My name is Steve, and this story is about events that happened at my first job after I left school at eighteen.

In those days, I was eager to please, having landed an entry-level position at a fairly large corporation.

Naturally, my aspirations of swiftly ascending the corporate ladder were crushed as I realized that most of my responsibilities consisted of fetching cups of coffee and distributing items from the mail room.

Still, we all have to start somewhere.

Advancing in your career often hinges on a key individual, such as a line manager or executive, taking you under their wing and guiding you through the learning process.

For the first few weeks, I was what they called a ‘floater.’ I didn’t have a fancy title; I just moved around different departments as needed.

It was Monday morning when I first met Mrs. Sandy Gregory.

Mrs. Gregory was around fifty, curvy, and intelligent. She may have been shorter than most men, including me, at around 5’6”, but she held her own with the best of them. Some thought she was pretty fearsome, though that might have been said just to wind me up.

A male colleague warned, “Be careful around her: she often makes people cry and sends them home.”

‘Them’ being inexperienced grunts like me.

I doubt I was even a blip on her radar for most of that week. I just did as asked and kept my nose clean. That was until Friday afternoon when I realized I had fucked up big time.

It was a severe mistake. Career ending, I thought. I even considered just chucking in the towel and heading home.

Losing a job isn’t much different from being fired. I also felt guilty for causing ordinary people to lose a lot of money because of my mistake. I couldn’t just walk away from that.

At around 3:00 pm, I took a deep breath and knocked on Mrs. Gregory’s door.

“Come in,” she said abruptly.

I entered and stood waiting for her to acknowledge me. She looked up from her laptop, removed her glasses, and stared at me with a puzzled look that I didn’t seem to have a purpose being there.

However, Mrs. Gregory was quite astute. Immediately, her expression changed as she saw my white face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting back in her chair as if bracing herself.

I explained what had happened and how sorry I was.

She listened without getting emotional or shouting or any of the other reactions I was expecting. She waited for me to finish.

“Right,” she said after a moment’s pause, “We need to sort this.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gregory,” I said again.

“I believe you, but saying ‘sorry’ alone doesn’t solve the problem easily,” she replied sincerely.

I watched as she put back on her glasses and typed on the keyboard.

“If there’s anything...” I began.

“Yes, you can be quiet for a second,” she said calmly without looking up from her computer screen.

I stood and waited.

After about five minutes, though it seemed much longer, she looked at me.

“Right,” she said, “If you want to help sort this out, you must listen and do exactly what I say, understand?”

I nodded.

“No winging it, thinking you can do better. Just stay on script, and we may be able to rectify this, but we’re against the clock. Focus, alright?” She said.

I confirmed my commitment to help her wholeheartedly.

Mrs. Gregory provided a detailed plan of action and directed me to the necessary steps to ensure its execution.

Once she was sure I understood my role, she sent me on my way, reminding me of the time constraint.

I quickly went to the elevators to go down to the mail room. I had to stop the outgoing package that was supposed to leave soon. She had forewarned them that I was on my way.

Just before I got to the bank of elevators, Mr. Johnson collared me, asking for me to handle something.

I had to brush him off, much to his disdain. “Who are you running around for?” he asked as I started walking away.

“Mrs. Gregory,” I said and saw him nod and laugh.

“She’s got you by the balls already, has she?” he said.

If only he knew.

The elevator arrived, and I stepped in, the doors closing on Johnson’s Cheshire cat grin.

The mail room workers quickly led me to the pallet with the package on it that we needed, and we looked through many envelopes and outgoing parcels.

I kept glancing at the clock and could see workers beginning to load other pallets into waiting vans.

They’re early, I thought in a panic.

Finally, I had the item we had been looking for in my hands, and as I hurried back to the elevators, I exclaimed my gratitude to the mailroom.

During my absence, Mrs. Gregory skillfully employed her charm and persuasion to mend relationships with other departments and rectify my error, all without drawing attention to the mistake itself.

I returned to her office, holding the package discretely under my arm.

