A firm where the secretaries’ duties are very broad indeed.
NB: This story is for ADULT entertainment only. It contains themes of erotic couplings and of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature.
Enjoy.
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It was when I went for my final interview at Fleming Associates that I first noticed the unusual gender distribution at the firm.
The business has an outstanding reputation in the City as the pre-eminent yet by far the most expensive professional services boutique, employing twenty or so lawyers, accountants and other such consultants all practising at the more complicated and specialised end of the corporate finance market.
You don’t apply for a job at Fleming; you get invited for a meeting to explore potential mutually beneficial vocational opportunities. No-one really knows much about the firm, just that they are considered to the best and employees there are exceptionally well-paid.
So when I got a call from the Fleming’s Human Resources Director, a chap of whom I’d never heard called Matt McCallum, I was both flattered and astounded.
Of course I knew I was good. I’d always been the quiet bookish sort. I’d got through school with excellent grades and I’d studied Economics at university so I fell into the exciting world of accountancy without much deliberation.
Despite my slightly shy manner and somewhat subdued style, I rapidly began to outperform my peers and had quickly and consistently worked my way up the corporate finance ladder. When I was approached by Fleming I was working for a large German-Swiss merchant bank, already earning significantly more than I’d ever dreamed possible, but to be honest I was finding it relatively easy.
I met McCallum in a private room in a small yet impressively opulent hotel off the Strand. He was the kind of man whose personality immediately filled any room he was in but, despite the contrast in our styles, he obviously liked what he saw as he asked for another meeting, this time with the Managing Partner of the practice.
And it was when I went to Fleming’s offices in Holborn that I noticed that every, and I mean every, professional partner was a man. And that every assistant or secretary was an attractive woman. Although if I’d met any of them in a different context I wouldn’t have been surprised to have discovered they were glamour models.
I found the whole thing anachronistically sexist and it almost put me off the idea of working for Fleming. But the meeting with the man who ran the company changed my mind. Particularly when he outlined his offer of an implausibly high starting salary, bonus scheme and share allocation.
I went home that night to discuss it with my wife and we both agreed that I’d be mad not to take the opportunity. Even if I only worked there for a couple of years it would virtually provide financial security for life for both us and our three children.
So despite my disquiet at the chauvinistic setup at their offices, I called Matt the next day to accept their munificent offer. An enormous employment contract with pages of confidentiality clauses arrived by courier the same day and I duly signed and returned it.
On my first day, I arrived early and was shown up to my office by a typically stunning receptionist, a young redhead with terrific legs and an inviting swaying walk. She explained that my SW would be in at nine to go through my diary and induction plan.
When I asked what an SW was, she gave me a heart-stoppingly sweet smile and said that it would best that Karen herself explained her duties to me. But before I got to meet Karen, Matt found me and took me around the building to meet my peers and I didn’t get back to my office until gone ten.
I opened my office door, walked in and stopped to gasp. Bending over my desk in front of me was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She was tall, taller than me – maybe 5’10”, with long slender legs, a flawless bottom and shoulder-length honey-blond hair. She was wearing a very business-like white fitted blouse and a tight charcoal skirt cut on the bias to just above her bare knees.
As she stood up to face me, I saw she had amused sparkling green eyes, high angular cheekbones, a perfect heart-shaped face and a large high bosom.
I stood there open-mouthed at just how attractive she was, straight out of any number of my fantasies.
“Hi,” she said as she walked towards me with her hand outstretched. “I’m Karen Smith. You must be Kenneth Bowles. Very pleased to meet you.”
“I, erm, yes, hi,” I stuttered. I took a breath. “I am Kenneth. Sorry, I was just a bit startled. It’s good to meet you too.” Her handshake was firm and friendly.
“It’s OK. I don’t bite,” she laughed warmly. Her teeth were perfect and the two dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled were altogether enchanting. “Unless you ask nicely,” she added impishly with a raised eyebrow.
I blushed and stuttered an inane response once more as I sat down at my desk. I think it’s more than fair to say that I wasn’t in any way used to attention from such a striking woman.
In fact my track record with women had been abysmal. At school and at university my lack of confidence and, let’s be honest, my lack of good looks and charisma, had meant that I’d had no luck with girls at all. In desperation, I’d lost my virginity to a prostitute at the age of 21 and I hadn’t had a proper girlfriend until a couple of years later when I met my, now, wife at work. She, like me, was a lovely person but not the most outgoing nor physically attractive. Having said that, she was a great catch for me considering I was short, overweight, balding and, if not wholly ugly, somewhat heavy-featured.
Karen and I sat down and chatted for a while about ourselves. I showed her a picture of my wife and children. She told me that she was 25 and that she’d been at Fleming for three years now. She told me about her flat in Bayswater and her artist boyfriend.
Actually talking to an intelligent and extraordinarily attractive young woman, made me desperately wish I wasn’t twenty years older than her and that I was taller, fitter and didn’t have such a beer belly.
“So, has Matt explained my duties to you as your SW?” Karen asked, jogging me from my daydream.
“Er, no. He just said you’d be looking after me and that I’d be very pleased with you. I’m guessing you’re my PA although I’m not sure what an SW is exactly,” I replied.
“Oh. Well, I guess I am partly your PA but I’m really a lot more. Of course I look after your diary, field your calls, sort out your travel, accommodation and all of your admin. But the idea is that I primary responsibility for satisfying all of your needs when you’re at work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I guess if I tell you that SW stands for Secretary-Whore you can probably work out what other little services I might provide for you.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that it took maybe ten seconds for me to actually understand what she meant.
“You mean, you, um, you…”