Private Secretary

by Sindra van Yssel

  Meg introduced him to Karl and then led him toward the bar, probably to talk to Garrett.

  “Hello?” said Sprague, who she’d completely forgotten about.

  “Hello.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “C,” she said. Her mind wasn’t on the conversation. Blake Andrews. Here. And looking in control as usual. There was no way he was a submissive, so he was probably a Dominant. Of course, she’d thought the same thing about Meg. But still. Was her disguise good enough to get close to him? Did she dare?

  “How’s that spelled?”

  “Like the letter.” Hell, how can I not dare? This is the chance of a lifetime.

  Of course, it could also screw up my job prospects. But I make enough money. I’ve got to at least try.

  “No face, no name. I don’t like it.”

  She smiled. “Good.” She moved away.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  She wasn’t sure herself. She wasn’t going to follow Blake around. She needed a plan.

  He’ll probably want someone thinner, anyway. She’d tried dieting at one point in the hope of making herself more attractive to her boss, but she’d given it up when she hadn’t noticed any effect. Now she wished she hadn’t. She walked over to Karl, who had moved back to the couch.

  “Hello, Karl, Sir,” she said.

  “Hello, C. How’ve you been doing?”

  “Having trouble finding a good sadist like you,” said C. “Who’s the new guy Meg’s with?”

  “Someone she knows from work. Blake, his name is.”

  “Dom?”

  “Yeah. We ran into him at a play party, and Meg invited him to come here. Seems to know his way around.”

  Carrie’s heart beat a little faster. She had to come up with something. Meg would probably bring Blake right back to where Karl was sitting. “Can you put in a good word for me?”

  “Sure,” said Karl. “He’s just your type. Likes to play hard, with lots of different girls, and doesn’t get too serious.”

  That’s my type, all right. And yet the words felt like a spike in her heart, even though she’d always known someone like Blake would have girls all over him unless he was gay. Maybe even then he’d have to beat them off. She’d accepted that when she served him as his secretary, because she had a part of him no one else did. Now she wanted more, even as she felt her resolve about not taking the job slipping.

  “Everything okay?” asked Karl.

  “Sorry, just distracted.” She moved to the side, so she could see better when Blake came back in.

  Meg, however, came back in first, alone, so Carrie took a few more steps away. If Karl noticed, he didn’t say anything. Probably because he’s too busy watching Meg’s bouncing breasts. God, it’s hard to go to work and see her after coming to these things without having a giggle.

  Meg’s gaze rested on her for a little longer than Carrie felt comfortable with. Surely Meg wasn’t so insecure she objected to her talking to Karl? She didn’t detect any malice in the look, so she shrugged it off. Meg returned to Karl’s lap.

  “Ow,” Meg said. Carrie didn’t have to look to know it was something Karl had done. Maybe Meg had violated protocol somehow, but with Karl, it was probably because he just felt like it. In any case, she doubted Karl would be providing introductions anytime soon.

  Another couch sat against a wall but was closer to the center of the room, and there was a solid stone table in front of it. An idea was forming in Carrie’s mind.

  There was a group of people gathered at the entrance to the living room. It always seemed to happen, no matter how many times Hart Wolfe, the man in charge of Iron Butterfly, tried to discourage it. Blake would have to come through that group of people to enter the room. Carrie stood at the periphery, not wanting to get sucked in the conversation but hopefully looking like she belonged and wasn’t just waiting.

  A large woman in a leather dress was talking. “And then I said, you want anal? You first, baby. And I got my strap-on.”

  “And you’ve been happy ever since,” said a tall man.

  “Well, mostly.” The woman groped the crotch of the shorter man standing next to her. He was wearing a collar. “We’ve been talking about opening up, so that all my needs get meant, you know? And maybe, if that happens, we can find a little slave girl for this boy and he can finally get what he wanted.”

  Count me out. When Blake finally entered, Carrie was happy to be rescued from the conversation, even if she wasn’t participating.

