The Training of Cecelia

"I never am," I said with great accuracy, always known for my punctuality.

"Good," he said, striding out of my office again.

"Jesus Christ," I said, as I grabbed the back of my secretary's head and shoved it back into my wet, burning pussy. Karen knew that when my hand remained on the back of her head, I wanted her to get me off quickly. I did leave it there, so she sucked vigorously on my clit and probed my pussy with her tongue until I let out a low controlled moan and came all over her face.

Once I was finished coming, I released the back of her head, rolled my chair back and scolded, "Did you really need to continue licking when Mr. Stevenson came back in?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Durden," she said, looking up at me with a nice pussy gleam on her face, "Was he here? I didn't hear him."

"You were too focused on my pussy I guess," I smiled, loving the power I had over her.

"Yes, ma'am, I do love your pussy," she said.

"Now clean your face and get back to work," I ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, crawling back out from under my desk.

Once she was gone, I pondered what Mr. Stevenson was up to. The Ritz was a five-star restaurant where only the richest of the rich hobnobbed. Even if I could afford it, I 'd never be able to get a reservation there for the same day. A week ahead, maybe. But only maybe. Obviously this was a power play... he was showing me he had means, and he was in complete control. Of everything, it seemed.

Part of me was impressed. I loved a man who knew what he wanted... if we were in the bedroom, that is. But at work men like him were the bane of my existence... card-carrying members of a 'Good Old Boys Club', where to be included, you first needed lots of Old Money, non of that nouveau riche crap, and of course you also needed the proud possession of a bona fide penis.

Fuck!

And what had he meant by asking how much I knew about my employees? As I pondered this one, I had to admit I knew almost nothing about my secretary's life, or about any of my other employees. I'd never cared. They were disposable. Window dressing. Their purpose in life was to do whatever I hired them to do. Yet he was saying I should know lots more about them. Why? Because I cared about them? Is that what he wanted from me?

I told Karen to bring me the files of all our employees. She looked at me in confusion. "Just do it," I said, instantly annoyed.

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, scurrying out.

"Two can play at this game," I said out loud, as I prepared for a two o'clock video conference with a potential client.

.....

Unfortunately the day had a mind of its own, they usually do, and by 4:30 I still hadn't looked at a single one of those files. Knowing I had to change into something a lot classier for my dinner meeting and not having enough time to go home, I went into my favourite boutique just a few blocks from the office, and purchased a red cocktail dress, mocha pantyhose, and matching five-inch pumps. The dress accentuated all my assets: my D cup tits (which had swayed many a man), my long legs, and my ass, which had a fair amount of meat on it. (I wasn't exactly thin, nor was I fat.) My brunette hair was down, my lipstick matched my dress, and I looked hotter than I had in a long time. I wasn't a knockout by any means, I knew that, but having worked out my entire life I'd kept my body in great shape, and although I generally downplayed those assets while I was at work, wanting to be taken seriously for my mind instead of for... you know... I also knew how to flaunt my body when I wanted to.

I arrived five minutes early, and to my surprise Paul was already seated and nursing a glass of wine. Like a proper gentleman, he stood up the moment I arrived and said, "You look lovely, Cecelia."

"Thank you." I said, noticing him checking me out like most men did whenever I decided to showcase my physical assets.

"You're very welcome," he said, taking me all in, but not being creepy about it.

"You look pretty good yourself," I complimented, since he'd changed his suit to a tux.

"Yeah, but I'm cheating; a tux makes anyone look good," he shrugged, going to my chair and pulling it out for me.

"So does a red dress," I smiled.

"Well nevertheless, you look beautiful," he said as I sat down, while he was undoubtedly gazing down into the generous valley of flesh within the scoop neck of my dress.

"I'll take any compliments I can get," I said, adding, "my husband has long since lost that prerequisite skill of becoming a husband in the first place."

"That's a shame," he said, as he went back to his chair and sat down. "A man should know how to cherish his woman."

The way he emphasized the word 'cherish' sent a rush up my spine. I wasn't sure he'd actually stressed the word, but in my head he had.

"Well," I said, flirting back if he was flirting with me, "every woman wants a man who knows what a woman wants."

