wanted, called me and told me my stepfather wanted to meet with me.
“When?” I asked. I had been sleeping, still at my mother’s house even though she hadn’t come home after the Bahamas. She had a new home.
“Today if that works for you. Three?”
“What time is it now?” I asked, yawning. The woman paused.
“One ten,” she said finally.
“Okay, yeah. That’s fine,” I said, and then I hung up so I didn’t have to hear her silent judgment anymore. I showered and dressed and then took a frantic drive, as I wasn’t quite sure where I was going. Even so, I found myself ten minutes early, sitting across from the woman I had spoken to on the phone in a small room outside my stepfather's office. I didn’t wait long. He opened the door and smiled as he walked over to me. I stood up, wondering if he wanted to shake my hand, but instead he pulled me into a hug.
“How are you?” he asked me.
“Great,” I said, and followed him into his office. Gerry’s office was larger than some people’s homes. It had a wonderful view, large windows along one side of the wall that looked out over the city. Gerry sat behind his desk, waving a hand at one of two chairs across from him. I sat. He smiled.
“How was your trip?” I asked.
“Wonderful,” he said, nodding his head. He was a good-looking guy, tan like my mother, white teeth like his sons. His hair was thinning and gray, the only slight against his looks. We spent some time shooting the shit, as my father always said, and then he got to the point.
“Your mother tells me you went to school for advertising.”
I nodded. “She’s right.”
“I’d like to offer you a job here.”
My mouth fell open, and I hurried to close it. “I’ve been applying to some ad firms,” I said. “I didn’t think that was something you did here.”
“We do it all,” Gerry said with a laugh. “Really, though, we’ve been putting an in-house ad team together for the last few months. Perfect timing, with you graduating.”
“Not a lot of places have in-house ad teams,” I said.
“This isn’t a lot of places,” Gerry Harding said with a wide smile. He was certainly right about that. He went on. “We make a lot of things here, a lot of products. We want to take more control of the way they’re presented to the public. We’d like you to join the small team.”
I nodded. I couldn’t believe my ears. Finding work had been difficult, to say the least, so far. But now, here was a job falling into my lap.
“Okay,” I said, and my stepfather smiled. We spent half an hour going over things, and I signed a couple of papers. I started the next day.
I spent most of that morning trying on different outfits. I wanted to impress, and I wanted to look sexy. I knew I was attractive, and I had been my entire life. I had used it in high school to get what I wanted from teachers and male students alike, and it had worked on my college professors too. I knew it would work at my new job. I wasn’t willing to sleep my way to the top, of course, but a woman should use anything she could in her bag of tricks. Advertising was dominated by men, and I wanted to dominate. If my boss, whoever that ended up being, wanted to fuck me, then that was just something I could use to my advantage.
I ended up in a short skirt—not out to the club short, but above the knee short. I pulled on some stockings, and sitting on the bed and crossing my legs, I found that with just a small hitch of the skirt, you could see the top of my stockings. I loved hosiery, and thigh highs were my favorite. That was true of most of the men I knew too. Pantyhose was always sexy, but stockings, those were fucking hot.
My blouse was tight and low cut, not in a trashy way, but enough to sh
ow off my ample cleavage. A pair of black pumps finished the package. I did my makeup and was out the door.
I arrived ten minutes early and found a woman waiting for me when I got off the elevator. I had been told to report to the fifteenth floor of the high-rise building. My stepfather’s company owned the building, but there were other companies that rented space out as well. A whole floor had been empty, and it had been given over to the new project, the in-house ad team.
The woman waiting for me, and others, was ten years older than I was, with fiery red hair that fell to her mid back. She was cute, tall, and angular, with a sharp chin and nose, and her eyes were the green of the ocean when the sun hit the water just right, shifting it from blue.
“Hi. I’m Carolyn,” the woman said, and I shook her hand. “Come on back,” she added, and turned. I followed her to a conference room with glass walls. We stepped inside, and two others were sitting there: a short Asian man around my age who introduced himself as Colin when I shook his hand, and an older guy with a beard who smiled and waved to me across the table.
