As soon as she saw the caller ID on her phone, Rosalind Webber knew her boss was dead.  His wife Pam had only ever once before called Rosalind's cell, when Rosalind's boss Walter had had a heart attack while he and Pam were vacationing in Mexico.  Walter had recently been under great stress—both from work and from family circumstances—and when Pam called Rosalind at 7:00am Rosalind knew that Walter had finally succumbed to the pressures he had been too stubborn not to resist.

Rosalind answered the call.  "Hey there, Pam," she said.

"It's Walter," began Pam.  "He had another attack last night.  We've been at the hospital since before midnight.  He's—he's gone."

"Oh no!" said Rosalind with more surprise than she felt.

"All the family's coming, Rosalind.  Can you call the other partners?"

"Of course, Pam!  Can I do anything else?  Do you want me to come to the house?"

"No, thank you, we're going to be crowded as it is.  Just handle the firm for me, alright?"

"Absolutely.  Oh, I'm so sorry, Pam!"

"Me too, Rosalind.  I want you to know that you were the best thing that happened to him at that damned place.  I know you did everything you could to keep the stupid stuff off his plate.  I swear, with any other executive assistant, Walter would have dropped dead five years ago."

Rosalind was surprised at how touched she was by Pam's words.  Wives were often resentful at how familiar assistants got with their bosses' personal lives, and Pam had never previously been very warm to Rosalind.  Standing there in her underwear in front of the closet full of her carefully-selected professional wardrobe, Rosalind did nothing to repress the tears welling in her chest and creaking into her voice.

"Thank you, Pam, that's very kind of you to say.  I wish I could have done more, but you know Walter."

"Yes, well, anyway, I have to deal with the kids now.  I'll be in touch in a day or two with the details of the service.  Thanks again for talking to the Board."

"No problem at all, Pam.  If you need anything else, please call, alright?"

"I will, thanks."

"Take care, Pam."

"You too, Rosalind."

***

Walter had been a senior enough partner that contacting all his clients and winding down his schedule and then, finally, distributing his cases to other attorneys took over a week and in fact was still proceeding in the days after the service had been held.  Despite her diligent attention to the delicate nature of the dispersals, however, in the back of her mind Rosalind was keenly aware that one last part of Walter's practice remained undistributed: herself.

The Board had been very forthright about their commitment to finding a place for Rosalind, but there were no current openings commensurate with her former (!) position.  All the other partners were happy with their current assistants, and to be honest Rosalind wasn't sure she wanted to work for any of them.  Nine years of being Walter's assistant had generated a lot of history.

Human Resources had informed her that they were trying to place her with one or two of the partner-track associates (at the same salary, of course), but that seemed like too much of a step backward to Rosalind.  It was less than a week after Walter's memorial, therefore, that she contacted her friend Will in the head-hunter biz.

"I gotta tell ya, Roz," said Will, "things are a bit slow at your level.  Have you ever considered a move outside the legal field?"

"I might, if I got desperate enough, but I'm not there yet.  What's your best opening now?"

"Well, Bob Graham just left Murray Dunham to set up a solo practice."

"I heard that he didn't take any clients with him.  That means he can't pay me what I'm worth.  What else?"

"About a half-dozen openings, but they're all way below your current salary.  I'll call 'em if you like and see if they'll come up for you, but it won't be a quick sale, if it happens at all."

"Call them.  What else?"

"Uh, well..."

"What?"

"Art Barone has an opening again."

"Set it up."

"You sure?  I could call my friend who works with insurance firms."

"Forget it.  Call Barone."

"Have you heard the word on the street about him?"

"Yeah, he eats assistants for breakfast.  So what?  I've been doing this for fifteen years, including two years with Jay Hanlon.  He can meet my requirements, right?"

"He can top them, actually."

"Set it up, Will."

***

Arthur Barone was a senior partner who could have had his name on the firm but declined for unknown reasons.  No one who met him believed that he was too humble for the honor, but alternate explanations were thin on substance.

Rosalind hadn't interviewed cold in over ten years, but she didn't fret too long over what she should wear; she knew her confidence was her best outfit.  Barone was old enough that she had to wear a skirt, but she skipped the hose and went with a pair of comfortable pumps that matched her jacket.

She arrived in the reception lobby fifteen minutes early, but she busied herself with her phone as the other staff filtered in.  She wasn't officially here, but she really didn't care if word got out that she was interviewing.  She would have been more embarrassed if people thought she had settled for a junior position.

