Executive Decisions

I knocked on the door to the conference room, dreading the coming meeting.

"Come in."

I opened the door and stepped into the room. Mr. Turner was alone at the table. He looked up from the paper he was holding and frowned at me. "Sit down, Ms. Hunter."

I sat across the table from him, not saying a word. He went back to studying the paper before him.

Mr. Turner was an operating partner at one of the most prestigious advertising firms in the country. It was the kind of place everyone in the field was dying to work at but few ever got the chance--at least, not until amassing years of experience. The firm hired only the best and the brightest, and only a VERY lucky few were picked fresh out of college. I had been one of those lucky few. But now, I was afraid that paper was going to bring it all to an end.

Finally Mr. Turner placed the paper atop the table and stared at me, still not saying a word. He was in his mid-forties but could've passed for a decade younger. He was tall, lean, awesomely fit; he was rumored to spend two to three hours a day in the private gym the executives had on the top floor of the building, even after grueling 12-14 hour work days. He studied me with his gray-green eyes, and I grew more and more nervous. As the silence dragged on, I tried not to let him see how terrified I was growing; I was sure I wouldn't be returning to work here tomorrow.

"Ms. Hunter, I'll get right to the point," he said finally. "I have here a memo from Evelyn Rider, your project manager on the Hendricks project. She goes into great detail about your performance on that project. The Hendricks Corporation is a very important client for us, and they demand excellence in all the projects we create for them. Of course we deliver; anything less would not meet the very high standards we have created for ourselves. It is Ms. Rider's opinion that your work was far from excellent."

I nodded, unable to speak. As he began detailing examples of my incompetence, I was mentally trying to decide how I was going to tell my parents I had been fired from the greatest job in the world. They had been so proud of me! How could I have let them down?

"You came to us with an impressive academic record and showing great promise," Mr. Turner was saying. "Your design portfolio was quite impressive, as were your faculty recommendations. You showed a tremendous amount of potential that has, frankly, been unrealized."

I was fighting back tears. I couldn't bear to meet his gaze. I had been so proud, so cocky, bragging of my new job to all my friends and family. Now I would be humiliated.

He remained silent for several moments. Then, finally, "Ms. Hunter, while your work has been far from acceptable, your position here may be salvagable."

I could hardly believe my ears. Did I really hear that?

"As I said, you show great potential. I, for one, believe that potential could be brought out...but only with a lot of very hard work."

He stopped speaking, and just stared at me expectantly. Somehow I found my voice. "I'll do anything it takes to work here, Mr. Taylor," I said slowly.

Those eyes bored into me. Finally he stood and motioned toward the window. "Step over here, Ms. Hunter."

I rose and followed him over to the glass. The view was magnificent, looking out over the city from the 33rd floor. "Look out there, Ms. Hunter," Mr. Taylor said from behind me. "There are thousands of people out there who want to work here. They are just begging for a chance. Why should I keep you around here and not try someone else?"

I swallowed hard. "I'll do whatever it takes, Mr. Taylor."

"Will you?" he said, his voice suddenly cold. Suddenly I felt his hand rubbing slowly across my ass.

I froze. I couldn't say a thing; I didn't dare. His hand rubbed back and forth across my ass, rhythmically moving. His other hand touched my left shoulder and began rubbing there. He leaned closer to me, his lips right by my ear. "Anything?"

There was a lump in my throat; I couldn't make a sound. Instead I nodded.

"Say it!" he hissed.

"Anything," I managed.

His right hand left my ass and reached around the front of me. He reached downward until he came to the hem of my knee-length skirt; then he reached under it and began rubbing my thigh. His other hand reached around in front of me and began rubbing across my breast. I could only stand there while he rubbed up and down for several long moments. Then abruptly he released me and stepped back.

"We'll see just how much work you are willing to do."

I just stood there, still with my back to him. At that moment I couldn't bear to face him.

"Go to my office," he ordered. "Don't let anyone see you go in. Get under the desk. I'll be in there in a few minutes, and I won't be alone. In fact, I'll have a candidate for your job with me. I'll be interviewing her. You stay under the desk; don't make a sound. Then we can see just what you can do to convince me to not fire you and hire her. Get going."

