The Secretary by Night || Prince & Ms. Bloom

[Dark Prince]

“Molly Bloom?”

Finnian Harding reread the name at the top of the C.V. again, just to make sure.

At first glance it might seem to be a normal Irish name, but it was also steeped in meaning if you were a fan of James Joyce, which Finn happened to be. He snorted as he thought about the fictional Molly Bloom, that primal and earthy wife whose famous and often pornographic stream of consciousness soliloquy ended Joyce’s Ulysses.

Well this girl was about half his age it appeared, a mere child, and he doubted if anyone in her generation would even know of a famous figure with their same name that wasn’t an influencer on TikTok or Instagram. Her work experience was disappointingly light, fresh out of Uni and a typical English nerd he guessed. She probably still harbored silly dreams that she’d write the next Great American Novel, dreams that would slowly be crushed by the cynical reality of the working world, until the brass ring of success became merely being an editor, like Finn. His was the easy way, no doubt, and you could always stoke your ego by looking down at real writers while not exposing your own lack of creativity and skill.

Wow, his mind had tumbled down a dark path that cut too close to home. Yet, it was a thought pattern he seemed be having a lot recently. It wasn’t a stretch to say that Finn had been in Molly’s shoes twenty years ago, idealistic, a future novelist, and confident he’d make a name in literature. And he had, to some degree, but only as VP & Senior Editor at J&H Publishing, a prestigious firm and one he had thrived at by working hard and excelling at his decidedly non-creative job.

He should be happy, at the least content. After all, he had everything he could desire, including money, a sterling career that could earn him the Publisher title in another five years, and a wife and kids. He sighed at the last thought. His twin boys he loved, and he truly relished his time with them, but his relationship with his wife had been strained for years. It was hard to find time for them all with his busy work schedule and frequent travel, and he knew he prioritized his kids over his wife when he was home.

Still, what was he missing that bothered him? Why now, at forty was he suddenly reevaluating what had seemed to be a simple and clear path in life, and one he was good at? A generic mid-life crisis was too cliché for his focused personality, so he instead dwelled on what was absent.

What could he possibly need that he couldn’t buy at this point?

Always disciplined, he snapped his mind back to work. His black fountain pen circled and underlined Molly’s C.V. out of habit, his stroke precise and firm. She had no typos, thank God, that would be an instant rejection, but a couple awkward word choices earned a squiggly line. Putting aside grammar, her clear lack of relevant work experience was enough normally to make him pass.

Yet… his pen dotted next to her name, big drops of black ink soaking into the cheap paper. A question mark formed from one of them.

He pushed the intercom button that connected him with the temporary assistant sitting outside his glass walled office. It was old school and most of his colleagues used their computers to send quick messages to colleagues, but like his fountain pen, Finn had a conceit for traditional ways.

“Send in Ms. Bloom, please.” Finn’s voice was curt, his British accent adding a precision to the command. The temp assistant was a disaster, so he added, "Mind you, make sure you offer her a water. Point her to the chair on YOUR left. Don't bollocks this up again, please."

While he waited, he took the time to organize his large, antique wooden desk, a personal piece he'd had custom installed. It was heavy and overbearing, dominating even his spacious corner office, and he absolutely adored the sense of gravity it lent him. Molly’s resume was arranged precisely in the center, then squared up again. His pen was placed in its holder for now and the perpetual stack of manuscripts in the bin next him were tidied up as best he could. For his guests, and where Molly would sit for her interview, he’d paired two antique wooden chairs that sported plush, dark leather upholstery. Thankfully, they were still arranged in decent symmetry with each other and didn't need to be adjusted.

There, everything was perfect. The calming feeling he always enjoyed from seeing order around him returned. Finn settled back in his chair to wait, strangely eager to meet this young woman with such an intriguing name.

 

[MsBloom]

Monday morning at 9 am when her phone blared out the introductory noise to Boris' Death Valley Molly opened her eyes slowly and realised she was soaked in sweat despite having slept in the nude, as she usually did, but the imagery of dreams that still lingered on top of her barely conscious mind could serve to explain the state in which she woke up. She had spent Sunday evening in a feverish state, absorbed in almost obsessive fantasies of the man she was to meet in person for the first time in three hours. She had masturbated, showered and repeated until she quite literally had simply passed out from exhaustion sometime around Midnight. That probably also explained why her cunt felt sore and swollen.

She turned off the alarm and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, stretched, yawned and rolled her head around the shoulders before standing up and walking over to the kitchen where she filled the electric kettle and put it on to make tea. While the kettle heated up the water she went to the bathroom and sat down to pee which stung a little due to the excessive masturbation the day before. She then stepped into the shower and washed off the sweat of last night, washed her hair. At 9:20 am she poured hot water over two table spoons of cardamom-flavoured Rooibos tea and went back into her bedroom, put on the black demi-cup lace bra, she had chosen to wear with her outfit to the interview, and a pair of matching lace boxer briefs. The rest of the outfit, which had been carefully chosen the day before, was laid out on the dresser next to her bed but she wasn't going to put it on until just before she had to leave to catch the subway into Manhattan.

