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Amanda's Submission 

Amanda's Submission

Amanda's Submission


Having a Lexus was great as long as you had somewhere to park it. Amanda had a parking spot at her buildings where she worked and lived. Aside from those she was on her own, and finding parking spaces in Manhattan could be a nightmare. You could easily spend more time looking, and then walking back to your destination, than you did on driving there in the first place.

This went a long way to understanding why so few New Yorkers had cars, even the ones who lived in Manhattan, who were, to put it politely, comfortable.

She wasn't comfortable and had never been comfortable (though she was determined to get there). The car, along with her Manhattan apartment, were 'company owned', and part of her compensation package. But comfortable or not, finding parking was a pain in the ass.

Which was why she found herself on the subway that Sunday morning. Having just gotten her first paycheck from her first job out of college, she was looking to buy something to celebrate. It was an awfully big check, after all. The job paid a hundred thousand a year to start. And it wasn't like she had to pay for her car or apartment.

She wasn't rich, though, or even close to it. She still had a large student loan to repay, for one thing. And she wanted to help her mother out and maybe let her quit one of her jobs so she could relax more. She wasn't intending to go to the expensive shops along Fifth Avenue or anything. But there were still lots of places to shop in Manhattan, from Macy's to Bloomingdale's to Banana Republic.

And a check for almost $3,000 went a long way in stores like that!

Not that she would tell Hannah. Or her mom. Or anyone, just how big her paycheck was. In the first place, that would be like rubbing it in, since no one she knew was making half as much. Many of them didn't even have work yet, since graduation day had only been a month ago.

For another they'd wonder just how the hell she merited such a huge paycheck, and ask questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

“What do you think?” she asked, coming out of the dressing room.

She was wearing a long-sleeved, casual cotton top in a very light shade of gray. It had a rounded crew neck type collar, but with a half dozen buttons descending from the center, all of which she had left unbuttoned. That left a substantial amount of her breasts visible, but it was the women's clothing area, and there was no one else around but Hannah.

“Well, if you want to show off the twins, it's great,” Hannah said dryly, with a smirk.

Amanda snorted, and did up several buttons.


“It's kind of form fitting.”

“I have a great form.”


“It's comfortable. Feel. It's like t-shirt fabric.”

“Yeah, it's fine, though you'll have to watch the buttons, depending on where you go.”

“Oh I can do them up.”

She did up the rest and now there was just a bit of cleavage.

“Now it's even tighter. You might get a bigger size.”

“This is my size. This is how it's supposed to look.”

“Well, it looks great, Amanda. You just usually don't like clothes that are tight.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not in school anymore.”

Hannah was a cute blonde who did wear tighter clothes. That was one of the reasons Amanda was out shopping with her. She felt like... liberalizing her wardrobe. Because aside from work clothes everything she wore seemed pretty dull and conservative to her. And she didn't feel dull and conservative anymore.

She felt... sophisticated and mature, sleek and cool and comfortable in her skin. She wanted to wear clothes that gave off that image.

“It's long enough I could wear leggings under it,” Amanda said, tugging on the hem to ease it just past her buttocks. “Actually, I could wear this as a nightshirt if it was a big bigger.”

“Bit expensive for that. You can find nightshirts for next to nothing.”


She looked at herself in the mirror and undid a couple of buttons, then a couple more.

“Looking to recruit a boyfriend?” Hannah asked with a smirk.

Amanda laughed. “Well, you don't catch a fish without bait.”

She undid the rest, and the shirt was quite daring since she was wearing a very light, lacy, pink triangle cup bra which left almost half her breasts exposed. She adjusted the opening to be the same as her bra and grinned at Hannah.

“Nice bait,” Hannah said.

Amanda laughed and went back into the dressing room, closed the door and peeled the shirt up and off. She glanced at herself in the mirror inside, clad in the lacy pink bra, and drew her shoulders back.

Very sexy, she thought. Very hot.

She put her old shirt on and then carried the new one out to pay for it.

She just felt sexier these days, sexier, hotter, and more confident of herself and her looks.

Working at McMann-Harris had done that.

“Want to get something to eat?” Hannah asked.

They headed out to the food court, where Amanda got a salad. She was watching her weight, and doing a lot more exercise lately. And the exercise was a lot more fun.

