The New Job Ch. 01

"Damn it!" I angrily mutter to myself under my breath. A tear leaves my eye as I finish reading the latest rejection letter from a recruiter.

It has been eight months since I last had a steady job, and I am near breaking point. Desperate doesn't even come close to describing my current financial situation. My life savings have been depleted, and I am struggling just to make ends meet. In fact, this rapidly cooling mug of tea in my hands is going to be the only source of warmth I'll be able to afford today. I'm behind on my gas and electricity bills, and it's only a matter of time before they cut me off.

Sitting in the quiet corner of the café, I turn my attention back to the local newspaper in front of me. I scour the employment pages in the hope of finding a job that I haven't yet applied for, and been rejected from, but I have no luck.

Fed up with it all, I lift the mug of tea to my lips one last time to finish my drink before heading home, when out of the corner of my eye, I notice it. Hidden away in the bottom right-hand corner of the last page of the newspaper, I spot the tiniest of job ads.

PERSONAL ASSISTANT REQUIRED
CENTRAL LONDON ADDRESS
NO PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE NEEDED
GOOD SALARY AND EXCELLENT BENEFITS
APPLICANTS MUST SEND CV AND PHOTO

I suddenly perk up, thinking that this could be the perfect job for me. I have always loved helping people, and even put others' needs before my own. Good salary and excellent benefits. No previous experience needed. These all sound perfect.

I rush home and power up the laptop, opening my CV to begin editing it. I then tweak it to make me sound like the perfect PA. I print off a copy, put on some makeup and take a quick, professional-looking selfie, before putting everything carefully into an envelope and posting it off to the address supplied in the ad.

It is now three days later, and I have heard nothing. Not a letter nor a call. Not even an email acknowledgment of receipt of my application.

I am sitting at home on my own, watching boring television reruns, when I hear the doorbell. It's 9pm so I have no idea who it could be at such a late hour. I slowly stand up and peer through my curtains to see who it is standing at my doorstep. I can't see anyone. Maybe it's those annoying neighbour's kids just messing around.

I walk over to the front door and slowly open it, letting the cold winter air chill my face as I look for the person who rang the bell. Nobody there. I look left and right down the street but still not a sign of a single soul. As I move to close the front door, I notice a large dress box on my doorstep, neatly fastened with a bow, and a card slipped underneath the ribbon. I kneel down to inspect it closer. The card has my name, Jenny, on the envelope. I reach out to pick up the box, touching it lightly at first before I am confident enough that it is safe. I then pick it up and take it inside, carrying it to my bedroom before placing it on my bed.

What is this box, and who is it from? So many questions swirling through my head. I reach for the card and remove it from under the ribbon. As I lift the card closer to my face, the aroma of a strong, musky fragrance fills my nose. The person who wrote this card is clearly male, and his scent makes me let out an involuntary sigh as I carefully open the envelope and read the card inside.

YOU HAVE MADE IT TO THE INTERVIEW STAGE.
PLEASE WEAR THE ENCLOSED OUTFIT AND ARRIVE AT 10:00AM TOMORROW AT THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS.

The card is unsigned but there is a Central London address at the bottom.

HOLY SHIT, WOW! I have an interview! I actually have an interview!

Excitedly, I tear open the box as fast as I can. I can't wait to see the outfit I will be wearing. Will it be some kind of uniform, and if so, what will it look like?

Once opened, I am greeted with what can only be described as beautiful. A pristine, navy blue designer work suit with pencil skirt and matching jacket, and a soft white blouse. I have never worn anything nearly as expensive or exclusive as this. I slowly take the suit out of the box and hang it up to avoid it creasing, admiring it with my mouth open in awe as I do so. I can't wait to wear it tomorrow.

I turn back to the box on the bed to tidy it up, only to find something else in the box. Now, I love shoes, what girl doesn't? But here in the box, sitting on MY bed in MY shitty little house, is a pair of perfect black Christian Louboutin shoes. I can tell straight away that they are Loubs, and I can't stop myself screaming in joy as I lift them out of the box and try them on.

After parading in them a little, I carefully remove them and place them on the floor below the hanging suit. Whether I get the job or not, I am happy knowing that I am going to look amazing, even if it is for just one morning. My mood changes a little when I turn back to the box again. There are more items in the box, and this time, I am not smiling.

