Office Duties Box Set #1

  "Thanks, I'll make sure not to bug you to often." Sam watched her walk down the hall and into her dad's office, then she turned back to her blank computer screen. "Well, may as well try to do something, eh, Mr. Whiskers?" She stroked the cat and he mewed, which made her laugh.

  Sam killed the next hour with learning the few programs on her computer. Most were basic internal software programs like a shared appointment calendar and an address book. It was all pretty dull, and she was grateful for the furry company. Slinky was right, though, the work was boring. There really wasn't anything much to do until someone gave them an assignment.

  Sam made some use of her time as she won three out of two hundred and fifty-two solitaire games. The clock on the computer read ten minutes till five, and she thought she was safe for her first day until she heard the familiar clicking of imposing, high-heeled feet. From practice, Mr. Whiskers jumped down and slunk beneath her desk just before Mrs. Winkle made her appearance. The woman looked to be most upset with the news she brought, and for a moment Sam thought someone in the office had died. It wouldn't have been Slinky, of course. If that had happened their supervisor would've been passing around rum and dancing the tango, complete with rose.

  Mrs. Winkle looked positively livid with the message she spat out at Sam. "Mr. Davies would like to see you at once." Sam must have given her a blank look of non-recognition at the name, because her supervisor's face grew red with anger. "He's the vice-president, you dolt," she hissed. She took a deep breath and calmed down a little bit. A very little bit. "Now follow me."

  "Do I need to bring anything?" She didn't even have a pencil on her person.

  "His secretary will give you everything you'll need, now move it."

  Sam jumped to her feet and hurriedly followed the irate woman down the hall. Instead of turning right like she expected and heading for the elevators, Mrs. Winkle unlocked a blank door at the end of the hall to their left. Sam was surprised when it opened to reveal a wide staircase with a landing halfway up that forced it to double back to the floor above them. Windows on both sides of the corner area looked out onto the streets below. She'd been expecting another room like those along the rest of the hall, or maybe an emergency stairwell. Now Sam had to wonder how in the world she'd survive a fire. Her supervisor stomped up the stairs and she meekly followed. They got to the top where there was another door to unlock, and her guide stepped aside to let her pass.

  "Just speak to Mr. Smith, Mr. Davies' secretary at the end of the hall. He'll tell you what to do."

  "All right." Sam didn't feel all right about this as she peeked out beyond the door.

  Spread out before her was a long, white hallway angled oddly according to the rest of the building. The whole thing ran at a forty-five degree angle and had only a few other passages leading off at precise intervals. There were a few niches in which stood a desk with a person staring at a computer screen and busily typing away. Paintings dotted the walls between the offshoot passages, and here and there was a tall, potted plant. At the end she could see an open space that guarded a red-tinged door.

  Sam wasn't sure this was such a good idea. "Are you sure he wanted to see me and not someone else?" When there was no response, she turned around to find that Mrs. Winkle had vanished.

  Sam hurriedly leaned over the rail to look down to the lower floor, but there was no sign of her irate supervisor. Right now, probably for the only time in her working life, she wished Mrs. Winkle hadn't left her. Sam glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway with the long hallway beyond it. To her horror the entrance slowly started to close, and Sam jumped through the doorway before the door clicked closed behind her. Without turning around, Sam fumbled for the knob and was shocked to find it was locked on this end. She had no choice but to go forward if she ever wanted to go back.

  Sam took a deep breath and set her eyes firmly on the end of the hall. "Well, here goes nothing."

  Sam moved down the hall, and out of curiosity she glanced at the works of art on the wall. She shuddered when she noticed the large paintings were full of dark imagery copied from some Renaissance masters. They depicted people being tortured and forsaken by everyone in scenes terrible enough to make her feel pity for the lost souls. However, the further she moved down the more the mood changed to showing people in salvation who ascended to heaven. Sam wasn't sure whether to feel depressed or uplifted.