"And what does a woman want?" he asked just as our waitress arrived.

"I thought you already knew," I said.

"May I get you something to drink?" The pretty blonde waitress, who looked like she could be in pretty much any movie, asked me.

"The lady will have a rum," he ordered for me, "the Diplomático. And I'll have a refill of the Dark Horse cabernet, please."

I was surprised, since I never allowed anyone to order for me, not even my husband. I was also surprised he knew my go to drink, and even further surprised that he'd ordered the high-end perfection of Diplomático.

I gave him a look as the waitress smiled at him, his eyes seemingly as seductive and charming to her as they were to me. This guy was as smooth as butter.

I considered correcting his taking that liberty, but he'd ordered me the perfect drink, so I didn't.

The waitress said, smiling warmly at him (and not quite ignoring me), "I'll be right back with your drinks."

"Thank you Amy," he said. Suave, so fucking suave.

"You're welcome," she smiled, clearly captivated by him.

She left, and he turned his attention back to me.

"I usually order for myself," I said.

"And I always order for the ladies I'm with," he said, not at all fazed by my slightly annoyed tone.

"How 1950s of you," I said sarcastically.

"Things made a lot more sense back then," he countered, a chauvinistic side showing in him. Part of me wanted to slap him across the face, while another side of me was turned on by his smug confidence.

"Do you expect a woman to fetch your slippers, too?" I quipped sarcastically.

"I expect my woman to understand her place," he said, his voice not ignorant or condescending, just factual. The entire time this battle of the sexes conversation was taking place, his eyes were once again boring into me.

"You Tarzan, me Jane," I retorted, even though one of my greatest fantasies was just to be taken in a primal sort of way.

"Exactly," he chuckled, as the waitress arrived with our drinks.

The woman placed each of our drinks in front of us and asked, looking directly at Paul, "Are you ready to order?"

"I am," he nodded, glancing at me before turning back to the waitress, "the lady will have the saffron risotto, and I'll have the T-bone steak with cilantro butter, a loaded baked potato and a Caesar salad."

"Good choices," the waitress nodded, this time ignoring me completely. "Anything else, sir?"

"No Amy, that's all for now," he said, charming his way into her heart.

She left and I asked, "Do you always order for the women you're trying to control?"

"Interesting way of putting it," he said.

I didn't completely realize what I had said until I replayed my words. I smiled, almost challenging him, "Do you think you can control me?"

He shrugged, "My job is to help you find your true self."

"And what's my true self?" I asked, his eyes again seeming to see into me... bypassing my strong outer persona.

"We don't know yet; that's what the next month will be about."

"Month?"

"Yes, the board has given me a month to complete my assessment and present my final recommendations."

"I see."

"I made it clear to them that you and I will be working together closely to analyze every aspect of the firm, as well as honing your leadership abilities."

"Oh, good," I sighed, my tone obviously sarcastic.

"Look," he said. "I understand your hesitation and distrust. I would have them too if I were you. But I have an excellent track record of turning companies around, and in building capabilities in the leaders."

"So I'm the issue?" I asked.

"The board obviously thinks so," he nodded. "Which is why they never heed any of your recommendations. But I think you can become part of the solution."

"So I am the problem?"

"If I may be honest?"

"Of course. Always," I said, figuring by now the cat was definitely out of the bag.

"You have a few deficiencies that hinder your ability to truly lead well," he said bluntly.

"You don't sugar coat things, do you?" I asked, his blunt words like a stab to my heart. I wasn't accustomed to having my leadership questioned. Except by the board, of course. Constantly.

"You don't seem like a person who wants things sugar coated," he said.

"That's true," I nodded. "So how do we overcome..." I paused, "...my deficiencies?"

"By working together to increase your strengths," he continued as he sipped his wine, "and by exploring how to satisfy your needs."

"My needs?" I asked, wondering if I was reading his subtle innuendo, or rather not all that subtle innuendo correctly. Could he detect my inner submissiveness? Could he sense that at this very moment my pussy was wet? Why was his cavalier attitude and smug chauvinism arousing me?