I reach into the box and pull out a beautiful set of black panties and bra. There is also a pair of sheer, crotchless, black tights. It all looks beautiful, like the rest of the outfit, but I feel uncomfortable with them being bought for me by a stranger I've never met, who was going to interview me tomorrow, knowing what underwear I was wearing.

I consider it for a few minutes and conclude that if he can afford to spend this amount of money on just an outfit for an interview, then if I DO manage to get the job, the salary and perks should be amazing. With that, I put the lingerie away and go to bed.

I wake up nice and early the next morning, have a light breakfast, shower, and proceed to get dressed. I savour every moment as I slip on the perfectly fitting lingerie and suit. On go the shoes, and then a little makeup, before I stand and admire myself in my full-length mirror. I've never really liked the way I look, despite getting a lot of attention from men, but even I have to admit, I look damn fine. I have my strawberry blonde hair up in a bun to look more professional, and with the makeup, my blue/green eyes and full lips stand out against my soft, pale skin. The suit hugs my petite body, showing off the sexy curves of my ample breasts and pert ass. I look like a five foot two package of professionalism, beauty, and sexiness, and I am ready to go and get that job and make it mine!

I make my way to the address, and I arrive a few minutes early. It's a corner building in a quiet street in the centre of London, but it is by no means a small building. I look up and guess that there must be at least ten floors, as I make my way to the front door. When I reach it, I find the front door locked, but there is an intercom and a button. I reach out to push the button, but before I can, a voice comes over the intercom.

"Welcome," says a male voice. "Come in and I will send the lift down to collect you," he continues.

I push the front door open and walk through into the foyer to wait for the lift, which arrives promptly. I step into the lift and the doors close behind me. Looking around, I spot a panel on one of the walls of the lift with buttons from one through twelve. I stare at the panel for a moment, not sure which button to press, but suddenly, the lift starts ascending. Seven-eight-nine-ten, the lift moves through the floors, and I start to speculate I might be heading to the top floor. The lift rises through the 11th floor and I smile to myself as I realise I am right. Or so I thought. The lift rose through the 12th floor too, and finally came to rest on the 13th floor, a floor that shouldn't be there. The doors open and I step out slowly. I find myself in a corridor with the number 13 written on the wall.

I look around and see nothing but a large, wooden door at the end of the corridor. Surely my interview must be here, and the only place to go is through the large door. I walk over to the door and gently open it before peering through. I see a huge, long, and empty room. There is a large desk at the opposite end of the room. I step into the room, and closing the door behind me, make my way to the desk. As I walk slowly toward the desk, I look left and right, admiring the grandeur of the décor. There is a huge open fireplace on my left with what looks like a piece of very old and very expensive art hanging above it. I look right to see huge floor to ceiling windows, which have been blacked out. I wonder to myself why the windows would be blacked out, but suddenly, my senses pick up something. I can smell it. I can smell that fragrance. That same fragrance from the card.

Suddenly, I hear the creaking sound from wooden floorboards behind me. I turn to see who or what caused it, but before I can, I feel a large, strong arm reach around my waist, lifting me off the ground. Before I can react, a second hand covers my face with a cloth. I try to scream. I try to wriggle free. I try to kick and punch, but it's no use. My strength is no match for that of the person attacking me and I panic. I kick and wave my hands even more violently as I desperately try to free myself, but I start to notice a strange chemical smell. Something has been added to the cloth covering my mouth and it's making me feel drowsy, and making my body limp and weak, before ultimately, I feel my eyes shut.

One eye slowly opens, then the other. I feel groggy. I can't remember where I am or how I got here. I shake my head to try to jog my mind, and suddenly, it all comes back to me. My immediate reaction is one of relief as I'm still alive. I take a few moments to catch my bearings and compose my thoughts before surveying my surroundings. I look around to find myself in a similarly decorated but much larger square room. Still with wooden floors, high ceiling, and blacked-out windows. No furniture in the room apart from a wooden table against one of the large windows on the side.

