Her face was scarlet when she peeked into his office. Most of her was hidden behind the door. All he could see was her head. Sylvie was beyond embarrassed. She was mortified! Why did she agree to this? Sure she was making a good salary. How could she forget? He reminded her of it every single day. Especially when she disagreed with him or was reluctant to do what he told her. Yes, he was a very generous employer, providing her with free room and board, a clothing allowance, weekly spa sessions and massages, a great medical plan, and a cute little BMW convertible to tool around in. But there were limits!
Her first week of employment had been, for want of a better term, traumatic. Basically, she wished she could crawl under a rock and hide! Every bit of research he’d assigned her had something to do with sex. Not normal missionary position type sex; we’re talking ‘tie you up, gag you, and then suspend you from the ceiling on a sex swing’ sex. Sylvie was scandalized! Her education in this area was sorely wanting. She had yet to have sex in any way, shape, or form. She was afflicted with a serious case of virginity, possibly a terminal case of it. When you’ve never had sex and you contemplate sexual coupling in its more unusual and outlandish forms, it leaves you feeling perplexed and unhinged; and also, if the truth be told, a little curious.
Sylvie had to work up the courage to give her employer the reports he’d asked for on a variety of topics including remote controlled vibrators, silicone butt plugs, anal beads, nipple clamps, and various implements used in corporal punishment. The research wasn’t the problem; it was presenting her findings. She was shy about sex. It wasn’t something she was comfortable talking about, especially not to a man who also happened to be her boss. She’d mostly stammered, blushed, and refused to make eye contact with him during their meetings.
Connor found her reticence amusing and sort of charming for this day and age. He took an almost fiendish delight in watching her squirm. What kind of sex toys would the average dominant keep in his toy box to torture or arouse his submissive? It was Sylvie’s job to know such things. As far as Connor was concerned, his red-faced little assistant was the go-to person on all matters erotic: sexual practices, paraphernalia, fetishes, what have you. He liked teasing her. He’d question her about a particular sexual topic until her face turned almost purple and she was so nervous with embarrassment that she got tongue-tied. He knew how to push her buttons. He thought it was funny. She didn’t! Sylvie couldn’t help thinking her father would have a heart attack if he had any idea what she was doing. She’d done what Connor asked up until now, but this crossed the line. She had half a mind to tell him to take the salary and the car and shove it up his…
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ he asked, looking up from his desk. He had a smug grin on his face like he was daring her. ‘A little shy are we?’
Sylvie glared at him.
‘Don’t dawdle!’ he commanded. ‘Come in. We need to get to work. Did the sex toys you ordered come in?’ he asked matter-of-factly. He acted as though asking about vibrating Day-Glo dildos, nipple suckers, spreader bars, ball gags, and hand-tooled leather paddles was the most normal thing in the world.
‘They’re in my office,’ she answered, cringing at the fact that she’d have to show him what she’d bought. Sylvie had spent over seven hundred dollars yesterday on sex toys. Knowing Connor, he’d make her give him a detailed explanation of what the items were and how they were used. He liked to rattle her cage, see her get flustered. She couldn’t figure him out. He was a good five or six years older than she was, maybe thirty or thirty-one. He was rich, experienced, worldly. Who was he trying to kid? He knew way more about kinky sex than she did. In fact she had no problem imagining him as a dominant, hog-tying some skinny little model, then blistering her ass with a cane or a paddle.
‘Well, are you coming in or not?’ he asked impatiently.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Her hands instinctively moved to cover her front.
Connor looked like he was going to burst out laughing.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, horrified at his reaction. ‘You said that I should wear my underwear during work hours today.’ The bastard had told her that prancing around in her underwear was necessary so he could better describe Sam in the book. He said it was the same as walking around the beach in a two-piece bathing suit.
‘Your underwear,’ he said, dissolving into laughter, ‘Not your grandmother’s! I was thinking along the lines of a bikini or a thong maybe. And a cute frilly little bra. I was thinking sexy, not geriatric.’
Sylvie’s mouth dropped open. She could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes. How dare he humiliate her this way? Why did he have to build himself up by belittling her, making her feel small? He was a cruel son of a bitch! Screw him! She was getting dressed!
