You’re the Boss
By Pan
“Please,” Michelle said, looking at Olivia pleadingly. She, in turn, was looking at me for approval, and so I gave her a nod—I’m not a cruel man, after all. I signed another form as I did; fun was fun, but the work still had to get done, and these requisition forms were due in by the end of the day.
As Olivia sunk to her knees and tentatively reached out her tongue, tasting Michelle’s wetness, Lisa began to gag. Due to enthusiasm, not disgust—I don’t have a particularly large cock, but Lisa always tries to take more in her mouth than her body is ready for.
The phone rang, and I looked over at Michelle.
“Do you mind getting that?” I asked. “I think everyone else’s mouths are busy.”
It took her a few seconds to register the request—I can attest that Olivia does have a very talented tongue—but as soon as she realized what I was asking, she reached out and answered it professionally.
“Kennedy Development,” she said, her spare hand tugging at her nipples. “Michelle speaking. How can I help you?”
1:
Two weeks earlier, Michelle, Lisa and Olivia had just been normal employees, working happily in my office (As happily as anyone can work in an office, that is).
I don’t exclusively hire women—I’m not that kind of boss (at least, I don’t think I am)—but after Patrick left to work for a small start-up, he recommended his sister, and since we were under the thumb (and she had a rock-solid resumé), Lisa began work for us within the week.
That’s when it all started. At least, I think that’s when it all started.
It’s hard to say.
A part of me is sure that Lisa was attracted to me as soon as we met. There was nothing unprofessional about her interview, nothing obvious, but the signs were there—she held eye-contact just a little too long, her fingers lingered on mine when we shook hands. Barely anything at all.
And certainly nothing to worry about—I’ve been attracted to co-workers before, and I know they’ve been attracted to me, but as long as you don’t cross any lines, there’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirtation in the office.
At least, I didn’t think there was.
By contrast, Olivia and Michelle had never shown any signs that they were interested in me for anything other than my ability to provide a reliable job in an unreliable industry. Michelle’s been with us for four years, through marriage and a divorce, and while Olivia had only worked here full-time for a year, we’d used her as a contractor for about eighteen months before that.
And like I said, the relationship had been purely professional.
When Lisa came to work for us, however, something changed.
It was subtle, at first. Sometimes people need to stay back late—it happens. I try not to ask it of people too often, and I always make sure to give them enough warning. If it happens a few nights in a row, I’ll order takeout, keep morale up.
As soon as Lisa started working with us, however, everyone started staying back. Every night. It’s my company, and so I’m used to being the one who stays the longest—we’re all working together on my dream, after all—but as soon as Lisa joined us, I began to notice the office was full, well after 6pm. Not just occasionally—every night.
The deadline was looming, so I didn’t think too much of it. But after we successfully provided the client with their new software, I expected everything to return back to normal.
Nope.
Suddenly, I was the first one to leave—every night. It didn’t even matter how long I stayed…7, 8, even 9pm. No matter what time I walked out of my office, the girls were still there, working hard.
As you can imagine, I was fairly puzzled, and so I called Michelle in for a meeting.
The moment she entered, I sensed something was different. Now, looking back, it’s obvious…but at the time, I was focused on working out why everyone was staying late, and so I didn’t even notice.
Michelle was wearing a skirt.
Now, I can understand why you’d think that—in itself—wouldn’t be enough to warrant noticing. But I don’t think that Michelle had ever worn a skirt before, in the entire time she’d worked for me. She’s not a radical feminist or anything like that, but Michelle has always been professionally minded—if she hadn’t gotten distracted by her (now ex—) husband, we’d probably have lost her a few years ago; she had the talent to be working somewhere like Google, and it was only a matter of time before she moved on to bigger and better things.
And so I think a part of her had always found skirts unprofessional, like they drew attention to the fact that she was a woman working in a man’s industry. But there she was, sitting in my office, wearing a skirt.
It wasn’t just that, though—there was something different about her persona. Something subtle; she glanced away every time I looked straight at her, and there was a note of hesitancy in her voice, as if she was afraid of offending me.
“Thanks so much for coming in,” I said, and she smiled shyly in response—which, as someone who’s known Michelle for half a decade, I can assure you is an odd reaction from her.
“Of course,” she said warmly. “You’re the boss.”
“I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay.”
At this, Michelle’s eyes widened slightly, and her response was a little too fast.
“Of course!” she said again, stumbling over her words slightly. “I mean, is it? If there’s anything we can be doing…if there’s anything else I can be doing…”
“Everything is fine from my end,” I said, and the shy smile returned. “But I notice that you’ve been staying late every evening, and I just wanted to make sure…—“
“We want to help,” she said, cutting me off. “We believe in you, sir—we just want to help you make this the best company we can.”
Her response surprised me. It was the perfect response, after all—how could I argue with that? And so I just thanked her, and—to her relief, it seemed—sent her back to work. It wasn’t until she left that I realized what was strangest about her reply.
“Sir.”
