Serving Mr. Stevens, Part One: The Contract -- An Erotic Romance (Part 1 of 5) (4 page)

The room was expansive, stretching at least 10 meters in every direction. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three of the four walls, giving the room the look of an old library. Though the shades were drawn, I could make out the same dark, supple tones I’d seen in the entryway: deep reds, forest greens, and royal blues, with gold accents ornamenting all the furnishings. In one corner there was a coffee table, three empty high-backed chairs clustered around it. And to my left, I was surprised to see a full suit of armor, encased in glass, like you’d see in a medieval castle. The light glinted off the metal breastplate, catching dust motes in the air.

But the focal point of the room, backlit by the morning light peeking in from between the curtains, was an enormous mahogany desk. The imposing size of the desk was magnified by the tall, dark chair behind it, which was turned away from me as I walked in. On my side of the desk was a smaller chair, pulled slightly away from the desk. I felt like a schoolgirl entering the principal’s office, receiving her punishment after breaking the rules. I wondered which rule I’d broken, and what my punishment would be.

“Candace,” came a voice, without a clear emotion attached to it. Slowly, without hurry, the chair swiveled around, and the face of Mr. Stevens came into my view. I’d only taken a few steps into the room, but I now stopped in my tracks, transfixed to the spot and unsure whether to come any closer. I looked into Mr. Stevens’ eyes, trying to discern any hint of his thoughts on his face. It was impossible; in the low light he was barely visible, and those features of stone betrayed nothing. He held his hands crossed in front of him, completely in repose, looking every bit like the executive he was. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said, in the same level, even tone.

As soon as he spoke, the memories of yesterday came rushing back in a flood of emotion – and, yes, arousal. I could swear I felt his touch on my skin, as intensely as if he was grabbing me that moment. My pulse quickened, and I could feel a flush forming on my cheeks and neck. I think his cold, callous demeanor was the only thing stopping me from walking around the desk and straddling him right there in his chair.

“Good morning, sir,” I said. Where his words had spread to fill the room, mine seemed to fall to the ground, meek and hollow. I sensed that he knew my arousal; the fact that I couldn’t discern any such feelings from him made me feel even more self-conscious. I stood there just like that for a moment, feeling awkward in the silence. I breathed in deeply before speaking, forcing my body to channel strength into my quavering voice. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He was silent another moment, just long enough to make me start second-guessing my words. Right as I was about to speak again, he raised his hand, as if to cut to me off. “Candace,” he said, “do you know why I brought you here this morning?”

Of course not,
I thought. That was the main reason I was up here in the first place. But I didn’t say that. “No, sir,” I replied instead, politely. As the words left my lips, I stared at him urgently, silently begging him with my eyes to say something –
anything –
to cut the tension in the air.

But if I was expecting him to explain himself, I was sorely mistaken, at least for the moment. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of him. Obediently, I sat down and inched the chair closer to the desk. I crossed my legs shyly, pressing down my skirt with my hand. I was still undeniably turned on, and he knew it. He watched me perform these actions with dispassionate focus, not moving his hands or his head an inch. I felt his eyes burning holes through my skin.
Only when I was seated and looking back up at him did he speak again.

“Candace, as I told you yesterday, I’ve brought you here to discuss a proposition. That much, at least, you already know. And as you may have further guessed, I’d like to offer you a job.” My ears perked up at this, but I stayed silent. “I’m in need of a personal assistant,” he continued. “And based on our… interaction yesterday, I’ve concluded that you will fill the role quite nicely.”

My face flushed, again remembering our tryst in the break room. I thought I saw the hint of a half-smile flash across his face; a smile that said
I know exactly what you’re thinking.
But even though we both knew what he was talking about, he didn’t give any explicit indication of his meaning. He seemed to want to keep me in the dark as much as possible, only revealing whatever details were absolutely necessary.

“Before we continue this discussion any further, I’m going to give you a few rules – the terms of employment, as it were.” I tilted my head a bit in confusion at the word ‘rules’, but if he saw my puzzled expression he didn’t comment on it. “You are to listen to each rule in its entirety, and then you will respond with ‘I agree’ or ‘I don’t agree’ as you see fit. You will otherwise remain silent, and under
no circumstances
are you to ask questions. Do you understand, Candace?”

Slowly, I nodded. “Yes, sir,” I said. What else could I say? I was so confused, and I had a million questions to ask him – but I knew he’d react with anger if I ventured to ask them against his command. I sat there a moment, thinking about what he’d said, as he looked intently into my eyes.

“Good.” For the first time, he uncrossed his hands, and leaned slightly forward in his chair. He picked a piece of paper off the desk, and began to read from it.

“This contract is undertaken between myself, Thomas Stevens, and you, Candace Baker, on the basis of mutual understanding and agreement, for services to be rendered under the conditions described herein.” I furrowed my brow, trying to decipher the legal-sounding text as fast as I could. One word, ‘services,’ immediately jumped out at me.
What exactly
, I wondered,
do these ‘services’ entail?

Without pausing, he read on. “Condition one. You agree to perform whatever services I require of you, regardless of their nature, to the extent of your ability.”

He looked up at me, waiting for a response. I was even more confused now, but held my tongue from asking any questions. “I… agree,” I said.

His eyes moved back down to the contract. “Condition two. You agree to maintain utmost silence about these services. You are expressly forbidden to discuss the terms of your employment with anyone.”