The receptionist offered her water, tea, or coffee, and Rosalind chose the former.  Barone kept her waiting fifteen minutes past the appointed hour, but she had endured far greater inconsiderations in her time.  Finally, a woman named Sally—presumably temping for Barone—came out and led her upstairs and into Barone's office.

The man was out of his chair before Sally had made the introductions.  He might have been a fraction over six feet tall, and his dark hair was thick for his age, greying only slightly at the temples.  He was wearing the jacket from his bespoke suit, but Rosalind couldn't place the label.  His tie was Hermès, and unlike Walter he didn't need suspenders to hold his trousers up.  His handshake was firm and warm.

"Thanks for coming in, Ms. Webber," said Barone with a wide smile.

"It's my pleasure," replied Rosalind, retrieving her hand and inclining her head briefly.

"Please have a seat," he said, returning to his own chair.  She sat and folded her hands in her lap.

"First off, let me say how sorry I was to hear about Walter Olson.  Must have been a shock, after all those years."

"Thank you."

"I had a case against Walt once, you know?"  Rosalind did know, in fact.  She hadn't remembered it at first, but she wasn't going into something this important without doing so much as a simple conflicts check.

"He was very reasonable," continued Barone.  "Kept control of his clients, which was key."

"That was Walter," agreed Rosalind.

Barone gave a wan smile, then fished a pair of reading glasses out his breast pocket and picked up Rosalind's résumé.  "Alright, let's see, ten years with Olson—oh, did the receptionist get you something to drink?"

"Yes, she was very courteous."

"Great.  Well, your qualifications speak for themselves, so what I really need to know is how well you'd fit in here," he said, reclining his chair and resting his hands on his abdomen.

"Of course.  Does this position require much in the way of travel?"

"Not at all.  In fact, I don't expect you to leave this office."

His tone took Rosalind off-guard, and she was trying to puzzle out his face when a distracting ringing started in her ears.  She grasped her forehead and massaged her temples, but it brought no relief.

She looked back to Barone, who had a bemused expression on his face.  Then Barone, his desk, and the whole office seemed to both recede from and rise above her.  More alarming, her clothes came loose and started falling off her body.  Her pumps dropped to the floor and she clutched at her ballooning blouse as she glanced about frantically at her chair expanding and rising around her.  Rosalind's nude form was quickly buried by her own giant clothes.

She was still grappling with this surreal turn of events when Rosalind heard a sound that turned her blood to ice.  Barone was chortling.

"Oh, Ms. Webber," rumbled the giant voice, "I have a good feeling about you."  Rosalind really didn't want to face Barone now, but she had to find out what was going on and somehow she knew she couldn't stay where she was.  She scrambled through her giant underwear and bra to poke her head into the light.

Peering over the edge of the chair to see the floor, seemingly several feet below, Rosalind could no longer escape the conclusion that she had somehow shrunk to the height of three or four inches tall.  Naked and confused, she knew she needed to get away from Barone, even if this meant leaping from the daunting height.

She had almost worked up the courage (or desperation) to jump when an immense shadow fell over her and she looked up to see the towering figure of Barone grinning down on her.  In a flash, his irresistible hand swooped down and snatched her up to his face.  Holding her under her arms with his thumb and index finger, he examined her lower trunk and legs as they kicked in futile resistance.

"Tell me, Ms. Webber," thundered Barone, "do you work out?"

The insanity of the situation prevented Rosalind from formulating a reply.

"You look pretty fit," continued the giant partner.  "Do you think you could reach the door before me?  If you win the race, I'll open the door for you."

Rosalind's stomach leaped to her throat as Barone's hand rapidly descended and spilled her onto the carpet.  Her legs felt weak, but one look at Barone's giant shoes jolted her to her feet.  Absurdly, she found herself wondering where he had bought such elegant Italian leather.

He cleared his throat, which to Rosalind sounded like an artillery barrage.  Her guts quailed as she tilted her head back to take in the full height of the giant standing over her.  He tapped his obliterating foot twice and nodded towards the door.  Tearing her eyes away from that predatory face, Rosalind turned and ran.

It was ridiculous, of course.  Barone let her get halfway, then he took a couple of giant strides and clipped her tiny calves with his toe, sending her sprawling.  Rosalind rolled over on her back to see the giant Barone lowering himself onto one knee and reaching for her, grinning.  That's when she finally started screaming.

