It read:
"Personal Assistant required: Non-conventional role subject to a strict contract of obedience, with immediate compliance to all instructions. Strict Dress Code: Deliberately provocative. Further details are available upon application. Expectations: - Any non-compliance, deviations or challenging behaviour will be chastised."
Ruth felt a flicker of curiosity she hadn't experienced in years. The advert was such an odd thing to find in a shop window, and it clearly hinted at a role that pushed boundaries, though she couldn't quite tell which ones. She snapped a quick photo, telling herself it was just to look at again later. She had no intention of responding; of course, she didn't. And yet, the idea of the job sent a small, unexpected thrill through her, as if some long-dormant part of her had just stirred awake.
After rereading the advert all day, Ruth felt a restless buzz under her skin. She kept telling herself it was ridiculous, that it was just a strange little postcard in a window, yet the tone of it thrilled her in a way she couldn't quite explain. She would be an idiot to message the number.
By mid-afternoon, the office felt even greyer than usual. The same dull chatter. The same lifeless tasks. The same beige people who hadn't surprised her in years. Meanwhile, the advert pulsed in her mind like a dare, a desperate desire to experience life.
Before she'd even finished the thought, her phone was already in her hand. What harm could there be in sending one message? She didn't plan it. She didn't weigh it up. She just felt a sudden, sharp need to know more, an impulse that made her heart kick a little faster as her thumb hovered over the screen.
"Hi. I'm getting in touch about the PA role. I'm 45 and fairly inexperienced in anything outside standard office work, and your advert seems to suggest a sexual element, so I'm not entirely sure what you're looking for. The wording of your advert was unusual, which is what caught my attention. If my age or lack of experience rule me out, I completely understand, but I'd still like to know a little more. Ruth."
She pressed send before she could talk herself out of it. The moment the message left her phone, a wave of nerves hit her so hard she felt almost queasy. What on earth had she just done? It was bold, reckless, far more daring than anything she'd attempted in years.
For the next hour, she swung between regret and a strange, fizzy thrill. Part of her wished she could snatch the message back, pretend she'd never acted on that impulse. Another part quieter but undeniably alive, was secretly proud she'd done something that felt risky.
Then, a couple of hours later, her phone buzzed. Her stomach flipped. Her breath caught. All that anxiety evaporated in an instant, replaced by a sharp, bright excitement that shot through her like a spark. They'd replied.
"You are correct in your assumption, you are acceptable for the interview. Questions about age, suitability and role expectations will be addressed in person. Dress code: Fitted jacket over a risqué blouse/dress. Lingerie, stockings, high heels. Attend at 3pm tomorrow. Directions to my office are attached. Confirm if you accept. Sir."
Ruth's stomach flipped the moment she saw the reply. Excitement and anxiety tangled together so tightly she couldn't tell one from the other. She hadn't wanted an interview; she'd only wanted the thrill of imagining one. A harmless fantasy. Something to spark a little colour into her day, could she go through with it?
But the message changed everything. For the rest of the afternoon, she couldn't focus. Every time her mind drifted back to the message, a warm flush rose through her, a restless energy she didn't know what to do with. She told herself she wouldn't go. She couldn't go, and yet the thought of it kept circling back, tugging at her with a strange, insistent pull.
"Thank you for the reply, Sir. I will attend, Ruth." She stared at the phone for a few moments, took a breath and pressed send.
She barely slept. When she finally woke, the uncertainty was still there, but so was the curiosity, even stronger now, almost impossible to ignore. She spent the morning staring at the advert, rereading the messages, trying to convince herself it was ridiculous. But the question kept whispering at her: What harm would it do just to show up? She could always walk away. She showered and dug through her wardrobe to try to find something suitable to wear.
By the time the clock struck the hour, she found herself standing outside the building, breath tight, pulse quick. She wouldn't accept the job, but she had to see for herself what could happen. She stepped inside.
The heavy door clicked and locked behind her; the corridor was long and plain, and her heels echoed sharply against the polished floor. Each step made her more aware of her own heartbeat, of the way her breath had gone shallow and uneven. When she reached the door at the end, her hand hovered for a moment before she pushed it open.
