I make a note to give him a call Monday.
Another email asks for a quick call to review numbers from the Frankfurt office. While the German employees go home on the weekends, my American employees do not. After confirming on the internal chat program that the VP is free, I hop on a video call, fully in work mode.
It’s difficult to concentrate, though, when Mandy pads in barefoot, wearing just a thin T-shirt with no bra, her soft tits and hard nipples outlined under the shirt.
The VP hesitates when he sees my eyes wander.
“Yes,” I say sharply. “I agree that we do need to section off funds for a contingency in case the EU rules against the new dairy regulation. I would do a thirty-five-sixty-five split, not thirty-seventy.”
Mandy’s on my couch now, sitting cross-legged, fussing with her laptop and moving the pillows around.
When others see I’m online, I get more requests for calls—people wanting my decision on the value of certain development projects, needing me to sit in on meetings with high-value clients to smooth feathers and offer reassurances.
Mandy’s draped the blanket from the back of the leather couch around her, settling in the seat. She sips a glass of wine while she works on her laptop. Emails come in from her as she drafts responses for me on some of the more mundane requests.
I end my last call. There’s a lull before the calls from the Asia office start picking up.
“Take that off,” I say.
“This is my work-at-home attire,” she protests. “Unlike you, I don’t want to sit in my nice clothes all day. And okay,” she adds defensively, “none of my clothes are as nice as what you’re wearing, but I like to be comfortable. Do you ever wear anything other than a suit?”
“You saw me in workout clothes this morning.”
“Yeah, to work out, but like, when you go anywhere? You even slept in your suit.”
“NowthatI normally do not do.” I loosen my tie.
The cover hides her delicious curves. “I want you to take off that blanket.”
“It’s cold.”
I stand up, go to the gas fireplace, and light it. The heat quickly fills the wood-paneled study.
“Now it’s not.” I tug the blanket off her shoulders, revealing the swell of her breasts, the thin fabric clinging to them, the milky curves of her thighs, the lacy pink triangle of fabric nestled between them.
Placing one hand on the back of the couch and leaning forward, I whisper in her ear, “I want to see your hard little nipples while I’m working. Keeps me entertained.”
There are two pink spots on her cheeks when I pull back.
I want to kiss her, but I don’t give in, because if I do, I won’t stop, and I really won’t get any work done.
My computer rings with an incoming call. “Salinger,” I bark after answering, my eyes still on her.
Fortunately I don’t need one hundred percent of my brain on the next few calls because Mandy is consuming an outsized portion of my mental bandwidth. She has the laptop propped up on a couch pillow beside her, obeying my order to not cover up with a blanket. She leans forward, legs tucked under her, the shirt fabric straining against the weight of her tits as she makes notes on the report that one of the senior investors sends over, prompting me in real time with questions and concerns I need to bring up.
“You’re the best assistant I ever had,” I tell her honestly when the call is done. I shut down the laptop, finally signing off.
It’s dark outside. The room is hot from the heat of the fire.
“I think that’s only because I promised to be the perfect little sex-toy prisoner.” Setting her laptop aside, she glides across the plush rug over to the oversized desk.
The laptop closes with a soft click, then she’s straddling me, her fingers working on my tie. The silky fabric slides over her fingers then flutters to the ground. The heat from between her legs makes me hard.
“I told you,” she murmurs as she kisses me. “I want you to use me however you want.”
I hiss as her fingers work the little pearly buttons on the dress shirt then scrape over my bare chest.
“I want to be your little plaything,” she purrs as her hands move lower. “Dominate me. Humiliate me. Claim me.”
