Susan's first job was working for a powerful, wealthy, albeit perverted, black man.

Oblivious to the horde of Christmas shoppers in his store below and with the music of Nat King Cole's Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire playing so much like elevator Muzak in the background of his private office, Eustace Johnson, a big, black man, had enough of his new, white secretary. She was bad. She was no good. She couldn't follow simple instructions. She made too many mistakes and now she must be punished.

"Go stand at my desk, put your feet shoulder width apart, bend at the waist, and put your elbows, along with your palms down flat on my desk."

The first time she heard him say that, she didn't quite understand what he wanted her to do. Then, when she understood what he wanted her to do, she couldn't believe what he wanted her to do. Yet, she was submissive enough to obey him without question. He was her boss, after all, the man who signed her weekly paycheck.

Even though her skirt was in place and he couldn't see her panty, with her ass sticking straight out in the air like that, she still felt exposed and vulnerable. She knew he was a pervert and she knew, no doubt, that he was staring at her sweet, round, firm ass. With the thought of him finally taking her, forcing her to have hot sex with him, she was excited that he was finally going to fuck her but, then, when he didn't and when he...

"Ow!" He slapped her again, only this time harder. "Oh!"

The first time he spanked her, he hit her with ten, hard wallops from his open hand. He slapped her ass hard enough through her skirt and through her panty, that when she checked herself in the ladies room, he left big, red welts. Her proof that he loved her.

She was shocked but, surprisingly, terribly excited that he cared enough about her to spank her. No one, not even her parents, had ever spanked her before. A bittersweet moment, she had no idea that a spanking could hurt and excite her, as much, at the same time.

"Do it again," she wanted to say, but didn't. "Fuck me now that I'm so hot for you, Eustace," she thought but without saying that either.

Now that this big, black man had spanked her sweet ass, she was so sexually aroused by his big, black hand on her round, white ass that she would have sucked and fucked his big, black cock right there in his office. All she could think of was having hot sex with this black man. Old enough to be her father, she had never had sex with an older man, just as she had never had sex with a black man before, but she wanted to now.

Now that I told you not quite how it ended, let's go back to the beginning so that I can tell you how it started, five years before.

Johnson's was a well known women's, retail, clothing chain that had stores in nearly every state, from the late forties to the late nineties when, after the high flying eighties, the economy fell in a deep recession. It was hard times for most, even for the Johnson clothing chain. Immediately after Christmas, in 1997, they were bought out by a much larger department store chain. A lucky break and a golden parachute for Eustace Johnson, the buyout was his way to disassociate and disenfranchise himself from his floundering business, before having to go through the embarrassment of bankruptcy.

Twenty-two years before the sale of his stores, Eustace Johnson was the sole owner, after his father, Earl, left him the business, when he died in 1975. Back then, it was a one store business his Dad started in Detroit, Michigan, just after the war, in 1948, with the five thousand dollars he had saved. Having his own business was a big deal to Eustace's Dad and he was so proud of his women's clothing store that the entire family worked there after school and every summer.

It was good times and happy days then and Detroit was a good place to start a women's retail clothing store. The car factories were turning out new cars and Detroit, along with Flint and Dearborn Michigan were the places to live cheaply, afford a house, and live the good life. Only ten years after a world war, with I Love Lucy and Cid Caesar making everyone laugh, people were happy that the war was over and that they could afford a television.

Fifty-two years after the war later, with more than 300 stores, Eustace sold his shares in the company for a lot of money, three quarters of a billion dollars, and was now very wealthy. Yet, our story begins five years before Eustace Johnson sold his company. It was during his busiest season, the day after Thanksgiving, black Friday, of 1992, a time when retail stores made the most of their yearly revenues in a mere six week period.

Susan had been looking for work without success, since she graduated from college in June. Jobs were hard to find, especially a job in her field of study and especially for someone without experience. The boom that happened in the United States in the fifties with plenty of jobs for everyone, was now being broadened to embrace a global market, one that promised union busting cheaper labor and long-term unemployment for those that worked at manufacturing jobs that suddenly disappeared overseas.

It wasn't that long ago when company recruiters came on campus soliciting talented college seniors, those bright stars, who were about to graduate, to offer them high paying jobs with big starting bonuses. Back then, before computers, cable TV, and cell phones, just a high school diploma was enough to get a good paying job. Not anymore. Now, with the Internet making the world smaller, you needed a college degree and sometimes a master's degree to barely make more than minimum wage.

Times changed with free trade and the global economy, and now, with American companies intent on making American labor more competitive by outsourcing higher paying manufacturing jobs for the higher profitability of third world labor, salaries no longer kept up with inflation. With retirement programs replaced by employee funded 401K's and 100% health insurance subsidized by half by employees, and overtime gone with part-time jobs instead of full-time jobs, employers expected employees to work much more for a lot less.

With McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts, and Starbucks on every corner, with one stop shopping of chain hardware and retail stores selling goods made in countries that most Americans never knew existed, America was slowly becoming a service economy rather than a manufacturing one. After taking on high five figure student loans, college graduates were lucky to get part-time internships paying nothing or paying minimum wage.

Johnson's was looking for a secretary in their corporate office. Susan applied for the job and was hired on the spot. Scheduled to start the very next day, finally, a job and with a month until Christmas, at least, she'll have made some money to afford to buy her family Christmas gifts this year. A poor college student for the past four years, she thought it was going to be another lean holiday season, but opportunities were suddenly presenting themselves to her, such as this job. She was happy to find a job, but to find a job in her field of study and be paid a decent salary was a dream come true.

A tall, stern, and imposing man, Susan didn't meet Mr. Johnson, until the day she started work. Human Resources didn't tell her she'd be working for the big boss, even they didn't know the sudden change of plan. Scheduled to be the secretary to some middle manager, a serendipitous first meeting in the elevator, changed the best made plans, when Eustace Johnson first laid eyes on her.

She had no idea what was in store for her working for Eustace Johnson at Johnson's Clothing Store. She was shocked that her employer, a 40-something-year-old the man with his name holding up the building, was her boss. She figured she'd be just another secretary in the secretarial pool working her nine to five job with a half an hour for lunch.

Our story starts when she rode up in the elevator with Mr. Johnson on her first day. Susan was so very young, barely 23-years-old and still young enough that she hadn't yet grown tired of hearing the Christmas music playing the same dozen songs over and again.

"Good morning," he said without evidence of a smile.