  A few of the people in the niches glanced up to look at Sam as she passed them, but most didn't look away from their computer screens. Some were even on headsets quietly talking, and she was glad for the noise. Otherwise this hallway would have been eerily silent. It took what felt like an eternity, but she finally made it to get to the end of the passage. The space opened up on both sides of her and Sam found a good-looking gentleman a few years older than herself seated at a large desk. He smiled at her when she stepped into the area. There were even a few small house plants and nature pictures with green, happy colors hanging on the walls to give her a breath of fresh air from the sterilized hall.

  "Good evening," he greeted her as he stood to his feet. "You must be Miss Olsen. My name is Mr. Vincent Smith." He heartily shook her hand and gestured for her to take a seat opposite his desk while he went back and rummaged through the drawers. "You'll have to excuse this strange request by Mr. Davies, he sometimes has a moment of epiphany and must get it written down."

  "A what?" He smiled, but she still felt woefully inept and stupid.

  "A sudden, brilliant thought," Mr. Smith explained. "He regularly asks that one of the secretaries downstairs come up to write down what he's thinking before he's lost it." He handed her a large clipboard, a pad of yellow paper and a pen.

  "Oh..." This was all very confusing, but he was encouraging.

  "Don't be nervous, he's perfectly amicable and won't speak too fast if you ask him to slow down."

  Even with the encouragement Sam felt like she was about to throw up when Mr. Smith opened the door and she allowed him to gently push her inside. Mr. Smith softly but quickly closed the door behind her, and the click of the latch ominously echoed in her ears. Sam looked around the elegant office in awe. Large palms dotted the corner to her far right with a beautiful view out large, tinted windows and the dark night sky. There was a black leather couch to her immediate right and a gorgeous painting of a couple reclining together in a bed on the wall to her left. In front of her was a simple seat positioned in the center of the room. A magnificent old desk stood in the center between what she assumed was her chair and the windows. Behind that desk was a high-backed black chair with the occupant turned away from her.

  "Have a seat," a young male voice requested. Sam nervously slid down into the chair in front of the desk. Now she wished she hadn't worn a skirt today, as she tried to pull the naughty thing down well over her hips.

  Sam tried to make herself comfortable, regardless of her clothes, but there was something not quite right in the room. There was something that smelled funny about this place. Literally. The room had a distinct musky smell to it, like she was in the domain of a dominant, male-only territory. It was both terrifying and somewhat exhilarating. Or it would be if she weren't in such a strange situation as this, taking notes for a man she had never before met.

  The man continued to speak without turning around. "Mr. Smith tells me you're a recent arrival to the secretary office."

  "I started this morning." She fidgeted with the notepad and she flinched when the paper crinkled between her fingers. "Sorry."

  "Don't be, it's understandable you'd be nervous. This is your first time, after all." The gentleman stood up and she was finally able to get a good look at him.

  He was about thirty years old with neat, short black hair and a pale complexion. He had unusually light blue eyes for his hair color, and had an average build and stood at just under six feet. The young man was wearing a dark black suit with a bright red tie. His smile showed off his perfect white teeth. She blushed when he looked into her eyes, and her heart
skipped a beat.

  "Is something wrong?" He was smiling, but she noticed there was a teasing look in his eye.

  "Um, no, it's nothing." Sam looked down at her pad. This was going to be a long assignment. She glanced at her watch and noticed it was five minutes till five. Maybe it wouldn't be that long if he let her leave on time.

  "As I'm sure Mr. Smith was kind enough to explain, I have these sudden urges." He paced the room and Sam dared turn her eyes up to watch him. He had a fluid movement to his motions, and though his face was turned down she still felt he was watching her. "Occasionally I need an assistant to dictate my thoughts. Do you have any experience in dictation, Miss-?"

  "Miss Olsen, and no sir, I've never done it before." It was humiliating to admit it, but he would have find out soon enough.

