The Assistant

It was last August, and the day could not have started worse. I was running on four hours of sleep; I had a massively important meeting in New York the next day that I still needed to prepare for, and my assistant quit by text message, TEXT MESSAGE! I couldn’t believe I had lost another assistant! It was the fourth assistant that year alone. Seriously, what has become of the American work ethic? I would never have made partner at 33 behaving like that! I have worked 12-hour days since college, all while pulling a 3.96 GPA and maintaining a rigorous Pilates routine, but these slugs today can’t make it to lunchtime without needing a holiday!

Thankfully HR informed me that they were sending a highly qualified replacement assistant that morning. As is my style, I selected a power suit to set the tone at first glance. I don’t have time or energy to play Tippie-toe around the playground. I slipped on a fitted knee-length pencil skirt with a kick-pleat just above the calf. I paired it with a white button-up silk blouse, a red waist-high one-button blazer, and a pair of black Christian Louboutin power heels and prayed I could get assistant number five up to speed enough to be helpful in New York.

I arrived at the office with just enough time to make a few calls before my future ex-assistant arrived. I took a moment to meditate the tension out of my forehead when my desk phone rang.

“Good morning, Blake; it’s Monica. Jamie Fielding is here to see you,” the receptionist announced.

“Thank you, Monica, please send her in,” I sighed. “Here we go again,” I thought. I sat back in my chair, folded my hands in my lap, squared off my shoulders, and crossed my right leg over my left. I was going to show this girl no mercy!

The door opened, Monica entered, stepped aside, and showed a tall, well-dressed man into the office.

“Jamie Fielding, Blake Alexander,” she introduced, gesturing awkwardly.

It took me a moment to recover from the mini-stroke I had just suffered due to my spiking blood pressure. Jesus, I was expecting another fresh-faced Stanford princess with a pedigree and entitlement issues, but instead, I’m staring into the chest of a refugee from this month’s Versace catalog. I shook my head in disbelief, gathered my wits, smiled, and shook his hand. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please have a seat; we’ve got a lot of work!

We met for a couple of hours, discussing his education, experience, and goals. I delivered my standard speech on expectations, doing my best not to get caught staring at his chest. Lord Jesus, he was wearing a European-cut white dress shirt that clung to every single ripple. With every breath, it tightened even more over his rock-hard abs. I found myself occasionally drifting, fantasizing about ripping off each button and ravaging that hard body.

“I’ll email you the specs for the client meeting in New York tomorrow. Please spend the rest of the day immersing yourself in the information. Study this client and our proposal forensically. We can discuss any questions you might have on the plane tomorrow.

I returned home at about 7:00 pm and started a shower as if it would wash these filthy thoughts of Jamie out of my head. “What is wrong with me,” I protested to myself. “What am I, some giggly college co-ed with a crush? I am all business! ALL BUSINESS!” I reminded myself.

The warm water ran down my back, easing away the day’s tensions. I closed my eyes and let the water run over my head and down my face. The warmth felt so good; I could have stayed there for hours. Jamie was back in my mind. I imagined him behind me, his chest pushed against my back, running his hands across my breasts, then down to my now aching pussy. His fingers gently caressed my clit; I thought my knees would give way to the pleasure.

The next day I met Jamie at departure gate 15 at LAX. He smiled that criminally charming smile and handed me a black coffee. I found it difficult to look him in the eye after our imaginary shower tryst. We boarded the plane. First-class, and took our seats, 3C and 3D. I require the aisle seat as the window seat triggers my claustrophobia.

“Were you able to familiarize yourself with the client and the proposal?” I asked, trying desperately to get into work mode.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Lancaster Steel. Fourth largest steel manufacturer in North America. With business holdings in New York, Berlin, Tokyo, and South America. Have been with Sachs for 18 years but open to diversification. The goal is to capture their domestic portfolio, then expand into their international sectors within 3-5 years. I don’t expect it to be easy, but I think together we can make it happen.” He said with a wink.

Anyone else, I’d have laid into with both fists for winking at me, but there was something about him that made it acceptable, complimentary even.