‘Now take it easy,’ he said, realizing how upset she was. ‘I expected you to be in character. Sam wears sexy underwear, so I…’
‘Well I don’t,’ she said, her eyes shooting daggers his way. ‘I wear Grandma drawers. Get used to it!’
The sassy little wench was really pissed. He didn’t like her smart mouth, but he admired her spunk. Sylvie’s hands were on her hips; blue eyes spitting fury; the delicate features of her face set in rage. If she wasn’t as skinny as a rail and barely five foot two he’d be running for the hills right about now. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you, but I expected a different look.’
She stared at him stone-faced.
‘Please order some underthings that go with the storyline and get them overnighted. We’ll be needing them tomorrow. Oh, and you might want to make an appointment at the spa for later today,’ he said, pointedly glancing at her underwear.
‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘You might want to neaten up down there. Maybe get a Brazilian. Bikinis look better without pubic hair peeking out.’
Her hands quickly covered the place where thigh and panty met. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life. ‘You first!’ she retorted, her voice rising in anger. ‘You lie on a table and have some sadist rip your pubes out by the roots. I’ll pass! You’re not manscaped. Why should I be…’ she sputtered, not knowing the name for it, ‘ladyscaped!’ was all she could come up with.
‘Well for starters, most of the female characters in erotic romances are ladyscaped as you call it. Sam, the character in my book, is ladyscaped; and since you are acting the part of her alter ego, you too will be ladyscaped.’
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Who the hell did he think he was ordering her around like this? He had some nerve! She wasn’t a lawyer, but this sure sounded like sexual harassment to her. She’d half a mind to sue his ass!
‘Consider it a condition of your employment,’ he said sharply, letting her know in no uncertain terms who was in charge here. ‘As for my not being manscaped, I’m the employer. I get to make the rules. I don’t have to be hairless…you do! It’s just that simple. Have I made myself clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said, wishing she could slap that haughty condescending smirk off his face. ‘You do know that some people believe that removing pubic hair from grown women makes them look like underage little girls which appeals to men who have a predilection to pedophilia?’
‘That will be all,’ he said testily, dismissing her. ‘Please see that you are in the proper attire tomorrow.’ Miss Sylvie Jenkins was about to learn her place!
‘I’ll just put the underwear on your credit card then?’ she asked, sounding very businesslike. ‘Since it’s required work apparel?’
‘Yes. Just give me the bill when you’re finished ordering it.’
‘I’ll get right on it,’ she said, leaving the room. She’d done some research on designer lingerie yesterday and had spent an hour on the La Perla and Agent Provocateur websites. Their underwear was beautiful, but it was also very expensive. A pretty pair of panties could set you back $200, a push up bra $250, and a slip or camisole could cost $500. Mr. Connor Hudson might have thought he won the argument, but he had a big surprise coming. He may have won the battle, but he’d yet to win the war.
Sylvie was in agony. She couldn’t believe that any woman in her right mind would volunteer to get a Brazilian of her own free will. You’d have to be demented! Why would you willingly subject yourself to being tortured, unless you were a masochist? It was a painful procedure, not to mention humiliating, to have someone poking around in your privates. She’d never had anyone touch her female parts or her butthole before. She felt violated! Sylvie was sore! They’d taken every bit of hair off her; even in places she didn’t know she had hair. Her crotch was itchy and throbbing. Why had she allowed that bastard to bully her into this? What she wouldn’t give to rip out every single pubic hair on his cock, his balls, and his smug, arrogant ass. She walked through the front door ready to give Mr. Connor Hudson a piece of her mind; but he beat her to the punch.
Sylvie was surprised to see him standing just inside the door. He glowered at her, jaw clenched, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look like a happy camper. In fact he looked like a very unhappy, very angry camper! She wouldn’t be surprised to see smoke come pouring out of his ears any second now.
‘My office Miss Jenkins…NOW!‘
She walked quickly to his office, a satisfied smile on her face. Guess he saw the bill she’d left on his desk!
‘Sit down,’ he barked. ‘Do you mind telling me what this is?’ he said, waving the invoice in front of her nose. ‘Five thousand dollars! You spent five thousand dollars on underwear?’ He was fuming.
Sylvie was careful not to gloat. He looked really upset with her. ‘I thought you wanted me to wear the kind of underthings Sam might wear,’ she said, trying her best to look wide-eyed and innocent.