Instead she brushed through her copper red hair while it was still moist which gave it a nice naturally wavy look, threw on a deep red kimono, picked up her tea and sat by the french windows that opened onto a light cast iron balcony overlooking the street below. She lit a cigarette and sipped the tea slowly as she smoked. She should probably eat something but breakfast was not her favourite meal of the day and usually she skipped it entirely or at best ate some fruit. Mornings weren't exactly her favourite time of day either, especially not Monday mornings, especially not after having spent the night between Saturday and Sunday at a fetish party and then all Sunday trawling the internet doing research on the man who would hopefully be her boss in just a few hours.

At a quarter past ten she sat down at her desk and applied a simple and fairly subtle make up of a dark red lipstick, dark purple eyeliner and just a hint of light raw sienna blush to make her look slightly less pale and highlight her cheekbones. It was perhaps a little ore than she usually wore but she was after all on her way to a job interview, with a man she had never met but who already made her tremble with excitement and arousal.

Fifteen minutes later she put on the outfit she had chosen: Black Levi's 720 High Rise super skinny Jeans, with a white long sleeved T-shirt with a crew neck collar under which the outline of her black demi-cup lace bra could be seen, Black nylon ankle socks under a pair of black block heel boots by Stella McCartney. Lastly she put on her solid wool fedora, also black, picked up her burgundy shoulder bag and checked that she had her phone, keys, emergency make up kit, cigarettes, lighter, gum, it was all there.

At 11:01 she stepped onto the train at Knickerbocker Avenue and thirty six minutes later she walked up the stairs at 23rd Street station on 6th avenue. From there it was about a five minute walk to the offices of J&H Publishing which meant she had time for a coffee from Gregory's and a cigarette before her appointment. Five minutes before noon she was greeted by Mr Hardings temporary assistant, Ms Martin, a seemingly rather scatter-brained woman in her mid-thirties who asked her to sit down and then almost on the mark of noon said to follow her. Molly got up, ran her hands over her clothes and took a deep breath this was it, the moment she both dreaded and looked forward to as much as a four year old looked forward to Christmas morning. Ms Martin asked if she wanted a water and pointed her first to one chair and then to the other.
"Sure I'll have a water," Molly said with a smile and sat down in the last chair Ms Martin had pointed to.

 

[Dark Prince]

The dreadful temp botched things up almost immediately, directing Molly at first to the correct chair, then to the wrong one, and causing Finn’s welcoming smile to fade to a sour glare. Why was it so hard for his assistants to follow instructions? Granted, he was rather particular, but he’d gone through three in just the last year. Was it that difficult to find someone who actually listened and paid attention to detail?

He turned his smile back on for Molly’s benefit. Speaking of Molly, she was both exactly what he expected and was also completely unexpected at the same time. His first impression was that she had rolled out of a Creative Writing class at NYU and into his office. Finn stubbornly wore tailored suits that he ordered from London, while J&H had embraced casual work wear years ago in the office, but their business casual didn’t mean skinny jeans and white t-shirts so thin that he could see her bra, nor did it mean bright red lipstick and purple eyeliner! A slight whiff of cigarette smoke followed her into the room. Who the Hell still smoked? The girls her age at J&H were doing Soul Cycle and drinking Kombucha, not smoking cigarettes! Saying she stuck out like a sore thumb was an understatement, yet Finn didn’t feel quite as annoyed as he normally should have at her appearance.

For one thing, she was pretty. Like really pretty. He hadn’t known he liked redheads until Molly waltzed in and now he was staring at her like she was some exotic animal, a tropical fish that was mesmerizing to look as it dazzled the eye with unexpected colors. The contrast in skin, hair, and makeup was beguiling, and the eclectic clothing further made her seem like the single person colorized into the black & white movie that his life had become.

She was… different?

“Well, very nice to meet you Molly,” Finn said at last. He had a whole interview schtick he used, some chest puffing about J&H being a prominent firm, a long diatribe about how busy and important his schedule was, and how he required someone of the highest caliber to support him, yada yada yada. It all faded away and he glanced at her C.V. again to clear his head and think of something to say. She’d really rendered HIM speechless? Shocking.

“So… let’s start with the basics. Why are you interested in this role?”

 

[MsBloom]

Having not made herself in any way comfortable in the chair Molly waited politely until the scatter-brained assistant was well out of earshot and at first ignored Mr Harding's actual question. Instead she stood back up moved to the other chair and as she sat back down, crossing her left leg over the right and resting her hands casually in her lap, met his eyes and asked him with a sympathetic smile whether she should expect milk instead of water.