The meeting went far better than planned. Jamie was a natural. He made me look excellent! He was the drummer to my lead vocals, adding just the right crescendo at just the right time. This boy had done his homework. After the meeting, I was riding a massive adrenaline high and needed a serious workout, but I didn’t want to be rude to Jamie, so I suggested we grab a drink.

We went into a small local bar. It was just before 2:30 pm, so the bar was pretty much ours. I felt like a gushing teenager, rambling on and on about how well the meeting went and how great Jamie did. I knocked back two quick Hennessey shots to level off, then settled into an extra dry Stoli Elit martini. Jamie was playing it cool, slow sipping a Guinness. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs. I caught Jamie glancing at my thigh but pretended not to notice. I admit to playing it up, stealthy sliding my skirt slightly higher when he wasn’t looking.

The air grew thick with tension that both of us struggled to dismiss. The heavier it got, the more we laughed, like a pressure cooker releasing steam. We laughed at how I thought Jamie Fielding was a girl. We shared embarrassing college stories and past relationship failures. I admitted to dating quite a bit, stopping short of getting serious. However, I can’t be sure if it’s because I’m already married to my job, or I am the kind of girl who refuses to relinquish control of anything, possibly both. The check arrived, and we both reached for it simultaneously, his palm spooning the back of my hand. Electricity shot through my body, setting every nerve ablaze. I felt my face flush and audibly gasped, sliding my hand out with the check in my grasp.

“This is a business expense,” I said, trying to hide my breathlessness. “I’ll expense it,”

“Sounds good, boss lady,” he giggled.

“Do not EVER call me boss lady again,” I blurted out, whirling an emotional 180.

“Oh, I, I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you, I just meant…”

“Listen, men aren’t called ‘Boss Man,’ so when someone calls a woman ‘Boss Lady,’ it seems to suggest something unusual, cutesy even. I work my ass off; I’m not a boss lady, I’m a boss, YOUR BOSS!”

“Again, I am so sorry,” he pleaded. “It will never happen again.”

We left the bar and shared a cab to the hotel. The sexual tension that had burned us both alive from the inside out just moments ago was an entirely different sort of tension. I directed my attention to my phone, scanning emails, while Jamie stared ahead as if wondering how the levee had burst so suddenly without warning.

Back at the hotel, we went our separate ways without a word. I went to my room and started the shower. I tied my hair up in a messy knot on the top of my head, undressed, and stepped inside the large, luxurious shower. As the water washed over me, I replayed the events in my head.

“Boss Lady, what the…?” I thought to myself. “Is anything more insulting?”

Feeling more relaxed, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my wet body in the plush, white hotel robe. I was headed toward the closet when a knock came on the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Jamie, with a puppy dog face, a pizza box, and a bottle of red wine. I was so relieved to see him that I forgot I was half-naked.

“Well, if this is how you apologize,” I teased, “I accept!” I opened the door and let him in. His eyes glanced at my damp robe for a millisecond before he tensed up and beelined for the coffee table, setting the pizza down. I went to the mini-bar and retrieved a wine key and two glasses. He opened the wine, a five-year-old Sonoma Merlot.

“This is the best I could get at the hotel mini-market,” he explained, handing me a glass.

I could see he was struggling with my wardrobe selection, and I thought I’d have a little fun with him. I leaned back on the couch and crossed my legs. The loose terrycloth belt released a little, revealing dangerous amounts of cleavage, teetering precariously on nipple peek. The rising bulge in his pants confirmed he was taking in the scenery.

“Sorry for the casual attire,” I mused playfully. “You caught me getting out of the shower.” I released the bun and let my raven black hair fall where it may. I now had his full, undivided attention.

“Would you prefer I change into something a little more appropriate?” I asked, staring him straight in the eye.

“I actually feel a little over-dressed,” he replied. And just like that, the inferno burst back to life with the intensity of five suns!