“I’m Mark,” he said, and I would have guessed he was going to be my boss, but then the red-headed lady left, I sat down, and no one spoke. It occurred to me we were all just ad grunts, waiting for the boss.
Before I found out who was in charge, Carolyn brought back one more grunt, a tall man with a bit of a gut on him who turned out to be named Chris. Carolyn then asked us if we needed anything, a water or something, and we all declined. I could tell that everyone was nervous.
I knew the next two people who came in. They entered together. Tyler was typing something on his phone, his head down. Brad smiled at us all and sat at one end of the table. Tyler sat at the other and set his phone down. Brad started.
“We don’t know shit about advertising,” he said with a soft smile, “but we know about business. You four are here to guide us with the ads, to guide this whole company into a new era. We’re here to handle the rest. I’m Brad, and that’s my brother, Tyler.
Carolyn entered and handed Tyler a manila folder. He thanked her and took it.
“We thought we should just jump right in,” he said, opening the folder and passing around a sheet of paper to each of us. It was just an image of a vacuum cleaner.
“This is our new vacuum. We need an ad for it, something for print, to run in Good Housekeeping and Martha Stewart’s magazine.”
And then we got to work.
3
The first month passed in a haze. We worked long hours, all six of us. The four ad grunts were there the most, but Tyler and Brad turned out to be surprisingly hands on. They seemed interested in our work, but they didn’t step on our toes. And if either one of them recognized me, or were aware my mother had just married their father, they didn’t say anything.
It was a Friday night and I had stayed late. I thought everyone else had gone. We’d been pretty set on an ad, but I had thought I could find a better font for it. I searched and searched. Finally, I glanced at the clock on the front of my phone and realized it was almost nine at night. I had skipped lunch that day, and my stomach was growling painfully.
I had an office there, another glass-walled room. All of the grunts had similar offices. Brad and Tyler each had their own, and the walls weren’t glass. I was stepping past Tyler’s office when I heard a moan of pleasure. It was unmistakable. I knew what it was as soon as I heard it. It had been made by a woman, the moan breathy and filled with ecstasy. I knew I should keep going, but I paused. I peeked through the door, which was open just a crack.
Carolyn was there, bent over Tyler’s desk. She held herself up with her hands. I saw her perky breasts, her nipples hard and pointed. Tyler was behind her, his hands on her hips, her skirt pulled up over her ass. He had shoved her panties to the side, just pulling the thin material out of the way of her pussy instead of taking it off. Her red hair was over her face, the fingers of one hand curled as she gripped a random piece of paper.
“Fuck me,” the woman moaned. Tyler continued to do so. His tie was off, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his toned chest and abdomen. One of his hands dug into Carolyn’s pale ass. Paler than mine. He squeezed.
“Don’t come in me,” Carolyn said. She must have known he was nearing the edge. A few more pumps and he pulled his cock out of her, taking it in his hand and jerking himself. One, two, three quick pumps. He erupted, thick white strands of semen flying from the tip of his large cock and landing on Carolyn’s white ass. She moaned, setting her head down on the desk. I looked at Tyler. He was staring right at me. I gasped and stepped back and hurried for the elevator.
My pussy was soaked, the crotch of my panties wet, a knot of yearning in my loins. I drove home, my hand up my own skirt, rubbing myself slowly. I thought about Tyler, pictured his cock, pictured him coming. But instead of Carolyn, it was me bent over his desk. I came once while I was stopped at a red light, and again when I got home and lay on my couch after stripping off all of my clothes and fingering myself once more.
Monday came around, and I grew nervous as I showered and dressed. I was dreading seeing Tyler. I didn’t know what he would say or how he would react to my snooping, but I was sure he had seen me.
