Personal Assistant
By
Skinnie Stallion
He should have seen it coming, he really should. He should have noticed the attention. Attention he'd received even before he started full-time at Bergman & Knightley. He should have cottoned on to all the requests from the top floor. Requests that other Saturday Girls didn't seem to get. Requests that seemed trivial. Help moving a filing cabinet. Help carrying bags to a taxi. Help tidying papers and doing some filing. Help sorting fabric swatches. Help polishing a Board member.
He should have twigged that it was almost always the same Board member. Ever since that first party he'd attended at Ms Bergman's, he should have been aware of the extra attention he'd being receiving. He should have heeded the gossip amongst the staff. Gossip about a Board member and a Saturday Girl. He should have realised that they were talking about him. About him and Ms Harlow.
Ms Harlow might be one of the older members of the Board, but she was still very active, and attractive. Very hands on. She'd even taken part in his interview panel when he applied to join the full-time staff at B&K after he decided not to go to college. Though that was less a decision, more a necessity after his A-Level results. "Too much work and not enough study," his teachers had said. Perhaps he had spent too much time working at weekends, though it meant that he was much better off than many of his colleagues at school: B&K was quite generous when paying its Saturday Girls. B&K considered it 'a reward', 'a little gift' for their Saturday Girls’ services. Better able to afford Uni, he'd thought. And maybe reading fashion magazines during the week rather than textbooks hadn't been sensible, but it had helped him shine at the interview with his knowledge of current trends.
An apprenticeship at B&K seemed like a good option if he wasn’t going to Uni. He could be earning good money and get funded to go to College on day release. Despite his grades, he hoped to get on to the Retail Management Degree Apprenticeship Scheme. A degree paid for by the company sounded good to him. He just needed to get one of the highly prized B&K apprenticeships. Thankfully, his experience as a Saturday Girl enabled him to bypass the assessment centre stage and progress straight through to final interview. He expected the panel interview to be a challenge and approached it with apprehension: it was intimidating enough being grilled by members of senior management, but he hadn’t expected a Board member to be on the panel.
With his Saturday Girl experience, the interview ought to have been a formality. But when it got under way, his heart sank. Much of the questioning seemed perfunctory, as if the panel was going through the motions. It made him wonder whether they’d already made up their minds. He knew first impressions mattered: experienced interviewers often made their minds up in the first few minutes, sometimes even the first few seconds. Assessing from the moment the candidate walks in the room. Looking at body language and appearance.
Appearance! He kicked himself that he hadn't gone with one of his original choices of attire. He wished he’d had the confidence to go with his gut instinct, and his preferences. It hadn’t helped that he’d had difficulty deciding between two outfits. A black latex knee-length B&K bodycon dress, tight at the knee with blouson sleeves, a glossy red PVC laced and buckled underbust corset and 5” red Darinas from Honour, and a padlock black latex collar from the upcoming B⚥Y?™ brand with ‘SISSY☆B⚥Y’ motif in metallic lettering. He’d been torn between his Darinas and his dagger heeled knee length black boots, but the Darinas matched the corset. Or a pink latex bolero jacket, worn over a white latex blouse, and tight black latex pants all from B&K with a Chanel belt, and kitten heels. Either outfit would have caught the eye. Neither would have been dull unlike what he’d gone with.
He’d dismissed the first because it was too conventional, too much the standard B&K look. Maybe red was too much but he didn’t have a black overcorset, and all black with his boots seemed too austere And he wasn’t sure that wearing chicken fillets to pad out his bra to give the curves appropriate for the dress and corset would be appropriate at interview, but he didn’t want to go in looking like some flat-chested ingenue. He would stick to wearing that outfit at the weekend when he went down The R-Bar or The Cauldron where his
SISSY☆B⚥Y collar and his Darinas helped him stand out from the crowd: he’d never failed to pull in that ensemble.
The second option was a bit more sober, providing a contemporary take on a business suit and displayed his fashion sense, although he was torn between the kitten heels and his Schein perspex 7” stripper heels. The stripper heels would have given him a confidence boost, but his mother said that they made him look like a pole dancer. She’d advised that since he was going as a student trying to get an apprenticeship, he should dress more like a student.