The office was stark. Minimal. No trinkets, no clutter, just clean lines, a few bold pieces of abstract art, and bright clinical lighting that left nowhere to hide. A single chair sat in the centre of the room beneath the strongest light, as if placed there for examination. Ruth hesitated on the threshold, feeling suddenly exposed, as though she'd stepped onto a stage without meaning to.
A man's voice cut through the silence.
"Sit."
The word was calm, firm, leaving no space for interpretation. Ruth swallowed, her pulse thudding in her ears, and stepped forward. She sat and folded her hands in her lap, her whole body trembling with nerves. She shouldn't have come; she should leave now, but beneath her fear is a dark desire, a dangerous need. She doesn't understand it, but she can't deny it.
He sat there in silence just staring at her, the clock ticking the seconds away, each noise making her Jump. The large leather-topped desk was empty, not even a phone.
"You know that this position asks for total obedience; you will be treated safely and with respect. There will be physical chastisement for mistakes or at times to remind you of your position?" His tone is firm. Ruth nodded her agreement. "You will answer me, and you will be respectful and call me Sir at all times." He raised his voice to be clear that it was an instruction.
"Sorry, Sir, of course I understand, it will be a demanding position, but I'm unsure what you expect of me or what my duties would be?" Ruth asked
"It's simple, Girl, I instruct you. You obey whatever I ask of you, and I mean obey every instruction. This will include sex, when I say, where you have it and who will join us. You will comply and obey without question."
"Yes, Sir," Ruth answered without thinking of the consequences and still not understanding what she was actually agreeing to.
"Stand, show me your outfit and undress to ensure you have it correct." He ordered.
Ruth froze in her chair, her chest pounded, her head screamed with anxiety, she needed to go, she needed to run away, she stood quickly, ready to run from the building in shame of what she was thinking. Ruth froze, every muscle locking tight. The instruction hit her like a shock wave, too sudden, too intimate, too far beyond anything she had prepared herself for. Her chest tightened, her breath stuttered, and for a moment she couldn't even feel her hands. Her mind screamed at her to leave. To run. To get out before she embarrassed herself any further, but beneath the panic was something else, something she didn't have a name for. A pull. A dangerous curiosity that had brought her all the way here despite every sensible instinct she possessed.
Her legs moved before her thoughts caught up. She pushed herself to her feet, not to obey, but to run. Shame burned hot across her skin, shame for coming, shame for staying this long, shame for the flicker of interest she couldn't quite extinguish.
The man behind the desk didn't move. He simply watched her, trapped in her thoughts, with the same unreadable expression, the ticking clock filling the silence between them.
"Ruth," he said, his voice steady, not raised, not harsh, just certain. "If you are uncomfortable, you may leave. No judgement. No consequence."
She froze again, halfway turning toward the door.
His tone shifted, softer but no less firm. "But do not run because you are frightened of yourself."
The words landed with unsettling accuracy. Her pulse hammered. Her throat tightened. She didn't turn back, but she didn't take another step toward the exit either.
"Leave or undress!" he commanded, raising his voice.
The room felt too bright, too quiet, too sharp. Ruth stood there trembling, caught between the door and the chair, between fear and something far more complicated. She wanted to run, but something inside her didn't let her feet move. Instead, she slowly removed the fitted, tight Jacket, revealing her thin, tight blouse. She shook her long blonde hair, the sheer blouse showing her curves and firm, naked breasts displayed perfectly resting over the top of her corset that accentuated her curves.
Still unsure, Ruth slowly unbuttoned and dropped the flimsy blouse, now feeling totally exposed without the pretence of the blouse. Ruth's breasts pushed up and out, her nipples hard and pointed as she reached behind her to unbutton her skirt and let it drop to the floor and stepped out of it. From somewhere, she found courage and was now becoming intensely turned on, her corset and stocking tops perfectly framing her silk-clad crotch.
"Panties off!"
Her stomach knotted. This wasn't her, yet her fingers hooked the silk waistband. Ruth paused, her heart hammering against her ribs, then slowly slid them down. Standing exposed, her neatly trimmed pussy proudly on display, she felt both powerful and powerless, aroused and ashamed.
"Hmm, almost acceptable. I expect you to be fully shaved at all times," he said coldly.
