Overtime with Mr. Driller

When Mr. Philip Driller took over the Aces Group of Companies, I learned two new things as an administrative assistant. The first thing is to render a work overtime with him and not even bother to ask for compensation. The second is to practice taking off and putting on clothes in his presence during breaks. Since Mr. Driller became CEO of the AGC, I've had to do this even though it isn't formally part of my responsibilities and job description. When it comes to this, do I have a choice? None. Why? He's been very kind to me. Throughout each and every overtime shift I work with him, he treats me with care, though he can be rough at times, which I can handle because I am used to it. Plus, he pays me considerably more than I was making before, by a factor of five. Besides, Mr. Driller is a multi-billionaire CEO. Rumor has it that one of the reasons Mr. Driller is widely regarded as one of Los Angeles' wealthiest personality is the widespread belief that he personally paid off all of AGC's debt before he became the company's sole owner. With his marketing prowess, he can easily get all of the business partners to sign a Memorandum of Agreement. Given his haughty physique, which could spark a war with thousands of models around the world, he could easily be the only model for this company, and a billboard featuring his face and body would generate enormous foot traffic. Even more impressively, he has mastered the art of getting women to scream his name whenever he calls them in for overtime, just as I used to do. "Miss Tamaryn, please proceed to my office after fifteen minutes." He called but immediately hung up before I could at least respond a, "yes sir." Time check, it's currently 05:00 P.M. My friend Ana is meeting his husband from work for dinner to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary, and everyone else is either getting ready to leave or finalizing last-minute touches before going out on a date or a Friday night out. At the same time, I, or Miss Tamaryn as my boss calls me, am getting ready to put in some extra hours with him. "Are you certain you'll have overtime work again?" Ana asked while checking that her minimal makeup didn't make her look like she was entering a beauty pageant, just as I had described it. "What am I supposed to do? The CEO has requested this." "You, Laura Sour, deserve at least one date and a ride home from a man after a long day at the office. If you wait until you're 30, your v****a will no longer be suitable for a messy, steamy encounter." "Just leave Ana, I am good with having night orgasms with just my two little fingers with me," jokingly, I said, though sometimes it's true. "If you can't find a good man to do the job for you, at least try to hire one." Taking her cell phone, she left her cube. "Well, before you leave, I'd like to remind you to celebrate your fifth wedding anniversary with a nut-filled meal. Enjoy, Ana!" "Of course, all his nuts are mine tonight, bitch." After a wry grin, she walked away. Only my tiny lampshade on my table and I remain on the 75th floor, where everyone else has long since left. Even though Mr. Driller's office is right next to mine, I can't see him from my cluttered cubicle because the blinds are down and the glass is fogged up. There appears to be no sign of life in his office, even though the lights are still on. Before I proceed to his office for my secret shift I have to do some self preparations first. He wants me to have a ponytail, so I did it for him. I swished some mouthwash and then applied light make up before 5:15 so that I wouldn't smell bad and look too pale. It is 5:15 and I have nothing further to do. Inhaling deeply, I straightened my just-above-the-knee pencil skirt and stood up. When I first did some overtime work for him, he told me to go ahead and enter his office, but he told me not to proceed further until I had locked it behind me. I have to open another door before I can enter his multimillion-dollar office, which has a conference table in it. When I walked in, I saw him waiting for me in his swivel chair with his feet up on the table. His dark green linen shirt is unbuttoned enough to reveal his arrogant mascular chest. He was also holding a glass of wine, which he had apparently been drinking before I came. "Good evening Mr. Driller." "Miss Tamaryn, you're a minute late!" he greeted me with. I approached his haughty desk because it appeared to be the focal point of the office. "I am sorry Mr. Driller, I didn't see the that," I replied looking into his eyes. "Did you put on the lace panty I ordered and had someone delivered to you?" "Yes, Mr. Driller." Then he got up from his swivel chair and set his wine glass on the surface of his desk. He came closer and looked me over, as if he were making an assessment. "Are you okay now?" Again, it's a resounding, "Yes, Mr. Driller." "Good." When I started to unbutton my online-purchased shirt to reveal my cleavage, he took a few steps back and crossed his ripped arms. "I'm at a loss for what you want of me, Mr. Driller. Tell me what else should I do tonight." In reference to tonight's overtime, he said, "Well, I want you to do the job on top of me and on top of that conference table." "That's it?" "Do you want more?" "As long as it won't go over the time allocated for this overtime work with you, Mr. Driller." "Ok, Miss Tamaryn, we're getting somewhere. You've already acquired the skills you need to handle your work with me." "You're paying me well, Mr. Driller, and that's why." "Do you mean to suggest that that is the only reason, Miss Tamaryn?" I'll be honest and say that one of the reasons I'm so eager to take on this extra shift is that I really appreciate his talent for getting me to constantly scream his proud name while being pounded from behind. A firm "No, Mr. Driller." Finally, "What else?" I'm not fooled by his attempts to garner praise from me. "Because you're a good fvcker Mr. Driller," well, I just paraphrased the thought that's in my mind. "Wow, Ms. Tamaryn, you really hit me with that. It is time for you to get down to business." As swift as the lightning bolt, he reached for my panty as we walked to the conference table, and then he tore the lace panty to shreds before sniffing it and stuffing it in his pocket. He never lets me go anywhere without a spare pair of underwear, so I never have to stress about forgetting to bring them. For Mr. Driller, this is my overtime. This is a common occurrence and it happens all the time.