It had been fairly obvious even to an untrained eye that Mr Harding was displeased with hi assistant and her actions when bringing Molly to his office. It was the timing of his faded smile that had given away the reason for his displeasure. The assistant had seated his visitor in the wrong chair and now, by switching chairs at her own initiative and then questioning the assistant's ability to perform even a simple task such as bring her some water. She had also noticed that the assistant had not asked her to specify whether she wanted still or sparkling water, an obvious mistake that Molly intended to take full advantage of when the assistant did return with the water.

She didn't lean back into the chair which both looked and felt very comfortable, and had she had one like it in her small apartment she would have probably sat in it with her legs over one arm rest and her head resting on the other but of course that was not how one acted in a working environment, especially not during an interview for a job you knew could be the first step to a career in publishing, a safety net. Should her own writing not take off and allow her to make a living on it she would be happy to settle for editing the works of other, luckier, authors. She had not been able to take her eyes from his since she first looked into them and hoped he did not take it as the obsession it for the most part was and as she sat there with her legs crossed she felt a vague heat rise up in her crotch.

”My interest in this position, Mr Harding? I will be perfectly honest and say that while my goal still is to be able to make a living from my writing I have no illusions of writing the next Great American Novel, mostly because I am unsure that such a thing is even possible today, but also because I realise that such an endeavour requires more than just a talent for stringing words together into elegant, poignant or radical sentences and paragraphs.”
She paused and realised that she still had not taken her eyes away from his. It was almost as if they were both trying to hypnotise the other.
”I see it as a first step to a career in publishing, hopefully in a future role of editor, or if a girl is allowed to dream, Creative Director in charge of new talent.”
She took a deep breath and hoped that she had not overshot her carefully prepared answer to the anticipated question, or for that matter that it had not seemed rehearsed, or worse that she had stumbled on any of the words or phrases she had used without noticing it.

Before Mr Harding had the opportunity to react to her answer Ms Martin appeared in the office again with a glass and a bottle of citrus flavoured sparkling water which Molly accepted with a polite smile touched by a hint of dissatisfaction.

 

[Dark Prince]

Well, Molly was perceptive, Finn had to give her that at least. She’d seen the expression on his face change after his assistant’s seating gaffe, guessed what his displeasure was from, and adroitly fixed the problem herself. And her little jibe about milk was also on the mark, so she had already figured out some of the foibles that set him off. Whether she’d be more attentive to details when performing the job herself was still debatable, as half his assistants seemed to be high caliber when he’d hired them, only to prove oblivious to the peculiar requests he needed in order to keep his office, and by association life, in perfect productive harmony.

Finn waited for her to speak while scrutinizing her in minute detail. Her posture was good, and showed the appropriate level of formality that demonstrated respect for both the moment as well as his position of power. The cross of her legs exuded confidence and drew his gaze downward momentarily, reminding Finn yet again that she had a skinny and quite sexy body, one that his wife could not compete with at her age despite a near religious exercise routine. And her eyes, well, they locked onto his and a mini-battle seemed to happen as to who would talk next. He liked the hint of challenge in her gaze, but Finn had asked a question and she hadn’t answered it yet, so he waited with supreme confidence.

As he listened to her reply, Finn nodded thoughtfully. She was a realist at least, not a dreamer. As much as youthful idealism was energizing, he couldn’t have an assistant with her head in the clouds and not focused on the job, and his needs, first. He’d had plenty of the aspiring novelist types over the years, and they always flamed out quickly.

“Ms. Martin,” Finn said as the clueless temp tried to leave. Let Molly see that he was also perceptive and not a narcissist focused on his needs. Wait, why did he care what she even thought of him? “Did Ms. Bloom ask for sparkling water? Why don’t you get her some still, or better yet, ask what a visitor prefers to be sure next time.”

He ignored the horrid woman’s roll of her eyes, she wouldn’t be there tomorrow anyway.

“Excellent,” said Finn, turning his attention back to Molly. He gave her the abridged version of his interview spiel, focusing on how stressful his job was and how he needed an assistant that was both dependable and paid close attention to detail, leaving it unsaid on his part that she seemed to at least meet the latter criteria. “I have two other questions for you. First, how would you describe the type of working relationship you prefer to have with someone you support? The level of communication, how you take feedback, that kind of stuff.” Finn then let his eyes flick down her outfit, not in a leering manner of course, but a pointed glance that should let her know he disapproved. “And second, were you to work at J&H, would you be open to a different wardrobe? While we are what they call business casual, I prefer a little more polish on my assistant’s look as they are the first impression of me that my visitors receive.”

