It was a shock! A travesty! Surely, with twenty years’ service, the past five being in the position of deputy, I should have been the obvious choice to be made Head of Logistics when Bill Swinney retired. But, no, instead the directors had appointed this young woman, Hannah Taylor, straight from university with a degree in English Literature—a subject of unfathomable benefit to an engineering company. Furthermore, apart from knowing nothing about logistics, she had no business experience of any sort. Heaven help us!
Could her youth and beauty have swayed the interview panel? Without doubt, she was incredibly attractive, with a slim figure, long blonde hair (slightly wild looking), long legs and pert boobs, and, on the day she was interviewed, I had seen she had chosen to wear a very short skirt with a white blouse that I swear was semi-transparent. Coupled with her bubbly personality, enormous self-confidence and unnerving assertiveness, it was not hard to see that our stale male directors might have fallen for the looks and charms of Miss Hannah Taylor.
oooOOooo
Naturally, I was incensed when I learnt I’d not landed the top job, and it took a couple of weeks to get over the disappointment. But then I started to look at it more rationally. Despite not landing the role I coveted, I consoled myself knowing that I would be working with a girl of stunning beauty. Moreover, with her lack of experience, I reckoned Hannah would have to rely heavily on my knowledge of the business.
But there was something more, much more. The moment I’d first seen her, sitting near me in the corridor as we waited to be called in to be interviewed, it struck me that she strongly resembled a young teacher from my schooldays, a Miss Smith, who taught physics to the Sixth Form. I, along with most other boys, had become smitten with Miss Smith and the likeness of Miss Smith to Hannah Taylor was uncanny. Just seeing Hannah reminded me of how Miss Smith had affected my sexual development as a sixteen-year-old.
Work might not be so bad after all!
oooOOooo
How wrong I was! Four weeks after the interview, Hannah breezed into the office on her first day. She looked every bit as pretty as she had done when I had seen her before, and her blonde hair, still looking unkempt, was tied in a cute ponytail which served to accentuate her youth. Again, she was dressed in a short black skirt accompanied by a white shirt and an undone black jacket. Her appearance was both business-like and sexy, a killer combination.
My mind once more flashed back to the delightful Miss Smith, whom I fondly remembered had been extremely strict. Hannah was a reincarnation of her. Would Hannah prove to be as strict, I wondered. At least I was older now so better able to control myself—I hoped.
Hannah walked briskly up to me and my eyes could not help but fall onto her breasts, which were pushing against her tight shirt, showing me an outline of a lacy bra. I felt my mouth drop open, remembering only to shut it when she was three feet in front of me. Belatedly, I raised my eyes from her chest to look her in the eyes. Her expression was not one of amusement.
“Er… hmm… hello,” I said, regaining my composure. “Welcome aboard! I’m Simon Blakely, your deputy.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied, curtly. I offered her my hand, and she grasped it tightly but for no more than a second.
“Hmm… would you like a coffee?” I asked, seeking to break the ice.
“No, thank you. I plan to hit the ground running,” she explained. “The Board reckons this department is an omnishambles and a big shake-up is needed. They said that you, in particular, need to improve. Is that understood, Mr Blakely?”
I was taken aback by her direct approach. “Please… call me Simon,” I muttered.
“No, this is a business, not a kindergarten. You’re Mr Blakely and I’m Miss Taylor. Okay?”
“Er… yes, Miss… Taylor.”
“Getting raw materials into the factory on time, or finished goods from A to B is not rocket science, yet, according to the Board, you and your co-workers find the processes utterly mysterious, beyond the wit of man, requiring the dark arts and supernatural forces, and—”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s fair to say and—”
“I’m quoting the Board, Mr Blakely!” she hissed. “And please don’t ever interrupt me while I’m speaking. Is that clear?”
I nodded, while feeling my cheeks flush. I’d not been spoken to like that since Miss Smith berated me for talking in class. I felt a stirring in my nether regions—old memories were being revived.
Miss Taylor stared hard at me. “As Mr Swinney’s second in command, the Board holds you largely responsible for recent debacles, given that Mr Swinney seemingly lost the plot years ago leaving you in effective charge. If they’d had their way, you would have been out on your ear, but I persuaded the Board to keep you on, Mr Blakely. You deserve another chance, so I said I would find a way of improving your effectiveness, and they said I should do whatever it takes.”