Michelle had never called me sir. Hell, aside from airline staff and women in department stores, no one had ever really called me sir. That’s why it stuck out.
Something was afoot.
2:
That night, I decided to try a little experiment. I decided that I was going to be the last one to leave. It was a tip I’d read when the business was just starting out—part of making sure that you send the right message to your team, all that jazz—and while most of the time I followed it without it being deliberate, tonight I decided to make a point of it. I was going to be the last person out of the building; if anyone else stayed past nine or so, I’d know for sure that something strange was going on.
At nine, I had a bathroom break. To my surprise, everyone was still at their computers, hard at work. They barely even looked up as I passed. At ten, I made myself a cup of coffee, and was glad to notice that Olivia had left…but Michelle and Lisa were still at their desks, working hard.
At eleven thirty, fatigue set in, and I knew I had to go home. Olivia’s office was empty, but Lisa was still on her computer, working hard.
“Are you okay?” I asked, and she jumped at the sound of my voice.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, sir!” she said, but her tone was one of affection rather than annoyance. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
A small blush appeared on her face at my response.
“I just wanted to catch up on a few things. My brother has many strengths, but organization isn’t one of them—I’ve just been sorting through the old assets folder, making sure that the licenses are in the same directory as the file.”
“Is it urgent?”
“No,” she said, “which is why I thought I’d do it after hours. What keeps you here?”
I was tempted to answer honestly—that I was trying to work out why my employees had suddenly turned into workhorses—but instead I spun a tale about collating invoices for the month. She nodded, and I suddenly noticed the similarities between her behavior and Michelle’s—Lisa didn’t seem able to keep eye-contact with me either, her eyes flitting away whenever we were looking at each other for more than a few seconds.
“Care for a lift home?”
“That would be amazing,” she said, and the blush was back.
The next morning, I was unsurprised to find everyone already at work when I arrived at eight. I didn’t set official hours for the office, but generally people came in around 8:30, starting the day with a chat and a cup of coffee before work began proper.
As I walked towards my office, I noticed something—Michelle wasn’t the only one wearing a skirt. All three of my employees were wearing similar cuts; pencil skirts that hugged their hips tightly, and emphasized their…well, skirts that showed off their asses.
I do try not to think of my employees sexually—I know it can affect your interactions, no matter how much you try not to let it, and that’s a fast road to a lawsuit. But now that I’d noticed the three of them showing off their rear ends, it was impossible not to be aware of it.
I don’t even particularly like pencil skirts, but all three women in my office were wearing identical, form-fitting outfits.
Something was going on.
“Olivia,” I said, “Can I see you in my office?”
“Of course, sir,” she said, and a blush appeared on her face.
I began my line of questioning as soon as she sat down.
“Did Lisa say something to you about how you should dress?”
“Of course not!” Olivia replied, sounding shocked.
“Because in all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a white blouse.” It was true—Olivia was more of a colorful dress type, and the black-and-white secretary motif looked…not bad, but certainly unusual.
Frankly, I found her old style of dress much more attractive. I like women in a bit of color, and Olivia in particular—it suited her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and suddenly she had the same look of fear that had appeared briefly on Michelle’s face the day before. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do,” I lied, “but you don’t have to change your clothes to suit me.”
Michelle stared at the floor and nodded. I suddenly got the feeling she was about to cry.
“I mean…I like it,” I said, suddenly flustered. Women crying is my biggest weakness—my brain shuts down, and I’ll say basically anything to make it stop . “I think it looks really good.”
“Are you sure?” she said, confirming my suspicion—her eyes were glistening.
“Yes,” I said confidently. “It looks great.”
“Because…if you didn’t like it, I could always take it off.”
My eyes widened in shock, and I was sure I must have misheard her.
“What?”
“I said,” she repeated, her fingers moving up and beginning to undo her top button, “if you don’t like it, I could always take it off.”
“Oh no no no,” I said hurriedly, “No, Michelle, it’s not like that. Please.”
She ignored my words, and continued deftly unfastening her blouse. Ignoring my protestations, she soon ran out of buttons, and with a slight shrug of her shoulders, her blouse fell to the floor.
My mind was racing. On one hand, I knew I had a potential lawsuit on my hands…as well as that, something was clearly amiss. This wasn’t the Michelle I knew at all.
On the other hand, Michelle had a larger rack than I’d ever expected, and I had a front-row seat. She was wearing a black, lacy bra…one of those ones that emphasizes the size of the breasts, but even without it I suspected she would have a more-than-generous pair of tits.
“Please, Michelle,” I said, my eyes threatening to fall out of my head at the sight in front of me. “You can put the shirt back on…”
“No,” she said, her voice full of sorrow. “If sir doesn’t like it…”
I had literally no idea how to respond to that, and so after a few seconds of silence, she got up and left the room, returning to her desk wearing nothing but a black pencil shirt and matching bra.
When I glanced out of my office a few minutes later, she was back at her desk, as if not wearing a shirt was just a normal part of her day. To my surprise, neither Lisa or Olivia seemed to think anything of it either.