The next day

Alison comes downstairs Thursday morning a little groggier than her usual peppy self, but other than that she looks no worse for her late night. I didn't get much sleep either. Having decided to stick to our arrangement to only have sex once a week, I had to deal with the consequences of that decision. Over the past few years if I ever got this worked up I would just rub one out, but I want to save every drop of my limited cum for the weekends so instead I lay on my bed imagining all the wicked things I could do to that innocent personal assistant. When I heard the shower running that morning, I took a moment to picture her her standing under the spray with sudsy water streaming down between her perky breasts. As tempting as that moment was, I am more excited by the plan that has been slowly forming since I reread the book about the billionaire and his lying young secretary.

That morning, after Alison leaves for her classes, I make a trip to into the Hartford Macy's. After a short hunt, I find a Calvin Klein pencil skirt in charcoal grey and complimentary white blouse that is a delightful blend of professional and feminine. To complete the look, I buy a pair of back-seam stockings that will accentuate Alison's long shapely legs. After a moment of deliberation I decide against buying any other undergarments, I imagine that my tenant must have an appropriate bra and panty set to wear and I am looking forward to discovering for myself what is under her blouse when I slide it from her shoulders.

Some men hate shopping, but I find that I am enjoying myself much to the amusement of the saleswomen who are surprised that not only do I know what I'm looking for and the sizes I need but that I am willing to consider different options instead of grabbing the first one off the rack. When asked about who I was shopping for, I reply with a straight face that the outfit is for my secretary. The looks the pair exchange almost makes me laugh out loud but I play it straight and ask them to box up the ensemble with a bow. I walk out of the department store 45 minutes after I wandered in, a little over $140 poorer but in a very good mood.

Back home I leave the boxes at the top of the stairs just outside Alison's bedroom door with a handwritten note that says simply.

I know you lied on your resume. There will have to be consequences; you have until Friday evening to prepare.

While I wait for my tenant's return I make a few phone calls to set up my plan for tomorrow. I start with a the father of a former student who worked in Hartford. Not only was Walter my broker, but we had become friends over the years; after a quick chat to catch up I ask for a favor. I explain what I'm hoping for and with a chuckle he agrees to do what he can to help. With the hard part out of the way I make the reservations I need to fulfill Alison's fantasy of an encounter with a billionaire boss before turning my attention to dinner.

Alison's squeak of surprise later that afternoon is the only immediate indication that she found my presents, but as we eat dinner that night she is far less talkative than usual. It is not until I am flipping back and forth between a pretty bad Thursday Night Football game and equally depressing news about the sudden spread of Covid into the heartland that Alison finally brings up what she had been mulling over all evening.

“How did you know?” I know exactly what she is talking about, but I wasn't going to admit that I had been lurking outside her bedroom door last night.

“I guessed.” I lie, “Anyways, even if you don't want to play secretary for me, you'll be needing an outfit to interview in if you want to find a job here for the summer.” She tries to hide her smile by touching her napkin to her lips but I wasn't fooled.

“Thank-you, Mr. P.” More time was spent sitting in silence and then with a coy smile, Alison stretched like a cat and climbed off the couch. “I have to get ready for tomorrow, so have a good night, Sir.” She pauses at the foot of the stairs, and there is a subtle change in her demeanor.

“Sir, I know what I did was wrong, but don't think it means you own me.” Her deep breath lifts her breasts enticingly and she puts her hands on her hips. “I'm not one of the loose city women you are used to, if you try anything inappropriate, Sir, I'll go straight to HR.”

“I think you'll find, young lady,” I reply sternly, playing the roll of her demanding boss, “that lying in this company is a big deal. No one in my HR department will back you up, and I have more than enough money and people to completely ruin you if you try to raise a stink. I haven't decided what to do with you yet, but understand that I'll do what ever I want with you.” Her eyes widen when she hears my response, and I finish with a sinister threat. “Oh, and Miss Miller, don't even think about threatening me ever again.” With a delightful gulp, Alison flees up the stairs leaving me to decide between the ugly Tampa Bay - Chicago game and Cuomo ranting about Trump's latest lie-filled rally. In spite of my best effort to distract myself, more than once my mind wanders to what Alison would look like face down on a desk with her skirt lifted up over her hips.

I didn't sleep particularly well, but I am still up in the morning when my tenant walks silently into the kitchen and reaches for her box of Special K. This morning she's wearing her usual tight-fitting jeans, but instead of the skimpy tops I've learned to expect she has on a fall sweater as if she finally realized that October mornings in Connecticut can be pretty chilly.

“Is there anything special you'll need from me today, Sir?” The question is loaded with sexual tension and excitement. “I have classes until 2:00, but if you want me to, I can stay here...”

“Nothing 'til this evening,” I do my best to hide my anticipation, “Wear something nice, I think we'll eat out tonight.” I am rewarded with the sight of her eyes widening in surprise, but I shoo her away before she can pester me with questions.