He was late getting into work. Brad was there, but he was in his office, and I had plenty to do with the ad team as we finalized the print ad. I offered to take the finished product into Brad’s office and was surprised to find Tyler sitting there, talking to his brother. They both looked up at me as I stood in the doorway.
“All set?” Brad asked. I nodded and handed him the paper. He set it on his desk, and Tyler stood, moving around to the other side and bending over the paper. No one spoke as the brothers looked our work over.
“It’s great,” Brad said finally, looking up at me. “You guys hit it out of the park.”
I smiled. “We know.”
The twins laughed. Brad handed the page to Tyler. “Get this out so they can run it in this month's issues.”
Tyler took it and left, and I turned to follow him, but Brad spoke and I stopped. “I heard you worked late on Friday,” he said, and I turned. My cheeks burned, I could feel it, but I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
“Yeah. I knew I could find a better typeface,” I said.
“Well, it looks great. Thanks for putting in the extra time.”
I nodded and smiled, and then I hurried out of there. When I got back to my desk, Tyler was waiting for me.
“Let’s grab lunch,” he said from his spot, which was leaned against my desk.
“Okay,” I said.
“We’re practically family,” Tyler continued. “We should get to know one another.”
“We are family,” I said with a laugh, and he laughed and nodded.
“I know, but it’s hard to say I’m related to such a hot woman. I’d rather pretend we’re not related.”
I blushed again. I wasn’t used to blushing so much. I didn’t know what these guys were doing to me. “Well, the way my mom goes through husbands, it won’t be long before we’re not related again.”
“And then I’ll take you to dinner. But for now, come get me at noon, all right?”
I nodded, and he left.
I sat at my desk. My heart was pounding. We had been instructed to find the next product we were going to do an ad for from a list of twenty or so items that had been approved by the twins and their father, big ticket items they wanted to revitalize in the public consciousness. At the end of the day, the ad team was going to throw out ideas and have a vote. I looked through the list, but only halfheartedly. I was thinking about Tyler, and I couldn’t focus.
Noon rolled around, and I stopped by his office. He was already standing, pulling his suit jacket on. I was wearing a skirt, my legs bare to combat the oncoming summer heat. My blouse was black and see-through, so I wore a black blazer over it. My heels were black as well, high and open toed. I could see Tyler look me over as he met me by the door. We walked to the elevator together and went down to the
employee car garage.
Tyler led me to the most expensive car I had ever laid eyes on. I wasn’t much of a car woman, but I recognized the name on the back and knew it was impossibly expensive. It was a red sports car, all rolling curves and loud engine. I got into the passenger seat, and my stepbrother lowered himself behind the wheel. The engine roared to life with a press of a button, something I had never seen before, and then we were driving.
“You ever go to Pan’s?” he asked me as we pulled into the busy Chicago traffic. I looked at him and laughed. Pan’s was a popular restaurant in the heart of the city, but it was expensive. It was well beyond my means. Though my new job paid well—I had money for new clothes, and I had begun renting a really nice apartment ten minutes from the city—I wasn’t quite making Pan’s money.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“It’s great. I have a table reserved all the time, so we can swing in there and skip the lunch rush line.”
I nodded, and we drove on. My pulse pounded as we drove. Tyler had to shift, his hand tantalizing close to my bare leg, the hem of my skirt sitting mid-thigh. I found myself wanting him, wanting to reach over, put my hand on his crotch, wanting to kiss him as he drove. Usually when it came to men, when I wanted something I took it. Now, though, something was holding me back. Maybe it was because, technically, I was related to Tyler.
But not by blood. I told myself that as we drove. Not by blood.
Pan’s was named after the chef who had opened it. It was his nickname; everyone called him Pan because he looked twenty, even though he was past fifty. He never seemed to grow up, like Peter Pan.
The restaurant was fancy and beautiful, a big open space with a limited number of tables and chairs. We walked right in, past a small line at the door. The maître d’ smiled at Tyler and shook his hand. “Mr. Harding,” the thin man said, bowing his head a bit. “This way please.”