Blog : Katy: Hoping to Impress

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11/8/2022 3:32 am

Katy: Hoping to Impress

Katy eyed herself in the ladies’ room mirror and tried to brush away the nerves and any the hints of tiredness. Her colleagues had already gone home; one or two offering a final “good luck” before departing. They knew - as she did - that what followed would likely shape her future, and either they were on the brink of burgeoning friendships or would never see her again. Katy prayed that she had done enough to impress. She only wished she had had more time, but now it was too late. In the next few minutes she would learn her fate.
“What will be, will be,” she told the woman in the mirror. “It’s only a job.”
“Yeah, but it’s a job you really want,” her reflection replied.
After touching up her make-up, she tidied her hair and straightened the collar of her crisp white blouse. She picked a non-existent speck of dust from her skirt and tugged at the hem while wriggling her hips to ensure her stocking tops were hidden. Finally, she took a deep breath and set off down the corridor towards Mr Jackson’s office. The sunshine of the day was beginning to wane.
As she neared his office she could hear his deep, rich baritone through the open door. He was talking on the phone. Mr Jackson’s door was almost always open – shut only when confidentiality required it. Mr Jackson inspired loyalty amongst his team. The men respected him and the women, whatever age or inclination, were all a little in love with him. Even in the short time Katy had been there, she too had developed a secret crush on her boss. She desperately wanted to keep this job. The work was interesting – exciting even, the pay was very good, and there was Mr Jackson.
She glanced at her wristwatch - it was almost 6.13pm. She hoped her punctuality would help her cause. She knocked gently on the open door and waited on the threshold.
Mr Jackson was seated at his desk, deep in conversation, but looked up and shrugged a kindly apology. Katy gestured that she would come back later, but he shook his head and beckoned her to enter. Once she was inside he put his hand over the mouth-piece and whispered “take a seat”.
She looked around the room, searching for a chair without success. Mr Jackson mouthed another silent apology and gestured for her to perch on his desk.
“This won’t take much longer,” he said, his hand muffling his words from the person at the other end of the line.
Katy smiled awkwardly and did as instructed, resting her buttocks on the edge of desktop.
Their intimate proximity in the otherwise empty building unnerved her, but Mr Jackson returned his focus to the call while his free hand moved a mouse, flicking between spreadsheets, graphs and text documents on his screen. Katy glanced around the room, at the charts and diagrams pinned to the walls, the certificates and letters of endorsement, photographs of the team with champagne glasses raised and others of Mr Jackson smiling alongside suited men she didn’t recognise. As her eyes drank in the symbols of success, she let the one-sided flow of the conversation wash over her: “turnover”, “net return”, “short and long-term forecasts” mingled with figures ranging into millions.
She desperately wanted to keep this job.
Her two-week trial was over and she hoped she had done enough. She had tried to be efficient and proactive, and for the briefest moment her cheeks flushed at the thought of the other things she’d done to make an impression, and she actually thanked God that those efforts had gone unnoticed.
“I’m sorry Katy, please bear with me,” he said, finally putting down the phone. “I just need to send this email - I’ll only be a minute.”
She watched his long smooth fingers play across the keyboard with the grace of a concert pianist.
“So,” he said, still typing and without looking up from the screen, “your two weeks here are up.”
“Yes sir,” she said, shifting awkwardly on the edge of the desk. Her heart beat a little faster. She tugged the hem of her skirt down a millimetre or two over her thighs.
He looked up from the screen for moment.
“Have you enjoyed yourself? Has it been worthwhile?”
“Oh yes sir,” she said quickly. “I’ve loved it.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Then it seems then we both have a decision to make.”
He typed a few more words, then said: “The first question to consider is whether you want to work for me. There’s no point continuing if you think this isn’t for you.”
“Oh God,” she spluttered. “Yes sir, Mr Jackson. I really want this job. I’ve learned so much these past two weeks and I’ve really enjoyed working for you. I, I’d love this job sir...” she trailed off, feeling foolish.
He paused, and turned to her and smiled. She felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed at how childish she must sound. She brushed an invisible speck off her skirt and tugged the hem down a fraction once more.
“I mean to say, sir” she said, regaining her composure, “I mean to say, I would very much like the job permanently, if you consider me suitable, sir.”
