I'd been at the company of my dreams for 18 months before everything fell apart.
I'd grown up with a strongly misogynistic father who wouldn't let my mother work, and tried to stop me from going to college. That's why when I found the feminist magazine, my life changed. I was able to find strong role models for a striving, intellectual life. Once I got to college I majored in women's studies, and managed to secure a dream job at the magazine that changed my life after graduation.
They had a small staff, so I was brought on as the executive assistant for the company's trailblazing founder, Cate Farmer. It wasn't writing yet, but it gave me firsthand involvement in a project which I valued more than anything else, and she quickly became mentor and friend. I felt more than ever that I had finally escaped the oppressive ideology of my father. Then the collapse.
I walked into work on the worst day of my life ready for a new day of striving to make the world better, though the presence of more cars in the parking lot than ever before did confuse me. When I entered, the office was in chaos. I found one of the copy editors, Natasha, and only subconsciously noticed the normally-icy girl was wearing a bit of makeup before she gave me the news. Cate had been ousted by the board of directors after having been found to have embezzled a fortune from our investors.
I barely had time to process the betrayal and mourn the loss of my mentor before Natasha lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"The board have put in one of their own. I only saw him for a second, but he was ~really cute~."
The comment was completely out of left field. I'd been fairly certain Natasha was a lesbian, if not out of natural attraction then out of sheer refusal to engage with the masculine sex. Yet here she was, gossiping about our new boss' looks, and giggling like a schoolgirl about it? Before I could interrogate the strange behavior, however, a handsome young man in a pressed suit put his hand on my arm. "You're Sammy, right?"
I flinched at his touch, and said poisonously, "I'm Sam, yeah, why?"
The young man merely smiled bemusedly, frustratingly handsome. "Well, you are the assistant to the CEO, aren't you?"
I looked at him, bewildered. "Yeah, obviously."
"Well then I think you're about 20 minutes late, so you should probably cut it with the indignation and go make an appearance. Rick is waiting for you in his office."
Everything about the interaction was off putting. Under Cate, we'd never been worried about petty details like the time the workday started. The way that the man spoke so possessively, though, about our space and our time, in this holy temple of feminist self-actualization, nearly made me sick. He snapped me out of my shock and back into fury, if at least more functional fury, by tapping his watch condescendingly. Even as I stalked away angrily, though, I thought about how annoyingly handsome he was. -Its always been maddening, my weakness for alpha corporate types.-
This thought once more stopped me in my tracks. I didn't have a weakness for corporate alpha types. The only boyfriend I'd ever had was a shy poet. I found men like that revolting. And yet I couldn't deny it. My heart (and something) else was fluttering, I noted in indignation, as I thought about his easy confidence, his natural condescension for my weak female mind. Before I could interrogate this even more concerning thought, however, I found myself stepping into 'Rick's' office.
"Uh, Rick?" I said, awkwardly. His chair was turned away from the door, though I could smell his cologne already. Inconsequentially I noted the room had already been redesigned. A commanding, earthen, overwhelmingly masculine voice issued "Mr. Harding to you. You are 23 minutes late." The voice crashed over me in waves, reducing me nearly to a puddle immediately. Every smart comment I had thought up to cut down his male arrogance melted, and I said, nearly in tears, "I'm so sorry Mr. Harding, it wont happen again."
This made my knees buckle from its force, and I whimpered "I'm so sorry Mr. Harding sir, I wont disappoint you again." The sheer authority in his voice seemed to work its way not only into the control center of my brain but to drift south, pulling aside my plain panties and tickling my cunt. -I've never called it a cunt before- I thought, blankly.
"Sit." Mr. Harding turned around and I was captivated. He was the pinnacle of pure masculinity. Strong lines defined his face, his eyes betrayed immediate contempt for me and everything I believed in. "So you are my absent secretary," he said, dismissively.
"Personal assistant," I choked out against the force of his disdain.
"You are my office girl. You answer my phones and complete my commands. You are a secretary. Personal assistants, like Jared who you met earlier, require decisive independence, competence. I wouldn't trust an air headed girl like you to do that job."
Something deep inside me tried in vain to rebel against his assessment. However, his voice and looks seemed to clear the virgin land of my brain, throwing up new buildings and roads with ease, generating new pathways and ideas in an instant. I was an airhead. I knew it. That's why I worked as a secretary. Real jobs were for organized, ambitious types. -Men- I thought, quietly. The force of realization left me dazed on the chair, head back, legs open for him to see my -boring- panties.
"Lucky for you, being my secretary is a very important position." I stirred at the comment, trying and failing to meet those jet black eyes. "You help keep morale up by looking sexy and being helpful. You may be a vapid party girl who can't handle serious office work, but you're great at filling coffee, prancing around the office in those skyscraper heels and miniskirts. Everyone loves it when you lean over their desks, revealing that hot cunt you wouldn't dare to cover up. You know your pussy and your body are your value. But as long as you look hot, we're happy to keep you around."
At that point, the identity shattering force of the speech made me black out. When I came to, I was in a fashionable bar somewhere. Mr. Harding sat across from me, eyes roving hungrily over the low-cut dress I discovered I was wearing. Everywhere his eyes fell tingled pleasurably. I smiled vapidly, and he nodded to the goblet of champagne before me. "Drink up slut, that's worth more than you are." I giggled thoughtlessly.
These days going to work is always a blast. I love it when Mr. Harding fucks me over the desk first thing in the morning. The office always has cute boys around to give me attention throughout the day, even if I have to complete with the rest of my slut squad. That's ok though, any girl who gets fucked over a desk is doing their part to keep the office running. These days the office mostly creates tiktok content promoting right wing politics. We model in the videos, and get to show off our hot bodies for men all over the world. I also keep up my personal tiktok page when we're not recording for the company, which totally blew up a couple months ago, though these days I'm focusing more on my onlyfans. I have a special deal on there for any young girls who wants to learn how to be better sluts. I know my dad has my mom on that plan. She's looking super hot and fuckable these days!
