Get Stuffed

His pants are already undone, and I'm close to coming again when he slides into me.

"Alyssa?"

I jump in my chair. Charles is standing at the door. I place a hand on my chest--my heart is pounding. "Mr. Saxon, I'm sorry. I must not have heard you call." I minimize the website on my computer, trying not to think about the close call.

"I didn't call, I needed to bring you this." He hands me a flash drive. "I was hoping I could ask you to run an errand. I know it's not the norm."

I smile at him, relieved that he didn't notice that my absentmindedness was anything more than that. "Of course, what do you need?"

"The investors from Heely International need to move their meeting to early tomorrow. I need the presentation boards for the hotel done over night. There's a shop near my apartment that will do it for me, and I can pick them up in the morning. I have a call now, so I can't take them myself."

"Sure thing.” I nod. "You have all the specifications?"

He scribbles down the address on one of my post its. "I'll send you an email with everything while you're on the way. Take a cab and we'll reimburse you." I look at the address and see that it's across town.

"Tell them I sent you,” Charles says as I'm grabbing my bag and the sticky with the address. "Oh, and Alyssa? Take the cab home when you're finished. It's close enough to the end of the day. Thanks for doing this."

I laugh. "It's not a problem. Really. I'll see you tomorrow."

4

Charles

Investors are a pain in my ass. So is Robert Jenkins. So, it seems, is everyone else in the world today. Except Alyssa. She is always lovely no matter what she's doing. I make a mental note to send her a gift for doing the job of a messenger. But those presentation materials are too important to trust to a messenger. If everything goes well tomorrow, we might have our first international hotel.

I think about the bottle of wine I'd been saving for just this milestone. Hopefully in the near future I'll get to drink it. Maybe, eventually, I'll get Alyssa to toast with me.

There she was again. No matter what I did this week she was never far from my thoughts. I had given in to my fantasy about her more than once the night of the party. While I was showering, while I was in bed...

Every time I asked her to do something in the office I thought about what it might be like for me to tell her to do something else. I imagined her choosing to obey my every word. The results of that thought were luckily hidden by my desk. I'd had to sit more than usual this week, given the fact that I got hard at the mere sight of her now.

But she wanted professionalism. She was flushed earlier when I had spoken to her, almost like she was embarrassed. The darker corner of my mind said it could be a different kind of flush. Something a little more provocative.

Which was ridiculous.

Wasn't it?

I had seen her close something on her computer before I gave her the flash drive. The thought pops into my head before I can stop it--she's gone for the day. I sent her home. I shouldn't look. I should not look.

I'm not sure why I'm moving towards the door, but it seems my body has already made the decision for me. The rational part of me knows that this is a breach of privacy. However, the rational part of me is also aware that it is not currently the one in control.

I take a look around the floor to make sure no one is heading in my direction. The rational part of me agrees that I shouldn't get caught looking at something risqué on my assistant's computer. If there is anything risqué.

I move the mouse and the screen pops up to her desktop. Along the bottom, there is a single tab. Knowing it's the stupidest thing I've ever done--and that includes ice dancing lessons--I click on it. The page is a deep burgundy, and the top is decorated in gold scrolling lettering 'Tantalize'. Then, in smaller letters, 'Where fantasies come to life.'

On the screen is an open writing box, and it looks unfinished. I scroll back and read the beginning. I think my jaw drops open, but I'm not entirely sure because as far as I'm aware there's no blood in my head any more. I expected something dirty, but I didn't expect her to be writing it. And I didn't expect it to be...this. This is everything I had wanted.

A burst of desire rolls through me, and I grip the edge of the desk. I look at the screen name. AlysInWonderland. Before anyone can see I black out the screen and go back into my office, and just like the first line of her story said, I lock the door.