Still a few years before workplace sexual harassment laws were enacted, in 1995, as if she was standing there naked, he leered long enough at her to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Hi," she said looking up at him, giving him a smile, and looking away, when he returned her smile with a stern leer that was more akin to a sexual act than a look.

"This is the employees elevator," he said without directing his comment to her, even though they were the only people in the elevator. He said it as he would in the way of an afterthought and as if talking aloud to himself, while staring up at the floor numbers lighting up, before looking back down at her.

He was tall enough that she wondered if he could see down her blouse and she involuntarily put a hand up to close her top, if it was opened and it was. She didn't know at the time that Eustace Johnson was more interested in her panties than in her bra and more interested in her pussy than her tits. He gave her a look, as if accusing her of stealing something from his store, even if it was only his private elevator space that was unavailable to the public and expressly meant for his nearly 30,000 nationwide employees.

"I know," she said giving him a nervous smile. "I was directed to take this elevator by the security officer downstairs. This is my first day. I was hired yesterday, as a secretary," she said giving him a longer look, while suspecting that he worked there, too, after he told her this was an employee elevator. She hoped that she wouldn't be working for him.

"I see," he said giving her a look that suddenly made her feel naked again. "Good luck to you, Miss," he said holding the elevator door open for her.

When, he reached up and over her to open the big, glass door that led her to Johnson's Corporate Offices, she didn't have to turn to look to know that he was staring at her ass. As if his eyes were red hot lasers, she could feel his lust. With Burl Ives singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in the background, she stood at the reception desk listening to his heels clicking against the shiny, linoleum floor, while watching him walk away.

She envied his walk, more of a Rooster's strut, so full of self-confidence and self-assuredness. Without doubt, he was so full of himself. He was an arrogant, pompous man. Yet, she respected that about him. She was so submissive and she wished she was more like that and like him. A man with a mission, she watched him disappear down the long, bright, white corridor, as if he was God ascending to Heaven.

"May I help you?" The receptionist, a pretty black woman, gave her a smile with a curious look.

"Hi, I'm Susan Harris," she said putting out her hand. "Today is my first day as a secretary."

"Oh. Hi Susan, I'm Chantelle," she said giving her a smile. "When I saw you, so tall and so pretty, I thought they were doing another photo shoot. They always forget to tell me. I'm sorry," she said with a laugh. "I thought you were a model. You look like one of the models. We have photo shoots weekly for the clothing we advertise."

"Thank you, no, I'm not a model. I'm just a secretary."

"Please, have a seat. Someone will be right with you. I'm sure it will just be a moment."

"Thank you," she said taking a seat that gave her a view of the long corridor.

Unaware the gentleman she rode up with in the elevator was Eustace Johnson, she waited long enough in the lobby to hear the Christmas songs repeating, before someone came down to get her. She was there for quite a while, more than half an hour, waiting, while watching everyone walk by her. Nervously, she scanned the magazines and smiled up at everyone as they approached, expecting them to be the one coming for her, while wondering if they were her new boss, and feeling disappointed when they passed by her and left.

She wondered if they had forgotten about her. Feeling uncomfortably obvious sitting there for so long waiting, she wondered who she'd be working for, while hoping they'd be nice and not naughty. Obviously, the second time around for I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, the Christmas music was even beginning to get to her. Then, she saw the human relations person scurry by her holding a folder of papers and after fifteen or so minutes, she watched her scurry back. Finally the receptionist received a call.

This was more than just a job to her, albeit her first job, and she was so very excited to get a job. With nationwide unemployment numbers approaching unprecedented double digits and higher in many of the depressed areas, such as California, Michigan, and Ohio, and the stock market still rebounding from the crash it experienced in 1987, too many of her graduating classmates were still looking for work. This job earmarked the beginning of her fashion career, even if she started as a mere secretary.

Having never shopped there before, she knew little about Johnson's stores. None of his stores were in any of the malls she frequented. His stores were located in mostly black and Hispanic neighborhoods, but she never put two and two together, that he was the big boss, the owner, until she started working there and for him that day.

More than half the employees were black or Hispanic and all the secretaries, except for her, were of color. With her long, lush, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and nearly translucent peaches and cream skin, looking as if she was Icelandic or as if she had just stepped off Scandinavian Airlines, she couldn't be any more Caucasian than she was. The stares she received from many of the employees made her feel, as if she was in the minority and so she was, while working there at Johnson's Corporate Headquarters.

"Follow me, please," said the receptionist.

Yet, here she was, her first job out of college, with a bachelor's degree in fashion design and a minor in communications, little did she know that she was about to have a title, too, the Private Secretary to the President.

"Wow."

She was so excited. At $400 a week to start, along with full benefits and a generous 30% employee discount, the pay wasn't the greatest, especially for a college graduate, but she was inexperienced. Hopefully, once she proved herself, she'd make more, if not there then elsewhere, that is, once she had some retail and fashion experience behind her.

The first thing she needed to do was to buy clothes. She only had the one pair of flat shoes, the one pair of heels, she was wearing now, and a pair of sneakers. The rest of her wardrobe was comprised of jeans, tee shirts, and sweatshirts, none of which was appropriate for working in the corporate offices of a clothing retail chain store, but was perfect for a college campus, while living in a dormitory.

"Mr. Johnson, your secretary is here. Susan Harris, Eustace Johnson," said Chantelle introducing Susan to her boss, before leaving for her front desk post.

Immediately, she recognized him, as the stern looking man in the elevator, who didn't smile and he still wasn't smiling now. Great, she thought, maybe once she learns the ropes, she can transfer to another manager, one who smiles and who doesn't leer at her. Even though Chantelle said his name when introducing him, it still didn't register that he owned the place. Johnson was a fairly common surname and she still didn't know he was the man whose name was on the building.

"Hi, Mister Johnson," she said giving him a smile and shaking his big, black hand, a hand that would soon become intimately familiar with her round, white ass.

When he escorted her into his huge, private office was when she realized that he was the big boss, the owner, the one with his name on the building, and the one who signed the paychecks. He had the double corner window with the best 180 degree view, of course. Completely paneled making it look more like a home library than an workplace, his office was fully decorated compared to the Spartan offices of the other managers. He had an oriental rug, where the other offices had tile floors. He had more subdued lighting with lamps, instead of the impersonal brightness of overhead fluorescents. It was obvious that Mr. Johnson traveled extensively because he had knickknacks, brick-a-brack, and artwork from all over the world spread throughout his huge space.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Harris," he said finally cracking his face with a half smile. "May I call you Susan?"

