Her Personal Assistant Read online

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  Her Personal Assistant

  by J. W. McKenna

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  Erotica

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  Renaissance E Books

  www.renebooks.com

  Copyright ©

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

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  HER PERSONAL ASSISTANT

  J.W. McKenna

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  ISBN 9781615082117

  All rights reserved

  Copyright (C) 2010 J. W. McKenna

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  Sizzler Editions

  SizzlerEditions.com

  A Renaissance E Books publication

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  Chapter One

  “A Mr. Preston is here to see you, ma'am,” said Thomas, the aging butler. Tall, thin, with carefully styled gray hair, he looked more like an undertaker than a butler. He wore a dark suit and an inscrutable expression. He was standing in the doorway of the well-appointed den, looking down at Mrs. Evelyn Rothschild, who was seated at the large desk, sorting through papers. James Preston stood quietly in the hallway, waiting for permission to enter.

  “Oh, right! That's right. I had almost forgotten. Show him in,” she said. Evelyn was a stunning blonde woman in her mid-forties, but she appeared to be ten years younger, James noted. Her good looks were no doubt kept up by hours in the gym and the most expensive beauty products ever made. And perhaps the expertise of a skilled plastic surgeon. Today she was wearing a somber black blazer from which the edges of a lacy black bra peeked. He could not see her skirt from there, but James imagined it to be black, mid-thigh accented by dark, fuck-me stockings. Although still in mourning, she could not hide her sexuality.

  James walked past the butler and gave him a cursory nod. Thomas ignored him and turned to Evelyn. “Would you like me to stay, ma'am?”

  “Oh, no, that won't be necessary. Mr. Preston is a friend of my husband's.”

  “Very well, ma'am.” He started to leave.

  “Wait, Thomas,” she added. “The car dealer called—they have the Mercedes ready. Would you take Paul down to the garage so he can pick it up, please?”

  Thomas glanced over at James and he knew what he was thinking: Can this man be trusted with the vulnerable widow? To the old butler, he probably looked well-muscled and dangerous, with close-cropped dark hair and the edge of a tattoo peeking from the collar of his white shirt. Evelyn apparently caught the look.

  “Relax, Thomas. My husband always spoke highly of Mr. Preston.”

  Thomas hesitated just a moment. “Very well, ma'am.” He left.

  James came in and stood in front of the desk. She looked up at him and said, “Yes, what did you want to see me about?”

  He took the light blue envelope from the inside pocket of his dark blue sport coat and handed it over. “Your husband gave me this a few months ago, when he knew...” He trailed off. Her husband, Charles, had known for months he didn't have long to live. His wealth couldn't save him from cancer. She took the letter and studied the handwriting. Her eyes widened when she recognized it as Charles'. Her eyes flicked up to James’ face.

  “What's all this, then?”

  “Your husband was worried about you. He wanted you to be taken care of, after he was gone.”

  She frowned. “And ... what? You're going to do that?”

  He tipped his head. “If you'd like. I was asked by him personally to deliver this letter exactly two weeks after he passed away. He ordered me not to open it, and I haven't. But he did tell me that I was the best person he knew to help keep an eye out for you.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Did he now?” She picked up a letter opener, slit the envelope and pulled out the single-page letter within. She began to read.

  While she did, James studied her. He liked the way her tongue peeked out from her ruby red lips as she read and how her breasts swelled with emotion as they pressed against the blazer. Her hand came up to brush away some stray hairs from her forehead, and that small act made his cock twitch. He knew quite a bit about her—a lot more than he had let on. Charles was a smart man and he realized that once he was gone, she'd be vulnerable to any con man or charlatan who came along. He wanted her to be protected, yes, but he also wanted her to get what she needed. That was where James came in. Charles had recognized in James a kindred spirit. They had become friends over the last two years, even before he knew he was dying. After his diagnosis, Charles had tried to set up the company to continue smoothly after he had passed on.

  But how to prepare his wife for losing her man?

  Charles had been nearly twenty years older than his “trophy wife” and had known this day would come, but he had not been prepared for it to happen so quickly. His plans had to be adjusted on the fly and he had sought out James for a rather delicate matter. Hence, the letter.

  He watched as she read it, her eyebrows frowning. She looked up, “I'm not sure I understand.”

  “It is as he said. He's worried about you. He's afraid men might take advantage of you.”

  “So he's going to protect me from the grave by sending you? And what if I don't want your help?”

  “That's your prerogative,” he said. “The letter, as I've been told, is merely a suggestion. He loved you very much and he only had your best interests in mind.”

  “Yes, and I loved him.”

  He saw a glint in her eyes and she turned away to blink back tears. When she turned back, she was back under control. “This is most impertinent of him. And you.”

