Tradwife or a HR Hooker?

In the first week, Meghan had learned that there was more — in
advantages and disadvantages — to being Paul Monroe’s private
secretary than the HR interviewer had told her. His description had
been “good pay, good benefits, bad hours, no job security.” All that
was true. Her pay was well more than twice what she’d earned in her
last job. Mr. Monroe dropped some disks he’d dictated on her desk
when he left the office at 7:30 Wednesday night; he’d expected them
ready at 8:00 the next morning. She had a company credit card for the
shopping he assigned her, including his special grind of coffee. She was
expected to keep the coffee maker ready for him; she was also
expected to pour her own when she wanted. Thursday he’d left for an
early lunch appointment.

“I won’t be back today,” he’d told her on his way out. “Leave when
you’ve taken care of everything.” She had. She’d window shopped,
actually bought something, and still been soaking in a tub at home
sipping a cocktail before the office closed. So, she knew the answer
Friday when he’d asked whether she were free over the dinner hour.

“I don’t have anything planned, Mr. Monroe.” It was even true. Her
social life was on hold.

“That’s very good. Please call Hobson’s restaurant and reserve the
smallest private room for tonight. Tell them you’re calling from the firm.
They know us. We don’t know how late we’ll need it.”

She made the call, but she was puzzled. She kept his appointment
books, two of them. She penciled in requests as they came in or he
asked her to set up something. She kept another in ink as he accepted
invitations or scheduled the acceptances he received. Nothing was in
either book for tonight. The matter didn’t become clearer at Hobson’s.

“There are three parties ahead of you,” was the headwaiter’s greeting.
“Would you care to wait in the cocktail lounge?”

“I’ve reserved the smallest private room,” Mr. Monroe responded.
“Paul Monroe.”

“Yes, Mr. Monroe. George will be your waiter.” A man, who must
have been George, appeared in moments. “Mr. Monroe,” the
headwaiter said. “Room D.” George led them through the main room
and up a broad staircase. There were more diners up here, but George
led them past those tables to a room with a solid door. The table might
have seated six, but had plenty of space for the two chairs. George
seated her while Mr. Monroe seated himself.

“What would you like, Meghan,” Mr. Monroe asked. She selected the
roast beef. Mr. Monroe seconded her and chose a burgundy from the
wine list. When George had served them and left a silver coffee pot on
a side table he spoke almost his first words of the night from the door.

“Open or closed, sir?”

“Closed, please. I’ll ring when we’re ready for dessert.”

“Yessir.” He closed the door behind him. At Mr. Monroe’s gesture, she
sampled the food. The beef was both tender and delicious. The wine, if
a bit sour to her taste, complemented the taste of the beef. The room
looked luxurious, even for this restaurant. There were
convincing-looking copies of masters hanging on the wood-paneled
walls. The one facing her looked like “Danae and the Shower of Gold”
from an art-appreciation class in her junior year. She couldn’t
remember where the original hung — the course had been nearly eight
years earlier — but she was damned sure it wasn’t in a restaurant.

“So, Meghan, are you finding your feet now? You seem to have got
through your first week with no blunders.” The HR man had warned
her. Mr. Monroe didn’t scold; he didn’t micro-manage; he did fire. He
was the height of courtesy, making requests rather than demands. If she
didn’t meet his requests, he’d have another secretary next month who
would. Still, both the HR man and Mr. Monroe himself had emphasized
honesty — “brutal honesty” was Mr. Monroe’s term. He could accept a
mistake — nobody suggested he would accept many; he wouldn’t
accept a surprise.

“What I still don’t see, sir, is what the company does,” she said.

He laughed. “Monroe Investments invests. That’s too general, but it’s
true. A small new corporation comes to us for capital to buy
equipment. We investigate. If it looks good, we lend them money at
decent — but not exorbitant — interest rates. They put up the equipment
as security. We also ask for options on a significant share of the
company’s stock. When things go well, we exercise the options. The
interest pays for losses and for the market and engineering investigators
plus a little. The dividends are pure gravy.

“Banks make money on what they lent last year. We make money on
what my father — who started the business — lent decades ago. Is that
any clearer?”

“A little.” He was being gracious to her. Her nervousness was irrational.
Still, knowing that didn’t make her less nervous. She drank a little more
wine to settle her nerves.

“And, it’s just a little description. Wait until you’ve been through a few
cycles. Smith Corporation goes from being a prospect to being a
borrower to being a success paying good dividends. Jones Corporation
goes from being a prospect to being a borrower to going bankrupt. For
now, enjoy your meal.” And enjoy it she did. He was her host; he
poured wine into her glass when she’d lowered the level. She was his
secretary; she got up to pour more coffee when his cup was empty.

When they’d finished eating, he drained his cup. She drained hers
before going to the pot to refill them.

“If you please, Meghan,” he asked, “would you also lower the light level
by about half? There’s a rheostat by the door.” She found the rheostat
and dimmed the lights. She brought back the cups, and set his down.
He said “thank you” while cupping her left butt cheek with his hand. Her
shaking spilled her coffee into the saucer. She set the cup and saucer
down wondering how to respond.

