I knew I wanted her from the instant I saw her. And I knew I wanted to be hers from the moment we touched. When she shook my hand– one brisk, strong handclasp and release. But it almost made me giggle.

No matter what I did, no matter how forward and downright vulgar I was, she never took the bait. I was recruited and hired by the human resources of her company as her personal assistant. And while she had told me they consulted her on job description and purview, I didn’t meet her until I’d already been hired. 

Of course, I remained professional– I was, and always had been, good at this type of work. But it didn’t stop me from flirting and attempting to seduce and convince her. If she said ‘thank you’ for one particular thing, I never failed to do it again at every opportunity. I’d watch her eyebrow quirk approvingly over shoes, or how I handled a process or fixed a problem and would continue on with that unfailingly. 

Nor could I stop myself from being practically obscene. Bending obviously in front of her, fawning over her, giving compliments she could neither respond to nor reciprocate. Touching her when it was neither necessary nor wise. Showing up early, staying late, doing tasks and chores she hadn’t asked me to do. Bringing her tea, homemade lunches, even purchasing her signature lip color when I saw it was near to bottoming out when she was reapplying one day.

But she never bit. Never mentioned anything physically about myself, never returned touch, never said anything or acted in any way as unsavory as I was.

It wasn’t until I was promoted, and out of her department that she said anything at all. And it was entirely innocuous, but for me, who’d been daydreaming about even a single crumb from her, it was reason to let my fantasies spin out of control.

 “I’d like to take you out for dinner, to congratulate you,” she said as I was picking up her desk in my last few days working for her.

Of course, I had wanted the promotion, but I was nearly heartbroken I wouldn’t be seeing her everyday. My heart leapt irrepressibly at the offer. It didn’t mean anything, and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so excited. She did this often enough with our colleagues and there was no reason to read anything into it.

And yet…

“Yes ma’am, I’d enjoy that,” I said.

I’d called her ma’am from the first and she never corrected me. She was Ms. Byrd around the office to everyone. And while everyone just called me Bea she always called me Miss Tremblay. 

“I’ll pick you up at eight on Friday, then,” she said.

Dinner was thrilling– not for any particular reason. We mostly just discussed work. The building we were in, the different department heads, the commute, the frequently broken elevator. But it was thrilling because I was with her. And she was so impossibly lovely. She was always elegant and beautifully dressed. I had a tendency to girlishness that she didn’t have. Always in beautifully tailored clothes. Usually wide-legged or flared pants that were gorgeous on her slim, long frame. That sort of thing made me look stumpy and boyish. I was curvy and looked best in an a-line skirt. In fact, I didn’t own a pair of pants at this point. 

But she’d dressed down a little for dinner. Still in black slacks, high-waisted. But a silk sleeveless blouse casually french-tucked. She never went sleeveless in the office and usually wore a blazer. She had one pair of small silver hoops she’d wear that would dizzy me sometimes. Picturing curling my tongue around them. Or even getting to just be her earrings; warmed by her skin and dangling right at that vulnerable spot high up on her throat. But no other jewelry. Strong, lovely hands. Her veins almost prominent, fingers long and powerful looking. Nothing at all like my silly soft white hands, always in red nail polish. 

And we got to sit close at a round, high-top cocktail table. She found out what I wanted and ordered for me. They just did small plates here, and she nodded in that singular downward jerk of approval when all I ordered was iced tea instead of a cocktail.

 We shared all our food, and I watched her slowly sip bourbon with branch water and a glass of ice water with a slice of lemon. Handing me things to eat. Rotating the plate so the things I was enjoying were closer to my hand. God, she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Never leaving a smudge of lipstick on a glass like I would. Just plush mouth, lush lips, needing no paint like my stupid Kewpie doll face. 

I sighed, leaning on my elbow, staring at her. She raised a dark eyebrow delicately at me, taking another sip of her drink.

“I’m going to miss working for you,” I said.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” she said, shrugging gracefully.

“It won’t be the same, ma’am. I’ll miss working directly for you,” I said.

“I suppose I can admit I’ll miss having you around,” she said lackadaisically, reviewing what remained on the table. Picking up one of the peaches that had been grilled in herbs that I had eaten nearly all of. Holding it out to me. 

I decided to shoot my shot– the worst that could happen was that she would fire me for it– though I doubted it. And I’d kick myself all night if I didn’t do something. I was going crazy for want of her. 

So I leaned further forward across the table, making sure my tits were propped and heaving on the table-top and took the peach from her fingers with my teeth. Pushing it to one side of my mouth and lapping at the ends of her fingers with the pointed tip of my tongue to remove the glaze the peach had left. 