"Of course," she said and wanting to say, call me anything so long as you sign my paycheck.

"This is where you'll be working," said Mr. Johnson lifting his hand in the direction of her desk, while closing and locking the door behind him.

She never expected to be working in the same space as him, albeit, a huge office. Then, when he closed and locked the office door, she panicked. She expected him to close his door, of course, but she never expected him to lock it. The clicking sound that the lock made sounded so final, as if he were a jailer locking a cell door and it startled her. Suddenly, she felt trapped, as if she were a prisoner held against her will.

With everyone else out on the floor or in cubicles, all the other office doors were left wide open and never locked, unless the occupants left for the day. Moreover, all the other secretaries had their desks outside their boss's offices. She thought him locking his office door more than peculiar but it was a job, her first job and she had nothing in her non-existent work experience to compare.

Maybe had she more work experience, maybe had she worked somewhere else before, maybe what happened to her, while working there, would never have happened to her, at all, but it did.

"Do you always lock the door, Mr. Johnson?"

"Please call me Eustace."

"Do you always lock the door, Eustace?"

She looked at the locked door with misgivings before studying him with apprehension.

"I don't like to be disturbed. It's a waste of my time," he said still without evidence of a smile and, judging by the stare he gave her, she'd best take what he was saying now as a warning and never disturb him or waste his time. "It ruins my train of thought and it makes me forget things. In my business, especially this time of year, Christmas, the busiest retail season of all, I cannot afford to forget anything. It's sometimes impossible to get things done when I have a continually flow of employees in and out of my office soaking up my time with stupid questions. There's never enough time in my day to do all that I need to do," he said with earnest sincerity.

The explanation sounded totally believable to her. The busy CEO of the company needs to focus his attention on the whole pie, instead of wasting his time with the crumbs that can be cleared by his lowly managers.

"I understand. I'm the same way sometimes when--"

"Everyone knows that, unless the building is on fire, whenever my door is closed, I don't want to be disturbed, no calls and no knocks," he said interrupting her and suddenly looking preoccupied with his thoughts, as if remembering something he had forgotten. "Messages are collected in my in basket outside my door. My secretary handles all of that, collects them, and transcribes them to one sheet of paper for my review later," he said with a wave of his hand. "Most days there's no need to bother me at all. I have enough people in place to handle whatever the emergency and if they cannot do their job, then there's enough people out of work that I can replace them within a day."

"I see."

Even though he was laying out to her how he worked and what he expected from her, she was hung up on his word choice, when he mentioned his secretary collecting his messages. His secretary? Why is he referring to her in such an impersonal way? She thought she was his secretary. At the time, she didn't know she was his Private Secretary nor did she even understand the difference between the two, a secretary and a private secretary. Besides her, he had three other secretaries.
Simplistically, in her case, there'd be no typing involved and she'd be in charge of everyone in the office, including many of the managers. On the managerial flowchart, he'd be at the top, with her beneath, no doubt, his preferred position, with everyone else below them. It was a most trusted position in the company. The position of Private Secretary not only came with a lot of responsibility but also with much power. If anyone needed to get to him, they needed to go through her first. In the way that the Chief of Staff kept reporters and others at bay from the President of the United States, it was her job to do the same with Mr. Johnson, the President of Johnson's clothing stores.

Even though her desk was a distance away from his, by about 20 feet, they faced one another and with her desk not having a privacy panel in front, she felt the arrangement awkwardly uncomfortable, especially if she was wearing a short skirt, as she was that day. Her desk was more a heavy glass table, than it was a desk. Not only could he see her straight on, but if there were no papers to obstruct the view and if, in the course of her working, her skirt had risen high enough, when Eustace stood in front of her desk and in the angle he was looking, he could see straight down through her glass table and in between her legs. Without a doubt, he could see her panties.

The thought of her accidentally flashing him her panties sickened her. Raised in a God fearing and moral family, she wasn't that type of a woman. Besides, Eustace was much older than she was and he was a black man. She had never been with or attracted to either an older man or a black man before and he was both. Her Dad would never approve, if he knew what she had to do to keep this job.

If her skirt was hiked up far enough, and chances are it would be, after moving around, while working and being too busy to notice the changes in her attire, Eustace would have a clear view of her panty, ergo her need for a privacy screen and for a desk made out of wood, instead of glass. For sure, she could never keep her legs closed and her knees tightly together for eight hours a day, especially in the way he stared over at him in owl like posture. The mere sight of her crossing and uncrossing her legs would, no doubt, cause her to inadvertently flash him her panties. Definitely, her modesty would drift with her daily work activities and her preoccupied thoughts. Nonetheless, there was a twinge of excitement with her innocent modesty.

If she needed files, she had to get up and take them from the filing cabinets that lined both sides of the wall. Having to be constantly aware, just getting up and sitting back down without flashing him her panty would be a real challenge. The thought of him planning her flashing him and hoping she'd flash him never occurred to her, that is, until later. Much later, when she determined that he had hoped she'd flash him, her excitement grew with the desire she couldn't help notice he had for her. Quickly their work relationship had become a symbiotic, sexual one.

Still, with this her first job and with this her first day on the job, she was just so thrilled to be working there and for him that her working conditions and modesty weren't immediately an issue. Maybe later, she'd mention that it was an issue for her not to have a privacy panel and a wooden desk. For now, she'd just be quiet about her glass table and do what she was hired to do, be his private secretary.

She wasn't complaining, of course. With so many people out of work, and President Bush doing nothing to help the economy, other than to start the Gulf War, she was lucky to have a job. Moreover, it was a good job, too. When other graduates from her school were forced to accept jobs out of their major field of study, she was lucky to begin her career with a job that paralleled what she had been studying in college, fashion design.

"Please, have a seat," he said motioning her to take one of the chairs across from his big desk.

"Thank you," she said sitting and placing her hands in her lap. Suddenly, sitting there before him in this immense room, even though she was 5'9" tall and weighed 135 pounds, she felt so small.

"You just graduated college, I see," said Eustace, obviously reading from her file that the human resource person must have delivered. "You graduated with honors with a grade point average of 3.6. Very good."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Eustace."

"Yes, Eustace."

"Unfortunately, however, I'm afraid you're overqualified for the job," he said looking down at her resume, her school transcript, and her work application without even giving her the courtesy of looking up at her.

Afraid she was about to lose the job, the job she so desperately wanted and she thought she had and was already hired to do, she quickly but calmly reacted. Maybe this was just a test to see how she'd be under pressure.