They sat down at a table.

“So, are you all muscly yet?” Hannah asked.

Amanda shrugged and made a fist, and Hannah squeezed her bicep.

“Not so much,” the blonde girl said.

“Better than I was,” Amanda sniffed.

“Just don't let your mom know.”

“Don't worry!”

That she was taking pole dancing classes was a secret from most people she knew. She'd had to tell someone, though, and Hannah and she had always been close.

“My arms are sore, though,” she said. “It really does work your upper body. Well, all of your body, but your upper body in particular.”

“I'd love to try it, but I just don't have the time. I'd have to quit yoga class and I love them,” Hannah said.

“I do yoga too... at home,” Amanda said.

She'd been about to say at work. But that would require explanations she didn't care to get into.

And it wasn't really yoga, even if the positions resembled yoga. She also did other exercises at work in the private gym of Samuel Harris, the CEO who ran McMann-Harris. She was his personal assistant, and he'd all-but insisted on her exercising. He did himself and she pretty much had to whenever he did. He liked company.

After eating they wandered up the mall, and she veered off into Victoria's Secret, with Hannah, following along. She glanced at things casually. It wasn't like she needed lingerie, given what she'd already got, but it didn't hurt to look.

“This is nice,” Hannah said, pausing at a table with bras, and examining the cups.

“I've already got enough lingerie, unless it's something that really catches my eye,” Amanda said.

There was a lot more in Victoria's Secret than just lingerie, of course.

She went across to the wall and examined some sleep shirts there, including one which was a deep wine color which buttoned down the front. She'd look sexy in this, she thought. It was soft and lightweight, modal, but like silk, only much easier to care for.

She tried it on over her shirt and jeans then decided to buy it.

Shopping was not something she'd ever enjoyed much before. It was a lot different when you had money and didn't have to pour through bargain bins and used clothing stores!

They shopped some more, then headed south on the subway before parting, with Hannah heading across the bridge to Brooklyn and Amanda continuing south.

She was going to have to talk to Harris about the issue her apartment was causing, she thought. She didn't dare bring anyone to it because there'd be too many questions. Like how could she possibly afford it!? Not to mention if it was someone like Hannah, how could she explain the clothes in the second bedroom she used as a closet?!

The clothes had been selected for her by an image consultant. The stated reason – which she accepted now – was that when she accompanied Mr. Harris, or when she went somewhere on his behalf to speak with people, she represented him and how she looked reflected on him.

She couldn't possibly afford the expensive outfits that would let her fit in and give the proper image, so the company had paid for them. The problem was that they were all pretty... sexy. Even the business suits, as cute as they were, had miniskirts barely lower than the blazers that went with them.

She thought she could explain that, but not in company with an apartment which, given its location in Manhattan, would cost millions. The rent would likely be nearly half her salary. And all of a normal salary!

It was important to her to keep her work life and her private life separate, so no one from one intruded into or poked into the other. She did not want suspicions from people around her about just what kind of work she did.

She did important work, responsible work, work which any of her classmates would kill for. But she also did... other work, some of it menial, like getting coffee and picking up laundry and running other, similar errands. She was a personal assistant, after all.

But it was important that no one find out just how personal.

She unpacked her new things and then tried them on in front of her closet, examining herself in the big mirror on the inside of the door.

She slipped on the shirt she liked and grinned, then peeled it off, removed her bra, and slipped it on again. Now with all the buttons undone it offered a lot of breasts on display, but it was still (barely) hiding her nipples. It was clingy enough to offer some support for the twins too.

She slipped out of her jeans and turned, posing, liking how she looked, the kind of casual sexy girl-next door look.

Harris would like this look, she thought. So would Paul, his administrative assistant. Not that she had any intention of wearing this to work. It was far too informal.


The next morning she was on her way to work early, in the Lexus. It was raining, and she enjoyed the comfort, warmth and dryness of the luxurious car. While others struggled along the sidewalk she moved smoothly along, listening to the radio, the car easily absorbing every bump in the road.

It wasn't a long drive, and she turned in, angling down under the seventy-story building which was McMann-Harris headquarters and then into the garage. It was, of course, warm and dry and brightly lit there, even as the thunder growled above.

