“So what does it feel like to be a professional asshole?”
Don’t worry that’s just how we talked. John and I had been friends since college. It all started when he tried to hit on me. And tried again. And again. And again.
To put it delicately, he just wasn’t my type. And its not like a wanted a boyfriend in the first place. Who can stand to be tied down like that? I was an artist. An aspiring musician. A rebel.
John was majoring in English with a minor in business.
He was also tons of fun to hang out with. And I’ll admit, he had great taste in music, too.
Turns out he might have made the better life choices. Sure, sleeping on a mattress on the floor and working as a barista is a pretty great life when you’re in your 20s. I even had some minor successes as a musician. Did some shows in Austin.
But when you’re 31, you start to worry if that’s all there is. Meanwhile, John had just gotten a promotion. So I stopped by his big fancy office one Saturday to check it out.
“I’ll tell you how it feels Cassie,” he said with a smirk, kicking his heels up on his deck. “Stressful.”
I had gotten him a gift as congrats. A weird little totem, but I thought it looked cool. And maybe having something like that around could keep Mr. Professional a bit grounded.
“Seriously, it used to be that being vice president meant three martini lunches and golf games. But now I’ve got to answer my own phone, respond to emails set up meetings….”
He went on, complaining about his office woes. I mean, its not like he had to worry about making rent or anything. But whatever, I tried to be a good friend and listen.
“Honestly, Cassie, I just wish I had a secretary.”
I don’t know where it came from, but a blinding light filled the room. I reached up to rub my eyes and , as my sight returned to normal, I looked around, trying to figure out what had happened but — gasp — was shocked to see that my tattoos had disappeared.
I leapt to my feet, but stumbled as, somehow, my sneakers had turned to heels.
My mind was racing. Everything was wrong. My tanktop was a professional blouse. My jeans were a tight miniskirt and my legs were clad in stockings. I was even wearing glasses.
Oh my God John your fucking wish came true! I’m a fucking secretary! Change me back now!
The words formed in my mind, but that’s not what I said.
“Mr…. Mr. Richardson. It appears you wish came true.”
I tried to yell. Or scream. Or run away. But I just stood there while he stared slack-jawed at me. First in shock. But then his expression turned — well — to the sort of expression that makes girls consider calling up HR.
I fiddled with the edge of my skirt, trying to think of what, exactly, I wanted to say. What I could say to my boss.
“Sir… I don’t mean to overstep my bounds. But I’d truly appreciate it if you could change me back.”
The words must have shocked him back to attention.
“Oh, of course Cassie. Of course!”
He said, and seemed to contemplate for a second.
“But you know. I really could use the help from a secretary. How about this? Why don’t you help me write-up my receipts from the month and then we’ll figure out a way to change you back.”
His words brought a smile to my face. I knew it wasn’t what I had asked. But something about it just felt so right. I walked across his office and sat down at a desk in the corner and got to working.
It just felt so good to be helpful for Mr. Richardson, erm, John. I knew his new job was so stressful and if I could just take some of the edge off it would be that much quicker until he changed me back.
I worked with a deliberate focus I never even knew I had. Of course I’d peek over my shoulder every few minutes to spy him staring at my legs — nothing wrong with that — and I’d respond with a smile.
“You know, Cassie. You’re doing a great job.”
His words sent a delightful shiver down my spine.
“But I’ve always wondered what it was like back in the day when secretaries were hired for their looks. Nobody even pretended otherwise.”
Unf. I don’t know what it was, but he was turning me on. I nibbled on the edge of my pen and peered over my glasses at Mr. Richardson.
“What is it they used to say? You can teach ‘em to type, but you can’t teach ‘em to have tits?”
”Luckily, I’ve got me a girl who can do both.”
I giggled. What a charmer, that Mr. Richardson. Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear, I got up from my chair and sashayed my way towards his desk.
”Here, sir. The receipts are ready. I just need your signature.”
I leaned over the desk, feeling my tight miniskirt stretch against my bottom.
“Excellent work, Candice,” he said. “Let me just check over these numbers.”
He leaned over my shoulder and, without saying a word, placed his firm, manly hand against my rear. I had to suppress a moan.
I ever-so-slightly grinded my ass back, pressing into his hand, feeling him take me. Gawd, it was so hot.
“These numbers look perfect,” adding a slap to my rear as if a reward. “That’s what I like about you, Candace. You’re always so eager to please. Anything I need, I just have to ask and you’re there to do it.”
“Besides,” he said with lecherous grin. “You already look the part, don’t you?”
My lips started to tingle — a fun tingle. A horny tingle.
Of course, they, like, always felt all tingly when I thought about sucking Mr. Richardson’s dick. It was literally the best day in the world when he said he was getting me lip fillers for my six week bonus. And ever since then I always make sure I look the part as his perfect secretary.
“So Kiki, like I was saying, I’ve got a real stressful day. So why don’t you get on your knees and work your magic.”
Just what I wanted to hear!
I slurped and sucked all over my boss’s dick — my most favorite part of my job.
“So what does it feel like, Kiki, to be a professional cocksucker?”
Sliding my lips off his dick with a *pop!* I looked up at him.
“I’ll tell you how it feels Sir,” I said with a smile. “Wonderful.”
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