Lateral Promotion

Allen Ritchie boredly thumbed through one of the magazines that had been sitting on the glass end table next to the sofa, but the words and pictures within were a blur. He wasn’t even sure which one he’d gotten; it was the first on the stack, something to occupy his paws and eyes while he waited for the secretary to tell him Ms. Harrington was ready to see him. He knew from years of practice that he looked composed, maybe even slightly eager, as if looking forward to the meeting. His deep blue eyes, framed in a sea of well-groomed white fur spotted irregularly with patches of coal-black, sat open slightly wider than normal, while he kept his ears as perked as he could, giving him an air of anticipation.

Underneath his freshly-pressed shirt and the rest of his calm exterior, though, the Dalmatian was struggling not to tremble, rehearsing in his mind what he would say to his boss when she called him into the room. He’d been the one to ask for the meeting, something already out of the ordinary. Usually she was the one to summon her minions, most often to rub their noses in some mistake she’d found in their work. Arianna Harrington had exacting standards of her staff, and they were expected to meet them, if they didn’t want to find themselves looking for work.

He’d never been dragged into her office before, so he felt safe there, but it was what went unsaid from the above that really made him nervous. Harrington and Associates could demand such precision and talent from its staff because it was one of the top design companies in the city, if not the country, and it paid very well to ensure it got the best. Getting an offer was proof of talent. Keeping it was something else entirely. Allen had kept his job for four years now by throwing himself one-hundred percent into his work, and so far it had handsomely rewarded him.

This, however, was the moment of truth. In all his time at the company, he’d never raised a complaint when his annual raise showed only the cost of living increase, and while the money was good, he knew he was worth more. Just the fact that he’d lasted as long as he had under a slave-driver like Arianna Harrington for four years would be worth gold to any number of other graphics houses, and he could practically name his salary. Before he went anywhere else, though, he wanted to see if he couldn’t get his boss to acknowledge that fact.

Now he only had to survive the meeting.

The phone on the secretary’s desk buzzed suddenly in the office, startling him out of his reverie, his head popping up from the magazine. The raucous sound carried for a few seconds, then snapped back to silence, followed by a voice, distorted slightly by the staticky speaker. “Send in my two-o’clock, Linda.”

The secretary, a bright-eyed beagle with a professionally-groomed coat of tans and browns, pressed a small button on the phone with a freshly-filed clawtip and leaned forward slightly in her chair. “Yes, Ms. Harrington.” She then sat back upright and turned to Allen, nodding once. “Ms. Harrington will see you now,” She motioned toward the heavy wooden door leading from the antechamber to the inner lair, where the principle partner of Harrington and Associates sat waiting.

Allen rose, his mask of calm still intact—he hoped—and tossed the unread magazine casually back onto the stack covering the glass end-table next to the couch. He nodded back to Linda and walked towards the entrance to Ms. Harrington’s office, his paw resting a moment on the brass letters that spelled out his boss’ name. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Linda press some button on her desk, and a small chime somewhere rang merrily, a lock unlatching with an audible thunk. Thus invited, Allen swallowed heavily and pushed the door open carefully, stepping into Ms. Harrington’s office.

The office itself sat on the outside corner of the building, and smoke-tinted windows overlooking the city dominated made up two of the walls, providing him with a panoramic view of the downtown district. An overstuffed black leather sofa and a matching chair clustered around a glass-topped coffee table near the corner between the windows. His hindpaws sank into the thick cadet blue shag as he stepped within, his eyes drawn to the cityscape.

“May I help you?” The voice, from behind and to his left, caught Allen off-guard, and he jerked around to face the speaker. Against the left wall, the one not covered in glass, sat a deep cherry desk, atop which rested a computer monitor, two paper-trays, a number of pens, a black leather business folder, and a phone. Two high-backed leather chairs sat in front of it, obviously intended for guests of far more prominence than most of Ms. Harrington’s humble staff. Obviously whoever had laid out the office not only wanted the primary occupant to have the best view in the room, but also intended to keep out of sight when anyone entered, giving the element of surprise to the occupant.