"Sorry, Sir, your message didn't state that," Ruth whispered, reality crashing back. The stranger's eyes travelled her body like ownership, and she fought the urge to cover herself.
"Come closer and sit on my desk for the physical interview task." The stranger pushed his chair away from the desk
Ruth stepped forward as instructed, sat sideways on the desk and swung her legs up, to face him, her black strappy stilettos still clinging to her feet like desperate lovers. She couldn't believe she was doing this, the good girl, the shy girl inside was screaming "no, no don't," but Ruth felt on autopilot, just a passenger in her body, possessed by a dark hunger she'd never acknowledged before.
The stranger's eyes roamed over Ruth's pale skin and exposed body, breasts and pussy, her corset cinching tight at her waist, her feet dangling before him. He was dark-haired with silver flashes at the temples, good-looking and solidly built, his eyes burning with dominance that made her sex clench involuntarily.
"Make yourself cum," he commanded, voice like velvet wrapped steel. "Lie back and play with your pussy. Show me how much you want this, how curious and obedient you really are."
Ruth's breath caught in her throat. She leaned back, her back flat to the desk and placed the sharp tips of her heels on the desk edge, spreading her knees obscenely wide. The cool air kissed her exposed wet pussy lips, as she sucked her forefinger and middle finger, coating them with saliva before sliding them between her thighs and gently rubbing her pussy for him. The ceiling and harsh strip lighting blurred above her as she found her swollen sensitive labia, and her fingers felt so good touching herself as the stranger watched her. She circled her throbbing clit with her palm, feeling it pulse against her hand as she worked her fingers between her folds, penetrating deeper with each stroke, her body arching shamelessly.
With her head back on the desk, she couldn't see the stranger, only hear his appreciative groans and the occasional sharp intake of breath. A shadow of guilt and shame passed over her, quickly consumed by the fire building between her legs. What was she doing? She'd never acted like this; she had never been treated like a piece of meat on display for someone's pleasure. The degradation of it, the surrender of control, sent electric currents through her core. Being used for nothing but carnal satisfaction felt deliciously, wickedly liberating. She rubbed her clit between slippery fingers, alternating with deep, curling thrusts inside her dripping pussy. Her clit felt like a live wire, each touch sending violent shudders through her frame until a brutal, shattering orgasm seized her body, making her cry out in shameful ecstasy, juices flooding her pussy, and she gasped.
Before her orgasm had subsided, the stranger lunged forward, seizing Ruth's hips with bruising force. He flipped her onto her stomach like a rag doll, her cheek smacking against the cold desktop as her stilettos scrambled for purchase on the floor.
Spreading her ass cheeks roughly. His rock-hard cock slammed into her dripping pussy without warning, tearing a scream of pleasure from her throat. He pounded into her mercilessly, each brutal thrust making her breasts scrape painfully against the desk, forcing her thighs hard into the edge of the desk. The violent invasion stretched her to her limit, the delicious burn of being used making her sob with perverse pleasure. His fingers wrapped into her long blonde hair and pulled her head back as he fucked her like an object he had no care for, using her like a delicious slut.
When he slowed his assault, Ruth's pussy clenched desperately around his shaft, milking him as another orgasm ripped through her core. Still forcefully grabbing her hair in his fist, yanking her head back as he resumed his savage pace, fucking deep inside her pussy. His cock pulsed violently as he emptied himself, hot spurts of cum flooding her insides, marking her as his conquest.
He immediately stood back from her.
"I will contact you in a couple of days to inform you whether you have been successful." His tone was clinical, almost detached; nothing in it revealed approval or disappointment. With that, he stood and left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
Ruth remained where she was, leaning against the edge of the desk, her whole body drained. The adrenaline, the fear, the strange pull of the entire encounter left her feeling wrung out, used, unsteady, and unsure what she had just stepped into.
Ruth dressed slowly, her hands unsteady as she tried to make herself look presentable again. With a final deep breath, she left the stark room behind and stepped back into the corridor.
The walk home felt unreal, as though she were moving through fog. Her heels clicked on the pavement, but the sound barely registered. Everything inside her was a blur: exhaustion, confusion, a strange lingering pull she didn't want to examine too closely.
By the time she reached her front door, she still wasn't sure what had just happened or why she couldn't stop replaying every moment in her mind.
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