He wasn’t buying her act. Sylvie had done this to spite him. He felt like pulling her over his knee and setting fire to her ass. The devious little brat needed to be taught a lesson. ‘I wanted you to buy age appropriate underwear, something sexy. I never told you to spend five thousand dollars! You did this because you were in a snit and angry with me. You figured this was a good way of getting back at me. But I don’t like hissy fits and temper tantrums little girl, especially not from my employees. And I have a news flash for you: I’m not about to let you get away with something like this!’
‘You said I should dress like Samantha,’ she countered, trying to justify her actions in some way. But it would take more than a lame excuse to dig her out of the mess she’d gotten herself into. Maybe sticking it to Connor hadn’t been such a good idea after all. ‘Sam wears designer labels. Wouldn’t that include her lingerie?’ she asked nervously. ‘I just assumed that Elias would want her to look sexy, to wear silk, satin, and lace panties. He’s rich. He’d want her to wear the very best that money can buy! Wouldn’t he?’
Connor was seething. He wanted to throttle her. His eyes kept looking over to the credenza where she’d laid out the sex toys she’d purchased. There was a small leather paddle over there that would work wonders in teaching this ill-behaved imp a thing or two! ‘From now on Sylvie, if you make a purchase that costs over five hundred dollars you’ll get my permission first. I won’t put up with this kind of behavior from you. The next time you pull a stunt like this you’ll suffer the consequences! Do I make myself clear?’
His words sounded ominous, like he was threatening her. But with what? Was he going to fire her? She was about to tell him to go to hell, but she didn’t. She wanted to keep her job. She didn’t like to admit it, but she really liked working for him. It was the best job she’d ever had! Sylvie tried to appear contrite. ‘Perfectly,’ she said; then added, ‘I’ll return everything tomorrow. I’m sorry if I upset you.’
He stared at her, then shook his head. What the hell, she’d look a lot sexier in a two hundred dollar pair of panties than she did in her old two dollar ones. ‘No. Keep them. But I’m warning you,’ he said, shaking a threatening finger in her direction, ‘This had better not happen again!’
She nodded, suddenly feeling like a naughty child. In retrospect, it was a stupid prank. All she’d managed to do was piss him off; but on the positive side, she was now the proud owner of five grand worth of upscale undies. Not a bad day’s work!
He walked into her office and smiled a Cheshire cat grin. He’d heard the delivery truck come over an hour ago. Now it was show time!
‘My, my, what have we here? Stand up!’ he ordered.
If looks could kill, Mr. Connor Hudson would be dead right now. Sylvie pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up.
‘Away from the desk please.’
She refused to look at him. She had work to do. She didn’t want to play one of his stupid power games!
‘Turn around please. I want to see what I paid for.’
Smarmy bastard! She did a slow turn. Her cheeks flushing. Her face cheeks that is. Her other cheeks were pale as milk and hanging out her underwear. These were the most modest panties she’d ordered. What the hell was she thinking? Red satin tap pants with black lace edging the leg holes. ‘Ass cheek holes’ was a more accurate description. They only covered half her bottom. The top half! The lower curvy half was completely bare and on display. The matching bra wasn’t much better. After 25 years of wandering in the barren desert of the boob-deprived, the land of the little itty-bitty titty, wondering what it would be like to have real bazooms, she had finally found the Promised Land. Hallelujah! Through the marvels of modern engineering, underwires, and strategically placed spandex panels, she finally had cleavage. Cleavage in abundance. Her cup finally runneth over!
