*They told me this was a social experiment.*
The woman led him down a wide hall lined with offices on both sides, all with doors closed tight. One or two here and there had the blinds open so that he could see inside, see the person or people inside as they worked. The offices were immaculate, the people busy. Like they had nothing else in the world to live for besides their jobs.
He looked down at his tie, dark purple with faint gold geometric patterns, against his beige, pin-striped shirt. Shit, how long had his tie been crooked? He shifted the bulky employee’s manual to his left hand and did his best to make the damn thing look right. He had never learned how to tie a tie. He wasn’t the tie-wearing type in the first place. And his dark-gray slacks were reaching into places they shouldn’t and pinching his balls.
Give him a good, worn pair of jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt any day!
The woman came to a stop so abruptly he almost bumped into her. He was standing so close now, he could smell the perfume in her long blonde hair. She was a petite little thing, maybe five-six, wearing a tight-fitting black skirt and a light-colored blouse that was open enough in front to provide a generous view of her generous proportions. Holy fuck, she had a nice pair! Pale and round, barely concealed. His cock stirred. Were they real?
She was staring at him, pale green eyes radiant behind her slim-frame glasses. Shit. Busted. Caught with his eyes locked where they shouldn’t be. His face grew hot. First day of work and he was already a great candidate for sexual harassment termination! He cleared his throat. *Look casual!*
The woman–he didn’t even know her name–studied him a moment longer. She didn’t appear to be offended. Just . . . observing. “This is your office, Mr. Atwood.” She pressed her finger to a small panel where the door handle would normally be. Nice security. “I’m your personal assistant. My office is next door.”
Personal assistant? Did he hear that right?
The door clicked and swung open, revealing the office inside. The breath caught in his throat. It was huge! It was bigger than his entire apartment! And it was a corner office at that, but where the two outer walls should have been, stood nothing but glass, giving breath-taking view from the twenty-fourth floor of the Price and Dixen building. This had to be the wrong office.
He looked at the woman beside him. She was still looking at *him*, one corner of her red lips curled up faintly in amusement. “Yes. It’s all yours.” She could sell shit to custodian with that sultry voice. She motioned toward the large desk with a perfectly manicured hand.
He stepped inside, making his way to the desk that sat almost in the center of the room, facing the door. It wasn’t made of wood, as one would typically expect; it was made from a dark marble, gray and blue swirled faintly throughout. Had it actually been carried in here, or was it lifted by crane from outside? He placed his employee manual on the top, next to a laptop that sat with lid open.
The woman called from the doorway. “I’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything information about the job, Vanessa can help you.” She nodded toward the laptop.
”Vanessa?”
”Vanessa. V-N-S-A. The virtual, networked, synthetic assistant. Top of the line.”
He looked at the laptop. It didn’t *look* out-of-the-ordinary. Wait. That wasn’t the Belique 3200-X, was it? Ho-ly shit, it was! But how did Price and Dixen get a hold of one of those? They were supposed to be government contract only. And it was *his?* There had to be some mistake here. He was a simple programmer, writing code for back-end, network-monitoring applications. Sure, he was good at what he did, but this was way out of his league, social experiment or not! His stomach churned. What if he wasn’t cut out for this? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, they had told him.
A clock chimed, sounding more like a small gong. A grandfather clock of wood, standing against the wall, marked the time as ten o’clock.
”Can I get you anything before I go, Mr. Atwood?”
*A lap-dance? Your tits in my face? A blow job?* “No, thank you, Ms. . . .”
She paused, half-turned in the doorway. Damn, she was hot! “Chandler. Kathrine Chandler.” She gave him soft smile that offered answers to questions he hadn’t asked yet. Then she pivoted on her high-heeled shoes and disappeared. Did she just come on to him? Maybe there was something in his hair.
He bent low to peer at his reflection in the silver finish of a small lamp sitting on the desk–*his* desk. Nope. Nothing there. Not a strand of dark hair out of place. And he even remembered to shave this morning. He turned his gaze back to the doorway, where the door was slowly closing now. How did it know when to do that?
The door clicked shut. Time to get to work.