 

[MsBloom]

Molly saw the approval of her answer in his eyes. It had been spot on and she knew he was interested, perhaps to the point where the rest of the interview was a mere formality and Ms Martin would be clearing her desk before the end of business that evening. As she had suspected he must have had dozens of aspiring novelists dreaming of becoming literary superstars or legends apply for the position as his assistant over the years and from what she had concluded about his current assistant she was exactly that type. She probably had a manuscript of more than a thousand pages of mostly nonsense, or worse experimental prose for the sake of the experiment, or worse explicit kinky sex in the wake of the success E.L James had with her books, hundreds of pages of directionless unspecified dialogue but no actual plot or progression. And as soon as she had just a little free time she would edit it all into the next Great American Novel, as if. Yea Ms Martin was definitely the type of assistant Mr Harding most definitely did not need. Her head simply wasn't in the game. Her focus was not on him and his needs.

The second of his concluding questions was easy. Of course she was open to acquiring a working wardrobe that fit the company as well as him personally. She had already considered that the moment she walked in and saw Ms Martin in her medium length pencil skirt and pale lilac blouse. She even had a few ideas already on what she would get for her first day once the job was hers, and it would soon be.

The first question though would take some thought and she took a moment to think about what she had prepared just to make sure all the details would come out right and also to make sure to not reveal what she really wanted to do for him. She was given a little more time when Ms Martin returned with a bottle of still water and a new glass. Molly poured some water into the glass as elegantly as she could, took a sip and looked up at him again, locking eyes with him again.
"The type of working relationship I would like to have if I become your new personal assistant is one that can be both strictly professional at when needed also personal. It is hard to assist someone if you do not know them and having nothing but a strictly professional relationship with your employer does not allow for such knowledge. A personal assistant's duty is not solely restricted to office hours, it extends beyond that. To be the best possible assistant to you Mr Harding I would need to know everything there is to know about you, and while I must confess that I have already done some research online about your life, professional as well as private, there are still many things I do not know."
She had almost called him Sir instead of Mr Harding and it had sent a shiver through her body that she hoped he had not noticed. She had never needed a smoke more than she did in that moment but instead she simply took another sip of water.
"A good assistant never goes off the clock," she resumed her answer.
"A good assistant's focus is always on the employer. She serves her employer the perfect cup of coffee before he even knew he wanted or needed it, and never in a paper or plastic cup. She already has his lunch and dinner reservations ready for him at the start of office hours because she knows his cravings or preferences of the day. She knows his wife's and children's sizes and preferences in case she should need to assist him in purchasing gifts for them."
She paused again for another sip of water before concluding her answer by admitting that these were of course almost impossible standards but she would strive to meet them as best she could.

"As for dress code Mr Harding, I must first apologise for the rather casual outfit I am wearing for today's interview. I assure you that it will never be repeated. I would then ask You what You would consider to be an appropriate outfit for Your assistant."
She made sure to emphasise that she was not interested in what the company might consider appropriate, only his preferences.

 

[Dark Prince]

"I think your philosophy on supporting an executive sounds perfect," Finn replied, giving her a curt nod. "I like to keep professional and personal separate, but this role requires you to have a hand in both as my work life extends to weekends and I often travel, meaning personal logistics have to be handled as well as work duties."

Her description of how she would work with him certainly met with Finn's approval. It was almost too much, the implied dedication in her answer veered to almost slavish in devotion, but better that than an expectation that this was a 9-5 job done solely for a paycheck. Still, he wondered about one thing. Many of his former assistant's had quit because they didn't like being reprimanded, even when he gave gentle reminders designed to teach them how to do something right. How would she respond to negative feedback?

"If you make I mistake, however, I prefer to let you know immediately. They are learning moments, and don't mean I think you've failed or can't do the job. No one is perfect, but everyone should strive for perfection. How do you take negative feedback? Some of my admins consider me a bit of a taskmaster, or disciplinarian. Could you handle being held strictly accountable for your actions, no excuses?"

He thought for a second about her wardrobe requests. He had a certain style of dress in mind, sophisticated naturally, yet with her body, a little bit provocative as well, all purely professional of course, but he couldn't describe it well. Odd that he wanted her to look sexy, it wasn't a consideration with his other assistants, but her body would be a shame to waste, wouldn't it? A little eye candy wouldn't hurt when he walked in every morning, either, not that he'd do more than look, of course.

"For style, well, professional and elegant are what comes to mind. Dresses, certainly, and potentially some jeans as well if the look can pull it off. I'm sure it's something we can work on, even with what is in your current wardrobe. After you start maybe we can review your options and decide on some pairings that make sense," he answered, then realized he'd already implied a start. "Well, the cat's out of the bag it appears. I've liked your attention to detail and attitude, so I'l have HR be in touch with an offer to start as soon as your convenience. I'll be delighted to work with you, I'm sure."

It was impulsive for Finn, he normally liked to take his time and consider his options, but he was suddenly sick of interviews and wanted to clear his calendar of them and just move forward. Molly seemed like an eager girl, and willing to please, surely he couldn't go wrong with her. It was strange he thought of those two attributes first, eager and willing to please. They weren't exactly what he'd thought he'd prefer for his assistant, maybe a girlfriend perhaps, but not a subordinate!