“Thank… you, Miss Taylor,” I mumbled, stunned by what she was saying, which was news to me. Was it true, what the Board had told her? Sure, there had been big mistakes made recently, but that was to be expected when we were under resourced.
“I’m told discipline has been too lax in this department for too long. There will be changes. I will be expecting you all to work harder and to do whatever is needed to improve efficiency. I don’t have time for people who whine ‘I can’t do that because it’s not in my job description’. Understood?”
“Er… yes… Miss Taylor,” I replied. “But… but you do know that there are only four of us in the department—you and me and Penny Lawson and Rachel Fevers?”
“Yes, I know that, which is even more reason why flexibility is called for, and why we all need to be on red-hot form, with no slacking and no own goals.”
“I… I see.”
“I’m expecting you to step up your game, Mr Blakely. You need to focus on the job and stop making gaffes. You’ve been warned! I intend to run a tight ship, Mr Blakely. I take no prisoners.”
I gulped and felt a twitch from my penis. No woman, let alone someone as young and good-looking as Miss Taylor, had spoken to me in that manner, at least not since Miss Smith two decades earlier. It was humiliating, yet, perhaps for that very reason, it was arousing me. I knew I had submissive tendencies, which I blamed entirely on Miss Smith, but they had been latent, existing only as fantasies in my imagination. Now, in real life, a female in a position of power, a manifestation of my dreams, was tearing me off a strip and making clear my place in the pecking order.
“As you’ve worked in logistics for twenty years, you will undertake the routine, day-to-day running of the department. And, as I’m new to logistics, I will be able to see things with fresh eyes, taking an overview and finding ways to improve efficiency and productivity. I will get results, Mr Blakely, make no mistake about that—and the Board’s demanding it.”
I nodded again.
“I will need you on call nearby, Mr Blakely, so you’ll move into the annex to my office.”
“Er…”
“Please, just get it done. Now!”
By lunchtime, I had moved my possessions into the small office attached to Miss Taylor’s larger domain. In years gone by, it was where the department’s secretary would have sat. The annex served as the gateway between the rest of the building and the boss’s inner sanctum. Anyone who wished to speak to the kingpin had to pass through the annex and suffer a gruelling cross-examination by the secretary as to their true intentions. The position of secretary had long been abolished, along with almost all the other posts in the department, but now it seemed I was to occupy her former desk—and in this new era of flexibility perhaps take on some of her roles.
oooOOooo
I drove home from work that first day on autopilot, my mind playing over events. Either Miss Taylor had taken an instant dislike to me, or she had set out to show who was in charge and to eliminate any thoughts I might have that I could be top dog in all but name.
Had Miss Taylor been some frumpish, middle-aged woman then I would have felt aggrieved, but I was bewitched by her beauty. She was the spitting image of Miss Smith. It was if I had been transported back to school and was once more subject to Miss Smith’s zero-tolerance discipline. My classmates, smitten though they were with our stunningly appealing teacher, chose not to misbehave. But I was different and quickly realised that disobedience served to ensure I received far more attention from her. Punishments, such as detentions, lines and corner time, were a minor price to pay for the fantasies they created in my mind.
Getting into my flat, where I lived alone since my divorce, I at once went up to my bedroom and masturbated, thinking of Misses Taylor and Smith.
oooOOooo
For the next two days, Miss Taylor became more demanding, expecting me to pass on twenty years of logistical knowledge while standing in front of her desk, peering down at her, doing my utmost to keep eye contact and not let my gaze drop down to her breasts. Not once did she invite me to sit.
Then, the next afternoon, as I was working on a spreadsheet in the annex, I heard her call me. “Mr Blakely! I need to talk to you.”
I went through to her office. She was sat in a low down, comfy armchair in front of a small table, a section of the office normally reserved for informal conversations with visitors over coffee. I thought she might invite me to take the other seat but, no, she left me standing.