Being a Friday, there was already a thinning out of staff on our floor as people left for an early 3-day weekend, their work completed without errors.

Mrs. Sandy Gregory and I still had a lot to do, but I was impressed by how focused and calm she was. I understood now why she had reached this level in the corporation.

Suffice it to say that with a few minutes left until 5:30, we were finally able to sit back and agree that disaster had been averted, and my problem had been discretely and quietly expunged from the system.

I still expected her to fire me, but at least I wouldn’t have other people’s financial pain on my conscience.

“Well, Steve,” she said, referring to me from her chair, “That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

“I could do without that sort of excitement, Mrs. Gregory,” I said, bracing myself for the inevitable.

“Sit down, please, Steve,” she said, indicating one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

’Here it comes.’ I thought.

“Your actions were completely preventable and indicate a lack of focus and concentration in your work,” she said...

I nodded. My face was red, my heart was pounding, and my future looked extremely bleak.

“However,” she continued, “when you might well have run for the hills or tried to blame others, you did the right thing and came to me. That took guts!” Sandy said.

Now, she stood and walked to a filing cabinet located against the wall.

“Not only that,” she exclaimed, as she unlocked and opened one of the drawers, “but you have truly impressed me with how you listened and took immediate action to fulfill my instructions precisely as I had laid them out. I like that. I really liked that a lot.

I watched as Mrs. Gregory retrieved a large brown bottle and two glasses from the drawer and pushed it closed with her elbow.

She placed the bottle of cognac on the desk in front of me and set the glasses alongside it.

She sat in the chair next to me and stared at me. You could easily detect her subtle but luxurious perfume. I breathed it in.

“So, I think you deserve a second chance,” she said with a smile.

I was at a loss for words.

“I think we worked well under pressure today, and that’s a good sign for your future in my department.” She said with a smile.

I thought I had MY mentor!

“Mrs. Gregory, I ... I don’t know what to say.” I spluttered, totally floored by the unexpected turn of events.

She uncorked the bottle and poured two generous measures into the glasses.

“I think we deserve this, don’t you?” she said as she passed one glass to me and raised her own to sip the liquor.

At 18, I wasn’t used to neat alcohol yet, mostly drinking beer. But when I tried it, I was surprised that the alcohol didn’t burn and the flavors were subtle. I suspected it was a top-shelf brand.

“Good,” she said.

It was almost 6:00 pm, and I was going to miss my usual bus home. However, I didn’t think it would be right to leave now, especially since my boss was happy and wanted to share some expensive alcohol with me.

Office lights had been switched off, leaving only our office and the corridor outside. The building was eerily quiet, with just the hum of HVAC to break the silence.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“Mrs. Gregory ... I ... I really, really want to work for you. You taught me valuable skills today and how to stay calm. I believe I can learn a lot from you.

She was smiling at me as I offered my profuse compliments.

“And I owe you! I really do.” I said, getting emotional, “You have the power to fire me, but you chose not to. I will be eternally grateful for that; I really will. I will do anything you ask from now on. Anything!” He said.

Her eyebrows arched as I finished, and her smile broadened.

“That’s what I like to hear.” she said, “A young man like you could go far in this business, but you must listen and learn and, sometimes, act without question when instructed. By me, that is. You can happily ignore the others.

We both chuckled.

Mrs. Gregory kicked off her shoes and stretched her toes.

“It always feels good to get my shoes off at the end of the day. I spend a lot of time moving between departments; it feels like I’ve walked ten miles.”

She looked at me and grinned, and then, to my complete surprise, she lifted her feet up and rested them in my lap.

“How are you at foot massages?” she asked, sipping her drink.

I stared at her small feet clad in dark grey stockings and could feel the heat of her body resting on mine.

“I ... I ... I don’t know.” I said honestly, “I’ve never given one.”

“Do you not have a girlfriend?”

My face blushed.

“I ... no, I don’t have anyone ... like that,” I replied.

“Boyfriend?” she asked.