He regretted allowing his mum to have the deciding vote as soon as he sat with other candidates while waiting to go in for his interview. There were girls in latex dresses. Girls in leather dresses. Girls in high heels. Girls made-up to the nines. Beautiful girls. He felt outclassed and out-dressed. He was out of his league.
There he was: a stereotypical student in a boring outfit. He wasn’t flaunting that he could already afford a B&K dress, or a B&K jacket and pants. He wasn’t flaunting anything. He wasn’t even wearing much make-up. His only concession was asking his hairdresser to give him a short pixie cut and go full blonde. Otherwise he looked like he would when he was in the Upper Sixth: white blouse, scarf, black wet look Lovehoney stretch leggings, and black 3” heel ankle boots. The only noticeable feature was that he was wearing his zip-around leggings but that was only because he was planning to meet his boyfriend, Steve, straight after the interview. Steve was very straight, but he was working on it. In these leggings, it was even possible that he might get the hint.
The most searching questions at the interview came from Ms Harlow. She asked about fashion houses and whom he considered to be B&K’s competitors. He was pleased to be able to talk about William Wilde, Atsuko Kudo, Westward Bound and Vex, as well as newcomers like B⚥Y?™. Ms Harlow seemed particularly interested when he spoke about B⚥Y?™ and described his collar. “So your collar is made of latex and has metallic lettering saying ‘Sissy boy’?” she enquired.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “But there’s a star symbol between the ‘Sissy’ and the ‘Boy’, and the Boy has the male and female glyph rather than an ‘o’, like on the B⚥Y? logo.” She’d given him a long hard look following that answer. She also asked about how he spent his time outside of work and study. He was hesitant to mention the time he spent clubbing and with his boyfriend, so focused on his magazine reading and make-up experiments. The rest of the panel remained silent as the interview concluded and merely thanked him for his time. It seemed very much a case of ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’.
He left the interview feeling disconsolate. He’d blown it. At least he could blow Steve later that evening, and hopefully more given his zip-around leggings. He really did want Steve to fuck his brains out. How long would it be before Steve cottoned on to what Peter could offer, and needed?
After another disappointing (zipped) evening with Steve, he was surprised to receive a phone call the next morning from B&K’s HR Department. A call from Madam Staff herself offering him a job and enrolment in the B&K Apprenticeship Scheme. Not the Management Scheme though. He needed to go through the basic retail apprenticeship at Level 3 first. He’d start with other entry level girls. He might be able progress to the Level 6 Management Scheme, but first he needed to prove himself. Peter didn't know what so say. On one hand he was delighted to be offered a job at B&K. On the other, Level 3 seemed a step backwards: he already had A-Levels for goodness sake. Bad grades maybe, but they were A-Levels. Level 3 seemed a sideways step. At least, after spending two years as a Saturday Girl, he wouldn’t need to go through basic induction. He could start immediately on job rotation to gain experience of all departments. She congratulated him on being the only boy to have made it through that year’s selection process.
Until the other girls caught up, his job rotation would begin with a special assignment on the top floor. He would be running errands for the Directorate. He was to report to HR in two weeks’ time. In the meantime, they would issue him with a trainee’s uniform. They knew his sizes so he wouldn't need to go in for a fitting. He could work two more weekends as a Saturday Girl but from the following Monday, he would be a full-time apprentice trainee at B&K. Level 3 or no, he felt so happy he almost wet himself. He was going to be a B&K girl.
Unboxing the package that arrived a week later was exciting. He couldn’t wait to see and try on his new uniform. He couldn’t wait to feel it’s soft rubberiness. No longer would he be wearing the uniform of a Saturday Girl. Gone was the pink latex blouse. Gone was the black PVC over-the-knee pencil skirt. Gone were the black 3” courts. Gone were the gold hoop-earrings. In was a translucent white latex blouse. In was a short black latex mini-skirt. In were black 5” heel ankle strap courts. In were diamanté stud earrings. And, to his surprise, in was a 1½” diameter metal diamanté jewelled plug. It was thrilling to be wearing the uniform of a junior member of full-time B&K staff.
That first Monday morning was a morning of exhilaration and nervousness. Sheer elation at arriving at the store in his new uniform, walking proudly through The Lanes in his 5” heels, bum cheeks wiggling in his tight skirt, plug firmly clamped within. Eagerness to present himself at the HR office on the 2nd floor with a signed copy of his contract and to receive instructions about his first assignment. But nervousness when he alighted from the lift on the 3rd floor and knocked on the door to Ms Harlow’s office.