Even more startling than the voice, though, was the sight that greeted Allen when he turned his head. Behind her desk sat a well-groomed vixen, her forest-green eyes fixed on him, the corners of her muzzle and her ears perked in a half-smile. She sat upright in a high-backed, black leather executive chair, leaning with her elbows against the desk, her muzzle resting lightly on her steepled forepaws. Her blouse was obviously silk, a deep green that matched her eyes and emphasized the sheen of the russet fur surrounding them. At her throat was a silver necklace, set with emeralds that sparkled out from against the white fur of her neck. She held her thickly-furred tail high, currently free of the slot at the back of her chair, the tip tied with a dark green satin ribbon that matched her top.

The vixen’s smile deepened when Allen’s eyes met hers, and he got the distinct impression of looking into the eyes of a predator, one who’d been sizing him up from the minute he walked through her office door. Before he could recover gracefully, though, she sat back slightly in her chair, motioning towards one of the chairs in front of her. “Mister Ritchie? Please, take a seat.”

Allen gave his best interview smile and pulled back the chair after a moment’s fumbling; the guest seats were heavier than they looked. “I do appreciate you taking time out of your day to see me, Ms. Harrington.”

“Please,” she cooed with disarming ease. “Call me Arianna. I took the time before you arrived to review your history with the company. Four years is an impressive lifespan at Harrington and Associates.” Her ears flicked bemusedly, apparently aware of her own morbid joke. “You do excellent work, if I say so myself.”

Allen’s ears grew warm, and he knew they had to be reddening from the unexpected praise. “I’m glad that you’re pleased with the quality of my performance. Actually,” he added quickly, “that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Arianna’s eyes didn’t register the response projected in her voice, locked on his intently. “Do tell.”

It took the Dalmatian several seconds to find his tongue again, all the composure he had carefully rehearsed in the antechamber evaporating under the scrutinizing stare of his manager. “I came to ask for a raise,” he finally managed to say into the oppressive void.

Arianna’s expression didn’t change a bit from before his statement to after, but she did shift in her seat, her paws steepled in front of her muzzle, elbows balanced on the arms of her chair. “Do you believe that Harrington and Associates made a poor offer to you when you accepted your position? Do you think the annual increases were out of line with the cost of living?”

Allen shook his head quickly, hoping to avoid insulting his boss. “Not at all. Far from it, actually.”

Arianna’s smile broadened, her eyes narrowing. “Then why ask for a raise?”

In two quick ripostes, she had talked him into a corner. “Because….” Her gaze never wavered, her eyes holding his captive, the smug smile fixed on her muzzle. He took a deep breath through his muzzle and took his chance. “Frankly, I know I’m worth more than that.”

His manager leaned forward, her elbows again resting on her desk, her arms folded now in front of her. “What makes you say that?”

Allen smiled nervously himself. She hadn’t kicked him out of her office yet, so he must be doing something right. Either that or she was taking her time, playing with him before delivering the killing blow to his career. “The salary you offered me was in line with my skills of four years ago. I’ve gotten better since then, both in skill and in presentation. You yourself admitted that four years at Harrington and Associates is a long time for someone to survive under your standards. I’ve met and exceeded them consistently. With that kind of credential, I could name my price at any other shop.”

Arianna’s eyes opened wide in mock-surprise, the smug grin still fixed to her muzzle. “Is your loyalty to Harrington and Associates so low that you would just walk out the door like that, Mister Ritchie?”

The Dalmatian’s chest froze, his eartips cold. His tail tried suddenly to retreat between his legs, catching on the seat of the chair. He’d meant it as an honest evaluation of his abilities, but he’d pushed himself over the line. The threat of quitting was on the table, though, and now he had to cover for it. “No, I’d rather stay,” he said earnestly, trying to project as much regret as he could. “I really would. I just know that if I offered my skills somewhere else, they’d offer me a salary based on what I’m worth now, not what I was worth four years ago.”

Arianna nodded, leaning back into the cool leather of her seatback. “Just how much would you like to stay? Suppose I said no. Would you be ready to walk out of that door, past the receptionist, and right out the front door, only to return for your last check and your personal effects?”

The fact that her voice never wavered from its even temperament made Allen sit very still in his seat, the chill in his ears spreading down to his muzzle. His tail tried to crawl down between his legs, but the construction of his seat prevented it. He’d blown his chance, and he knew it. He’d pushed his luck too far. “I would really rather not have to do that, if I can avoid it. I just… I think I’m worth more than you’re paying me, and I think you know it too.”