She parked in her space and stepped out of the car. She was wearing a three thousand-dollar three-piece designer suit now, in pinstriped black and gray. The vest was all gray, over a blood red silk blouse, and the skirt was quite, quite short and tight.

That got her a lot of looks on the elevator. It got her a lot of looks in the halls, too. And why wouldn't it? She was an extremely attractive young woman with a great body. She wouldn't have been hired otherwise. Paul had admitted that to her on Friday.

Of course, he said, he had also been hired, in part, due to his body and looks. He was six and a half feet tall, strongly built, a kick boxer, and in addition to his admin assistant duties, he was Mr. Harris' bodyguard, though that wasn't explained to anyone else.

Her dual role wasn't mentioned either.

The top floor of McMann-Harris was a study in luxury, with wide, marbled corridors and high ceilings with soft, recessed lighting and paneled walls. It had a hushed atmosphere, for it was a place where people at the top of their game spoke with dignity and self-confidence.

Most of them. Mr. Harris sometimes raised his voice quite a bit. He was not a patient or tolerant man, and since his family owned a big chunk of the company, he could do pretty much anything he wanted to do.

Not that he was an asshole, she thought, as her stiletto heels clicked on the marble. He was an aggressive, A-type personality, determined, confident and brash. Also very, very smart. He knew what he wanted, and as rich and powerful as he was, he could get it. She understood completely.

She opened the door to his office complex and felt her face flush, despite herself.

“Hey, Amanda,” Paul said.

“Good morning,” she gulped, turning rapidly to the right and entering her own small office.

It was small for the top floor. It was terrific compared to the cubicles most of her employed classmates had found themselves in. It was an actual walled office, after all. It had a gorgeous L-shaped desk with a thirty-inch monitor and top-of-the-line computer. The ergonomic chair was the best, and there were no rules for how she could decorate it or what sort of things she could keep on her desk, the way other offices had.

She could even play music if it was soft.

She flicked on the computer and sat down, then checked her emails, among them several from managers she had contacted on Mr. Harris' behalf. Harris was a busy man and couldn't be bothered with minutia. When he had a question he told her to find the answer. When he wanted to know about a company, she did the research. When there was a problem, she talked to the manager and gave Harris a report.

It was all deliciously responsible, and she knew she would learn a lot here. She knew people who were working at Starbucks or similar, waiting for a decent job offer. Just graduating from university was no guarantee of a good job.

She spent some time going through the emails, plucking from them not what they told her but what they hadn't told her, then she replied with follow-up questions to get at the rest of the information she wanted and needed.

Because she knew Harris would ask, or at least, he might. And he wasn't very patient if she confessed she hadn't thought to ask that.

His office door was at a ninety-degree angle to hers, and no more than a few feet away. So when it opened and she heard his voice raised angrily she felt a small jolt of emotion. He was angry at someone for something. He hadn't gotten really angry at her yet, but she was beginning to understand that when he got angry he needed to calm down.

And that... that was part of her other job here...

The part she dared tell no one about.

The part that left her feeling wild emotional storms of contrary emotions that ranged from indignation, outrage, guilt and shame, to a dark, intense, scalding heat and wild, runaway thrills.

Five minutes later her intercom buzzed. Already tight-chested, she rose and turned to the door, then opened it the rest of the way and walked to his. She averted her eyes from Paul, knocked on Harris' door, then opened it and stepped inside.

She closed the door behind her and looked across at him behind his mammoth desk. It was polished wood, the top a good four inches thick, and big enough to park a car on. There were two chairs in front of it, but you could have fit five.

The room itself was enormous and high-ceilinged. Its floor was a light brown marble. The wall facing her and the one to her right were both entirely glass. The one facing her along the sixty-foot length of the office was slanted outward.

There was a long board room type table to her right, then ahead and to the left, near the far wall, were a pair of triple sofas facing each other across a leather ottoman/table. To her left, some distance across the floor, was Harris and his enormous desk in front of a wall of shelves and cupboards.

She walked along the shelves lining the near wall to stand before his desk.

“Strip,” he ordered.

She felt the jolt, as always, but took the order calmly, halfway expecting it. She removed her blazer and vest, then started to unbutton her blouse as he focused on his monitor. But then he turned to look at her.