  “Hello,” she said to him, dropping her voice an octave in an attempt at disguise. It sounded so fake she dropped it immediately. She was just going to have to hope he didn’t recognize her voice in a strange context. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  Blake looked startled, and for a moment Carrie thought she’d been made. But he smiled and said, “First time,” said Blake. “I’m Blake.”

  His real name. He has nothing to hide. “C,” Carrie told him, sticking out her hand. Blake shook it. “May I show you something?”

  Blake looked at her curiously. “Sure.”

  Carrie took his hand and led him toward the center couch. A couple was heading for it, so she quickened her step and got there first.

  “Would you mind sitting down, Sir?” Carrie asked. The Sir was a habit, a good way to make Doms feel good, and a Dom who felt good was one likely to give her what she wanted. But she knew it was a mistake. She’d have to watch it, because she called him sir at work sometimes, even though he’d told her not to.

  Blake’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded and sat. He, too, noticed the couple, it seemed, because he sat at one end rather than in the center where she wanted him. It would have to do. “What is it you wish to show me?”

  The couple, a cute pair who looked like they were barely out of college, sat too. The man was dressed in leather jeans and a harness, the woman in a black vinyl dress. He sat first, and she put her legs over his lap. It wasn’t entirely clear who was in charge. Normally, Carrie would have been curious. Right now, she had something much more important to do, and she was getting nervous. Her heart was pounding so hard it was almost bursting. She froze. It didn’t help that the woman on the couch was prettier and younger than she was. At least she’s taken.

  “Show me,” said Blake.

  The simple direction moved her into action. She wanted to speak as little as possible. She couldn’t tell if he was suspicious or not. She climbed up on the table. The stone was a little slippery for high heels, but it was also resilient enough she didn’t have to worry about damaging the furniture.

  She took a breath. A Dom she’d dated for a few weeks had encouraged her to practice dancing, and she silently thanked him for teaching her a skill she wouldn’t have picked up on her own. She couldn’t get back the innocent naiveté some Doms seemed to prize, but there were benefits to experience too.

  She swayed in front of him, her eyes focused on his. She’d dreamed of a moment like this countless times, although usually in an office setting. She leaned over and cupped her breasts, maximizing her cleavage, then slid her hand around to the zipper on the side of the dress.

  She had his full attention. That gave her confidence. The music was quiet and slow, as it usually was at Iron Butterfly, but it gave her a rhythm to follow. She peeled off a glove, with exaggerated slowness, and dropped it to the table. The other glove followed.

  She met his gaze. It was strange to look into the eyes of her former boss and see not the slightest flicker of recognition. Perhaps he’d never really looked at her, never seen her as anything more than a competent employee. She thought she would know his blue eyes anywhere, even under a mask.

  The thought almost made her falter. Crossing her left arm in front of her body, she eased down the zipper of her dress. A shrug let the shoulder fall off one arm, then the next, the short loose sleeves offering no resistance. Only her arm kept her dress from falling off. She gripped the neckline and lowered it slowly.

&nbs
p; Blake’s gaze roamed her body. Perhaps he’ll be repelled. I’m probably too big for him. But his gaze raked her from head to toe and then worked its way down again. He likes what he sees. So far.

  Carrie let the dress fall to the table. She stepped out of it and nudged it to the side. She wore only a grenadine bra, the top half of which was transparent lace, and a matching thong. She knew he could clearly see the top halves of her nipples through the bra. She leaned over again, watching his eyes follow the cleavage. How many times had she tried and failed to distract him at work by bending over his desk, only for him to remain steadfastly professional?

  “Want more, Sir?” This time the huskiness in her voice wasn’t faked. Her nipples were hard, as if his gaze alone had teased them to stiffness. Her pussy was wet.

  “Yes.”