The vixen chuckled quietly to herself. “Oh, I believe I know exactly what you’re worth, Mr. Ritchie, but let’s find out? I’ll make you the following deal.” She stopped, glanced towards her office door, then stabbed the speaker button on the phone. “Linda, would you please go down to the break room and bring Mister Ritchie and myself some fresh coffee, thanks,” she said quickly into the unit, releasing the button without waiting for a reply. Then she lifted her head back to Allen’s, her smile taking on a definite predatory tone. “You’ve got about ten minutes. If you can make me climax before she gets back, you’ve got your raise. If not… maybe you’ll be able to get it from one of our competitors.”

Allen’s eyes went wide, even moreso than normal. “You can’t be serious!” he shouted hoarsely. “This is harassment!”

“It’s your word against mine, Mister Ritchie,” Arianna cooed, obviously enjoying the situation. “You came asking for a raise, I told you no, you stormed out of the building, and then made up this story about sexual harassment to try to get back the job you quit. You’d better hurry; if the coffee’s already made, you’ve got less time than you think.”

Allen rose indignantly, knocking his chair backwards. His paws balled into fists, and for a brief moment he considered doing just as she said, storming out of the office and calling the police, when he realized just what a bind he really was in. At this point, he’d become just another throw-away employee, one more victim of Arianna Harrington’s exacting standards. It really was his word against hers, and she had history on her side. Any leverage he had when he’d entered was gone now. When Linda returned with his coffee, his job was gone.

Unless… no, she couldn’t be serious, he thought. His cock, though, throbbed once in anticipation, the situation appealing to his baser instincts even as his brain rejected it as absurd. He looked down at her, staring smugly back up from her seat with a knowing grin. As he watched, she parted her muzzle and let the tip of her tongue run over her lips, and he felt his body responding. She really was attractive, the cut of her blouse emphasizing and showing off her cleavage without exposing anything, and with her chair pushed away from the desk he could see the black skirt she wore, covering just enough of her thighs to follow the convention of modesty. Even in the midst of his turmoil, a part of his mind wondered what lay just out of sight.

Arianna was hot, she knew it, and she knew he knew it too.

Allen walked quickly around to stand in front of her, his paws at his neck, slipping his tie from around his throat, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes never left hers while he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, then knelt, the solid cherry desk blocking his view of the front door to her office. His knees sank into the thick carpeting, and he leaned forward, his paws resting on Arianna’s knees, her deep red fur warm against his pads. Slowly he slid them along her thighs, ruffling the fur against the grain, still watching her for some sign of disapproval or hesitation, but her look offered only amusement and her own obvious arousal at the situation.

“You’d better hurry, Mister Ritchie,” the vixen said huskily, her voice low. “You’re already down a minute.”

The Dalmatian’s fingers slid beneath the edge of the skirt, riding it up against her legs, slowly exposing more of her well-toned legs, then the white shimmer of satin panties. He pressed his muzzle against them, burying himself in her scent, his own cock twitching in its sheath as he engrossed himself in her arousal. He parted his jaws, his tongue darting out to lick over the sheer fabric, tasting her musk, dampening the material that covered her sex.

Arianna’s paws clenched against the armrests of her chair, her muzzle half-open in an expression of eager anticipation, breathing heavily now as Allen nuzzled into her crotch. Her juices started to soak the satin as well as her saliva, her scent deepening, thickening as he caressed her through the delicate fabric. A soft whine escape her as she lifted herself briefly, letting the skirt gather behind her, beneath her tail, allowing her to expose more of herself to his questing muzzle.

Allen’s tongue poked into the fabric, denting it as he explored her cleft through the satin, learning the flavor of her musk, savoring the tastes of her arousal as he encouraged her, licking hungrily against the white satin. His paws slid up to her waist, clawtips hooking into the waistband of her panties and sliding them down, exposing her sex. The fur there was white, short and already darkened and slick from her juices and his licking. Her labia were already a bit swollen from arousal, parted slightly to expose the tender inner lips, the entrance to her tunnel visible just behind them.