"Isn't it better that I be overqualified than under qualified, so that you can give me more responsibility and move me up in the company?"

Her logic made sense. It sounded good to her. Only, did it sound good to him?

"Maybe so, but I'm afraid, you'd be quickly bored with the job and won't stay much past the Christmas holiday season and, as soon as the economy improves, you'll find other, more suitable employment."

She couldn't believe she was being interviewed again for the job. With a chance of him not liking her and wanting her for the position, she couldn't believe she had to fight for this job. Yet, there was something about him and about the way he was interrogating her that made her think he was just testing her and was very much interested in her. She needed to stay focused and steadfast in showing him that she was interested in the job, too, and worth him hiring her.

"This is the perfect job for me, Eustace. This is what I want to do with my life. Besides, I want to be bored. I like being bored. I'm a boring person. Being bored makes me think of ways not to be bored by thinking of things that I can do to help the company not be so boring."

"I see," he said looking up at her, as if taking a candid picture of her with his eyes, before looking back down at her file. "It's very dull here."

Finally, he looked up at her again, longer this time. He took her all in and gazed at her, as if she was something he had finally created, the finished product, after failing in attempting to create others in her image, so many times before.

"Just because I may be a pretty woman, Eustace. I'm not a fancy woman. No Sir. I'm dull and I want to continue being dull," she said in a monotone voice, while putting her hands on her knees and leaning forward, as if to show him how dull she truly was. "I like being dull. Being dull is what keeps me grounded."

Already formulating his next question, in the way that he ignored the Christmas music that softly played in the background, he ignored what she just said.

"Are you pregnant?"

"Pardon?"

"It's a simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Are you pregnant?"

"No," she said, unmoved by his personal inquiry, while looking down at her flat stomach and running her hands slowly across her abdomen, as she slowly shook her head.

"Do you want to be pregnant one day? I can't have the woman that I hire taking off to have babies every year."

"No," she said again slowly shaking her head with her monotone answer, but this time with a wry smile. "My destiny is to work for Johnson's clothing stores and for you, Eustace."

He squirmed in his seat and cleared his throat. He appeared to have liked that answer.

"Are you married? A married woman would have her concentration and focus split between--"

"No," she said shaking her head and looking straight at him. "I am not married," she said holding up her hand to show him that she wasn't wearing a ring.

"Do you want to be married one day?"

"No," she said again maintaining her composure. "I don't want to marry. Marriage is a complete waste of time and something that would take me away from my career."

She'd say anything to get this job and she was.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, I don't have time for a boyfriend. My life is my career and my career is this job."

"Pardon me for being so blunt in asking you this question and feel free not to answer, Susan, with not wanting to get married and not having a boyfriend, but are you a lesbian?"

"Lesbian? No, Eustace, certainly not. I am not lesbian. I like men," she said meeting his stare, while running her tongue across her lips and wanting to say, I like sucking and fucking cocks too much.

Trying to look and act the seductress, while maintaining her professionalism was a difficult balance to do, when sitting in front of the big boss and feeling naked by his leer. She only hoped to God he didn't take her up on her teasing.

"I see. Do you live in an apartment?"

"An apartment?" For the life of her she didn't understand the relevance of his question, but as an eager contestant, she played his game to win. "No, I live in a house," she said giving him half a smile, as if this was a test that she knew she was about to pass. "I live with my parents. This job would afford me to move out and have my own place."

"I see," he said. "You may hang your coat in the closet now that we have completed your formal interview process, have a seat at your desk, and we can get to work."

Stunned, happy, and excited, a load off her mind, she was hired...again.

"Thank you, Eustace," she said standing up and sticking out her hand to shake his hand.

"You're welcome," he said looking up at her and looking back down to shuffle her file closed without accepting her hand.

"You won't regret your decision to hire me."

"We shall see," he said. "Well, I don't know what they told you your starting salary was--"

"Four hundred dollars a week," she said now figuring that he was going to pay her less money, since she had no practical experience.

Fuck, that's not fair. She was counting on that money. She already had her first paycheck spent, before she even earned it.

Her stomach sank. She'd just have to cut back on Christmas gift spending and clothing purchases. Even if he decided she was only worth three hundred dollars a week, it was the opportunity that mattered and not so much the money, she thought, trying to convince herself of that. She was still young. She'd get the money, no doubt, later in her career, once she had some work experience and had proven herself.

"I see," he said. "Well, four hundred dollars a week would have been the starting salary working for one of my managers, but you are not working for one of my managers. You are working for me directly. You will start at six hundred dollars a week, if that's acceptable to you."

Acceptable? Are you kidding? Am I dreaming? Quickly she computed the yearly salary in her head, thirty-one thousand, two hundred dollars. Wow. She was rich. Let me just come down from the ceiling, before I give you my answer, she thought. Holy cow!

"Sure, yeah, great. Thank you," she said smiling after having just received a two hundred dollar a week raise her first day.

She was so excited, she couldn't wait to tell her mother. Maybe, now, she could afford her own place and a car, too.

"I will expect you here promptly every morning with no excuses for tardiness. It is your responsibility to anticipate delays and leave earlier accordingly. My rule is simple. If I'm here, you must be here, too. There are many women who would do anything for the opportunity that this position will do for their careers. I'm here promptly at 8am and expect you to be here at the same time, too. You will remain here, until I leave, which is no earlier than 5pm and no later than 8pm."

"Okay," she said suddenly feeling a bit trapped by the long hours.

She'd pack a lunch and snacks. There goes her social life. It's a good thing she doesn't have a boyfriend because she'd never see him working this job, that's for sure. She imagined working here for the next twenty years, never marrying, and living in an apartment with a cat.

"For the extra hours, I will pay you a bonus at year end and you will not be expected to be here, whenever I am not. I travel a lot during the buying season," he said looking at her over his glasses, as if seeing her for the first time. "Perhaps, you will want to accompany me, when I go to Paris, Milan, and/or New York."

"Are you kidding? I mean, sure. I'd love to accompany you, Eustace," she said wondering if he was married and wondering with dreaded anticipation, if she'd be expected to do more than just being his private secretary.

She didn't think she could have sex with him. He was much older than she was and she never had sex with a black man before. She heard that black men had big cocks and she wondered what an erect one would look like. Her friend Becky accidentally went in the boys locker room and saw a bunch of the college football players naked and the black guys had the biggest cocks by far, bigger when flaccid than when the white guys were erect. Still six hundred bucks a week was more money than her dad made working for the Post Office. Wow.