"Yes, everybody has needs that must be met for them to be successful in their own terms," he continued as I finished my drink. He waved his hand in the air as he too finished his wine.

"What kinds of needs? And met how?" I asked, wanting to know where he was going with this line of thought.

"Well for one thing, we need to make you more personable and approachable."

"Excuse me?" I said archly, this point feeling like a complete slap in my face.

"My initial research has revealed that all your employees are afraid of you," he said. "Every last one of them."

"Good," I said, that being exactly what I wanted. Fear motivates.

"It's not at all good."

"We may differ on that opinion," I said. "Fear motivates people into wishing to please, and thus to excel at their jobs."

"On the contrary. Ongoing fear leads to hopelessness and thence to apathy, and your employees end up doing their jobs just for the money, and not out of any pride or loyalty," he said. "It also leads to their doing whatever it takes to cover their asses if they do anything counterproductive. Which then leads to the company resting upon an unreliable foundation without any risk taking."

As I processed his thoughts, I wondered if there wasn't some merit to them. That hadn't been my experience, and I almost always got the results I wished by doing things my way... but there was just something bothering me about what he was saying. "I've never thought of it that way," I said, as the waitress... Amy I guess I should call her if we were doing things Paul's way... brought us some more drinks, and a waiter delivered our food.

"Well, if there's one thing I know, it's how to delve into someone's true nature," he said.

Once we were alone again, I pointed out, "I'm assuming I don't really have a choice in all this."

"Sure you do," he said. "You can do as I say and keep your job, or..."

"Or what?" I asked, there still seeming to be some sort of subtle innuendo lurking behind his words, his tone, his facial expressions... and the idea of doing anything he said making my pussy tingle. God, did I need to get fucked!

"Or you can do whatever I say and still keep your job," he smiled.

"Well, I guess I'd better just begin doing anything you order me to do, then," I smiled back, deciding to volley back with my own not so subtle innuendo, my not so subtle tone, and my not so subtle facial expressions.

"Precisely. You're a quick learner."

"Maybe you can teach an old broad new tricks," I said, picking up a fork.

"Oh, I have a lot of tricks I can teach you."

We then ate in relative silence, and when we did converse, we spoke about travelling, which we both loved doing, and Italy, which we agreed was the best place to travel to, and movies, discovering a mutual passion for action movies... agreeing that Lethal Weapon and Die Hard both began epically with the original movie and a single sequel, and then gradually fell apart.

We had three drinks each... that quantity being just enough for me to become slightly tipsy and even a bit flirty... for I could get very wild when I was drunk.

We had dessert, an exquisite chocolate creation that I gained weight just from looking at.

And we finished the evening with his asking, "Now that we're on the same page, are you ready for task number one?"

I actually wondered if my first assigned task was to suck his dick or something. "Sure, I'm always up for a challenge."

"Tomorrow I want you to dress in a colour that isn't black, since black isn't really a colour anyway, but just the absence of any colours at all."

"That may have my employees keeling over in shock," I joked.

"And no pants."

"For you or for me?" I asked, flirting perhaps a little too aggressively, even as I leaned forward to allow him a very good look into my valley.

He ignored my flirtation, which annoyed me. I didn't plan on doing anything with him, but I wanted him to think the possibility existed. I'd used my sexuality many times to achieve what I wanted. Men can generally be easily manipulated... although as I aged, that had become a little less successful a strategy.

"You. Wearing a dress or a skirt."

"Okay," I said, deciding to go along with this requirement without any argument, although I didn't see it as having much of a purpose, "but I don't see how this wrinkle addresses anything we've talked about."

"A complete makeover begins small," he said.

"I dislike the term makeover," I said. "It implies I'm starting out ugly."

"If I may be frank, your leadership style is a little ugly," he appraised, "and the outfit you wear... singular since it's more of an unchanging uniform than an outfit... presents an image that you're sexually repressed and prudish."

"Oh, I can be very not prudish," I claimed, again flirting a little excessively... I needed him to get drawn into me. I needed a win.

"I'm certain you're capable of being the opposite of prudish," he said, ignoring or perhaps actively evading my blunt implication.

"Are you married?" I asked.

