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Authors: Lacey Kane
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After more than six months in my current position, working as the sexretary for Cooper Anderson Construction, I knew better than to be late to work. But damn if I wasn’t stuck in traffic on the way to the new job site. I had ten minutes to get to work on time, but even if the cars in front of me were moving, it would still be at least fifteen minutes before I could get there.
With one hand on the wheel and the other digging in my purse, I dug out my cell phone, dialed Bobby Cooper’s direct line, and said a little prayer that he’d be feeling lenient.
He didn’t answer. Instead, I got the all-too-familiar recording. “You’ve reached Bobby Cooper. If there is an emergency on site, please dial nine-one-one. For all other calls, leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” The beep that followed spelled out trouble.
“Bobby, it’s Sarah. I’m doing my best to get there on time, but traffic isn’t moving. I’ll make it up to you when I get in.” Whether I wanted to or not.
Who was I kidding, though? Even though I hated my punishments, there was a part of me that loved them too. As long as I took care of all of my job responsibilities and took the punishments doled out by Bobby and my other boss, David Anderson, they rewarded me by letting me come. Not a half-bad prospect, all things considered. Particularly since after being punished in whatever way they’d concocted, I usually had an insane orgasm. Seriously, I’d never in my life had the sorts of orgasms I’d been having over the last six months, and they were occurring on a very, very regular basis these days. If it meant earning a punishment in order to get my reward a little sooner…well, can you really blame me?
Hell, I was already getting wet just thinking about it—even while I was sitting in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic in my junky old Ford Escort. It didn’t hurt that I was wearing a new “uniform” to work, either.
Just before we closed up shop at the old site on Friday, David had tossed me a bag from a costume shop. “Wear this to work on Monday. And nothing else.” When I got home, I opened it…and found a skimpy little secretary costume. Thigh-high garters with sheer, black stockings. Pin-striped skirt so short it wouldn’t even cover my ass. Tight pin-striped top that hardly covered my tits. No bra or panties had been included in the uniform, but he’d put in a pair of four-inch stilettos and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
Days like this made me wish my car had tinted windows. I couldn’t tell you how many dudes in traffic had nearly caused another wreck because they were so busy looking at me in my tiny secretary costume and not paying attention to what the other cars around them were doing.
Finally, traffic started moving again. I gunned it as soon as I had room up ahead, squealing into my new parking spot at the new site, then dashing inside like a madwoman.
As expected, since I was late, someone had already handled making the coffee, sorting the mail, and clearing the voice mail box. A note was scrawled in Bobby’s handwriting on the desktop calendar sitting in the middle of my desk. Go down the hall. Third door on the right. Ankles in the stirrups. Arms overhead.
Just like I knew better than to be late to work, I definitely knew better than to dawdle when I’d been given an order. And yes, for the company sexretary, a scrawled note on a calendar was more than enough to constitute an order. I dropped my purse on the floor behind my desk and started off down the hall.
When I went inside the third door, I found something I’d never seen at Cooper Anderson Construction’s offices before. It looked like the sort of doctor’s office table you get strapped to during a gyno exam. Off to the side, there was a sawhorse. It was kind of an odd sawhorse, with the narrower end facing up. I didn’t spend too long thinking about how weird it looked, though—this was a construction site,
With one hand on the wheel and the other digging in my purse, I dug out my cell phone, dialed Bobby Cooper’s direct line, and said a little prayer that he’d be feeling lenient.
He didn’t answer. Instead, I got the all-too-familiar recording. “You’ve reached Bobby Cooper. If there is an emergency on site, please dial nine-one-one. For all other calls, leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” The beep that followed spelled out trouble.
“Bobby, it’s Sarah. I’m doing my best to get there on time, but traffic isn’t moving. I’ll make it up to you when I get in.” Whether I wanted to or not.
Who was I kidding, though? Even though I hated my punishments, there was a part of me that loved them too. As long as I took care of all of my job responsibilities and took the punishments doled out by Bobby and my other boss, David Anderson, they rewarded me by letting me come. Not a half-bad prospect, all things considered. Particularly since after being punished in whatever way they’d concocted, I usually had an insane orgasm. Seriously, I’d never in my life had the sorts of orgasms I’d been having over the last six months, and they were occurring on a very, very regular basis these days. If it meant earning a punishment in order to get my reward a little sooner…well, can you really blame me?
Hell, I was already getting wet just thinking about it—even while I was sitting in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic in my junky old Ford Escort. It didn’t hurt that I was wearing a new “uniform” to work, either.
Just before we closed up shop at the old site on Friday, David had tossed me a bag from a costume shop. “Wear this to work on Monday. And nothing else.” When I got home, I opened it…and found a skimpy little secretary costume. Thigh-high garters with sheer, black stockings. Pin-striped skirt so short it wouldn’t even cover my ass. Tight pin-striped top that hardly covered my tits. No bra or panties had been included in the uniform, but he’d put in a pair of four-inch stilettos and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
Days like this made me wish my car had tinted windows. I couldn’t tell you how many dudes in traffic had nearly caused another wreck because they were so busy looking at me in my tiny secretary costume and not paying attention to what the other cars around them were doing.
Finally, traffic started moving again. I gunned it as soon as I had room up ahead, squealing into my new parking spot at the new site, then dashing inside like a madwoman.
As expected, since I was late, someone had already handled making the coffee, sorting the mail, and clearing the voice mail box. A note was scrawled in Bobby’s handwriting on the desktop calendar sitting in the middle of my desk. Go down the hall. Third door on the right. Ankles in the stirrups. Arms overhead.
Just like I knew better than to be late to work, I definitely knew better than to dawdle when I’d been given an order. And yes, for the company sexretary, a scrawled note on a calendar was more than enough to constitute an order. I dropped my purse on the floor behind my desk and started off down the hall.
When I went inside the third door, I found something I’d never seen at Cooper Anderson Construction’s offices before. It looked like the sort of doctor’s office table you get strapped to during a gyno exam. Off to the side, there was a sawhorse. It was kind of an odd sawhorse, with the narrower end facing up. I didn’t spend too long thinking about how weird it looked, though—this was a construction site,
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