“I see,” he said. There was a pause and he typed a few more words.
Katy saw the final characters of the message appear on screen before the tell-tale whoosh of an email disappearing into the ether.
“Suitable,” he said, as if to himself, before swivelling his chair to face her, brushing her leg with his knee as he turned.
Her pulse quickened.
“So, tell me, are you suitable?”
“I, I don’t understand sir,” she stammered. “I think so.”
“So what have you done,” he said seriously, all pleasantries now gone, “to prove yourself suitable?”
Katy felt her cheeks flush once more.
“I’ve fulfilled all the duties given to me to the best of my ability,” she said, stumbling. “I’ve managed your diary and dealt with all your calls. I have excellent word-processing and computer skills, I’m keen and work hard, I have...”
“I don’t need a repeat of your resume,” he said sternly.
“I have worked extremely hard to....”
“To what?” he snapped. “What you have done is come here in a tight little skirt, hoping I might look at you.”
Katy’s cheeks burned hot.
“No sir,” she stuttered. “No, I haven’t, I promise, I...”
“What you have done is wiggle your arse in my direction whenever you thought I might be looking.”
Katy’s heart sank in her chest. The thought of running from this room, this office, this building and never looking back raced across her mind. She tugged the hem of her skirt.
The man behind the desk watched the nervousness in her fingertips.
“What you have done,” he said at last, “is come to work each day wearing a short skirt and no knickers, flashing your little pussy at me every chance you had.”
“I would never, I...I…I’m sorry, sir.” She had never felt so stupid or humiliated.
Her mind flashed back to Tuesday afternoon when she had purposely, deliberately, crossed her legs in front of him. And when last week she had sat opposite him with legs a little wider spread than felt right in hope she might catch him trying to sneak a glance. She recalled the disappointment when she thought he had not even looked.
She felt ridiculous, a schoolgirl being scolded for flirting with a teacher.
“Was that how you thought you’d get the job?” he said.
“No, sir. Oh God I’m so sorry.”
“Is that what you thought Katy? A little flash of pussy and I’d do whatever you wanted?”
No words came, but her face burned with shame.
“So tell me, Katy,” he said after a long and painful pause. “What is so special about this little pussy between your legs?”
His hands were on her knees, she sensed their warmth through her stockings. She felt her growing heat.
I’m sorry. Mr Jackson...I never meant to, I never meant...” Words failed to come. Her breathing turned short and fast and sharp with the dawning realisation.
“Show me,” he snapped, forcing her legs apart.
The sharpness of his movement took her by surprise and her short tight skirt rode up over her thighs, exposing her completely. Hot juices seeped between her lips.
“My, my,” he said whispered as if to himself. “That really is a pretty little pussy.”
Katy’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the desk.
He forced her wider, opening her up.
“Oh God,” she murmured, her breathing turning deep and slow. The cool conditioned air teased her hot wetness.
“Is this what you want to show me, Katy?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, humiliation and arousal coursing through her body to send shivers down her spine.
He looked up and grinned a wolfish grin, then plunged his head between her legs.
Katy gave a deep and earthy moan as his tongue delved deep inside her. Her body squirmed and her back arched as he teased and cajoled her throbbing clit, flicking fast then slow across her swollen sex. She gripped the desk edge ever tighter as he lapped her flowing juices before to her aching, needy clit.
“You taste so good,” he said, before pushing his probing tongue deep inside her once again.
Katy rocked and moaned, the hard edge of the desk digging in to her arse cheeks. She pressed her hips forward, spreading herself wider, offering him ever more of herself. His tongue explored her deeper, probing and devouring, French kissing her pussy with greater expertise than any boy who had yet kissed her mouth. She heard herself moan from some place deep within as his tongue made its way back to her aching clit before delving deeply back inside her.
Her legs began to tremble. It was impossible to resist the urge to thrust herself forward for him, her desperate trembling hips giving him her sex, fucking his tongue as it fucked her. Pleasure rippled through her as she clenched and released her cunt for him. She bucked and rocked and squirmed, finding a rhythm to match that of his unceasing tongue. Her moans grew harder, sharper in the silent office as he worked her.
He pushed her harder, deeper, more exquisitely, than she had ever known or thought possible. She rocked and moaned; her body shook as wild tremors shuddered through her; her pussy pulsed and throbbed. She gripped the desk so tight her fingers ached, nails digging deep into the wood, as her pussy spasmed into orgasm and her body exploded on his tongue.


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