"God, no," he said, as if that were the most appalling condition ever, akin to a disease.

"Why not? Have you had your heart broken?" I asked, that usually being how men like him ended up as eternal bachelors espousing anti-marriage sympathies. Or rather the opposite: no spouse and no sympathy.

"Perhaps," he said, "but primarily because I've never believed in monogamy."

"That's rich," I scoffed.

"How?"

"That's just what all single men say," I said, maybe not using those exact words, but they always have a chauvinistic mindset to why they remain single... always shallow... always pathetic.

"There's nothing more exhilarating than the thrill of the chase," he said, "and I can't imagine never doing that again."

"Thrill of the chase?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "There's just such a rush when you draw a new woman into your own unique way of life."

"Way of life?" I asked, beginning to feel like a parrot.

"Shit, I've already said too much," he said, looking at his watch. "I need to go."

"You can't say something like that and just stop," I reproved him.

"I can, and I have," he shrugged, standing up. "I'll see you in the morning."

I stood up too as he walked away, leaving me feeling oddly horny, largely confused, and completely unsure of what the fuck had just transpired.

By the time I got home Joseph was asleep, but no loss, because he wouldn't be up for anything anyway, and I ended up using my vibrator to bring myself to multiple orgasms while imagining Paul doing some very wicked things to me. He was all the things Joseph wasn't: confident, strong, and I assumed a dominant man who knew how to take charge of a woman like me.

After two orgasms I shook my head... I needed to control myself... that was only fantasy just now... in real life I needed to be able to outsmart him... I needed to play his game and win.

.....

Unlike most mornings, where my getting dressed ritual took only a few minutes and almost no thought, my biggest decision usually being black pants or a different pair of black pants, with the first ones winning out most of the time.

Today it took me over thirty minutes. I tried on a dozen outfits. I wanted to impress Paul, but I also didn't want to wear something that would have my employees thinking I'd gone off the deep end. Eventually I ended up wearing a white blouse, a dark blue (but not black) pencil skirt, and mocha pantyhose.

Thus I ended up being five minutes late to work... which never happened!

Paul was already in my office, sitting at my desk and going through files. He didn't look up until I cleared my throat, implying 'What the fuck are you doing at my desk?!'

"Good morning," he said, glancing up at me for only a heartbeat... before offhandedly returning his gaze down to the files.

"You're not even going to comment on my attire?" I asked perturbed. I don't know why, but I suddenly felt the need of his approval.

He glanced back up, briefly looked me up and down with no expression, and said only one word, "Better." He then returned his attention to the files.

Better? Fucking better? I spend half an hour going through all my outfits to fulfill his expectations, and all I get is a brief perusal and a bisyllabic response?!

I was fuming when he said, still not looking at me, but patting a chair he'd apparently placed beside him when he came in, "Come and sit beside me."

So now I'd noticed the chair sitting beside him. A plain stacking chair without even a cushion.

He was expecting me to perch myself on a hard-surfaced chair, while he lounged in the $2,200 leather executive chair I'd ordered hand made for myself!

If this were a cartoon, I'd have hot steam jetting out of my ears while my face turned tomato red! Yet knowing that my continuing to live this CEO life along with the luxuries that went with it largely depended upon his approval, I sucked it up, bit my tongue, and meekly walked over to join him.

I perched (yes, that was the perfect word) myself on the chair with nothing to occupy myself except for attempting to wrestle my inner rage under control.

I watched him work for a minute or two before asking, "So do I have any role in whatever you're doing, or am I just occasional eye candy?"

He smiled, turning to me and looking into my eyes for the first time today, and just like always, his gaze melting my cold interior, "Sorry to keep you waiting; I'm looking for something in particular."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll know it when I find it," he said, but added... finally... "you do look nice today, Cecelia."

"Nice?" I asked. Only nice?

"Yes, you're less dark and drab," he said, neither response even remotely flattering. For a man who was clearly a ladies man, his compliments needed a lot of work.

"No woman ever wants to be told she looks nice," I pointed out, "or... 'less dark and drab'? Where did you come up with that left-hander?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. Well what I mean to say is your appearance is a definite improvement over yesterday's black on black attire."