She was dressed in what I figured was becoming her trademark outfit of a short dark skirt topped with a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned at the neck. In fact, it struck me that a couple of buttons too many were undone and I couldn’t help but notice the frilly edge of her white bra. Not for the first time, I felt a twitch from my dick as I hastened to avert my eyes.
Her skirt had also ridden up a little, and I felt an irresistible compulsion to glance down. She was wearing stockings, and an inch of bare skin was visible above her right stocking top.
My eyes shot up again, but she sensed something was wrong, and she eased herself up to pull her skirt down to cover the gap. In doing so, she inadvertently opened her knees a tad and I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye.
Once more, an uncontrollable instinct took over, and I could not prevent my eyes darting down. In the low chair, her thighs were angled upwards, and the glint of white was her panties.
For a few moments, my brain seemed to seize up as I processed my newfound knowledge that she was wearing a white bra with white panties. Would it not have been more sensible to have worn dark panties with a dark skirt? Or is she one of those women who insists on wearing bra and knickers of the same colour? Was I overthinking this… My mind was awhirl… I was becoming flustered.
I must have stared, mesmerised, up her skirt for less than two seconds, but it seemed like a lifetime. Then, her knees snapped shut—she knew what I was doing!
I looked her in the eyes, my face now crimson. She was also blushing and returned my stare with any uneasy expression but said nothing. Should I say something, perhaps apologise? Fortunately, I suppose, she spoke first and chose to ignore my indiscretion. “Mr Blakely! Have you listened to a word I’ve said?!”
“Erm… sorry, Miss Taylor,” I ventured, silently giving a sigh of relief.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Obviously not! You have the attention span of a gnat! Now listen! The foreman on the shop floor has just phoned. He’s run out of some sort of… I don’t know… some widget. He said you were supposed to have ordered them in.” She passed me a piece of paper on which she’d scribbled a part number, which I recognised.
“Hmm… yes, I think they’ve been ordered.”
“You think! You don’t know, for God’s sake?”
“I’m not sure… I think Penny ordered them—”
“Miss Lawson, you mean!”
“Er… yes, Miss Lawson. They’re delayed, I suppose.”
“Give me strength!” she screeched, rolling her eyes. “It’s your job to know, Mr Blakely, and to keep on top of things. Get on the phone and sort it out. And if this happens again, you’ll be disciplined!”
Disciplined? What did she mean by that? My penis gave another spasm, and the image crossed my mind of me lying across her lap being spanked. Obviously, that can’t have been what she was planning, but it was the picture that stuck in my brain.
oooOOooo
The following morning, I was again summoned into her office. This time she was sitting behind her large desk, her legs out of sight, beyond temptation. In her hands was an eighteen-inch plastic rule that she was bending so it was almost forming a right angle.
“Yes, Miss Taylor,” I nervously asked, as I stood in front of her, looking her in the eyes.
“Do you have any clue about geography, Mr Blakely? Did you study it at school, or were you staring out of the window… or up your teacher’s skirt, maybe?” Once again, I felt my face burn up, recalling I had once done just that at school with Miss Smith (by accident, you understand), as well as doing the same the previous day with Miss Taylor (again, by accident!).
I glanced at her, wondering what she knew or what I should say, but she wasn’t looking for a reply. She continued talking, speaking quietly, which I found quite intimidating. “You do know that there are towns called Newport in both Wales and the Isle of Wight?”
“Er… hmm?”
“And that Johnson and Johnson have branches in both Newports?”
“Well—”
“The branch in Wales rang me to say that they’ve not had their goods, and, five minutes later, I get a call from someone in the Isle of Wight branch saying something has turned up they didn’t order. More than a coincidence, I think. Yes?”
“Er…”
“You’ve plainly screwed up, Mr Blakely! Again!” she barked, raising her voice by several decibels.
“I’ll have a word with Miss Fevers, Miss Taylor,” I nervously replied.
“Do not blame others for your own inadequacies, Mr Blakely. This is not good enough!” She brought the plastic rule down on the desk with an enormous smack. “Am I making myself clear, Mr Blakely?” In case she wasn’t, she again smashed the rule onto her desk with a resounding crash—I could recall Miss Smith doing something very similar, sending shockwaves around the classroom. “You need to do your job better, Mr Blakely! The Board insists on it, and I’m intent on finding a way of achieving that aim.”