Without a word I hurried out of the conference room. My mind reeled. What the hell was I going to do? Was this job worth debasing myself with whatever Mr. Turner had in mind?

I thought back to my hometown, a little coal town high in the mountains of West Virginia. It was the kind of town where , if you were a boy, you were going to grow up to work in the mines or log the thickly forested hills and ravines. If you were a girl you were going to grow up to marry one of those boys and have five kids by the time you were 22 or 23 (if it took THAT long). I had hated the place. I knew I was better than that. My scholarships to college were my ticket out. When I graduated and got this job in the city, I vowed I would never go back there; in fact, I had told everyone pretty much that very thing. I made no secret of how I detested that place and everything about it. of how I was headed to the city, far away from the hicks and the rubes back "home".

I couldn't afford to stay in the city if I was unemployed. If I lost this job, I'd have to go back.

I reached Mr. Turner's office. There was not a soul in sight; Emily, his executive assistant who was normally stationed in her own office just next to his, was nowhere to be found. I knocked on Mr. Turner's door, just to be sure. When there was no answer from within, I slipped inside.

The office was quite spacious, lavishly decorated with dark polished wood and leather trim and expensive art. Mr. Turner's desk was huge, a mahogany mountain in the center of the room. I went around behind it and moved his chair aside. The kneehole was large and deep, hidden in shadow; at least two people could easily have fit in there. I squatted down, then crawled inside.

I didn't have long to wait. The door opened, and I heard two people enter. "Have a seat, Ms. Brinkley," I heard Mr. turner say. I saw his legs as he came around his side of the desk. He leaned forward a bit as he sat down, and his eyes met mine. The corner of his mouth curled in a slight smile. Then he sat down, but didn't slide forward to the desk.

"Your resume is very solid," he was saying. "MBA from Princeton, with honors. Wonderful reports from your last employers; in fact, excellent references all around. On paper it is all very encouraging; but I like to conduct a long interview, a long slow process until I am completely satisfied of your commitment. Any questions?"

I definitely got the point.

"Good," he said. he slid forward, up under the desk. "Let's begin. Impress me."

I reached up toward his belt. As I undid the buckle I could hear the interviewee--Ms. Brinkley--describing herself, her background, her career goals. In my mind I could picture myself sitting in that chair just a few months ago, doing the same thing. I wondered fleetingly if there had been someone else under the desk that day, desperately trying to save her job. I quickly put that out of my mind; all I could worry about now was saving my own place in the scheme of things.

I undid his belt and pants, then I pulled down his zipper. He was wearing boxers with bright yellow smiley-faces on them; I had to stifle a hysterical little giggle. I couldn't believe this was happening.

I reached into his underwear and pulled out his cock. It was short but quite thick; his pubic hair was dark with a few gray hairs mixed in. It was already semi-hard as I grasped it.

Suddenly I hesitated. I couldn't do this. This was not right, I hadn't been raised like this, just who did he think he was expecting this, just who did he think I was, I wasn't a fucking whore...all these thoughts and a hundred others bounced around my head. There was no way I was going through with it.

Then I thought again of that horrible little town I grew up in, all the bridges I'd burnt back there. This was humiliating, but going back would be worse. At least no one ever had to know about this. I closed my eyes, thought about my last boyfriend, and took him into my mouth.

I began to lick slowly up the sides of his dick, pausing every few seconds. He responded at once, growing longer and thicker in my hand. I could hear Ms. Brinkley droning on, but it was just noise. I swirled my tongue around his head a few times, then dropped my mouth down over his cock. He shivered slightly but never gave any other indication anything was going on.

I began to bob my head up and down on his cock. He had grown to fill my mouth completely, and I felt my lips stretch wide as I tried to take as much of him in as possible. Every few seconds I would release him and swirl my tongue around the head. My mind kept being filled with images of everything I hated in life: my childhood best friend who had stolen my boyfriend after a homecoming dance in high school, people who let their dogs bark too much, rude drivers, brussel sprouts. I knew this experience was a shoo-in to make that list in the future.