“Enter,” a cool voice with a hint of the crackle commanded. Peter opened the door to see the back of a blonde lady wearing a black leather dress with ruched sleeves standing by an open window. A cloud of mist dissipated in the breeze as she pulled the window closed. “Filthy habit, I know,” she said, turning to greet him, “but I have others,” she added slyly. She moved to sit behind her desk. “Sit down, young man.” She pointed to a chair beside her.
‘A reformed smoker,’ thought Peter as he pulled his chair up to the polished black ebony desk. He could smell the minty freshness of the vape on her breath.
“Come closer dear,” she murmured. He pulled his chair in till their knees were almost touching. “So you’re the young man who did so well at interview.” Peter blushed. It hadn’t felt that way two weeks ago. “I’ve watched your progress ever since you started as a Saturday Girl. I feel you have great potential …..,” she gave a deliberate, exaggerated pause to look at her notes, “…..Peter. Very great potential. HR was less sure, but I am never wrong. I know talent when I see it. HR did not want to take you as a Management Apprentice. They are wrong. But I have a better offer for you.” She handed him several sheets of paper. Before he had a chance to glance down and read them, she continued, “I would like you to be my Personal Assistant.”
“Your …. your Personal Assistant?” Peter stuttered.
“Yes, Peter, and as my Personal Assistant you will be solely responsible for all my ….” she paused and looked him directly in the eye, “… personal needs.” Peter’s mouth started to form an O of surprise. “It also means I can keep a much closer eye on your …….,” another pause and a glance down at his open necked blouse and his embarrassingly flat chest, “… development.”
“Thank you, Ms Harlow,” he gasped, totally taken aback. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? “I don’t know what to say.”
“Only three words are necessary, young man: ‘Thank you’ and ‘Yes.’ Is that clear?”
Peter realised that Ms Harlow was the reason why he’d been recruited. The reason why he’d avoided the Assessment Centre. The reason why the rest of the panel had been so silent during his interview. The reason why he wasn’t following the normal Management Apprenticeship route. The reason why he was sitting at a desk in the top floor C-suite of B&K. The reason why he was brushing knees with one of the most senior executives in B&K. He knew he had but one option. He clenched his buttocks and felt the plug grind against his prostate. “Thank you. Yes,” he said with a slight moan of pleasure. And then he added a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, a seventh, an eight, a ninth, a tenth, an eleventh, a twelfth, and a thirteenth: “Yes, please. What would you like me to do first?”
“That makes thirteen. I think thirteen is going to be lucky for both of us. You’ve made the right decision, and you’ve made your first deal as a member of B&K staff.” Peter extended his arm to shake hands. “I know a better way to cement a deal.” She leant her head forwards and Peter began to melt in his blouse as their lips met. He could already feel a moistness between his thighs as her tongue penetrated his mouth. Minty freshness invaded his mouth. This was better than kissing Steve.
When they parted, Ms Harlow issued her first instructions, “See, I knew you had potential.” She reached inside my handbag and handed him her Chanel Rouge Allure lipstick. “Now be a good girl and redo my lipstick. And redo yours too. We should wear the same shade. It will simplify matters.”
“Yes, Ms Harlow.”
“And when you’ve done that, I want you to go home and get that collar you talked about at your interview. I’d like you to wear it when you’re working as my Personal Assistant. It will avoid any confusion when I have visitors or meetings with clients. And it will amuse the other PAs on the Third Floor. What was the name of the fashion house that made it again?”
“Yes, Ms Harlow. B⚥Y?, Ms Harlow. That’s Boy with a glyph and a question mark.”
He took a tissue and removed the smudges from around her lips then delicately reapplied her Rouge Allure. Her lips looked luscious, and oh so kissable. “Thank you, Peter,” she said. “Now run along, and don’t come back until you’ve got your collar. It will be nice having my own SISSY B⚥Y PA. My very own Sissy Boy. You must tell me more about B⚥Y? when you get back.”
“Yes, Ms Harlow.”
After wiping his own lips and given them their own coating of Rouge Allure, Peter scurried from her office scarcely able to believe how his first day as a B&K employee had begun.