Well, Finn had a lot of self-control. It's not like he'd be fucking her on his desk or anything. He'd had plenty of attractive co-workers before. Molly would be a nice bit of color in his otherwise drab life, that's it.

 

[MsBloom]

Even though it probably didn't show outwardly but Molly could feel herself soaking right through her underwear at the mention of being held strictly accountable for her actions without any excuses. Even the way he worded it was so deliciously perfect that all she could do at first was to nod and remind herself over and over to not call him Sir, at least not audibly. Still she managed to keep eye contact with him.
"I have no problems with either being corrected and taught how do perform a task better in the future or being held strictly accountable for my actions without any excuses. Both, I assume, will be meant as a means for me to become the perfect assistant to you."
She then smiled at him and for just a brief moment averted her eyes in a rather submissive manner, the way she imagined she would do the first time she was being held accountable for a mistake, standing in front of his desk, hands folded in front of her and head slightly lowered, appropriately modest and submissive while he reprimanded her. She felt another surge of arousal and for a brief moment she wondered how she would make it through an entire day of working for him without going crazy, or visiting the restroom six or seven times to masturbate.

By the time he let slip that he had already decided to hire her she had noticed the extremely subtle glances from him, at her body, while talking about the outfits he would expect her to wear while working. Professional and elegant he had said but she saw the third requirement in his eyes, sexy, within the given specifications of course but that was far from impossible. Sexy didn't necessarily mean skimpy and skin tight, nor did it by default mean low cut tops or three buttons undone. No ... sexy was to a large extent a matte of how one wore the outfit and how it was put together to match, or for that matter to perfectly mismatch, like that one flaw in an otherwise perfect work of art that only served to enhance the beauty of it, that one dissonant chord in a piece of music that made it interesting and beautiful in a way absolute perfection could never be. Sexy was also much more about confidence than it was about any particular garment of combination there of.

She stood up after he had informed her that he would Have HR be in touch with her to draw up a contract at her convenience which she informed him she would prefer to be as soon as possible. The weekend was coming up and she wanted to be able to start assisting him no later than Monday morning if possible. That way she would have the entire weekend to shop for appropriate outfits for work.
"I'm sure it will be an absolute pleasure working for you as well Mr Harding," she said and almost demurely straightened her jeans but the reason she did was to make sure that her arousal had not leaked through them which would indeed have been most embarrassing and certainly a deal breaker.

 

[Dark Prince]

It was supposed to be an empty afternoon with the other interviews removed, a nice bit of clear schedule to actually get some work done. Yet, Finn found it hard to concentrate. The faint whiff of cigarette smoke had lingered, ever so slightly, in his office. While it bothered him, it didn't bother him in the normal way he would have expected, and that reaction bothered him more than the odor itself.

Where was his annoyance? The urge to press the intercom and demand some Febreeze to sanitize his environment?

Instead, that trace of something completely foreign in his life intrigued him, for he didn't smoke anymore, and his wife had never done something so... vile. No one he knew smoked these days. Inevitably, of course, the scent made him think of Molly.

Smoking was unhealthy, bad for you, and indisputably a vice. At one point in Uni, however, he'd been a pack a day smoker. That rush of nicotine had been so sweetly addictive with its tiny burst of pleasure. Did he like the rush back then, or just the unhealthy craving it gave him? A craving that made him feel like his body had desires and needs, a dirty mind of its own.

Fuck, he'd felt so alive back then, even when trying to kill himself with cigarettes and alchohol.

It was getting late, and Finn's mind was all over the place when he finally googled Molly on his computer. He should be going home, it was almost seven and the office was empty. His wife had sounded skeptical when he'd told her that he'd try to be back before eight, so he had some time. The blinds were down, so he also had a modicum of privacy in his office, not that it should matter, for he was just researching his new assistant to make sure HR didn't miss some smoking gun.

Hers was a famous name, and a common one, so it took a while to find anything relevant. There she was at last, an Instagram account. She wasn't that active on social media, which was a good thing, but Finn took his time going through the set of photos. He studied her face, her smiles and sillier expressions, her choice of friends, including the men that might appear next to her. Those he scrutinized closely, how closely she held them, the date of the photograph, and the text below, as if divining clues to whether they might be dating, or whatever passed for that in her generation.

But most of all Finn examined her clothes and body, her slender figure was beguiling as it appeared and disappeared in various outfits. Of course he lingered on the sexier images, when she dressed up for parties or going out, or perhaps was wearing tight athletic clothes. There were only a few bikini shots, he was disappointed to discover, but his cock began to harden as he paused on them.