As my mind continues to reboot, I feel a chill on my skin. I look down to find my suit and shoes are gone, and I am lying on the cold floor in just my lingerie. I quickly notice my hands bound together in front of me with thick, strong rope. A chain is attached to the rope and as I follow its path, I see it flow upwards and disappear into a hole in the ceiling directly above me.

The realisation of how bad a situation I am in hits me like a ton of bricks and I start to panic once more. I feel my heart start to race, and my breathing shorten and quicken. I manage to clamber to my feet and start to scream at the top of my lungs, feeling like my life depends on somebody, anybody, hearing me. I pause only to take huge gulps of air to allow me to scream as loud as possible, but during one such pause, I hear the creaking of the door at the end of the room. I turn quickly to face to door to see it is now open. I wait for what feels like an eternity to see somebody walk in. I hope and pray that it's somebody coming to rescue me.

As if in slow motion, I see a man walk into the room. He's calm. He's very calm. In fact, his calmness instantly tells me that he isn't here to rescue me. He's tall, in a dark grey, bespoke Italian suit, which fit him like a second skin, and black leather shoes. He's wearing a blue shirt with no tie and the top button undone. I can't help but notice his good looks, but right now, I just want out.

I start to scream again as loudly as ever, but he just stands there smiling at me. This makes me realise that there is no use screaming. If anybody was going to hear me, they would have done so by now, and my captor stood before me would certainly not be feeling so calm if he thought there was an actual chance of that happening.

He walks towards me, still grinning. His strong, musky aroma fills the air around me, and I feel all hope fade, and a wave of despair washes over me. I slouch back down onto the floor and bow my head as I feel him stand over me.

"Welcome," he says. "There is no point in screaming as we are in a fully sound-insulated building, and also, nobody knows this floor even exists," he continues. "Now, there are two ways this can go," he sternly says. "Either you do as I command, or this interview will become very unpleasant very quickly."

I hear him walk away and I look up to see him approach the small table. He picks up what I can only describe as some sort of remote control box with two buttons on it. I see him press one of the buttons, and suddenly, a loud, whirring machine noise fills my ears. I look up to see it is coming from the hole in the ceiling. The chain is slowly disappearing into the ceiling as the whirring continues, and I start to feel it tugging on the ropes around my wrists, pulling me back to my feet. I try to resist but know that deep down, I am powerless to stop it.

Finally, he presses another button and the machine stops, but by that point, I am on my feet with my hands stretched high above my head. The ropes around my wrists are beginning to feel tight, and only by standing up straight can I fully support my weight with my feet.

He walks back towards me, having put the remote down onto the table. He is still smiling that evil grin at me as he looks me up and down, inspecting my body like I'm some piece of meat. The brute begins to walk around, circling me, as I stand there frozen. I feel his hands paw at my skin, making me feel like he's checking me to make sure I'm good enough for him. Throughout this demeaning experience, I breathe in his fragrance, drowning in its strength. As he stands behind me, I feel his hands paw and squeeze my ass before I see his hands appear in front of me, grabbing my breasts through my bra and roughly kneading them.

He completes his inspection and walks around to face me. He looks me in the eyes, his piercing green irises weakening me, making me struggle to maintain eye contact. I use what little fight is left in me and keep our eyes locked.

"Now, is Jenny going to be a good girl for me today, or are we going to have a problem?" he slowly asks me.

I stand there in shock, still frozen, still locking my eyes onto his. I don't answer. I don't want to give in.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning hits me as I feel his bare hand smash against my face, his slap instantly sending a sharp pain through my left cheek. My heart races once more, adrenalin pumping through my veins. I can't believe he just slapped me.

"I am waiting for an answer, Jenny," he says in a still calm and still slow voice. His demeanour unsettles me further and I know now that he will need an answer from me.

"N-n-n-n-n-no, we won't have a problem," I just about manage to mumble in a low, soft voice, as the throbbing from my cheek begins to ease a little.

I feel broken. He is taking my resistance and there is nothing I can do. Before I can rationalise my thoughts, I feel a huge shock as he slaps me once more, this time on my other cheek. I let out a scream as I feel the sharp, stinging pain. Why has he slapped me again? I have given him what he wants.

"Wrong answer," he says slowly, in his calm, strong voice.

