Secretary's Day

"These need to go out yesterday, sweetheart," Mr. Bullock said as he handed a stack of papers to Margie at her desk. He leaned over and whispered, "I'm sure going to miss you after you're gone." He glanced down the front of her blouse and added, "and you too, my lovelies."

"Yesterday, huh?" Marie said, ignoring the innuendo. "It would have been nice to have them yesterday morning, then." She took the stack of letters and sighed under her breath, "Just ten more days."

Margie was used to the veiled sexual references from her boss and skilled at dodging his advances. It was the only way to function in the office, but she was tired of it. It was one of the reasons she jumped at the chance to work for Barrera when a job opened up. With the deepening recession, the offer seemed nothing short of a miracle. All she had to do was hold out ten more days and she would be free of the worst boss she'd ever had.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle the frequent sexual allusions. She could. Margie was a big girl and she knew how to handle herself. No boss was ever going to pressure her into playing footsie to keep a job. Besides, Mr. Bullock was all talk. His wife, a harpy by all accounts, had the real money in the family. Margie knew her gutless boss; actual infidelity would have been too risky. Mr. Bullock just liked to pretend and was too stupid to know what was appropriate in an office and what wasn't. But it wasn't the sex talk that made her job intolerable. It was the total lack of respect for her as a person that grated on Margie the most.

This morning was a perfect example and sadly typical. She was already overwhelmed with the expense reports that had to be done before the weekend. He'd had plenty of time to get the letters to her that should have gone out yesterday. When he handed her that stack, he knew it meant she wouldn't be going home until 9 or 10 that night. The fool actually thought that by sweet-talking her that he was making it okay. It would simply never occur to him that she might have other plans.

Never once had he had a kind word for her when there wasn't an ulterior motive. Not once did he say anything that indicated he had any understanding or appreciation of how hard Margie worked for him; and never a personal word of encouragement when she was having a bad day.

She picked up donuts on the way to work every morning for the whole staff, brewed the coffee when she got there and made sure that there was plenty for the salesmen when they came by the office. There was hardly a lunch hour when Mr. Bullock didn't have some errand for Margie to run, as well. It was hardly ever work-related, but usually something personal he should have done himself. She'd chosen birthday gifts for his wife, picked up dry cleaning, and once even stood in line forty-five minutes to get hockey tickets for him. No, she would not miss this job -- not at all.

At fifteen minutes before noon, Jenks, the top salesman, came by to turn in his mileage for the previous month. Before he left, she heard him ask Mr. Bullock if he was taking Margie out for lunch for Secretary's Day.

"Can't," Mr. Bullock answered. "The Mrs. keeps me on a short leash."

"You got to keep the help happy, too," Jenks said, laughing. "But I'm sure you bought your secretary something nice?"

"Nice, yes, something black and lacy," Mr. Bullock said with a wink. He glanced at Margie and realized she had heard. So she wasn't surprised when he came over to her desk after Jenks had gone.

He handed Margie his credit card and said, "You don't mind picking up a little something for yourself for Secretary's Day on your lunch hour, do you?" He grinned at her and added, "I bet you thought I forgot, didn't you?"

"You did forget. But then, I'd expect no less." The playful shot came easy with less than two weeks of bondage to go. "So how much you springing for?" Margie tucked the card in her purse and stood up to leave.

"Well, lets keep it under $25," Mr. Bullock said, chuckling. "My wife goes over the bills with a fine tooth-comb, and she's not nearly as generous as I am."

A half hour later, Margie handed Mr. Bullock's credit card to the clerk at Fredrick's of Hollywood to pay for three pair of black lace panties. She smiled all the way back to the office imagining Mrs. Bullock finding the item from Fredrick's of Hollywood when she went over the MasterCard bill. The old lecher would have some explaining to do.

THE END