I accompanied him to the board room. My boss. Mr. David Conway. I followed behind, of course, watching him move was like watching a big, powerful tiger move through the jungle. Except this jungle was the open office. And just like in the jungle, everyone watched him warily, fearful he would come nearer. David Conway was not well-loved, by any means. He was feared. And for good reason. He had a lot of power, and not much conscience when it came to using it.

The wonder was that I didn't fear him, not really. I feared what he would make me do, and I feared myself, for I wondered what I would not do any more, and wondered why I allowed him to control me as he did.

He was in a splendidly tailored suit, of course, which fit his tall, athletic physique perfectly. I was a respectable outfit today, perhaps because of this late meeting which would require me to be out and about. I had a high-necked cream silk blouse over a tight Armani skirt which fell to about five inches of my knees and black heels. They were high, but nothing like the stilettos he'd had me wearing on previous occasions.

My hair was now in a loose, longish bob, curling in as it brushed my shoulders, and I wore my thin, frameless glasses. I was the image of a professional assistant.

The fact I wasn't wearing any panties was not something anyone would notice, nor the butt-plug, a large one, Mr. Conway had put into me before we'd left the office. I also wore a kind of clip. It was small, consisting of a slim arm which penetrated my sex about four inches, and a second which rose up along the outside of my body for about two.

They were held together by a spring clip which made them squeeze in against my flesh from inside and outside. This kept it from slipping free. The purpose of it seemed to be that the outside arm was hollow, that is, consisting of two slim bars which pressed into my flesh on either side of my clitoris, joined together by a crossbar which likewise pressed into my flesh rather firmly just above.

The physical effect of this was to sort of squeeze my clitoris out and make it very sensitive to the slightest sensation.

But again, you wouldn't know this as I trailed him through the outer office with the expensively hidden lighting, carrying several slim binders of information he would use in the meeting, and a notebook to take the occasional note.

The executive section of the building was elegantly appointed with wood paneled walls, glossy wood furniture, and a series of carefully lined up decorator lamps which rode every table and desk. They were more the type you'd find in a living room than an office, though the lampshades were uber modern and slim.

There were more of them in the board room, sitting along an enormous mahogany table polished to within an inch of its life. The table was surrounded by a couple of dozen high-backed leather chairs, while rows of smaller, simpler chairs lined the long wall.

The room was far from full. There were two men and a woman sitting together on one side of the long table next to the door. They were all middle-aged and dressed for business. They were department heads, powerful people in their own right. But they were clearly on their best, most careful behavior here. Conway walked around to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair, nodding to me to do the same.

I gave him a lot of room, after handing him the first binder.

"All right. This is going to be a short meeting. Let's get through this as quickly as possible," he said, flipping open the binder.

"Midwest expansion," he said. "David."

I handed him his own pad, and he took a gold pen from the breast pocket of his ridiculously expensive suit as one of the men started reading numbers for new accounts. He wrote something quickly, then slid it aside to me as he looked at the man across from us.

The note said: take off your skirt and spread your legs.