I quickly pull up the website on my phone and search for her name. Half a dozen stories pop up. I click on the first one and skim through it. He tells me to kneel down, and so I do, a thrill going through me at the thought of being at his command. I go back and click the next one. "Touch yourself," he says, "I'm going to watch, and then you're going to watch me." And the next. I place my hands on the desk and wait for him to lift my skirt and take me. I'm prepared to wait. He likes to take his time.

It's completely impossible to ignore the fact that my dick is, if possible, the hardest I've been in my life. Every one of these stories is a power play between a secretary and her boss. He gives a command, she does it without question. Alyssa...and me.

I sit in my office and think about nothing. About cacti and baseball and prunes and anything and everything to get my dick under control before I leave. Because I'm going home. My fantasies be damned. Tonight I'm going to read hers. And tomorrow I'm going to see how professional she really wants it to be.

5

Alyssa

Whoever would have though that Thursday traffic is the worst of the week? It seems to be that way here, or at least it was this week and last week. Maybe everyone is over eager to get to work because more than half of the week is over? I don't know. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that I am fifteen minutes late.

I hate being late.

I hustle through the lobby and of course today is the day that the elevators take forever. Why is everything against me today? I bolt out of the elevators and try to sprint-while-walking as much as I can. Charles' office is all the way in the back corner of the building. It's the perfect office for a CEO, it's a nightmare for a late employee.

An employee whose boss isn't even in yet.

I bite my lip in an effort to contain my frustration. I put myself through all that, and he's not even here. Of course he's not, he's meeting his Heely International at the hotel downtown. So, it turns out I'm a total airhead after all. My mother was right.

I flop down at my desk, thoroughly annoyed that I put myself through all that anxiety for nothing. Even if he had been here, Charles hasn't given me any reason to believe he'd be angry about it. He's been a great boss so far, unlike my last one who could never let the small things go. There's a message blinking on my phone, and I dial my voicemail while tapping my mouse to wake up my computer.

I completely fail to hear whatever the message says, because Tantalize is still on my screen. Oh. My. God.

The message can wait. I could have sworn that I closed this. Maybe I didn't. Did I remember to turn off the screen before I left yesterday? Did someone see? Did Charles see?

Heat rises to my cheeks and my heart picks up it's pace.

No. It's fine. I'm sure the screensaver kicked on a few minutes after I left. No one would have a reason to look on my computer while I'm not here. I look at Tantalize's oversized and brazen logo and mentally curse it out using every swear word I know. If someone had seen there wouldn't be any doubt what I had been doing. While at work.

I'm going to get fired.

I save the story to my profile to be finished later (Even if I get fired that story could come in handy later), and close the window. No more fantasies at work. It can't happen. The water in my bottle in my small fridge gets drained immediately and I have to go to the kitchen for more. Why is it suddenly so hot in this building?

I seriously need to calm down. Someone should slap me like they do to all those women having hysterics in movies. But would that really help?

I don't know, but

the water does. I go back to my desk, and listen to the message again. It's from accounting. They need to speak to him when he comes in today. I make a note.

I call Mr. Jenkins' office and leave a message--it's still early in Seattle. Then I throw myself into my work. I will not think about what might have happened. I will not fantasize about my boss. I will not think about sex at all. From now on I'm a puritanical virgin. I am a nun. Yep.

I will not think about it.

Dammit. This is hard. No pun intended.

By the time Charles makes it into the office a little before noon I've gotten a hold on myself. Mostly. I had a couple of moments where I allowed myself to think about how bad it would be if someone caught me writing porn at work, but I was mostly okay.

I get a jolt of adrenaline when I see him coming down the hall, and I grab his messages. "Good morning, Mr. Saxon. How did the presentation go?" See? You sound fine. Totally professional. Cool.

He smiles. "Well, I think. I'm hoping to hear from them either today or tomorrow. If they call, put them straight through."

"I will. You have a couple of messages--accounting would like to speak with you, and the manager of the D.C. hotel called about the renovations to their ballroom." He takes the slips from me. "Oh, and I'm still waiting to hear back from Mr. Jenkins about that call."