I take a moment to compose myself and come to terms with the pain radiating from both cheeks. I look back at him and begin to realise what it is that he is after. I also know that I need to give him what he wants, otherwise, the slapping will only be the start.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak.

"No Sir, we won't have a problem," I say. "I will be a good girl for you, Sir," I continue.

"Mmmmm, there's a good girl," Sir replies.

I let out a little sigh of relief as I see Sir walk away from me and back to the table. I watch as he picks up the remote once more. I sigh again as I expect him to loosen the chain and give me a little more freedom, but instead, he makes the machine come to life once more and pull me up by my wrists just a little bit tighter. I am now feeling so stretched out that the balls of my feet are only just flat on the wooden floor beneath me.

Sir then returns to me, and standing behind me, he leans into me and whispers into my ear. I feel his body pressed against mine as he gently utters his commands.

"I want you to stand on your tiptoes, Jenny, and I want you to push your delightful, pert ass out for me. I want you to push it out like you are inviting me to enjoy it," he whispers.

Everything in my body wants to refuse, but I also know that that if I do so, things will get worse. I stand up onto my tiptoes and arch my back, pushing out my plentiful ass as much as possible for Sir.

"Mmmmm, you ARE being a good girl, Jenny," he compliments me, as he takes a step back to admire my position.

I feel his hands placed on my cheeks as Sir begins to massage then through the soft material of my panties.

A loud smacking sound fills the room suddenly. I hear the noise first, which makes me jump. Within moments, the pain starts to flow through me as I realise Sir has spanked me. An involuntary yelp leaves my mouth as I lose balance and tumble forward.

Sir quickly moves in front of me and helps me up. He then grabs my face and squeezes my still red cheeks hard in his strong hand, showing me the first signs of displeasure.

"Now, let's not allow that to happen again, slave!" he barks at me. "Understood?" he continues.

I now feel intimidated by his strength and his anger. The power is all his and I need to learn my place. I cannot and will not allow myself to disappoint Sir further.

"I am so sorry, Sir" I reply. "It will not happen again," I finish, as I resume the position and present my pert ass to Sir once more.

Sir walks behind me again and pulls down my panties just enough to expose both my cheeks to him.

SMACK! This time, I feel the pain as soon as Sir connects with my cheek. I can sense he is unhappy with me, as this spank was clearly harder than the first. Before I can react, I feel a second spank land on me. I can't stop myself from letting out a loud yelp as the pain courses through my body. I try to come to terms with the pain and catch my breath, and Sir appears to allow me a few moments of respite before striking my ass once more. Despite my pain, I summon up all my strength and force myself to stay in position for Sir.

The spanking intensifies, and the recovery time I am allowed shortens. I can feel the heat radiate from my ass, as the pain becomes near impossible to bear.

Sir administers one last volley of punishment to my raw ass. I lose count of the number of smacks he is raining down on my cheeks, and I begin to scream in pain as my threshold is breached and I start to cry.

"Mmmmm, there's a good girl," Sir says. I can tell by the way he says it that he is smiling, but right now, I am just trying to find a way to come to terms with the pain flowing through my body. Tears continue to stream down my face as I hear Sir walk back to his table. I realise that finally, the beating is over, and I may have some time to try to compose myself once more.

Slowly, the throbbing subsides from my cheeks and as it does, I find a strange sensation wash over me. I feel a longing for Sir's hand once more. I feel confused by my conflicting emotions. This brute has kidnapped me, held me captive, and abused me, yet I want to feel his hands on my body once more. I want to escape his clutches, but at the same time, I enjoy pleasing him, and knowing that he is taking pleasure from me makes me feel amazing. Each time he calls me his good girl, it sends a jolt through me, which just makes me want to submit to him more and more.

With all these thoughts going through my mind, I hardly notice Sir return to me. I quickly get back onto my tiptoes and push my throbbing ass out as much as I can.

"My, my, you really ARE being a good girl for me, Jenny," he grins as he watches. Another jolt flows through me.

He walks behind me and suddenly stops, before letting out an evil laugh. Something has caught his eye and he is now crouched behind me, inspecting me once more. Moments later, he stands back up and moves in closer until I can feel him pressed against me once more, his lips close to my ear.