“Here,” he said. He filled her glass to the brim. “We might as well finish
the bottle.” It was quite depleted, but she’d had more than enough to
drink. On the other hand, she’d learned to take Mr. Monroe’s
suggestions. She sipped until it was down an inch. When she put the
glass down, he poured enough to raise the level half an inch nearer the
brim.

“Some of my friends,” he said out of the blue, “wonder at the time I put
in on the job. They regard work as a penalty they undergo to get the
luxuries of play time. I prefer to have a pleasant workplace. You, for
instance, are a quite lovely girl, Meghan. When HR vetted your skills
and discretion, they vetted those of four other possibilities. I chose you
because you were the most attractive. Your skills, and they are real,
help assure that the work gets done correctly. Your appearance and
personality help me enjoy the work.” He raised his glass for her to clink
hers with it. “To a long and successful association.” When he drained
his glass, she did the same. He got up for the first time since they had
begun the meal.

“Why thank you, sir.” She should treat that as a compliment, although
being regarded as part of a well-appointed office suite wasn’t that great
a compliment. He was walking very slowly around the long side of he
table towards her. She felt a new kind of anxiety. She’d learned to fear
his power to fire her. Did she have reason to fear him physically?

“Stand up.” He gestured that she should come towards him. Should
she? Well, it was that or leave — that or leave and never go back to the
office. She stood, took his hand. The hand was chilly. “After the meal,
my hands might be greasy. I don’t want to get them on your dress.” He
pulled her towards him by her hands. The threat was plain; if she didn’t
go to him, he’d pull her by her clothed shoulders. Getting the dress dirty
wasn’t a knife at her throat, but it had been an expensive purchase. She
moved so close that her breasts touched his coat.

He kissed her forehead. Then he raised her chin for a kiss on the
mouth. Little as she had wanted it, the kiss was pleasant. When his
tongue touched hers, the nervousness started turning into excitement.
He withdrew his tongue, broke the kiss, kissed the tip of her nose.

“Meghan,” he said. He was still holding one of her hands, and he pulled
that hand to guide her in a half rotation. He kissed the left side of her
neck and the back of that ear. She felt his hands on the snap at the
back of her dress. Then it was open and the zipper was coming down
to the bottom. “Place your dress on your chair,” he said. When she had,
he continued, “And the slip.”

He was right behind her when she straightened from that. His hands
went to the snap of her bra. She shrugged her shoulders forward. That
had kept her bra from being unsnapped when she’d used it in her
high-school days. It didn’t work this time; Mr. Monroe must be
stronger than he looked.

He didn’t seem to be afraid of getting her skin dirty. He stroked his
hands across her back and around her sides until they cupped her
breasts. He kissed the back of her ear again. Her nipples turned traitor
and rose to the strokes of his fingers. She was frightened and offended.
She was also a little aroused. It was now impossible to leave the room,
at least to leave before getting dressed again. His kisses trailed down
her ear and then down her neck. Finally, he stopped touching her for a
moment. Should she grab her clothes and run? Run where? The room
was larger than two people needed to eat in, but it had no refuge. Right
outside the door were diners.

His jacket dropped on her clothes, and the opportunity passed — if
there ever had been an opportunity. He turned her around by her
shoulder. He kissed her again, holding her breasts with one hand and
her left butt cheek with the other.

“Now my clothes,” he said when he straightened from the kiss. She
untied his tie; her clumsiness brought a smile to his lips. As she
unbuttoned his shirt, his hands stroked her ears and neck. When she
reached his belt, he held out one hand to her. While she removed the
cufflink, the other hand pulled the front of his shirt above the belt line
and unbuttoned the last button. Then he held that arm out to have her
remove that cufflink. The only place to put them seemed the table. He
turned to let her remove the shirt. He removed the t-shirt he was
wearing as an undershirt. Before she turned around, he tossed it atop
the shirt she had laid on the pile of clothes. When she did turn, he took
her into his arms. He stroked down her back while he kissed her. Her
nipples hardened to the feeling of the skin of his chest when their
tongues met. When his hands reached her butt, he pulled her tight
against him. She could feel his erection pressing against her stomach
through his trousers.

He broke the kiss to kiss her cheeks and then her neck. Meanwhile,
one hand and then the other slipped under her panties to grasp her butt
cheeks. He kneaded them alternately while his mouth worked its way
down to her breast. Then he bent at the knees and pushed her panties
and pantyhose down over her hips. He grasped her butt again, pulled
her against his upper body, and straightened. She grabbed at his neck
to keep from falling as he pivoted. Then her bare butt was resting on
the table.

“Take those off,” he said. She removed shoes, pantyhose, and panties
while he stood to one side stroking her breasts. Occasionally, he kissed
her shoulder. When the shoes were on the floor and the rest were
added to the pile of clothes on the chair, he parted her knees to stand
between her legs. The kissing this time required less stooping on his
part. One of his hands teased her nipples, going from one breast to the
other. His other hand stroked her thighs. Despite the opposition of her
mind to this, her body was responding. She even spared a thought to
what her moisture was doing to the finish of the table top.