Finn wasn't going to jerk off to bikini shots of his new assistant, of course, so he snorted and flipped back to the search results. He typed in her personal email address and tried search on that more unique identifier. Again, mostly garbage results and links to various school projects or organizations she'd been in involved with. Way down, however, near the end found a link to a profile for a blogging service and clicked on it. It looked like it had been set up by default, with no personalization at all, but her email address was shown probably by mistake. The profile linked to a blog with the strange title of "Dark Nymph" and Finn clicked on it breathlessly. It was some sort of erotic diary, he realized as his he began to read it, his pulse quickening.

"Fuck … I have to masturbate again and I want him to watch me as I do it. I want it so badly. I honestly don’t know how I will manage to contain myself tomorrow when I meet him for my interview"

It was dirty, very dirty. And therefore she was dirty, very dirty.

And the recent posts were all about him.

His cock was fully hard now and, against his better judgment, Finn found it in his hand as he scrolled Molly's blog with his other. Stroking himself, his throbbing cock now demanding a cum, he realized that he'd be aroused all afternoon since he'd met Molly. She had been why he'd been so distracted and unable to work. Now, reading her filthy fantasies, especially the new ones which involved him, with her being tied, spanked, and used like a complete slut, he finally admitted to himself that he wanted to fuck her oh-so-badly.

His pleasure built with unusual speed as he was so turned on by her writing. He was breathing hard, panting as he pumped his cock faster. The idea that she was thinking these nasty thoughts about him was driving him mad. A particularly dirty fantasy of hers caught his eyes, and he imagined her bent over his desk right now, her skirt hiked up to her waist and panties pulled down. Her pale ass cheeks were mottled red with his handprints after disciplining her, but that was just a hot detail, for his cock was plunging into her hot slit in his mind, finding it so tight and juicy. He yanked her head into the air with a fistful of red hair. "Is this what you want?" he shouted at her, while his hips slammed into her ass hard and fast, the staccato slap of their skin a lusty rhythm to her animal screams.

The waves of pleasure coming from his cock were unstoppable and Finn found himself cumming hard, barely able to scramble to stand up and at least point his prick at his desk so as to not soil his suit. His dick jerked in his hand, each jolt sending a wave of sharp pleasure through him as he shot his hot seed out across his treasured wooden desk. It was absurd, he knew, as he blasted jizz out in almost a dozen sharp bursts, that a man of his age would get so turned on that he'd jerk off in his office and cum so fast he couldn't even grab a kleenex in time?

Molly's picture was on the screen of his monitor as he came, one of her bikini shots, and he looked at the enigmatic smile she was giving him and had an involuntary post-orgasmic shudder. What had he done hiring this vixen?

Fuck, he would kill for a cigarette right now.

 

[MsBloom]

Molly barely made it out of his office, casting a knowing and slightly arrogant glance at the woman whose place she would be taking come Monday morning, before she let out a low but deep moan in the elevator going down. Being alone in the elevator she did let her left hand wander to her crotch which by then felt as if it was about to go up in flames if she didn't do something. Thought and done, when she reached the downstairs lobby she followed the sign to the unisex restroom and found an empty stall. Barely making sure to lock the door behind her she clawed open her skinny jeans and pulled them down to her knees along with her panties.
"Oh Fuck me Mr Harding," she moaned and being soaking wet she didn't bother with any subtleties. She simply pushed two fingers deep inside herself and began to move them back and forth rapidly."
"Fuck yes, just like that Mr Harding, deeper, harder."
When she orgasmed less than thirty seconds later she had to bite down on her own hand to not cry out loud. She then had to sit down on top of the toilet for a few minutes to catch her breath back and regain full control over her spasming thighs. She then hurried outside and dug out her cigarettes, put one between her lips and lit it. She inhaled almost greedily and let the smoke out with a sigh. She had done it. The job was hers and hopefully soon he would be too.

She checked how much money she had in her account and then went shopping for an appropriate outfit to wear for Monday. She didn't have an unlimited amount of money to spend but a quick call to her aunt in which she explained that she had gotten the job she had applied for she managed to borrow some to buy herself at least two outfits, a mid-thigh black pencil skirt which she would combine with one of the blouses in her wardrobe and then a pair of camel trousers with a smooth front and added a simple black silk blouse to them. She also picked up a pair of new boots to wear with the outfits.

She then took the subway home and as soon as she was inside her apartment she dropped the bags, stripped out of her jeans and not even waiting until she got to her bedroom, or even her couch she began masturbating again, this time not bothering to be quiet. The fantasy was more or less the same as it had been in the restrooms earlier. She had gone down on her knees in front of him right there in his office with his current assistant still in the room. She had undone his pants. taken out his cock which in her imagination was at least 10" and so thick she couldn't close her thumb and index finger around it. He had told his current assistant to stay and watch how a proper assistant cared for her employer and the blushing scatter-brain who couldn't even remember which chair he wanted his visitors to sit in, had stood there, hands demurely covering her crotch as if it had been on display despite her still being fully dressed, watching, ashamed at what a bad assistant she was who had never done this for him.