"Since you are my private secretary, I have other secretaries who will do my typing. You will handle everything else, my travel arrangements, my transportation needs, my schedule, setting up my meetings and appointments, greeting guests, and other business, as well as personal matters, as they appear."

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of personal matters. Maybe picking up his dry cleaning, getting his car washed, or buying gifts for his wife at birthdays, anniversaries, and Christmas.

"I can do that," she said with confidence.

"As my personal secretary, I will expect you to dress well," he said looking at her, before reaching in his desk drawer and withdrawing a piece of paper to which he busily signed his name. "Sorry, but what you're wearing now will never do. You must have more style and fashion sense than that. You not only represent me but also you represent my company and you must wear what I sell. You will be seen by buyers and fashion designers and I need for you to look your best. Take this down to Mr. Landers on the third floor and he will take care of you."

"Okay," she said looking down at herself and suddenly feeling foolishly sloppy and underdressed. Only, she didn't understand how and in what way Mr. Landers could take care of her.

Moving her legs to the side and placing a hand in her lap, she tried getting up from her chair, as lady like as she could, but she was certain, by his sudden leer and ogled stare that she had flashed him her panty. She turned bright red with embarrassment at the thought that her boss had seen her panties. Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable. She felt violated. She felt dirty, but she felt better when she realized that she was earning six hundred dollars a week doing what she loved to do. She got up from her chair, accepted his paper, to deliver to Mr. Landers. Only, suddenly, there was a loud bang on his office door.

"Eustace! I know you're in there. Open up!"

"It's my wife," said Eustace bolting out of his chair in a panic. "Tell her I'm not here. Tell her I had to go to New York on business," he said going in the bathroom and closing and locking the door behind him.

Susan unlocked and opened the office door.

"Hi, may I help you?" A tall, bulky black woman of 40-something-thing brushed by her. She was wearing a mink coat.

"I know he's here. Where is he?"

"He had to leave for New York."

"New York my black ass. I know he's cowering in the bathroom. I know he can hear me. Eustace!"

"Who shall I say called?" Susan stepped in front of her, when his wife took a step for the bathroom.

"Oh, you're perfect," she said putting a hand on her hip to give Susan the dog eye. "He likes his women submissive, which is why our marriage failed. He's my bitch and not the other way around."

"Is there a message you'd like to leave?"

"Message? Yeah, I have a message for you to give him. Tell him to sign the divorce papers," she said turning her head from Susan to project her voice to Eustace hiding in the bathroom, before leaving the office in a huff.

"She's gone Eustace. She said to sign--"

"I heard her," he said coming out of the bathroom. "Here's a key to the office," he said reaching in his pocket and removing an extra key from his key ring. "I'm going to lock the door behind you, in case she returns, when you go downstairs to give Mr. Landers the paper that I gave you."

"Okay," she said accepting the key and leaving his office.

"And there's no need to say anything about this to anyone. That's your first duty as my private secretary and I shouldn't have to tell you that whatever you hear in this office, stays in this office. Confidentiality is very important to me."

"Yes, Eustace," she said.

Susan took the elevator down to the third floor.

"May I help you?" A man expensively dressed in stylish but colorful clothes, came from around back.

"Hi, I'm Susan Harris, Mr. Johnson's new Private Secretary. He told me to deliver this you, Mr. Landers."

"I'm Mr. Landers. Pleased to meet you, Susan," he said accepting the paper with a big smile and acting, as if they were long lost friends. "I'm Jeff," he said offering her his hand

"Pleased to meet you, Jeff," she said shaking his hand and returning his big smile with contagious enthusiasm.

Jeff was an obvious gay man and she immediately liked him. He seemed so happy and she liked him even more, after he filled her with compliments.

"Well, you're the prettiest Private Secretary, Eustace has ever hired."

"Thank you," she said blushing.

"Oh, my, my, my. You're blushing," he said with a laugh. "You'd better grow some balls, honey, or Eustace is going to eat you up, before spitting you out."

"Sorry, I can't help it."

"It's okay. It's one of the detriments of being Caucasian, I guess," he said with a laugh.

"Do black people blush?"

"We do, but you just can't see because of the color of our skin," he said. "I'm embarrassed for you for even asking that question," he said with another laugh. "Just kidding. I'm just teasing you."

"I'm going to like you," she said. "You're funny."

"I'm so glad he got rid of the last one. I couldn't stand her. She was too weird for me to dress her. She had a long torso like Cher with short legs, but with a big ass. She took a size 8 on top but a size 16 on her bottom," he said with a laugh. "Furthermore," he said putting a hand on his hip and flipping back his head, "she didn't like gay men, which strained our relationship even more. Come with me," he said with a wave of his hand and a chuckle, while turning to watch her follow him and stopping to record her reaction, before proceeding.

As if opening the doors to a giant closet, he escorted her into a dream wardrobe.

"Wow! What's all this?"

"This is where we store all the fashions that designers deliver to us weekly hoping we'll feature their clothes in our stores. We use the clothes we choose to dress the models for the photo shoots, but after we've shot the ads, the clothes just languish here, so much like dead skins on hangers," he said with a laugh. "My job, among other duties is to get you outfitted," he said turning her around and looking at her from all sides. "Eustace likes his women to look the job."

"Really? Wow. Only, to be honest, I won't have any money until--"

"Money?" Jeff laughed a wild laugh, as if he was a kid forgotten in a toy store overnight. "As Eustace's private secretary, honey, this is all free. This is all yours. Not even his wife or his other secretaries are allowed down here," he said with a laugh. "Think of this as your personal wardrobe." He looked over to the area on the far side. "Those are the only clothes you can't have, that is, until after we've shot the models wearing them."
"So, all of these clothes have been worn before," said Susan.

"Most of them," said Jeff. "Whatever was worn has been cleaned. Think of this as your personal, albeit high fashioned Goodwill store," he said laughing.

"I can't believe all the clothes," she said walking up and down the aisles, as if she was in a department store opened just for her. "There must be a thousand outfits here."

"Most of the clothes run from a size four to a size eight. Trust me, honey, all designers are not alike in their fit. Some are generous with their material and others are cheap. Some size fours feel like a six and some size eights fit like a size four. You never know, until you try them. After a while, you'll gravitate to a favorite designer, but Eustace would prefer if you wore them all equally."

"I see. I'm just stunned by all these clothes. I'll be careful wearing them and does he have a dry cleaner he wants me to use, before returning them?"