Despite my predicament, I again felt my penis tumesce as I thought of those eighteen inches of plastic landing on my bare bum. Acting on instinct, I placed my hands in front of my crotch lest she detected a tent forming in my trousers.
“Sorry…” I replied, aware of how inadequate it sounded.
“Get it sorted, Mr Blakely… I’ll deal with you later!” she said, shaking her head in exasperation.
I spent the rest of the morning frantically arranging for goods to be shipped from the Isle of Wight to Wales, while also wondering how she planned to “deal with me later”.
oooOOooo
Fortuitously, I didn’t get to find out as another crisis arose. Around 2 PM she strode into my office, saying, “I’m meeting with the Board in twenty minutes and look!” As she said that, she hitched up her short skirt, revealing more of her nylon-covered thigh. There was no stocking top. She had to be wearing tights—clearly, her wardrobe mishap with stockings had taught her a lesson, and that lesson was to dress more modestly when her deputy is debauched.
As she had granted me permission to look, I stared at her shapely thigh, possibly for longer than needed, and saw there was a six-inch ladder.
“I can’t go like this, Mr Blakely.” She slapped a five-pound note on my desk. “Stop what you’re doing and run down to the shop on the corner. Buy me a pair of black tights, 40 Denier, medium size.”
“Er…”
“Are you capable of doing that, Mr Blakely? Or will you return with something completely different? A pair of Wellington boots, perhaps?”
“No… I can do that,” I replied, hoping to God that I could and wouldn’t mess up again.
The purchase was straight forward, but I found myself being aroused handling a sealed package containing something that a few minutes later would be covering an intimate part of her anatomy.
oooOOooo
It goes without saying that all I could think about that evening was Miss Taylor and her doppelganger, Miss Smith. I couldn’t get them out of my head. Going to bed, I tossed and turned for ages before falling into a troubled sleep where I was visited by a hybrid of Miss Taylor and Miss Smith, the pair blended into a single character.
It was a vivid dream. “Were you looking up my skirt?” this amalgamation menacingly demanded to know. “You were, weren’t you, you disgusting little pervert?! Answer me!”
“Yes, Miss, I saw you were wearing white panties, Miss,” I pathetically replied. “Sorry, Miss, I didn’t mean to look.”
The composite of these two beauties was not buying my excuse and very soon I was naked from the waist down and being painfully beaten with a plastic rule.
“As you are so interested in panties, you will start wearing them, along with tights. Do you understand? Every day, without fail! I will inspect you to ensure compliance!” screamed my chastiser.
“Yes… yes, I understand, Miss,” I falteringly replied, as the blows rained down.
The punishment was painful but also arousing. Very soon I was dreaming that a solid erection was rubbing against the silky smoothness of my tormentor’s pantyhose. I wanted the beating to stop before I humiliated myself by ejaculating onto her legs. “Please stop, Miss!” I screamed. “Please!!”
Then I woke up with a jerk. For a couple of minutes, I was unclear of where I was or what I was doing. I was partly awake but still partly dreaming, and I wished for that dream to continue.
Slowly, I came to. I was lying on my stomach, and, beneath me, I became conscious of a sticky goo. I groped for the bedside light and then pulled off the duvet. To my shame, I saw I had been humping the bed and I’d cum. Men of my age should not have wet dreams!
I was mortified, but, at the same time, the dream had only increased my lust for Miss Taylor—or was it Miss Smith? After cleaning up, I reflected on the dream, which I could graphically recall. I so wished my boss would strip me and spank me, but I knew that in real life that wasn’t going to happen—it was a fantasy.
And then I thought of what it would be like being compelled by her to wear panties and tights to work. Clearly, she was never going to do that, yet there was nothing to stop me imagining that she was forcing me to. I felt another erection growing.
Despite it being the middle of the night, I started browsing online in search of panties and tights. I was intending to live out my dream by wearing panties and tights to the office. I would be able to imagine Miss Taylor wasn’t just bossing me around as her subordinate, but she was dominating me. She, I was sure, would be blissfully ignorant of the effects she was having on me while I would indulge in my delusion of her controlling my life. My time in the office would become more bearable. What could go wrong?