She halted, heart beating quickly as he sat back in his chair.

“Don't do it so casually.”


'You're a woman, Cantrell. You know how to take off your clothes when a man is watching.”

But you don't usually watch, she almost said. But that would be questioning his orders or decisions, and she didn't want to do that.

She felt uncertain, though, not knowing exactly what he wanted. But he often treated her as eye candy, as entertainment, like having a fish tank to look at. She thought she sort of knew what he meant, though, but the thought made her uncomfortable. He wanted her to put a sexy spin on undressing.

That wasn't a problem she ever had for a boyfriend, but he wasn't her boyfriend. In fact, he had approached everything between her in a very aloof, even cold manner. Nor had she shown any affection for him. It was the strangest relationship of any sort she'd ever had or even contemplated.

She still didn't understand how his outrageous and even degrading treatment of her turned her on so much. It wasn't all his skilled hands. There was just something darkly thrilling about, in effect, letting him use her like some kind of sexual hobby or pet. It should have outraged her, and it did, sort of. But the arousal only seemed to deepen the more outrageous he got.

Still, so far her part in things had been mostly passive. Not just passive but an enforced submission, usually tied up or under orders not to move. The only active part she did was in oral sex. So this was... different, and put her on uneasy footing.

“Pretend I'm your mirror, and strip for me.”

She gulped, flushing. She knew what he meant, but that was a level of intimacy she didn't really want to share. Then again, the man had made her masturbate in front of him... So how could anything else be worse?

“I... usually have music,” she gulped.

“You don't need it,” he said flatly.

He was a handsome man, and extremely solid and well-built. He was practically twice her age, though, and had a manner far too arrogant and unemotional to inspire any sort of affection. Still, there was something deeply arousing about being under those cool eyes, especially with the threat laying behind them, that she would be punished if she failed.

Why was that arousing? She wondered if she were some kind of perverted masochist or something. She drew in a deep breath, and then started to roll her hips and pretend, as he said, that she was looking into her bedroom mirror.

Of course, she hadn't played a stripper for her mirror for years, but it wasn't difficult. She let her head roll loosely, as with her hips, and slide her hands lightly up and down her body. As they caressed her breasts she felt her hard nipples tingling within the cups of her bra, and her hands lightly plucked at the remaining buttons, then turned her back on him, rolling her hips more, letting her hair slide back and forth along her neck and upper back as she continued to unbutton.

She turned back to face him, schooling her face into something like lust, undoing her skirt, and then unzipping it. It was tight enough to stay up on its own, but not as she raised her hands upward, and through her hair, and let her hips roll and grind more energetically.

That slowly caused it to slide lower and lower until it reached a tipping point and dropped down her thighs to her ankles. She still had a couple of lower buttons done on the blouse, so she stepped out of the skirt and spread her legs, letting the shirt hide her as she rolled her hips again, then turned her back to him, her entire body moving in time to imagined music.

She undid the final buttons, and turned around, clutching the blouse.

He pushed his chair back and jerked his head, and she half walked, half danced around it and stood next to him as he turned his chair to face him. She turned her back and pulled the shirt up teasingly, then dropped it, pulled up, then dropped it, then turned around and opened the shirt.

She wore no panties, for he'd ordered her not to. She let the blouse slide over her shoulders and down her arms, then danced naked save for her bra, feeling a dark heat welling up within her at those cool, gray eyes, at his emotionless face. This was so sick!

She reached up behind her and undid her bra, then turned her back to him, pulling it down and off. Naked, she rolled her hips and her head, feeling her hair caress her upper back now as she cupped her breasts. She turned around, still cupping them, revealing them teasingly.

The door opened and Paul came in.

She gasped and instinctively started to cover up, then reluctantly eased her arms back as he walked over to stand in front of Harris' chair.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Paul sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk, and Amanda's face reddened still further.

“Now that you've done the stripper routine, you can start on lap dancing,” Harris said. “Practice on Paul.”

The order gave her an emotional jolt, but didn't entirely surprise her. He liked to watch. She'd seen that from the start, when he had her pose naked and he simply … watched. And then when he had Paul do things with her, again while he watched. There was a lot of the voyeur in Harris.