  She danced for him, not taking anything off. She had to be careful. The table was small. The last thing she wanted was an awkward tumble. Not only would it hurt, but she wanted to be graceful and sexy for him. The pleasure evident in his eyes spurred her on. She squeezed her breasts up with her arms as she leaned over. She shimmied her hands down her thighs.

  His gaze never left her body, despite the fact that the woman on the couch had shed her dress and was making out with the leather-clad man.

  Carrie reached behind her, unsnapped her bra, and then cupped her breasts to keep it from falling off. Then, slowly, she drew it away, down her arms, until it was free. She tossed it onto the dress. She crouched, wanting to get lower and not tower over him, but keeping her legs together.

  Want to play? She’d said the words plenty of times, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say them to Blake Andrews. So she simply stared at him, silent.

  Finally, he spoke. “More.” Just the one word, but it held the tone of command. The same voice that told her to take dictation, or get a file, and had always made her scamper.

  Even in the mask and the wig, taking her panties off was something she’d rather do in one of the many private spaces, or at least just before being tied to the cross in the racquetball court. But she wasn’t about to disobey him. She shut out everyone else who might be watching and focused on him alone. She straightened. Just him and me. Just him and me.

  She swayed, then turned and wiggled her ass at him while easing the waistband down an inch. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it facing him, not the rest of the room. She spun half way again and took a deep breath. She slipped the waistband down over her hips, gave the panties an extra nudge, and shook her legs until they slipped down to her ankles.

  Blake Andrews is staring at my naked, shaved pussy. She thought she was going to come right there from just the thought. Instead, she ever so gracefully stepped out of the panties.

  And slipped. Her heel went skidding on the smooth stone, and then her ankle got trapped by the thong. Unable to catch herself she went tumbling off straight into the lap of Blake Andrews.

  Chapter Two

  Blake reached out to break C’s fall. If he hadn’t told her he wanted more, he knew it wouldn’t have happened. He’d watched her heels skid a couple of times already, just slightly. He should have been aware of the risk.

  But now she was naked, and in his arms. Her cushioned ass had crashed straight into his hard-on. His hand inadvertently closed around a soft breast.

  “Sorry,” he said, removing his hand, at the same time she said the same thing.

  “Thank you for the catch. I am so sorry!” She looked it, too. She was mortified.

  “My pleasure. Should I help you up?”

  She shifted her weight as if to get herself up, and then her eyes widened as she seemed to become aware of his erection. “Only if you want to.”

  He didn’t. He did think the least he could do, however, was to help her with her panties. He disentangled the thong from her heels and tossed it on the pile with her dress and bra but not before noticing how damp it was. Had she gotten that wet just dancing for him? It didn’t seem likely, but maybe she enjoyed that sort of thing. She obviously had some experience, and equally obviously, she was no professional. His fingers ached to find out more. He inhaled the scent of her arousal. He wanted to rest his hand on the beautifully smooth mound and plunge his fingers deep into her pussy.

  But just because she’d fallen into his lap didn’t mean he could assume he could touch. He was trying to get a read on her. She’d been so sexy and confident when she was dancing. Maybe a little nervous, but that was appealing. Now she looked terrified, and yet she’d declined his offer to help her up.

  Until recently he’d always thought that tall, thin women were his type. But this girl was perfect. She was built a lot like his ex- and hopefully future-secretary Carrie, and maybe it had been Carrie that made him change his mind. Now he adored women with lush curves. He pushed Carrie out of his mind. His demure secretary would never accept his perverted tastes. This uninhibited little tart was the perfect antidote to lusting after his secretary.

  He was glad he let Meg talk him into coming to Iron Butterfly.

  Taking her hand into his, he traced the soft, delicate fingers with well-trimmed nails painted a deep pink. She didn’t object when he brought her hand to his lips, so he kissed her fingers lightly. He glanced over her ring finger, noticing that it didn’t have the telltale indentation from habitually wearing a ring. She stared, entranced but no longer frightened. Perfect. He steeled himself to focus on her fingers and not get distracted by the display of her breasts and thighs. One at a time he sucked each finger into his mouth. Your striptease was slow. Now it’s my turn.

