From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), the same day as First Day of Work.

Content warnings: d/s and sexual content.

If her Master gave her a reference when her time with him was through, Pretty/Yaminah would have more than earned it. Being his executive assistant was an exhausting and exhaustive position, as much so, if not more, than any position she’d taken for him in his private rooms. Doing it backwards and in heels, the bones of her corset and the tightness of her skirt never letting her forget who she was, that almost made it easier. At least the armor and the prison of her suit kept her upright, never faltering, never flinching. She needed that.

Her Kraken, her Master, treasured her, and, even if she had not arrived in the same car as him, that was quickly apparent to all others in the office. That, of course, came with at least three flavors of jealousy from all sides: those who wanted to be in her Master’s bed (or had been), those who would not go that far but envied her the status it clearly gave her (without understanding, of course, what it took her to earn it) and wanted the Master’s eye for more professional pursuits, and those who envied her Master because he had her.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Lydia from Accounts Receivable was a lovely, svelte woman whose beauty was entirely covered by her poison attitude. “He gets bored quickly.”

And she would still be his, until her two years had passed. Yaminah smiled at Linda and thanked her for the advice.

“Does he put you up in that mansion of his, or is he pretending to be virtuous and paying for an apartment?” That was Greg in Legal, who was still very young and very eager. Yaminah leaned close to his ear, knowing that gave him full view of her cleavage.

“I will pretend you did not ask that question, and not tell Mr. Krake you’re asking about his personal life, how’s that?”

The bobbing of his Adam’s apple was something to behold. “Uh…”

“But I need help with this contract. Something smells fishy about it.”

“Fishy?” He found footing, and it was in a genteel smirk. “Is that the legal term?” Her cleavage was still at eye level though, both tempting him and reminding him that he’d overstepped. He looked over the contract, and found the fishiness she’d been worried about.

“It’s a pity he resorts to nepotism instead of hiring internally. Still, welcome to the company.” One look at Carrie in Marketing told Yaminah/Pretty why she wasn’t the Master’s assistant. She was prettier than Pretty, dressed much the same (although Pretty doubted there was steel surrounding her; she didn’t need it. Her spine was solid iron), even made up much the same, as if the Master had been taunting her by dressing his assistant, and perhaps he had.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Carrie, it was clear, was a control freak. “Please let me know if I can assist you in any manner.” The Master might enjoy taking a control freak to bed, but she served him better being unbroken, in the position she currently held.

She would have said, or thought, that dealing with people was even harder than being Mr. Krake’s assistant, except that dealing with people was why he had brought her on. So she smiled at everyone, sweetheart or jerk or miserable waste of space, and spent a few minutes socializing with every person she was sent to speak with.

Her employer, more than any before him, understood what she could do, and what she needed. He wouldn’t expect miracles until he’d given her the tools to perform them; the tool she needed most was to know people, so he made sure that she spent her first morning on the job getting to know as many of his employees as possible.

After her third time of being nearly directly called a slut and her fourth inappropriate touch, Yaminah/Pretty was getting a bit sick of knowing people. She kept it from her face while she walked back to Mr. Krake’s office, her chin high, her smile warm and friendly. Only when his door was closed did she allow herself to sag at all.

He took one look and knew. “I believe it’s time for a coffee break. Lock the door, Pretty Girl. I have no appointments for the next twenty minutes, is that correct?”

She glanced at his schedule for the look of the thing, although she already had today’s itinerary memorized. “Twenty-five, sir.” His office door locked with a double deadbolt. Nobody was getting in without breaking the door down. The windows, she had noted earlier, were curtained and mirrored as well. They were as private here as they were in his suite.

“Very good.” He nodded at her in approval. “Now kneel, lovely thing. “

The order was a shock to her system. She knelt, eyes half-closing chin up, throat with its tiny chain bared. “Sir?”

“This is your coffee break, Pretty Girl. This is, as well, my break. I’d say we’d both earned it, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Very, very good, Pretty. Take that jacket off, and the blouse. We’ll leave the rest on; this is just a break, after all.”

Her fingers fumbled on the first button, but by the third, she was moving smoothly again; she was Pretty again, and her goal in life was simply to please her master.

By the time she had the clothing off – he took shirt and jacket from her and draped them over a chair – he had his pants unbuttoned and down. “That’s my pretty girl. Hands at the small of your back. Perfect posture, my treasure, just like that.”

Just like that. She could do it, just like this, just like he wanted. “Yes, Master.”

“I love the way you sound when you say that. That’s my girl. Now, I believe you know what to do with this.”

She smiled, because he was smiling. “Yes, my Master. Of course I do.”

“Good girl. Show me.”

She did, putting her all in to it, keeping her posture perfect, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her back. He tasted, as he always did, clean, fresh, with the faintest suggestion of the sea. He smelled like himself, the sweetest scent she had ever known.

Her heels left small imprints in her ass, even through the skirt. The corset held her perfectly straight, and held her breath to small careful rhythms. The skirt held her knees close together, and the pose gave her no room to deal with the warmth between her legs. She had no concerns. He would give her release when he wanted her to have it.

She took him in, using every trick that he had taught her, and every trick she’d learned before him. She wanted his pleasure to be perfect. She wanted him to be perfectly pleased with her.

“That’s it. That’s it, lovely.” His groans were the reward she’d been asking for. “That’s it, yes. Yes. Perfect, Pretty.”

When he helped her to her feet, he was wearing a broader smile than she remembered seeing ever before. “You are truly a treasure, Pretty Girl.” His thumb brushed across her lip and chin, wiping off a small smear of his seed. “Did you enjoy your coffee break?”

The warmth between her legs was nearly unbearable. “Yes, Master.” And she was, as he’d known she’d be, relaxed and confident once again.

“Good girl. Go get us each a coffee, and we’ll talk about the Martinez meeting.”

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