"Returning them? These are your clothes to keep, after you've worn them, honey. He doesn't want them back. He receives more merchandise than he knows what to do with and more than you can possibly wear in a year to keep up with what arrives."

"I just can't believe it. I feel, as if I just won the fashion lottery," she said with a laugh.

"From shoes and pocketbooks to gloves, hats, and coats, you'll be the best dressed woman in the corporate office. Let's see," he said looking at her. "To start, you'll need, at least, a dozen outfits, each season and every season, we'll go through all the new fashions together and after a while, you won't even need me to help you dress. You'll be able to know what he likes you to wear and pick out your own clothes."

"Likes me to wear? What do you mean likes me to wear? Does he want me to dress a certain way?" She gave him a curious look.

"In a word, classy and never slutty. More erotic than revealing, Eustace likes showing off legs and by the looks of your long legs, honey," he said stepping back and looking at her shapely legs, "you must have been a dancer or a skater. Which?"

"Actually, I danced, skated, swam, and did gymnastics."

"Perfect," he said. "I'll have no problem fitting you. What size are you?" He turned to look at her again, "a 6?"

"Yeah."

"I don't understand. Am I dressing more for Eustace than for myself?"

"Listen honey, it's a man's world and sometimes you must play the game to get ahead. Most women never get to play and when they finally get the chance to play the game, they don't know how to play. You're lucky to be a contestant in his game."

"I didn't know I'd be playing a game to get ahead," she said.

"Don't be so naive, Susan. Eustace doesn't care about his other secretaries. No one sees them, but him, but he likes his Private Secretary to dress a certain way because, many times, you'll be accompanying him to parties, functions, events, galas, fashion shows, and traveling out of country. By the way, if you don't have a passport, you need to get one because he has a habit of springing something on you unexpectedly. He'll want to just head for the airport without packing a bag and buy whatever he needs there."

"Okay, I guess dressing his preferred way makes more sense to me now."

"Oh, and..." he said giving her a wrinkled brow look.

"And what?"

Figuring it was too good to be true, she looked at him with apprehension.

"He's a bit of a pervert," said Jeff leaning into her and whispering if they were having girl talk.

"Pervert? What do you mean? How is he perverted?

"He has a thing for panties."

"Panties? Eww. What does he do? Wear them or sniff them?"

"Neither, he likes for you to flash them."

"Eww. Well, that explains my desk."

"The glass desk with no privacy panel?" He laughed. "Yeah, he had that custom made," he said laughing again. "Now looking at you, he must have had you in mind when he had that desk designed. You are very good looking. Did you ever model?"

"No, I never modeled and I'll never show him my panties to him, that's for sure. I'm not that kind of a girl."

"Honey," said Jeff putting an arm around her shoulders, as if taking her under his wing. "Take a breath and look at all these clothes. Now, if you don't flash him your panties every now and then, enough to keep him interested in you not to fire you, you'll end up like all the others and you won't last a month on the job. If you flash him, he'll be very generous, very generous with you. He's a very wealthy man, you know."

"I won't prostitute myself for money, not for anyone, especially not for a job, especially not for him" she said stepping away from him to get up on her high horse. "He's almost as old as my Dad."

"Would you prostitute yourself for a career in fashion?" As if suddenly on stage in a ballet, he pirouetted and skipped down the aisle, while reaching with outstretch arms to touch all the clothes, as he dance by them. "Look at all of these beautiful clothes, Susan, just waiting for you to wear them all."

"There are so many clothes, I wouldn't know what to even wear," she said putting her hands up to her face, as if Dorothy in Oz or Alice in Wonderland.

"That's my job. I'm here to dress you." He returned to where she was standing and took her hand in his. "Listen, honey, you can't afford to have false modesty on this job. Let me tell you what you must do."

"What?"

"Think of yourself as a model. Models routinely strip naked in front of designers, agents, assistants, photographers, and whoever else is in the room with them. Their modesty went out the window with their first gig, their first photo shoot, and their first big paycheck. Models are able to see the bigger picture for the sake of their career and, yes, for money."

"I don't know if I could sit there flashing him my panties knowing that I was flashing him and he was looking. Eww."

"When you come right down to it, we all prostitute ourselves for money, some more than others. Modest models don't model for very long," he said with a laugh. "So you flash Eustace a bit of panties, ever now and again. So what? Big deal. That's how you'll get him to take you to Paris and Milan."

"So, what does he want me to wear?" Susan looked at him with dread. "I'm kind of casual. I like wearing pants and a--"

"Pants?" He laughed. "You can forget about ever wearing pants here, honey," he said putting a hand on his hip and throwing back his head with another loud laugh. "I don't think there's a pair of pants on a hanger in this closet. Yeah, sure we sell pants, but not for you to wear. Eustace hates women in pants. Eustace likes miniskirts and he hates pantyhose," he said turning to look at here with a serious look. "Never, ever, under any circumstances will you wear pantyhose," he said wagging his finger in front of her face. "Promise me."

"Okay, I promise."

"Say it. Say you will never, ever wear pantyhose."

"I will never, ever wear pantyhose," she said raising her right hand, as if she was swearing on a Bible. "What happens if I did wear pantyhose?"

"If you do, he'll go into a rage. So, you'll be wearing panties with your miniskirt. If you must wear something on your legs, then it can only be stockings and garters."

"Kinky," she said.

"He's the big boss. He's the one who signs our paychecks and whatever he wants, he gets," he said with another laugh.

That first week she was very careful how she sat and how she got up. Perhaps, because she wasn't flashing him her panties, he was a real prick bordering on being mean to her. If it wasn't because it was a few weeks before Christmas, she would have quit the job but, with the hard time she had finding this one, she knew it would be months before she found another job and she'd never find one as good as this one, a job that was in her field of study and in the career she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

Since she was trapped in an office with a pervert, maybe there was a way for her to make the most of it. Who would know? Who would tell? She wouldn't and surely Eustace wouldn't. It was just the two of them behind a locked office door all day.

After a week of being leered at, she was about to tell him how she felt and how she wanted and needed to have another desk, one made of wood and one with a privacy panel, but then she had an epiphany. Emboldened by what she remembered Jeff told her about having false modesty and that she needed to be more uninhibited, as if she was a model at a photo shoot, Eustace Johnson's private, personal model, she decided to give him the show that he wanted to see. She realized that she was more in control of him than he was of her and all she had to do was to flash him her panty.