  He ran his hands down her arms, then passed over her breasts to caress her gently rounded stomach. Then he feathered his fingers down her legs. He heard the little intake of breath every time he got to an erogenous zone, and the soft sigh of disappointment when he skipped over.

  “That was quite the fortuitous fall,” he remarked.

  “I’m such a klutz. It really wasn’t intentional,” C said, blushing.

  “Oh, I believe you.” If she had the acting skills to fall like that on purpose, more power to her. He ran his hand along her leg, moving slowly in case she wanted to stop him. It was better than verbalizing his desire for her consent, right now. She just closed her eyes and sighed. He could feel her pulse and it was going a mile a minute. She was nervous. What drove her to do a striptease for a strange man if it made her that anxious?

  “Did you want to play, little one?” he asked, softly, his fingers feathering up her side. If they continued on that path, in a few seconds he’d be cupping one of her soft, full breasts in his hand.

  “Yes, Sir.” she said, with just a trace of an accent that hadn’t been there before. Swedish? He suspected it was as fake as the blonde wig she wore. Her eyebrows were too dark for her to be a blonde, and it was a bit too perfect to be real and bleached. It was a shame because he liked playing with hair, but he wanted to respect her need for anonymity. A lot of people he knew worked for government agencies and had security clearance levels that gave them reason for concern, and even if she just wanted to make damn sure no one she knew in her regular life knew she was kinky, that was something he had to respect. He didn’t go out of the way to advertise himself, but he accepted the risk.

  His fingers encountered the lush underside of her left breast. She moaned, softly. He covered her breast with his hand, her hard nipple poking into his palm.

  “That’s it, little one.” Normally before he played with anyone, there was a lot of negotiation. But this little sub had literally fallen into his lap. “Enjoy the sensations.” He touched the top of her thigh, and she opened her legs―not far, but enough for an invitation. Covering her mound with his hand, he slid his fingers along her folds. He was surprised at how wet she was, and couldn’t resist dipping his fingers inside. Curling them to find her G-spot, he pressed down with the heel of his hand on her clit.

  “If you do that, I’m going to come,” she whispered. “Sometimes it’s messy.”

  If
the worst thing that happened to him was wet pants from a pretty girl he’d just met coming on him, he’d call it a good day. He bent down and sucked one pert nipple into his mouth. Her breathing got heavier. Her sweet scent subtly changed. Noting what affected her the most, he adjusted the motions of his fingers to drive her crazier. His cock was aching and appreciative of the soft cushioning of her ass. He pushed his hips forward, wanting the friction, but the rest of him focused on her pleasure. There were few things he liked more than making a woman come, and the incongruity of making love to a masked woman he’d just met appealed to him. No danger of too much emotion getting in the way of physical pleasure.

  But some instinct made him pull back. “No, little girl. You’re not going to come yet. Not until you’ve been of service.” He withdrew his fingers.

  C looked at him with disbelief. She was harder to read underneath that mask, but not impossible, and he knew he’d struck the right note.

  “How may I serve, Sir?” she asked after a long pause.

  He put his hand on her wrist. Feeling someone’s pulse wasn’t a surefire way to reveal if they were telling the truth, but it could help, and he was good at detecting bullshit. Hopefully she’d be straight with him. “You’re an experienced submissive?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you object to being flogged?”

  “No.”

  “Cropped?”

  A tiny hesitation. “No.”

  “Caned?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “You’ve experienced them all before?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She shivered.

  “Would it be worth it, if I let you come?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He wouldn’t normally have pushed so much with a submissive he’d just met, but something about her voice urged him on. He felt as if he had known her for ages, which was ridiculous. He’d have to filter against that. “Let’s find us a spot, then. One more thing. Is there any reason you can’t be marked?”