My face flushed darker red.

“No!” I said, “I don’t ... I mean, I like girls.”

She chuckled at my discomfort and wiggled her feet which were near my growing cock.

“Well, put your glass down and listen to my instructions. It’ll make quite an impression with the ladies, I can guarantee.”

I complied.

“Now the art is not to tickle. There are some circumstances where tickling is okay, but not in this scenario, okay?” she said.

I nodded.

“Place both your hands on my foot with your thumbs on the underside.” I placed my hands how I thought. “That’s it,” she said.

Her foot looked so tiny in my hands, and I could tell through the stocking that her nails were trimmed and painted a subtle rose red.

“Now press ... gently ... that’s right ... oh yes, very good,” she moaned.

I pressed and kneaded her foot, and she sat back with her eyes half closed and made encouraging sounds. I had a feeling this might be one of my duties in the future, but I couldn’t say I was displeased at the thought.

After massaging her right foot for a few minutes, she instructed me to attend to her left.

While I was getting better at foot massage, I noticed Mrs. Sandy Gregory in a different light. She was sitting with her eyes closed, enjoying it. It was the first time I saw her as a woman, not just as my boss.

She had long golden hair styled to her shoulder blades. She wore understated gold studs in her ears and flawlessly applied makeup that enhanced her features without looking overdone. Her lipstick was a soft, red terracotta shade, and her lips were full and inviting. I found myself pondering what kind of man Mr Gregory was to be married to this lady.

She wore a subtle necklace made of shimmering white pearls.

Her blouse was white and contrasted nicely with her tanned skin. She obviously loved the sun or maybe the tanning bed.

Her skirt was dark navy, quite tight at her hips, and came down to just above her knees.

I admired the sturdy contours of her legs, thicker than those of other girls my age, particularly the well-defined calf muscles above her slender ankles. I wondered if she worked out at the gym to keep her figure.

“Taking it all in?”

Her voice startled me, and I looked up to see she had been watching me, looking at her legs.

“I ... I ... was enjoying giving you the message,” I said as the first thing I could think to say.

“Well, that makes two of us then,” she said. “But you can stop now.”

My thumbs ceased their movement, though she made no effort to remove her feet. I reached for my glass and took another sip.

“So, how come no girlfriend?” she asked.

In different circumstances, I could have rightfully objected to these personal questions. However, given the unusual circumstances, although it made me uneasy, my objections were not justified.

“I just ... just haven’t,” I said.

She stared at me. “Are you a virgin?”

Once more, my face turned beetroot red, and I stared at her feet.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I was twenty-four before I ever had sex. I know that was ages ago now, though.”

I was half tempted to lie to her. It’s interesting how significant that kind of thing is for an eighteen-year-old, especially when you notice that everyone you know who is the same age seems to be quite active.

But I owed her my loyalty, and that surely included my honesty.

“I just haven’t met ... well, you know, someone who wants to have sex with me, I suppose.”

She was looking at me seriously but without pity or condescension.

“There’s no hurry,” she said after taking a sip of her drink. “People aren’t having as much sex as you might think, even at your age.”

Now I wondered if she was also a mind reader.

“Make sure to seize the opportunity when it presents itself ... metaphorically speaking,” she said with laughter as she took another sip of cognac. “Don’t be afraid of it.”

She moved her feet slightly in my lap, whether by intent or by accident, and I felt them rub against my cock.

“Maybe we need to include that as part of your training, too,” she said with a sly smile.

In my innocence, I wasn’t sure what she was now referring to.

“I am looking forward to being trained by you,” I said, wondering where those words had come from and feeling embarrassed for being inarticulate.

Now she raised her legs, giving me a brief view up beneath her skirt at her stocking tops and tan thighs beyond, and placed her feet back down on the floor and stood.

I imagined it was now time for us to leave.

Instead of walking away, she moved closer to me, lowering her face to mine. Her perfume wafted into my nose, and her breath was hot on my face. She didn’t speak; she simply kissed my lips.