Knock on the door

You give Mr. Smith's door a light, tentative knock.

“Come in, Sophie,” you hear a man's voice say as the door opens automatically.

You step into his office cautiously. The door shuts behind you and locks with an audible click.

Mr. Smith is sitting behind a positively huge desk. He's a tall man, with a broad frame. Not terribly handsome, not at all...but you can't seem to take your eyes off of him.

He gives you a thorough looking over, making that the second time in five minutes you've been treated like a sex object by strangers. He smiles at you.

“Not bad. Let's come to the point, shall we? You were hired solely on the basis of your physical appearance and sexual preferences. You're highly submissive. You're giving up a brief but lucrative IVR programming gig to be my Personal Assistant, which you know amounts to being my sex toy. Fulfilling your fantasies is obviously important enough to you that you're willing to sacrifice meaningful work for a meaningful sex life. And don't claim you didn't know what this job entailed,” he continues, holding his palm out in a gesture that brooks no contradiction. “There was enough euphemistic information in the job description that you knew what you were walking into.” He leans back in his chair, resting his chin on his hands, studying you.

“Let's see what we've got here, now. Strip, Sophie.”