He let the panties drop around her ankles and put his paws back on her knees, parting them firmly, forcing Arianna to slide forward on her chair to open herself up to him. He pressed his muzzle into her snatch, tongue caressing her outer lips, then darting between them to tease the inner ones, coaxing a series of moans out of her as he licked her. Her fingers moved from the arms of the chair to the back of his head, holding him against her crotch.

Arianna panted, her eyes closed now, muzzle open as she panted, each touch of his tongue to her netherlips bringing a fresh gasp out of her as he lapped at her, exploring her sex. She felt him press himself further between her legs, and then she squealed as he curled his tongue up into her tunnel, fucking her with his muzzle, thrusting that wet organ over and over into her. She shuddered, tensing against him, gripping the fur on the back of his head tightly as she neared her release.

Allen withdrew from her canal slowly, his tongue slipping free of its gentle grip, but then he drew it up between her lips without breaking contact with the skin, her moan shifting into a high-pitched keen. His paws moved between her legs now, fingerpads to either side of her netherlips, gently pulling them apart, exposing her swollen pearl, the hood withdrawn to bare her nubbin. He caressed it with his tongue, sending another shiver through her body, her fingers moving from just holding his head to cupping his ears, guiding him to her secret spot, urging him onwards, and he obeyed, tongue slowly swirling around her clit and then dragging slowly across it, teasing her sensitive flesh, pushing her towards climax.

Arianna began to shake, biting her lip now as Allen lapped directly at her button, her body quivering beneath his touch. She tensed, tailtip quivering, her body nearing the release she demanded, her breath coming in short, heaving gasps. Her black claws entwined into the short white fur on the back of Allen’s head as he drove her onwards, nearing the point of inevitability. She inhaled sharply, eyes closed, so close to release. His tongue lapped eagerly at her clit, caressing it directly, and she responded, her body tightening and then suddenly spasming as she climaxed, crying out from the strength of her orgasm. Her body shook, spasms running through it as she rode out the wave of her release, grinding herself against Allen’s muzzle.

Allen continued to lick at her nubbin until the last aftershocks passed from her body, then pulled himself away from her, her grip on his head gone slack in her release. The fur of his muzzle was soaked in her juices, and he licked at himself, savoring her taste. He withdrew from her crotch, rising from the floor after retrieving his tie. “So, do I keep my job?” he asked with a smirk of his own.

Arianna nodded weakly, then motioned towards the far end of the room. “Washroom, on this wall.”

Allen nodded and walked to the far side of the office, noticing the door set flush with the wall near the panoramic window. Inside was a small bathroom complete with shower and sink, decorated in the same cadet blue as the office beyond, trimmed in silver. He looked at himself in the mirror, then set about scrubbing the traces of his sins from his fur. He gave a quick blowdry to his wet fur, then retied his tie and checked himself again with a grimace. The scent of her sex still lingered in his nostrils, and everyone he passed would probably suspect what he’d been doing, but at least didn’t quite look the part now.

When he came back, Arianna was sitting at her desk, chatting happily away with her secretary, three mugs of coffee on a cafeteria tray nearby. Her secretary was occupying one of the chairs across from her, taking notes. The vixen looked over at him and motioned him over with a grin, a genuinely friendly smile. “Allen! Please, have a seat. I was just discussing your promotion with Linda, working out the details to have her pass them to HR.”

Allen’s ears shot upwards, his eyes going wide again. “Promotion?”

Arianna nodded, a hint of her mischevious smirk crossing her muzzle. “As we discussed? Personal project lead. I need someone who from time to time can handle special assignments from me that I just can’t trust to someone of lesser standards and skill, and I think you’ve amply demonstrated your ability to handle the position in your time here.” She winked when she finished her statement, her ears flicking in amusement.

Allen laughed. “I think I can handle the job. I’m flattered that you’d trust me with such a high-profile position.”

“Oh, believe me, you’ve earned it.” Arianna responded as Allen made a grab for his coffee. “I think you’ve got quite a future ahead of you at Harrington and Associates.”

5 thoughts on “Lateral Promotion

  1. Oo-er. As I’m sure you know, I tend to feel kind of awkward about my relative vanilladom, so it’s a rather pleasant surprise to see you write so well in that vein!

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