Molly had sucked him for a long time, using every skill she had acquired to not only maximise the pleasure he would derive from it but also to prolong that pleasure as long as possible. She prided herself on being able to keep men on the edge for up to twenty minutes before allowing them to orgasm, yes allowing them to. That was in her mind the point of blow jobs, to control the man's orgasm to the exact point when it would be most satisfying for him. She had then made sure not to waste a single drop of his semen and swallowed it all down like a good girl.

For the first orgasm at home she simply used her fingers but for the next she took out her bad dragon dildo, placed it on the hard wood floor in her living room and rode it while slapping her clit and begging for Him to fuck her harder and deeper and faster. This time he squirted so hard she almost passed out and once she had managed to recuperate and showered she sat down with her laptop and began to write the next part of her secret online diary that she was sure no one who knew her would find but as soon as she began to recall the interview she felt the need for yet another orgasm so she got her vibrating egg that she could control through an app on her phone, slipped it inside and turned it on before starting to write.

After having posted and orgasmed again she needed a nap and not bothering to clean up of put anything away she slept for almost two hours before she started getting ready to go to the fetish club she used to go to.

 

[Dark Prince]

Finn felt guilty that night. He had, after all, just jerked off in his office, onto his desk, while reading his new assistant's kinky erotic diary. There were a lot of things to feel bad about while kissing his wife when he got home. Thankfully she had a headache, so his lack of libido for her that evening wouldn't have to be explained, not that their sex life was anywhere close to where it had been even five years ago.

He lay in bed that night, his mind restless. Molly kept creeping into his head, and getting him hard each time, until he began to wonder if he should rescind her offer. This could lead to nothing good, he knew. Yet, another part of him badly wanted her in his life. The lie he told himself was that he had self-control, he was a master of his needs and desires. There is no way he'd do something stupid just because she was his assistant and he knew where her kinky diary could be read online? No, he rationalized, he'd just use her blog and her attractive presence as masturbatory fodder. Nothing more.

You fuckin' liar.

The next day was Saturday and his mind shouldn't be on work, and it wasn't, it was on Molly again. She was starting Monday and it wasn't unusual for him to email or send information to his assistants prior to their first day to avoid any mishaps. They had discussed following up on wardrobe, after all, so it seemed perfectly professional to reach out to her. He had a quiet moment, his wife had taken the twins down to the park while he was running an errand uptown, and he pulled out his phone.

Against his will, his fingers typed out the address of Molly's blog.

"I never even made it out of the building. I had to go into the restrooms in the lobby and masturbate after the interview, twice."

Jesus Fucking Christ, she had a NEW entry already! Had she typed it up last night? She had to have! Finn read it helplessly, unable to stop and feeling himself get hard on a very public street as she detailed what appeared to be a voracious sexual appetite. She referenced a club at the end of her post, something he'd seen in her earlier entries as well, and Finn wondered what club that might be. Not that he'd ever go and try to find her there, of course.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was he to do? She started in two days and was clearly masturbating about him more than he was about her. Granted, if he had more privacy and lived alone, he'd probably have jerked off a couple more times since yesterday, but still.

Clearly he couldn't handle having an attractive assistant who fantasized about him, it would be too much temptation he now admitted. He was hard in a public street in New York from her! It would be difficult to fire her before she started, or even on her first day, so he'd have to just somehow manage her out. That made the most sense. Be a dick to her, a "raging asshole" as one assistant had called him, and she'd lose her infatuation or whatever this was, and quit on her own in no time. He just had to be his normal self as he doubted she'd do a good enough job to not be in trouble within minutes of her first day.

Still, he had meant to talk to her about clothing. Yes, he'd still do that and perhaps she'd dress inappropriately and that could be an excuse to fire her. He pulled up her C.V. with her phone number and tapped out a brief message.

"Hello Molly! Finn here. I know you were concerned about attire for J&H. If you have some outfits in your closet you want to send me photos of, I'd be happy to offer some advice."

There. That was professional. Maybe she had nothing appropriate and she'd decide she had to quit because she couldn't afford the right clothes? Finn put his phone away and took a deep breath. Despite his misgivings, he was hoping she'd write him back and he had an odd curiosity about what kinds of outfits she might want to wear next week.

 

[MsBloom]

The sun had already risen above Brooklyn by the time Molly got back from the club and peeled off her burgundy leather dress and her thigh high boots. She showered and washed off all the sweat and other fluids from her body and made sure to carefully clean all the semen out of her vagina before going to bed naked after having had a smoke by her french balcony and written about the night in her Dark Nymph Diaries. It had been a good night at the club and while she had only had a few drinks she was exhausted from all the sex.