  “I was asked to do your husband a favor, a dying wish, if you will.” He stepped around the desk and approached her. She seemed to shrink back in the chair. As he had guessed, she had on a mid-thigh-length black skirt and black stockings. “If you ask me to leave, of course I will. But your husband chose me for a reason, don't you think?”

  She stared up at him, her lower lip trembling. Her hands shook as she dropped the letter on the desk. “What are you doing?”

  James knew the real question she wanted to ask was: How much did he tell you? He decided to answer that one, instead.

  “He told me quite a bit about you.”

  She froze. “Yes?” Her eyes flicked back to the letter.

  “Yes. I realize this is sudden. I'm not here to make you uncomfortable. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm here to make sure you get what you need and that no one takes advantage of you.”

  “But...” She licked her lovely lips. “But who will protect me from you?”

  “Do you feel you are in danger?”

  He gave her an open, honest look while she studied him. They had met once before—Charles had seen to that. He had invited James home for dinner one night and they had passed a pleasant evening. Charles had introduced him as his “travel planner” and James had done his best to charm Evelyn and make her feel comfortable around him. It apparently had worked.

  “No, I guess I don't. I mean, if Charles thinks you're trustworthy...”

  “I had a lovely tim
e at dinner that night. You were a gracious and beautiful hostess.”

  She seemed flattered by that and she relaxed a bit. “Still, for Charles to send you like this...”

  “He had his reasons. May I show you?” He reached down and grabbed her upper right arm without waiting for permission. She gasped.

  He pulled her up out of the chair as if she weighed nothing and turned her around to face the desk. He pressed her thighs up against it. She struggled.

  “Let me go! What are you doing?”

  His hand stole under her skirt and he noted at once she was wearing stockings with a garter belt. His hand rose up until he touched her bare pussy. No panties, just as Charles had said.

  “She hasn't worn panties in ten years,” he had told James one day while they were sitting in his office, sipping brandy. “That's because I don't let her.”

  “Stop it!” Evelyn hissed, struggling against him. “I'll call Thomas.”

  “I think you just sent Thomas away, didn't you?” James wondered if she had done it on purpose. For all he knew, Charles had told her to expect him.

  He held her easily against the desk, his fingers exploring her. She was already getting wet. He slipped two fingers into her hot core. She gasped again and tried to slap his arm away. He held her tightly with his other arm and said, with steel in his voice, “Spread your legs.”

  “God,” she said, but she obeyed him, as Charles said she would.

  “She needs a firm hand,” Charles had told him on more than one occasion. “But only from the right man. Once I'm gone, she'll be vulnerable to every abuser or smooth-talker who comes along. I don't want her to be hurt, not emotionally, I mean.” He had smiled. “Of course, she likes a little bit of hurt—but I'm sure you know the type.”

  James had known the type. And he understood completely Charles’ concerns. He had agreed to help out. He had been looking forward to this moment ever since he'd been invited to dinner.

  He used his body to bend her over the desktop on her elbows until her face was hovering just over Charles’ letter. His fingers continued to torment her, making her wetter despite her embarrassment. Charles had filled him in on what turned her on and the firm application of sexual force was one of them.

  “It's not rape, you understand,” Charles’ voice came back to him now as Evelyn wiggled underneath him. “She wants that delicious feeling of letting go—she just doesn't want to admit it. Catholic upbringing, you see.”

  James’ fingers were very wet now and she was gasping, trying not to show her arousal. Fat chance. He stroked his fingers in and out until she was ready to come. Any resistance she had crumbled and she sank against the desk, her breathing quickening now as she prepared for her sweet release. Then he stopped and pulled his fingers away.

  “I hope you shaved,” he said and she froze.

  “How... how did you...?”

  In answer, James moved his wet fingers up to her mound. He immediately felt the hairy stubble there. “Ohhh, that's not right,” he said. “Your husband's barely gone and you've already disobeyed his orders?”

  “But... but...” She paused and her voice returned in a whisper. “How much did he tell you?”

  “Enough.” He pulled his hand from underneath her and sat down in her chair, bringing her over his lap in one smooth motion.

  “Hey!”

  He lifted her skirt and began to spank her bare bottom framed by the black garter belt and stockings. It quickly turned pink, then red. She screamed and squirmed under him for a few seconds, then went still and accepted her punishment, as if she knew she deserved it. The only sounds in the room were the slap of his hand and guttural noises forced from Evelyn's throat.

  When he stopped, his fingers went down to her pussy and came away very wet. He pushed her off his lap, showed her his fingers and said, “You know what to do.”

  She rose on her knees, opened her mouth like a baby bird's and took his fingers inside, sucking off her own juices. She eyed him warily and hungrily, both at the same time. It made his cock harder.

  “Now,” he said, putting her carefully back on her feet, suit in disarray, her eyes wild, “I want you to go upstairs to your bathroom, fetch your razor, shaving cream and a warm wet hand towel. I will help you shave your pussy clean.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she started to protest. But all James had to do was raise his right hand a little and she scurried off to obey.