  "Well, that's all right. I don't speak very quickly, anyway." The seconds dragged into eternity for Sam as her employer began to pace around her chair. She felt like she was slowly being stalked by a dangerous animal. "Let's begin, shall we?"

  "Y-yes, sir." She strapped the notepad onto the clipboard and held her pen at the ready.

  Mr. Davies began by telling her his ideas about current management issues. The fare was relatively boring and he didn't use large, exotic words to explain his thoughts. Unfortunately Sam still found herself distracted enough to fall behind. It was also getting warmer in the room, and she kept pulling on her blouse collar to get some air.

  Mr. Davies stopped his pacing and glanced down at her. "Does the window need to be opened?" he kindly asked.

  Sam flinched down into her chair. She wished she could become one with it and vanish from this room. "N-no, it's fine. I'll be fine."

  He nodded and continued his talking and pacing, but she knew things weren't fine. She tried to fan herself with her hand, but she didn't have time between his pauses for even a breather. Her blouse was getting uncomfortably tight and she squirmed in her chair. The musky smell grew stronger with each passing moment. It was overriding all her other senses as her hands began to shake. She dropped her pencil several times.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" he questioned again.

  "I'll be fine." She looked down at her watch. Sam was horrified to find it had only been three minutes, but that meant there was only two minutes left. Surely she could last that long.

  "Oh, and would you mind staying a bit longer for this dictation?" Sam's breath caught in her throat. "You can of course get overtime, but this may last until five-thirty."

  "O-of course, sir." Anything to please the boss as she sat there aching with heat.

  "Good, now where was I?"

  Sam looked down at her notes. "You were talking about with the, um, the slow shipments." She could barely make out her own handwriting. Sam hoped she'd be the one to decipher this mess for the computer later.

  "Ah, yes, about the slow shipments."

  With over thirty minutes left Sam's concentration took a nose dive. She found her mind filling with a strange haze and the words on the pad blurred. Her hands began to sweat as she shifted in her seat. She groaned when her underwear brushed against her sensitive area.

  "Pardon?" Sam froze, and when she lifted her head she found her employer was staring at her.

  "Um, sorry, just, um, just holding the pencil too tight." She held it up and tried a shaky smile. He raised an eyebrow but continued on with his speech.

  Sam bit her lip and wondered what was wrong with her. The heat in her body was pulsing and focusing in her most sensitive parts. It made her feel both uncomfortable and sensual, and she strained against her tight blouse and skirt. Her clothing wasn't fitting as well as this morning, and she looked down at her chest to see it glistening with sweat. Her breasts pushed up against her shirt and bra for more room than they could give. She reached up and cupped the tender mound of flesh, and she ground her teeth to hide another deep, needy groan. She didn't know what was going on, but it felt really good.

  "Are you writing this all down?" Mr. Davies snapped her out of her sensual trance. She found she was breathing hard and the pencil had dropped to the floor again.

  "I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Davies." She slid down for the tool and her skirt rode up to her thighs. With a yelp she grabbed the pencil and straightened back up. Mr. Davies, her boss, stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, unamused by her antics. "I'm ready to continue now."

  He looked at her for a long moment, and Sam noticed that twinkle in his eyes was still there. "We'll do this for another few minutes and stop there."

  Sam nodded and put the clipboard back in her lap. She reached down to adjust her skirt and her swollen breasts brushed up against the clipboard. A faint gasp escaped her lips when they pressed against the firm metal and paper pad. She wanted to press up against it again and again, but she quickly sat at attention. She was still in her boss' office and she still had a job to do, regardless of how she was feeling.

  And she was feeling pretty good.

  Sam hardly noticed her skirt was slowly riding up higher and higher, and instead she tried to keep up with the sound of Davies' voice. It melodiously moved up and down as each of her breaths followed suit. She was thrilled when he became more animated and her pulse quickened only to drop back down. She felt he was teasing her as her breasts pushed against her restraining bra and shirt. She did notice, though, when her shirt buttons began to pop off.