“The dress code here is relaxed, so please do what makes you comfortable,’ I quipped. He paused a moment, then kicked off his black loafers and untucked his crisp white dress shirt, cautiously watching my face for boundaries. I slowly leaned over and unbuttoned his shirt, one…button…after…another, until that magnificent chest I had fantasized about since our first meeting was fully exposed.

“There, that’s better,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “Much, much better!”

The agony I had been feeling all afternoon finally gave way, and I threw aside my robe and straddled his lap. I could feel his excitement rising beneath me. I gently pushed him back against the couch, exploring his firm, ultra-fit chest with my eyes and hands, pushing my hips deep into his lap. He wrapped his hands around my ass and pulled it even tighter. I arched in pleasure. Every neuron in my body sizzled. He gently reached behind my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. I melted in his arms as he laid me back on the couch. His lips were soft and wet as they moved from my lips down my neck to my breasts, taking my breath. I gasped as if I were drowning in his arms. He continued his descent until he reached my dripping pussy.

“Juicy!” he said, with his mouth full of me.

I was in blissful misery as his tongue wandered amongst my most intimate anatomy, knowing me in ways I didn’t even know myself, showing me places I never knew existed. I tried to speak but could only cry out in ecstasy. I was about to explode; it was almost painful. I instinctively tried pushing him away; he paused for a second, looked into my eyes, checked for permission, and then pulled my hips tight to his mouth. I threw myself back on the couch in pure surrender, and he brought me through wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure. I clenched his head between my thighs and cried out again, losing complete control of my body.

I pulled him up for another kiss. I could taste my sweet, sticky juices on his face. We were so close that we shared the same breath of air for a moment. His cock was nudging hard against my inner thigh. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my dripping wet pussy around his hard cock. I screamed out again, still tingling from my orgasm seconds earlier. He started tenderly stroking himself in and out, gently holding his hand behind my neck. Then, he grabbed the back of my hair and thrust himself into me like a bucking horse. The surprise caught me off guard for an instant, but before long, I was matching his rhythm stroke by stroke, thrust by thrust, before reaching climax again, this time even stronger than before.

I slid off him and put his hot, hard, dripping cock into my mouth. The tasty cocktail of our mixed flavors was a delight on my tongue, taking my turn-on to an unprecedented new level. Jamie was writhing beneath me so violently that I almost had to chase his cock to keep it in my mouth. I grabbed his hips to restrain him while I continued enjoying myself. Suddenly, Jamie stopped and laid perfectly still, yet his body was as rigid as a two-by-four. Then, with a guttural moan, Jamie let go of his sweet juice into my mouth. I gobbled up every decadent drop, licking up the overflow running down his shaft, onto his balls, and into his ass crack.

We both collapsed, entangled in a naked mass of arms and legs, perched precariously on a couch far too small for such activities. A cold pizza lay untouched on the coffee table. I turned around and laid my hips between his legs, resting my cheek on his chest. Jamie reached over, grabbed a glass of wine, and offered me a sip. I glanced at the clock and realized more than two hours had passed since Jamie’s arrival.

“Well, so much for my shower! I guess I need to take another one…ALONE,” I said, laughing out loud and pushing myself up from him.

“I know a hint when I hear one,” Jamie said, reaching for his pants. “Thanks for an incredible evening!”

The following day, we met again with our client for the closing meeting before catching our plane home. We answered some questions, and once again, Jamie was on point. I struggled to get this silly grin off my face but to no avail. I could still taste him on my lips. I did my best to stay focused. The client informed me that he was impressed with our presentation, the knowledge, and the team’s experience level and found our terms competitive.

“Ms. Alexander,” the client said, outreaching his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting with you. It’s refreshing to meet with someone so friendly and personable, unlike the dull, over-starched, business-as-usual types that make me feel so uncomfortable,” he said with a smile. “I look forward to doing business with you.”

We shook his hand, traded business cards, and left for the airport.

It was last October. I again found myself in need of an assistant. It wasn’t that Jamie hadn’t worked out, nor had he quit, but business protocol prohibited my sexy-ass fiancée from being my assistant. Who would have thought it would be my assistant who would loosen me up! Great sex will do that to you!