  “Oh and Evelyn,” he said as she reached the door. She turned. “Your late husband told me to tell you your mourning period ends today. I want you to put on his favorite dress.”

  Her mouth made a little O and she stared at him as if to ask him how he knew what Charles liked. One glance at the letter still on the desk told her everything she needed to know and she nodded once and hurried out.

  James picked up the letter and began to read:

  My dear Evelyn:

  I know you are very sad right now and probably wondering how you're going to get through the next few days, let alone weeks and months. I'm so sorry I couldn't stay longer in your life. I deeply loved you and all that we shared together.

  I've asked James Preston to look out for you and to protect you. He's a good man—I trust him. Please extend some courtesy to him and give him a chance. If you like him, I would think he'd make an excellent personal assistant for you.

  Love always,

  Charles

  He smiled. Personal assistant. He liked that. He put the letter back and leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the desk, thinking how lucky he was to have Charles recognize a fellow Dominant in him.

  Perhaps it was the vibe we give off, he mused. Submissive women certainly can sense it. Look at Evelyn—I hadn't been in her presence more than two minutes before I had my fingers in her privates!

  And now she was rushing upstairs to bring him equipment so he could shave her pussy! James wondered what Charles’ favorite dress looked like—he hadn't told him. He had only suggested he order her to wear it for him and had smiled enigmatically. Now James was about to find out.

  He waited ten minutes before he heard her footsteps approaching. He put his feet down and watched the door. When it opened, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Evelyn had on a French maid's outfit, complete with cap and frilly apron! The bodice pushed up her breasts, making them spill out over the top and he could see the edges of her nipples. The skirt was very short, coming down to maybe an inch below her pussy. She still had on the black stockings and garter belt.

  She paused inside the door and said, “Is this all right?”

  “Yes,” he managed to say with a straight face. “I can see why Charles loved it.”

  She came forward, carrying the equipment in her hands. She had been unable to close the door behind her, so he got up and told her to climb onto the desk while he closed it. When he returned, Evelyn was already leaning back, propped up on her elbows, facing the chair and waiting nervously.

  James nodded his approval. Without a word, he sat down and drew the chair up close until his face was just a few inches away from her tiny skirt. Roughly, he pushed her legs apart and noted she obeyed at once. He eased up the hem of the skirt, exposing more of her. She made a small noise in her throat and turned away.

  “Don't do that! Look at me,” he barked.

  Her eyes returned, a little wider now. He noted with satisfaction she kept her eyes on him while he rubbed her pussy down with the damp towel. “Lots of stubble here. I'm surprised you'd let it go like this,” he said.

  “Uh...” She didn't seem to know what to say.

  “What was that?”

  “Uh, well, my husband was dead—my... my, uh, hair was the last thing I thought about.”

  “He told me you might say that.” Actually, he had told James no such thing, but from her expression, she believed he had. One thing he had told him was what to find in the bottom drawer of Charles’ desk. He opened it now and heard her catch her breath.

 
He pulled out the twelve-inch riding crop with the small leather flap and held it up. Her mouth dropped open again. She was easily shocked.

  “Now,” he said. “What do you think Charles would do if he found you hadn't shaved?”

  “Oh god,” she said in a small voice.

  “What was that?”

  “Uh, Charles, uh, Charles would ... spank me.”

  “Where would he have spanked you?”

  “On...on my... oh god! On my uh, vagina.”

  He laughed. “Is that what he would've called it?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Say it.”

  Her eyes locked onto his. “P-p-pussy.”

  “That's right.” He gave her pussy a light slap and she jerked and bit her lip. “And how many times would he have spanked you?”

  “Uh...” James could see the wheels turning in her head—just how much had Charles told him? She apparently decided to lie. “Not many—maybe five?” She said it like a question.

  He put the crop down and picked up the shaving cream. Evelyn looked relieved until he said, “I was going to give you ten quick slaps right now. For lying, I'm going to double it—after I shave you and make your pussy extra sensitive.”

  “Oh god!” She tried to move her legs together and he slapped her pussy with the bare fingers of his left hand. She gasped again.

  “Don't lie to me again.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said and James knew he had her. She was beginning to drop back into her submissive state.

  He spread the shaving cream over her mound and made sure to smear some along both sides of her labia. He knew it was embarrassing her no end. He picked up the razor and began to shave, starting at the top and working down, using the damp towel to wipe off the blade. Evelyn lay still, not daring to move while he denuded her most private part. He had to tug at her labia to shave on the sides and he glanced up at one point to see her face bright pink, her lower red lip pinched in her teeth.

  When he was finished, he put down the razor and wiped her clean. He picked up the crop. She whimpered, “I'm sorry, sir.”