One image kept coming back: that former friend, who had stolen my boyfriend. She was married to him now, with three kids. She was still back there. I could see her face, the look on it. She was gloating over me, laughing at how the high and mighty city girl was being put in her place. I felt a few hot tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I tried desperately to shut her image out.

I realized Ms. Brinkley had stopped talking. "This is all very good, very nice,"Mr. Turner was saying. "But I'm not sure it is good enough."

I knew he was speaking more to me than her, so I tried to concentrate more on what I was doing. I began sucking with a bit more enthusiasm. When I paused to lick him I tried to make him as wet with my spit as I could.

I don't know how long this went on. Finally I heard him say. "Thank you, very much, Ms. Brinkley. Make sure my assistant has your contact info in her file. I will certainly let you know, within the next few days."

I stopped what I was doing, uncertain what would happen next. The interviewee said her thanks, and I heard her leave the office. Then I heard him speaking on the intercom to Emily, his assistant. "I have a report to review before my next meeting," he told her. "I expect no disturbances."

Then he slid backwards a bit from under the desk and glared down at me. "I didn't tell you to stop," he said coldly.

I swallowed hard and crawled forward slightly until I could reach him. I began sucking him again. He began a running commentary, a mix of insults and instruction: "God, you haven't done this much, have you? Squeeze the shaft a bit. There. Not too fast. I'm not like your boyfriends, you can't get me off whenever you want. Suck my cock, girl! Goddamn, I've had better licks from a dog! Twirl your tongue around the bottom of the head, there. Yes. Like that. Watch the fucking teeth!"

I kept my eyes closed tightly while I did what he said. My mind had blanked out completely. I was stuck here, totally in the present. All I could do was wait for it to be over.

I have no idea how long I was blowing him, but my jaws were beginning to ache. He began to rock his hips back and forth and make little grunting sounds. Before I could react he suddenly grabbed my head in both hands and forced my head down hard, slamming his cock into my throat, choking me. I felt him spasm as he started to cum, and I pushed at him ,trying to get away so I could breathe. I gagged and flinched away. As a result his cum didn't completely shoot down my throat. His hot, bitter juice flooded my mouth, and the last couple of shots hit my face as I pulled away.

I sat there, arms around my knees, rocking back and forth in the floor. I was crying, my tears mixing with his cum on my cheeks. I had never felt so horrible, so abused, so dirty.

He watched me silently for a few minutes. Then he reached for a box of tissues on his desk. "Here," he said nonchalantly as he tossed the box at me. "Clean yourself up. You look like a whore."

I struggled to get myself under control as I wiped off my face, and I did a pretty good job of it. He, meanwhile, was tucking his dick back inside his pants and buttoning up.

"Not bad," he said finally. "I usually don't cum just from a blowjob. I knew you had potential."

I couldn't answer. I just sat on the floor, eyes downcast.

"I think you have proven that you can be a team player," he continued. "We'll just have to find the right motivation to develop the right skills. It's going to take a lot of time and effort, a lot of long weekends and late nights."

I still couldn't respond as the meaning of his words sunk in.

"In a moment I'm leaving for an important meeting. Emily will be accompanying me. After you're composed, you can leave the office after I'm gone. Make sure no one sees you. Tell Evelyn you need to take off the rest of the day and that you have cleared it with me. Tell her you won't be in tomorrow, either, since it's Friday. You can make up a story about a family emergency if you want; you're a smart girl, you'll think of some explanation. Then you can go home.

"Saturday morning, I want to see you here in this office, promptly at 9 A.M. We will then discuss your future duties with the firm. Is that clear?"

I nodded miserably.

He bent down and put a hand under my chin, raising my face until I could look him in the eye. "I do believe we'll make a proper employee out of you yet, Ms. Hunter. I'm making you my personal project...don't dare disappoint me." Then he stood and strode from the room.

I sat there for several minutes while the reality of my situation settled into me. Finally I staggered to my feet, went to the door, and peeked out. No one was in sight, so I hurried to the nearest restroom. I washed my face; I couldn't bear his stickiness another second. When I was reasonably presentable, I went to find my boss and tell her I was leaving. Then I rushed home, unsure just what was going to happen to me next.

Author's Note: This is the first part of several--please offer some feedback if you want me to continue.