Connor couldn’t take his eyes off Sylvie. He examined every inch of her. Studied her. There was only one word to describe the girl…exquisite. Sylvie was a little slip of a thing. Her body slender, breasts firm, legs shapely, her little bottom a work of perfection. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Sylvie wasn’t supposed to be a distraction. She was supposed to be a plain little mouse of a girl who’d work her ass off for him when he needed her to and then disappear into the woodwork when he didn’t. He hadn’t expected to be the least bit attracted to her. After all, a plain, Summa Cum Laude, English major from ‘down on the farm’ was hardly his type. She was nothing like the leggy models and actresses he favored, with thick manes of blond hair and painted on faces. Arm candy in skintight dresses, with skirts so short they barely covered their pussies. Flaunting their bodies in tops so low cut their breasts spilled out and fabric so sheer you could see the tint of their nipples. Sylvie was different. Reserved. Shy. She didn’t like showing off her body. Wasn’t the type to throw herself at a man. Least of all him. Unlike all the other women he knew, she wasn’t the least bit interested in seducing him. And yet there was something about her. Was it her smart mouth? Her sassy attitude? He wasn’t sure what it was about her that he found so enticing. She wasn’t cowed by him or his wealth. She was argumentative and outspoken. Both traits he abhorred in women. He liked his females compliant, submissive. In return for his attentions and generosity, he expected them to toe the line and do things his way. Most women threw themselves at him. They did everything in their power to curry his favor and do his bidding. But not Sylvie! She had a rebellious streak, challenging him at every turn. At 5′ 2′ she was hardly his match physically, but she refused to allow him to intimidate her. Her little underwear stunt was a case in point. He had the feeling that if he really pissed her off she’d have no compunction in hauling off and belting him. While other women sought his attentions, she did everything she could to avoid him, preferring instead to closet herself in her office, eyes glued to her computer, immersed in her research. She was the best research assistant he’d ever had. He’d hate like hell to lose her. But by the same token, he wasn’t going to put up with her antics. He was the master of his domain, the unquestioned ruler, the head of the house. They weren’t equals, no matter what she thought. She’d better get used to doing things his way…or else. A sassy little wench like her really needed to be taken in hand. He’d love to see her blindfolded and on her knees, or, better yet, bent over his knee getting her pretty little ass reddened. But there was time for that. It might take him a while, but eventually he’d bring her to heel. Sylvie was about to meet her match. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘I trust your other purchases are equally as flattering.’ He wasn’t looking at her face when he spoke. He was addressing her ass.
What a dirtbag! Sylvie refused to acknowledge him and instead returned to her seat.
‘A bit churlish are we?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes as though about to scold her. ‘Or perhaps you’re just out of sorts because you’re chilly?’
Chilly? Of course she was chilly; some numbskull had cranked up the air conditioning. It was freezing in here. She was about to tell him that when she saw what he was staring at. She gasped when she realized his eyes were fixed on her bra. Or rather the puckered skin and erect nipples visible through the thin red satin.
‘I have work to do, Mr. Hudson. I don’t have time for idle conversation!’ she snapped, trying to resist the urge to throw something at him. She didn’t care how much money he had; the man had no class! ‘In 6 hours we’ll have a house full of guests descending on us. I have to finish proofreading chapter 1 and typing the revisions for chapter 2 before they arrive. I hope you weren’t suffering under the demented delusion that I’d be greeting your frat boy chums in this outfit?’ She arched her eyebrow and stared him down. ‘Ain’t gonna happen! I intend to be fully clothed by the time they get here!’
She was feisty. He’d give her that. ‘Perish the thought! You don’t have to be in uniform for my guests.’ Grinning, he turned and strode from the room.
She was seething. Uniform! Uniform indeed! She should report him to OSHA. She was going to catch her death traipsing around like this. She looked down at her overflowing bra. At the very least a severe chest cold! And with so much skin exposed who knows what she might come down with: sunburn, slivers, chilblains?
Sylvie was dreading the weekend. She’d seen pictures of his friends and found the photos frankly…disturbing. They were often standing or kneeling beside a dead animal they’d slaughtered. They’d shot rhino in Africa. Bagged moose and bear in Alaska. Killed elk in the Rockies. There were photos of them with the bleeding carcasses of deer, antelope, pheasants, wild turkeys, quail, ducks, and wild boar. They looked like a bunch of grinning baboons, brandishing guns and mugging for the camera. They obviously fancied themselves sportsmen. But they had weapons. The animals didn’t. Where was the sport in that? When they weren’t shooting things with feathers and fur, they were sailing on their yachts and hooking unsuspecting fish. If the pictures and the heads mounted on the walls of his ‘Game and Gun room’ and ‘man cave’ were any indication, Connor and his friends spent a lot of their time together killing things. Worse still, from the smiles on their faces, they enjoyed it! How sick was that? She disliked them already and she hadn’t even met them.