He walked around the desk toward an office chair that looked to have more padding on it than his worn recliner and couch back home put together. He plopped down into it and grinned. It was like three hot chicks massaging his ass at the same time. He rolled the chair forward and turned his attention to the 3200-X. He chuckled gleefully. The precise lines and angles of the matte black housing were drool-worthy, the keyboard beyond compare. This thing was supposed to have a high-density, ultra 3-D micro plasma display. The screen alone was four times the cost of his monthly rent payment! The entire system cost more than he made in a year! What the fuck was it doing sitting on his desk?
Now to turn it on.
And . . . where was the power button? The only things he could see to manipulate were the keys, but none of them were labeled as “power”. He bent his head to look along the sides, but there wasn’t anything of note there either. The thing wasn’t even plugged in. “Okay, Vanessa, how do you–”
”Good morning, Mr. Atwood. May I call you Alan?”
That voice. Oh, God. His dick grew hard. A chuckle escaped his lips. No, he giggled. Like a school girl.
”Uh, yes you may . . . Vanessa.” He said its name–no, *her* name–with each syllable emphasized. This was too much fun!
”Okay, Alan. Would you like to hear a summary of your schedule for today?”
This was so weird. Did someone actually code her to sound like every man’s wet dream? The crotch of his pants grew tight. “Yes, Vanessa.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a song. Exactly how smart was she? A piece of hardware like this should put his phone to shame! Could she talk dirty to him?
”You have no appointments scheduled for today.”
*Okay. No appointments. Cool.*
”You have no meetings scheduled for today.”
*And no meetings. Cool.*
”You have no tasks that are due today.”
*Um, okay. What the fuck?*
”The forecast today is sunny with no chance of anything interesting happening at all.”
Well, that’s not exactly what Vanessa had said, but everything after *sunny* had become noise. First day of work and no one thought to give him anything to do? Hey, he was all for getting paid six figures for doing nothing, but he had to pass the time somehow!
The door clicked and swung open. Katherine’s head popped in quickly, her long dangling earrings swinging. “Ms. Collins to see you, Mr. Atwood.”
All this “Mr. Atwood” was starting to get on his nerves. *Just call me Alan, for fuck’s sake.* He opened his mouth to speak, but Kathrine abruptly vanished, only to be replaced by another woman. His heart skipped.
If there was a word that could describe a gently cascading waterfall at midday, with a bright sun hovering at its crest, it would fit this woman to a T. Blond hair down to her ass, porcelain skin, stark green eyes, and curves straight out Sports Illustrated. The dark, skin-tight business dress she wore was nearly pointless, leaving very little to the imagination as far as her shape was concerned. And those tits! If she shifted just right, they’d burst out through that low neckline!
”Mr. Atwood.” Her voice was formal, yet friendly as she stepped up to his desk. Her burgundy lips stretched into a grin that was not quite welcoming, not quite sinister.
He snapped his mouth shut. *Idiot! Manners!* He stood abruptly and extended his hand across his desk. His heart was thrumming in his throat so hard he had to swallow three times before he could get any words out. “Ms. Collins.”
She stopped abruptly, hand half way extended. Her eyes drew down to fixate on his crotch.
What? He looked down. *Oh. My. God.* Tent city. His face grew so hot it burned. He stepped to the side, hoping Vanessa would obscure the view, but Ms. Collins was close enough that it was clear she could still see over the laptop.
Kathrine’s voice called from the doorway. “Can I get you two anything?”
Ms. Collins’ smiled mischievously, a dangerous light in her emerald eyes as her gaze turned back to look into his. Alan blinked. She lowered her hand. “That will be all, Ms. Chandler.”
He felt . . . naked under that emerald stare.
The door clicked shut again, and Alan dropped unceremoniously onto his chair. What could he say? What could he say to fix this? The way she held herself, she undoubtedly had the power to walk straight down to H.R. and send him packing before lunch time. Maybe worse! Could he be arrested? For . . . indecent . . . something? Why the hell did he ever respond to that newspaper ad in the first place? *Shit!*
”Um . . . Ms. Collins?” He could barely speak, let alone breathe. His chest felt about to burst.
”Danielle.” Her eyes dropped to his crotch again. Thank god he was no longer wielding the Sword of Wonder! How fast could he get out of the building without drawing the attention of security?
Ms. Collins–Danielle–picked up a polished gold object from his desk and turned it over in her hand. It was a small globe, about the size of a golf ball, with faint carved lines to mark the continents and a flat surface on one end that kept it from rolling. And by the look of it had some weight to it. A paperweight.