“I agree,” I said again.

“Condition three. You agree that you’ve entered into this contract with me of your own free will, and that you are free to exit the agreement at any time.”

“I… agree,” I repeated, carefully considering the meaning of his statement. Of all the conditions he’d read so far, this was the only one that sounded comforting.

“And finally, condition four. In compensation for these services, you will be paid a monthly salary of thirty-five thousand dollars, for as long as the terms of the contract are followed.”

He looked up at me again, laying the paper on the desk, and waited for me to speak.

I blinked in shock.
35,000 dollars per month?
That was more than I made in a year at the coffee shop. It was such an unthinkable sum of money that it immediately gave me pause. I considered the situation: I was completely in the dark about what he wanted, though if yesterday was any indication, I could guess what it was. But what
exactly
was I getting myself into here, if he was prepared to pay me so much for it?

I hesitated, looking up at him but not daring to speak. This seemed like I might be getting in over my head.
Then again,
I thought to myself
, he did say I could leave the agreement at any time.

“I agree,” I said finally, letting the words out in a sigh.

For the first time, he smiled. “Good.” He pushed the paper towards me. “Sign here, and we’ll begin your orientation.”

I looked up at him, but his features didn’t change at all.
Orientation?
I liked the sound of that. The word echoed around my head, and again I was brought back to the memory of yesterday. Impulsively, I picked up the pen and scribbled my signature on the page.

He looked amused, and a bit surprised. “You didn’t even read it.”

I don’t know what had gotten into me, but I was almost feeling giddy. It must have been from seeing the $35,000 per month on the contract. I suddenly felt very bold, and I wanted to try and take charge of the situation. I tossed the pen back onto the desk, stood up, and handed him the contract. “I’m not afraid of you, sir.”

He chuckled. “You should be.” Suddenly, all the humor went out of his face. He got up out of his chair, leaning his hands on the desk, and glared at me with a simmering fury in his eyes. “Sit down, Candace. I didn’t ask you to stand.”

I put my hands on my hips in defiance, grinning cheekily. “Who’s going to make me?”

In the next moment, before I even knew what was happening, he’d leapt over the desk and come behind me, bending me at the waist and pushing my head hard down onto its surface. My high heels threw off my center of balance, so that my knees locked up as he bent me into a 90-degree angle. I cried out in pain as he roughly forced my hands behind me. All the weight of my body was coming down on my face and breasts. I’d been feeling sassy a moment ago, but now my whole body was quivering in fear.

“Stupid girl,” he said, snatching my blazer in his hand and ripping it off my arms. I whimpered as he grabbed a handful of my blouse, savagely tearing away a strip of it to expose my pale body. “You think this is a joke,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “You underestimate me, Candace.”

Still holding me there with the weight of his body, he began to tie the strip of fabric around my wrists. “Yesterday was nothing,” he said to me. “Yesterday was just to get you excited. But now you’ve signed the contract, and you’re going to give me
exactly
what I want.”

He finished tying my wrists, and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He leaned down close to my ear, just like he’d done yesterday. “You’re mine now,” he hissed. I struggled to get my wrists free, but he’d tied them expertly, and they were too tight for me to gain any purchase. He reached a hand under my skirt from below and ran a finger slowly, firmly along the length of my vagina. It was only when I shuddered in pleasure that I realized the adrenaline surging through my veins was at least as much from arousal as from fear. I was dripping wet. I
needed
his touch. And now, my hands tied, I was completely at his mercy.

“Look at you,” he said, hiking up my skirt around my waist. “Tied up, in heels, bent over some guy’s desk. Just a second ago you were giving me such cheek. Remember that?” He kept rubbing his finger slowly up and down the entrance of my vagina as he spoke. His dirty talk was doing strange things to my brain, and I was getting wetter and wetter by the second; I could barely focus on his words. I strained my backside towards him, willing him to push his strong finger inside me. But I was powerless in this position, and he had other intentions for me.

Suddenly, a quick slap across my face brought me abruptly back to Earth. “I, am,
speaking,
to you,” he said, spitting out each word on its own. The slap hadn’t hurt much, but it got my attention – and that’s what he wanted. “Do you understand the trouble you’re in?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, but it was more like a moan. I was trying hard to stay focused, but the sensations of his fingers on me were causing my eyes to roll back into my head. I loved the feeling of my hands being restrained; it felt just as good as I’d always imagined it. He pulled down my panties to expose my bare backside and smacked my ass, hard, causing me to jerk against the desk in pain.

“Did that hurt you?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” I moaned again.

“Good.” SLAP. Again he spanked me, this time causing me to cry out in pain. But as I bucked against the desk, he pushed the tip of his finger between the folds of my labia, just teasingly pressing into me but not enough to give me relief. I strained hard against his body, gyrating my hips back and forth, trying to increase the stimulation. But he stayed agonizingly on the edge, just out of reach.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “You need to be punished.” He pulled his hand suddenly out of me, and slapped my other ass cheek –
hard
, this time. I cried out again. Three more slaps, one after the other, until hot tears squeezed out between my wincing eyelids. My backside was on fire now, but with my hands bound, I couldn’t reach down to rub the pain away. The stinging buzzed, unabated. I heard him unzip his pants behind me, then the sound of his belt dropping to the floor.
Oh, God
, I thought.
Is he going to use the belt on me?
I gritted my teeth, anticipating a hard blow.