She smirked, exhaling some sound of surprised amusement, and leaned backwards. Crossing her arms over her chest and staring at me down her nose, eyelids lowered and dangerous looking. I sat back myself, careful to do so in such a way that my tits bounced, keeping them framed in my upper arms. 

“Bold little slut,” she said calmly, as if she hadn’t just cursed. She’d never used any sort of language with me, certainly not like that. I was surprised, but that was swept away pretty quickly by excitement– a flaring sense of possibility.

“Yes,” I agreed. “At this point, boldness seems to be the only way to spur you into any action.” 

“What action do you require of me?” she asked.

“Any action with me would be very welcome indeed, ma’am,” I said.

“Was dinner not enough?” she asked mildly.

“Dinner has been wonderful,” I said. “But I could have… Oh, so much more from you. Getting ‘more’ from you is the only thing I’ve thought about since we met.” 

“Oh?” she asked, eyebrows up again, arms uncrossed and leaning closer to me.

“Yes,” I said.

“I mean ‘oh’ as in ‘elaborate and clarify,’ you silly little slut,” she said.

I wriggled happily in my seat that she was still playing along and then went still and serious. Any rowdiness or giddiness would be anathema to her. 

“I like being your employee, ma’am,” I said. “I like it when you tell me what to do, and I like when I please you by what I’m doing. So I think about doing… All sorts of things for you.”

“Mhm,” she said archly, leaning even closer, tipping her ear toward me almost. “What sorts of things? Go ahead and tell me. We can pretend like you’ve over-indulged in cocktails if you’re feeling shy. I promise I won’t drag you into human resources on Monday.” 

“I suppose I picture being your slut,” I said, shrugging in what I hoped was a throwaway, flirty move even though I was privately ecstatic. “Being told exactly what to do and how to do it. The expectation of total obedience. Not even your employee but just a… thing you use.” 

“Do you expect any enjoyment from that kind of treatment?” she asked.

“Well, I’d enjoy it a lot, yes,” I said, a little confused.

“Let me be crass,” she said, sighing. “Do you expect to come with me?”

“That would be entirely up to you, ma’am,” I said. “If that’s part of how you use me… well, how lovely for me. And if it isn’t… Oh well, I live only to please.”

“Mhm,” she said again. Shaking her empty glass at me. I sprung up from my chair, taking it back up to the bar and getting her more bourbon.  Glad that she herself was indulging in alcohol. Not that I wanted her to make any decisions she’d regret the next day! But simply because maybe she’d be less guarded, more impulsive if she were… lubricated thusly.

She was scrolling through her phone when I returned, leaving her glass at her elbow and taking my seat again. Crossing my ankles, folding my hands in my lap waiting for her attention to return. She took a sip of bourbon, a sip of water, a sip of bourbon before looking up.

“We have the bank holiday next weekend, don’t we?” she asked.

“Mmm… Yes,” I said finally, desperately trying to picture a calendar in my head.

“The office will be closed Saturday through Monday,” she said, as if trying to prod along an obtuse student toward an obvious answer.

“Mmm… Yes,” I repeated stupidly.

“What size dress do you wear?” she asked. And the question was so left-field and unexpected my mind seized like a worn-in machine. 

“Um… Uh… Ten?” I said, feeling stupider by the second.

“Shoe size?” she asked.

“Pumps or flats?” I asked back.

“Pumps,” she said, scornfully, as if there were no other possible answer. 

“Seven.”

“Mhmm.” This whole time she was still tapping away on her phone.

“Ma’am?” I asked hesitantly after about two minutes of her tippity-tapping and sipping bourbon without looking up at me.

“Well, I suppose we’ll put the bank holiday to use, won’t we?” she said, raising her eyes up to mine, at least.

“We will?” I squeaked.

“Yes,” she said. “You’ll leave work with me Friday evening, and you’ll be mine until Monday evening. See how you like being used.” 

“Yes, please!” I gasped, clasping my hands together. Beyond my wildest expectations, terrified that she’d start laughing and hand me my walking papers at any minute.

“Well, go off,” she said, waving airily at me. And then stopping her gesture, holding a hand up to stop me. I halted. “I’m sending you something to fill out and return to me, tonight, no later. Now you can leave.”

I wanted more time but understood and accepted my dismissal. Gathering my purse hurriedly, pulling out my wallet. She rolled her eyes, scoffing and snapped at me until I put my wallet back into my purse.

“I’ll come collect you on Friday,” she said, head back down in her phone, waving toward the front door of the restaurant.

“Mhmm!” I squeaked again and made my ungraceful exit.