Danielle lifted the globe to her face, peering at her reflection. Her lips parted, gaze filled with desire. “I like to take a more . . . personal . . . approach to management here at Price and Dixen; greet all the new hires in person, get to know a little about them.” Her eyes turned back to him, undressing him with her stare.
Alan felt sweat bead on his brow. He shifted on his seat, no longer feeling the caress of the cushions. It felt more like hot coals now.
Danielle turned and walked slowly toward the glass wall, high heels bringing a shape to her calves that he would have popped wood for on any other day. He couldn’t deny her beauty, though, regardless of how awkward this situation was. Why wasn’t she racing down to get him fired?
”We have a unique opportunity that could propel this company years beyond our competitors.” She turned the globe over in her hand, eyes staring out at the Las Angeles high-rises. Her cascade of golden hair shimmered in the sunlight. It was impossible not to follow it down to her perfectly-shaped ass.
She turned abruptly as if trying to catch him eyeing her amazing body. Well, he had been. Had she noticed? It couldn’t make things any worse, could it? *God, I’m about to get fired, and all I can think about is tits and ass!*
Danielle sauntered back over to his desk and looked about to place the globe back down before she hesitated, looking thoughtful. “You may not know it yet, Mr. Atwood–” She turned for the door, keeping the globe in her hand. “–but you’ve been brought here for a very specific purpose.” She stepped away, stopping at the door, legs slightly parted in that tight skirt. She couldn’t have been wearing any underwear. Not a line to be seen.
She turned to look over her shoulder, her sultry gaze meeting his. His heart shifted into high gear. Her left hand moved slowly down her side, caressing the curve of her hip, her thigh.
What the hell was she doing? He felt his cock grow hard again, straining against the confines of his slacks. This was wrong on so many levels, but he couldn’t look away. He had been snared in her trap.
Her fingers slid beneath the hem of her skirt and slowly drew it upward. Her gaze never wandered from his eyes, seeming to beg him to take her right there. Could he? If he was going to be fired, he might as well go out with a bang, so to speak. She slid the skirt further upward, revealing, finally, the perfect swell of her ass. His stiff cock throbbed. No underwear.
Danielle lifted the globe to her mouth and parted her lips against it. Her tongue, pierced with a silvery rod, slipped out to glide across its golden surface. Alan felt about to burst. Climax was fast approaching. She breathed, hot breath misting the orb. “I’ll return this later, if you don’t mind.”
She brought the globe down slowly to her sex. He couldn’t see with her back turned to him! Why wouldn’t she turn around? She exhaled, eyes closing. Her hips swayed ever so slightly. She moaned. Her hand came back up.
The globe was gone.
Alan gasped, warmth flooding into his slacks. *Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!* His eyes clamped shut. His head swam. The breath seized in his chest. And when the climax passed, his breath came fast and hard. He couldn’t think. What the hell was his name? His eyes opened and fell upon Danielle with her perfect ass still bared.
Danielle watched intently at the dark spot growing in the fabric around his crotch. A pleased smile appeared upon her full lips. What now? Would she still report him? How *could* she after what she had just done? Would anyone believe him, though?
Not a fucking chance.
She straightened, legs coming together before she slid her skirt quickly back into place. That globe was still inside her, inside her hot, wet pussy. She pulled her hair back into a tail, making sure it was all in order, before letting it fall into place again. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Atwood.”
Gone was the alluring tone. Gone was the inviting eyes. She was once again Ms. Collins, his boss, most likely.
”Alan.” His breath still came in gasps. Mr. Atwood made him think of his father. Alan wasn’t old yet. He was only thirty-two.
Danielle pressed a finger to the panel. “A word of advice, Mr. Atwood . . .” The door swung open. “Work on your . . . delivery dates.” Her eyes darted to his crotch and back again. “I don’t approve of work hastily done.”
Then she walked out into the hall and was gone.
The door swung closed once more, leaving him alone in silence. He couldn’t even hear the traffic from the street far below.
A soft voice emanated from his desk. “Alan?”
Alan breathed a deep sigh, eyes sliding closed. His body still vibrated with the remnants of his orgasm. “Yes, Vanessa?”
”You have a new appointment scheduled at two P.M. with Mr. Richard Dickson, head of Human Resources.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/46bnh7/the_atwood_project_chapter_1_mf
Great story. Dick Dickson? Is that a play on Richard Nixon?