When she woke up again she was fully intent on spending the day at her lap top and hopefully finishing the story she was working on. While she had been completely honest with him about having no illusions about writing the next great american novel she still had not given up writing. She had written a good handful of erotic horror stories in a similar vein as one of her all time favourite authors in the horror genre, HP Lovecraft. The one she was working on was simply called The Seed. It was about a young woman of about her own age who was on a hike with her partner and her partner's family. Agnes, as the main protagonist's name was, had snuck off to pee and having found a small clearing under a tall tree surrounded by some bushes she had never seen before she pulled down her pants and panties and squatted down. When the stream of golden liquid hit the ground the bushes had begun to tremble, as if they had sensed from the fluid that she was ovulating, and soon she had found herself completely enveloped in vines, holding her arms tight against her body and spreading her legs apart so that the pollinated pistil could penetrate her vagina and plant its seed in her womb. Molly had spent a lot of time on the paragraph where Agnes got raped by this bizarre plant which it seemed needed her to orgasm for the transfer of the seed to be successful and the vines had provoked all of her most sensitive spots to achieve this goal.

Not mentioning what had happened to her Agnes went on with the hike and when she got back home she realised she was pregnant but she also fell ill with a condition unknown to modern medicine. That was as far as Molly had got and now it was just the final stretch in which the now nine months pregnant Agnes is drawn to return to the same forest in which the vines had raped her and when she does she eventually dies and a new bush starts to grow out of her vagina while she slowly fades away.

As it turned out her Saturday would start much earlier than she had anticipated and hoped when she was awakened by her phone. Not entirely sure where she had left it before falling asleep she fumbled blindly for it while muttering a series of profanities at whomever was disrupting her sleep but when she found it and opened her eyes to check who the culprit was she was suddenly awake and sat up. It was him, Mr Harding, her new employer.
"Yes Mr Harding. How can I help you?" she answered in a servile tone and almost as if it was second nature to her stepped into the role she was officially not to take on until Monday morning.

 

[Dark Prince]

She responded quickly to his message, and for a second Finn was uncertain how to proceed. He'd just gone through this whole internal monologue that had arrived at the logical conclusion that he couldn't have this kinky slut, who clearly had lurid fantasies about him, working in close proximity. Yet, now that she was writing him back, all he wanted to do was find out exactly what she was doing, what she was wearing, and of course, was she thinking about him!

He struggled to get his thoughts together, cock hardening yet again, to the point where he found a bench on 5th Avenue, on the park side, and sat down to at least hide his predicament better. Arranging his bulge to go down his trousers and placing an ankle on his knee, at least he wouldn't be accused of being a pervert with a visible erection in public!

Satisfied that he could write her without arousing attention at his, well, arousal, he tapped out a reply message.

"Just following up the wardrobe question. Do you want to send me some pictures of what you have in your closet? I don't want you to have to spend a lot of money on outfits or anything, so I'm sure we can make something work that suits my requirements."

There, that seemed professional enough. Of course, asking his new assistant to send photographs of her clothes might be a bit crossing the line, but he wasn't asking for nudes or risque shots. He hadn't even asked her to try anything on! He was just going to give some advice so she wouldn't show up and create a faux paux in the office. That was all.

 

[MsBloom]

Her initial response had been almost instinctual since it had been sent by a not fully awakened brain and when she got the reply back she noticed that it was in fact partly a repetition of information that had been in the first message. She now sat up and smiled. He wanted her to model in her work outfits. On a Sunday morning? She nodded once more to herself, sent a reply saying that she would send him a few photos within the hour and that she was most grateful for the interest he took in her wardrobe and then she got up, went to the bathroom. She sat down to pee and with another less voluntary smile she held out her camera and took a selfie while sitting there on the toilet without a thread of clothes on her body giving the camera a sexy look. Her phone was full of such impromptu photos of herself, where she was either undressed to some degree or revealed a nipple or some other part that was expected to be covered when out in public.

She then washed her face, put her hair up in a tight bun and applied some subtle make up before putting on the skirt she had bought the day before and matched it with a white blouse from her wardrobe and a thing black scarf which she tied into a loose bow, that did just lightly keep the blouse ever so slightly pushed between her breasts, drawing subtle attention to them. Underneath this she wore a white lace bra that couldn't be seen through the fabric unless you looked closely. She put on the boots she had bought and stepped in front of her full body mirror and took a few shots of herself from different angles. She then took off her clothes, folded them neatly and did the same with the camel slacks, adding the black silk blouse she had bought to go with them. For this she added a deep red scarf, draped twice around her beck with one end in the front and the other in the back, again this helped draw attention to her breasts, or in this case to her left breast in particular since it was across that the scarf draped itself. She took more photos and kept going like that, putting together a few other outfits from the clothes she already had in her wardrobe, her airline hostess style two piece with a pale blue blouse underneath and a red and white dress that had a bit of a fifties house wife air to it.

Almost on the strike of the promised hour she uploaded the images to an email and sent to him, adding the first selfie she had taken that day, or herself naked on the toilet, which she would of course claim had been an accident.