“Lean back,” he said. “No. Wait.” he shoved the cufflinks and some
plates further down the table to her left. “Now, lean back on your
elbows.” When she tried, she found that her right side was almost at the
end of the table. She kept both arms close to her sides for the balance.
He went around the end of the table. He kissed her on the mouth while
his hand stroked the inside of her thighs again. Soon, he was kissing her
breasts while stroking her labia.

Even though her position wasn’t all that comfortable, she found herself
enjoying the caresses. As he sucked her breast and stroked her clit, she
began to soar. Her mind gave up the fight to let her body receive its
enjoyment. She was almost there; then he abandoned the caresses. He
put a hand behind her back and took her right hand in his.

“Now mine,” he said. She couldn’t think his what, but she let him help
her to sit up. Then, with him pulling, she dropped off the table. The
deep carpet felt ticklish against her bare feet. He turned his back to the
table, put his hands on the edge, and swung himself into a sitting
position. “Start with my shoes,” he said. When she’d taken his shoes
and socks off, she undid his belt. He raised himself from the table by
pressing down on the edge of the table with his hands. When she’d
pulled his trousers off, he spoke again.

“Hang that on the back of the chair.” Then he did the handstand again
while she worked his boxers off around his jutting cock and then his
hips. She knelt to get them off his feet. She stood and tossed the boxers
onto the pile of clothing on the chair. He’d dropped off the table while
she did this. When she turned back towards him, he pulled her chin up
for another kiss. His tongue was exciting against hers while his hands
roamed her breasts. Then he stroked to her butt. He pulled her against
him. Her breasts were pressed into his chest, his cock hard against her
belly. When he abandoned the kiss, he turned her around by the
shoulder. Then one hand was teasing her left nipple while the other was
parting her labia. He kissed where her neck met her shoulder. She
began to soar again under the multiple stimuli. It was going to happen,
she might as well enjoy it. And she was enjoying this prelude. Then he
stood back.

“Are you protected?” he asked. She wasn’t. Would this stop him? He
certainly shouldn’t want to risk child support payments; at his income
level, they would be more than her salary was. Somewhere in her mind,
she gave thanks. Somewhere, she nearly screamed in frustration.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Well.” He stepped to the chair holding their clothing and took
something out of his pants watch pocket. He handed her a condom in a
plastic packet. “Put that on me.” She fumbled with it. She’d gone with a
couple of men who used them, but she’d never been the one to put
them on. Finally, she got it open; she rolled it down his penis. “Now,
face the table and bend over on your elbows.”

When she did, he stood to her side and resumed his caresses. One
hand played with her nipples, mostly the left one. The other hand parted
her labia and stroked her clit. She became resigned to this conquest. As
the strokes went on, however, she enjoyed them more and more. Her
feelings soared again. She felt his finger enter her more deeply. Then,
before she could decide whether she enjoyed that more than she
resented it, it was two fingers. When they were in deeply, his thumb
brushed her clit. She really soared. Almost there, she found it too
distracting to hold herself up. When she dropped onto the table, he
removed his hand from her breast and moved behind her.

“Reach between your legs,” he said, “and put me in.” His fingers were
rotating inside her rather than going in and out. She needed something
there; she’d even accept him. When she reached between her legs, his
hand guided hers to his cock. The condom was oily. He spread her
labia while she placed him at her entrance. He slid in easily. His hand
went to her right breast and held it — it felt moist there. His other hand
went around her hips to her clit. He stroked it before he began to
move.

Then he was moving. The combination of sensations was
overwhelming. She dropped her head on her hands. When he pressed
inward, she pushed back against him. She soared as she had previously
this evening, but this time he did nothing to bring her back. Indeed, his
strokes within and his caresses on her sensitive parts were driving her
higher and higher. Her delight was intense and growing greater. Then
she broke.

“Oh,” she groaned. She felt herself shake. She felt her innermost being
clamp around something. That something must have ben her boss,
because he drove against her so hard that the table bruised her thighs.
He backed off, drove into her even harder, then pressed against her.

“Meghan,” he called. She felt him throb within her. Then his weight was
on her back.

Sometime later, he pushed against the table so that he was only resting
on her hips. Later yet, he rose completely off her. She felt him
withdraw. When enough of her strength had returned that she could
stand, he was pawing through their joint pile of clothes and dressing.
She waited to one side for her turn at the pile. When he had resumed all
his clothes but coat, tie, shoes and stockings, he hopped back up on
the table.

“Do the shoes, won’t you?” he said. Still naked, she knelt before him
and pulled his socks over his feet. then she put the shoes on him and
tied the laces. He kept sitting on the table tying his tie while she donned
her underwear. She handed him his jacket when she got to it in the pile.

“Messy getting dressed afterwards, isn’t it?” he asked. “Next time, we’ll
take a room and eat room service. And speaking of next time. . .” He
lifted the condom he’d dropped on the table. “. . . I don’t like these
things. Get yourself some protection. If you choose the pill, and it has
all sorts of advantages long-term, get a diaphragm and jelly. The pill
takes a while to kick in. And now, . . .” His voice didn’t change. “When
you’re fully dressed, we’ll have dessert. If you like chocolate torte,
theirs is delicious.”