Monday morning she was there bright and early and when Eustace opened, closed, and locked his office door, he was greeted by her sitting so pretty at her desk busily working with her knees a foot apart and her skirt raised mid thigh, high enough for her panties to be in plain view.

"Good morning, Eustace," she said looking up at him and giving him a cheery smile without making any adjustment to her knees or to her skirt.

Never looking at her face, he stood transfixed and staring at her between her legs.

"Good morning, Susan," he said ignoring her pretty face to ogle her panty.

"How was your weekend?" Wanting to play him, she hoped to prolong their conversation and his stare.

Needing to give him a good, long look to test the waters and needing to establish a barometer by taking Jeff's advice in flashing him her panty, she needed to know how far he'd go and how far she'd have to go to get what she wanted. She needed him to try something so that, if she had to, she could quit this job and still have a reference. Who knows, maybe if she threatened to tell his wife, she'd leave there with some money in her pocketbook.

"Oh, my weekend. It was very pleasant. We bought a Christmas tree and decorated it and spent the rest of the weekend shopping for Christmas gifts," he said talking to her panty clad pussy, instead of to her.

"I'm glad things are better between you and your wife," she said.

"We decided to postpone the divorce war, until after the holiday. With the busy retail Christmas season, there's just too much work interfering with my personal life, presently. I don't have time for such foolishness."

This was the most animated she'd ever seen him. He was actually smiling. He stood by his office door with his hand still on the knob, his briefcase in his other hand, and his coat resting over his arm, while staring at her in between her legs.

"How was your weekend?"

"I had a great weekend, Eustace. Thank you for asking. I just love this time of year," she said giving him a big smile, after being able to complete a thought without having him interrupt her. Boy, he was a different man, when she flashed him her panty. "Everyone is so happy and filled with holiday spirit that I wish it was like this year round."

Finally, he looked away from her panties to look up at her pretty face. With one body part connected to the other, there was more to her as a whole person, than all the other private secretaries before her and than just her panties. He noticed her now. He was taking her all in and, in the way he was looking at her, it was obvious that he liked what he saw.

"Yes, we all could do with a little Christmas spirit during those months, when we're feeling tired and blue."

"I wanted to show you something," she said getting up, going to the file, and retrieving the sales book, his Bible.

All weekend long, she percolated the idea and she worked part of the day Saturday, when he wasn't there. Then, she came in a couple hours earlier to do some research before his arrival. Mr. Johnson loved numbers and she had been studying the sales numbers from previous years hoping to pique his interest more in her brain than in her panties. She needed him to know that even though she had great legs and a pretty panty clad pussy that she also had a big brain in her head, along with an eye for fashion, as well as a head for business.

When she sat back down, she wasn't as careful with the condition of her attire and had a wardrobe malfunction, a fashion faux pas, and her biggest panty flash, yet. She sat like a trucker getting ready to eat at a truck stop, after a full day on the road or a cowboy after riding the range all day. With her skirt nearly up to my waist, she knew that when he stood in front of her desk on the pretense of looking down at his sales book that he'd have a clear view of her exposed panties. Two can play this game and she was playing to win, she was being as wicked as he was being perverted.

"What is it you wanted to show me, Susan?"

He advanced slowly, while never removing his stare from between her legs, first he stared at her straight ahead and then, as he neared, he ogled her through the glass top of the table. He stared, ogled, and leered at her panty, instead of at his ledger. For the first time, he was more interested in her than he was in his business. For the first time, she noticed a bulge in his pants that she knew wasn't his car keys.

"Well, I've been comparing the sales statistics of certain items by department and your plus size sales have increased dramatically more than any other line. I also checked the layouts of the stores by floor size and your plus size departments are the smallest in comparison to all other areas. Even our accessory departments are bigger. I've never visited your stores, but I imagine it's the same in every store, your plus size department being the smallest area in size. Yet, when I checked the sales for each store, your sales are all up in those departments."

"Interesting," he said still not removing his eyes from her panties.

"Moreover, your plus size areas are in the back corner of the stores, away from the traffic. Lastly, even though your plus size clothes are bland, usually a lot of black, brown, and navy blue with dizzying geometric patterns or God awful oversized floral designs, I think that if you offered the same clothes you do in petite sizes, but in plus sizes, you'd see a boom to your business. Especially if you increased the size of that department and moved it more to the middle of the store, you could have the biggest year ever. Furthermore and more importantly, your plus sizes earn you more profit than any other merchandise line you sell."

Finally, he looked away from her panties to look at her numbers.

"Actually, that's a good idea," he said finally looking more closely at the ledger. A time before personal computers and Excel spreadsheets, Susan had done what his accounting department should have been doing. Instead they were just accounting for sales, instead of analyzing the numbers. "And I didn't know that about the plus size profit margins being bigger than the others. The accountants have traditionally lumped everything under one category and just called it sales. I like what you've done here, Susan by breaking it all out like this. For the first time, I have a clearer picture of what I sell. I'm surprised my managers never told me any of this." He looked at her with a big smile. "I shall call all the managers from every store in the country and we shall have a meeting that you will conduct."

"Wow! Really?"

"So, tell me, do you have a theory on why the plus size departments are hidden away and not advertised and marketed, as our other departments are," he said looking at her, instead of her panties. "I bet you do. For once I have a smart Personal Secretary."

"Well, I suspect that fashion designers discourage larger women's fashion but I think if we embraced it--"

"Yes, with all the junk foods out there and with women working full-time, women are getting bigger. I've noticed my petite sales have dropped and this would explain that," he said interrupting her, before finally staring up at her face. "How would you like to accompany to Paris in the Spring? We can give our plus size ideas directly to the fashion designers."

"Are you kidding me? I'd love to go to Paris with you," she said jumping out of her chair to give him a big hug. When he didn't hug her back, she withdrew. "Sorry," she said. "I was just so excited."

"This is a business office don't forget," he said turning away to hang his coat in the closet.

Business office my ass. It's okay for him to stare my panties. The only business he knows is monkey business.

The weeks that passed had Susan showing her panties more often and Eustace acting out more of his sexual fantasies. Then, she screwed up. She inadvertently left the sales book, his Bible out on top of the file cabinet. Even though his office door was closed and locked, the office cleaner had a key. She forgot to lock the sales journal away and he was there, bright and early, to let her know how disappointed he was in her.

"Good morning, Eustace."

"You left the sales journal out on top of the filing cabinet."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought I--"

"Go stand at my desk, put your feet shoulder width apart, bend at the waist, and put your elbows, along with your palms down flat on my desk."