  First it was one little one in the middle where the tension was the greatest. It strained against her swollen flesh for a few moments before the strings snapped and it fell into her lap. Sam's mouth fell open. She reached down, picked up the button and brought it to eye-level.

  "Is there another problem, Miss Olsen?" Mr. Davies asked her. Sam quickly hid the button in her hand, and shook her head. If she pulled down the clipboard he'd definitely see two problems she had. "We're just about through, then you can go home."

  He turned away and rummaged through his desk for something as he talked, but Sam gave up listening to him. Her head was swooning so much from the musky perfume in the room that she could hardly focus on holding up the clipboard. Her large, aching breasts still pushed against her shirt, and she felt another button loosen with the tension. Her hips squirmed in the chair and her skirt rode up nearly far enough to show off her white, soaked panties.

  Something was definitely wrong here, and yet it felt so right. Her body was awash in sweet, sensual sweat. She slowly slid her hand across the valley of her breasts. They were so tight together she couldn't have fit a penny between them. She closed her eyes and tried hard not to groan with each breath she took and each impatient squirm she made in her chair.

  Then she heard the door lock behind her. Sam opened her eyes and saw Mr. Davies drop the key into his pants pocket. He smiled at her as the secretary out in the hall shut off his lights for closing time. It was five o'clock.

  "Are we done?" Her voice was a sultry whisper. She ran her tongue over her lips and shuddered.

  "Not yet. We have the hard work to do now." She was confused by his strange smile. She wasn't sure she trusted it. There was something almost animalistic about that grin.

  Sam stood to leave, but before she could move away from the chair he quickly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her waist. She gasped when his mouth brushed passed her ear and his breath whispered against her neck. "You're lovely, do you know that?"

  Sam shivered at the seductive tone in his voice. There was a strain in its depths. He wanted her, and right now she needed something really bad. There was a problem, though, and she couldn't let it go.

  "S-sir, I-I have to leave," she pleaded. She tried to pull away but his grip didn't loosen. Instead one of his hands reached down and brushed against the inside of her thigh. She gasped and her legs quivered, but she bit her tongue. "Sir, we can't." She was almost breathless. His smell was like that of the room, but stronger. It was like he was exuding some scent to attract her to him.

  "Yes, we can," he whispered into her ear. His roving hand slid up
to tease the sides of her panties. "And I know you want to."

  Another button on her shirt bounced off hit him in the chest. He pulled away and gave them a few inches between their bodies, and the distraction allowed her to slip out of his reach. She covered her glistening breasts with the clipboard and backed up until her tight ass hit the desk. Her eyes flitted over to the locked door, as there was no other exit accept for another mystery door to her far left. With such odds against her she couldn't help but try to reason her way out of this mess.

  "S-sir, please. Company policy forbids relationships between supervisors and other employees." It was a good idea to avoid such such glaring favoritism, but in this case it was failing. Davies only smiled as he put his hands on the back of the chair in which she'd sat and leaned over it toward her.

  "But I make the rules," he smoothly replied.

  Davies moved around the chair and Sam threw the clipboard at him before she dodged around him. She hit the door and fumbled for the knob only to find it locked tight. She banged on the glass but no one was there. They'd all gone home. They'd left her alone with this crazed animal.

  Her employer slid up behind her and pinned her arms to her side. Her breasts pressed up against the cool glass. She couldn't stop the groan that slipped from her wet lips. He pushed up against her back and she could feel his manhood rub against the thin cloth of her skirt. She bit her lip when he leaned in and planted soft kisses against her neck. His musky scent was overpowering her senses. Her head swam and her breathing came out in quick, short gasps. Her breasts ached for his touch as her legs rubbed up against the door.

  "I know you're ready," he gently spoke as he caught a scent of her hair.

  Sam closed her eyes and shuddered. "Please, we can't."