The first time she heard him say that, she didn't quite understand what he wanted her to do. Then, when she understood what he wanted her to do, she couldn't believe what he wanted her to do. Yet, she was submissive enough to obey him without question. He was her boss, after all, the man who signed her weekly paycheck.

Even though her skirt was in place and he couldn't see her panty, with her ass sticking straight out in the air like that, she still felt exposed and vulnerable. She knew he was a pervert and she knew, no doubt, that he was staring at her sweet, round, firm ass. With the thought of him finally taking her, forcing her to have hot sex with him, she was excited that he was finally going to fuck her but, then, when he didn't and when he...

"Ow!" And then slapped her again, this time harder. "Oh!"

The first time he spanked her, he hit her with ten, hard wallops from his open hand. He slapped her ass hard enough through her skirt and through her panties, that when she checked herself in the ladies room, he left big, red welts. Her proof that he loved her.

She was shocked but, surprisingly, terribly excited that he cared enough about her to spank her. No one, not even her parents, had ever spanked her before. A bittersweet moment, she had no idea that a spanking could hurt and excite her, as much, at the same time.

"Do it again," she wanted to say, but didn't. "Fuck me now that I'm so hot for you, Eustace," she thought but without saying that either.

Now that this big, black man had spanked her sweet ass, she was so sexually aroused by his big, black hand on her round, white ass that she would have sucked and fucked his big, black cock right there in his office. All she could think of was having hot sex with this black man. Old enough to be her father, she had never had sex with an older man, just as she had never had sex with a black man before, but she wanted to now.

After the first spanking, his perversions quickly escalated. His new favorite thing to do was lying on his back in the middle of the office floor. The first time she saw him on his back was when she entered his office that next Monday morning. At first she thought he was dead. Then, when she saw his eyes were open and he turned his head to greet her, she was more than puzzled.

"Good morning, Susan," he said, actually giving her a wide smile. "How are you?"

Even from where he was in the middle of the office floor, and with her still at the office door, he could see up her skirt.

"Are you okay? Did you hurt your back?" She rushed over to her boss and stood over him looking down at him, while he stared beneath her skirt up at her panties. With her knees apart enough for him to see, she squatted down to give him a close up view of her panty clad pussy. From this angle, he had a view of her pussy slit. From this distance, he could smell the aroma of her perfumed powder. "Should I call someone, Eustace?"
"Call someone? No, don't be silly. I didn't hurt my back. I just realized that I needed to see women's fashion from a different angle, perhaps to give me another perspective."

"I see," she said smirking to herself and standing.

Another perspective my ass. He just wants another perspective of panty clad pussy, no doubt. He just wants to stare at my panties all day. He's such a pervert.

"Do me a favor and step over me. I want to see the inside of your skirt from down here."

"Pardon?"

"Step over me."

"Step over you? I can't do that. Eustace, I'd be totally embarrassed. You'll see up my skirt. I'd be flashing you my panties."

"Oh, really, Susan. Do you think that is my aim to stare at your panties?"

"Sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking, by saying that," she said laughing to herself.

Yes, she wanted to scream, while calling him a pervert. You've been staring at my panties, since day one. Of course that is the reason, the only reason, why you want me to step over you, while you're lying on your back, on the floor.

"I'll prove it to you that staring at your panties was not my intention."

"Prove it to me? How can you do that?" She chuckled at his never ending audacity.

"Easy. Remove your panties and step over me several times."

"Really, Eustace, just because I'm blonde, I'm not dumb. If I wasn't going to flash you my panties, why would I flash you my pussy?"

"Trust me, Susan."

"Okay," she said turning her back to him, reaching under her skirt, and pulling off her panty. Only, when she removed her panties from her ankles, they slipped from her hand and landed square on his face. "I'm sorry, Eustace. I'm so sorry."

She figured she'd get a bigger Christmas bonus for this maneuver, first for removing her panty and now for accidentally on purpose dropping her panties on his face.

"That's okay," he said sniffing them before handing them back to her. "You have a very lovely scent, Susan."

"Eww. Eustace, really, you're embarrassing me," she said holding her crumbled panties in her hand, while stepping over him again and again.

"See? I didn't even notice that you have a trim pussy. I did notice that you are a real blonde, though," he said with a laugh.

"Eustace, eww, you're incorrigible. What would your wife think, if she knew you've seen my pussy?"

"My wife? She wouldn't care, so long as I continued to pay the bills. Besides, we're done as a couple. Our marriage is over. What she doesn't know will never hurt her."

"Turn your back, please, so that I can put on my panties."

"Don't bother, Susan. Stay just the way you are, without your panties, if you don't mind." He got off the floor and stood. "Go ahead, sit at your desk, as if you're working."

She sat down with her knees parted just enough to give him the view he was so hoping to see of her exposed pussy, her blonde patch of pubic hair, and her pussy slit.

"You're turning me into quite the exhibitionist, Eustace. I've never shown myself to anyone, in the way, I've shown myself to you."

"Perhaps, you should flash yourself more often, Susan. All men are voyeurs and you have a beautiful body. It inspires me to see bits and pieces of you that I'm not supposed to see. It's because of you that I've been so productive this Christmas season. With my increased productivity and your idea regarding the plus size department, we've noticed an immediate increase in holiday sales. We're going to have a good year, Susan, and they'll be a much bigger bonus for your contribution, too."

"Thank you."

"Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Unbutton your blouse for me, please."

"Eustace, really. I can't do that. What if someone was to come in the office."

"The door is locked. Go ahead. Show me your bra. I want to see your bra."

"I don't know, this is getting out of hand, Eustace. First my panties, then my pussy, and now my bra. What's next, my tits?"

"Not quite."

"What do you mean? Not quite."

"Would you mind," he said pulling down his zipper, while looking at her, as if waiting for her approval, before pulling out his cock.

"Eustace! What are you doing?"

"It's not want I'm doing, rather it's what I'd like to do, Susan."

"What would you like to do, Eustace?"

"I'd like to masturbate, while staring at you unbuttoning your blouse, showing me your bra, and flashing me your pussy."

"You mean, you want me to watch you masturbate."

"Well, that certainly would be more enjoyable for me to have you watch me masturbate than for you to look away, while I masturbated."

"Eustace, you're making me very uncomfortable but, admittedly very excited at the same time."

"I'm a very wealthy man, Susan, and I'm very generous to those employees who give me what I want, when I want it.

Okay," she said, "so long as you're not expecting me to masturbate you or