He effortlessly gathered her into his fist and stood back up, regarding her with an expression of absolute possession.  Her arms were free of his grasp, but after pointlessly pounding against his fingers once or twice, she let them fall slack in helplessness.

Barone walked back behind his desk and sat down, depositing Rosalind on the desktop.  She initially covered her breasts and crotch with her hands, but his smug leering defeated any attempt at modesty.  Finally, her outrage temporarily overcame her terror.

"What the hell did you do to me?" she yelled up at him.

"I've accepted your application," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I never asked for this!"

"I'm pretty sure the listing included 'other duties as assigned.'  Did you want to consult with your recruiter?  Be my guest."  He gestured to the phoneset on his desk.

Rosalind tried to ignore the giant's gaze as she walked to the huge keypad and pressed the SPEAKER key.  She hadn't actually memorized Will's number, but she also hadn't planned on trying to explain the situation to him.  Instead she wrenched her back as she stretched out to rapidly press 9-1-1.

The response from the speaker was immediate.  "911 service has been terminated for this account.  Please try your call from a different number.  911 service has been—" Barone keyed the speaker off.

"The boys in IT did that after too many false alarms from my phone," he said.

Rosalind was still sprawled across the keypad, unwilling to face Barone again, so she had no warning that he had slipped the temple arm of his reading glasses between her legs until it slapped her taint and the hook started digging into her vulva.  She had no escape but to push off from the keypad, sliding her ass back along the arm.  He helpfully jerked the arm up and down.  "Ride 'em, cowgirl."

Eventually Rosalind was able to slide off the arm to one side and topple onto the desk blotter.  When she next looked up to face Barone, he was holding the temple arm between his lips with an expression that would have been infuriating if it weren't also so menacing.

He slowly pulled the temple arm out of his mouth and smacked his lips.  "Yes, Ms. Webber, I believe you will do nicely."

He returned his glasses to their pocket and reached for her.

"No!  Don't touch me!" she cried, scrambling backwards across the desk, but he rolled her up into his grasp as if she were nothing more than a pack of breath mints.

As Barone lifted her and angled her feet towards his mouth, Rosalind could see the rippling of his powerful throat muscles underneath his jaw.  She resumed screaming and beating on his fingers, hoping against hope that someone outside would hear her and come investigate.

Then she made the mistake of looking into his eyes.  She thought to plead with him, to beg him for mercy, but all she found in his eyes was the absolute certitude that this was the natural order of things, that he was perfectly entitled to consume her at the most primal level.  Cast into a fairytale world of giants and monsters, Rosalind was reduced to wailing and thrashing like a hysterical toddler.

Barone's jaw swung down and his mouth engulfed her legs and abdomen.  His upper lip rolled back and forth over her breasts as his monstrous tongue slathered over her thighs, crotch, and belly.  She tried with all her might to close her legs, but the wet hot muscle drove them apart and plunged between her ass cheeks.  Pinned between his lips and cradled on her tongue, Rosalind felt his moan of pleasure resonate in her bone marrow.

As sinuous as his tongue was, Barone couldn't possibly fit its tip into her pussy, but that didn't stop him from trying.  Somehow this new violation sparked another wave of futile pounding from Rosalind's tiny fists, but Barone only interrupted his molestation long enough to chuckle at her protests.  He lapped and sucked and probed at her nether regions until she was dehydrated and exhausted from resistance.

When he at last seemed sated with her privates, Barone drew the limp Rosalind out of his mouth and held her before his face, her head poking up from the top of his fist.  She looked once more into his eyes, wearily imagining that he might have taken from her all that he needed.  He returned her gaze, and when he recognized the pitiful hope in her eyes, he broke into a wide grin.

Rosalind screamed "No!" as he wagged his eyebrows at her, opened his mouth, and shoved her in head-first, her cry of protest quickly buried under wet muscle.  Her head and torso were immediately embraced by his tongue, but her tiny legs and feet were free to flail briefly between his lips, eliciting another chuckle from Barone.  Then he knocked his head back and his tongue convulsed her back into his gullet.  His powerful throat muscles constricted Rosalind tighter than she thought possible and squeezed her down into the hot wet dark.

Barone rubbed his gut as he sat back in his chair, then keyed the intercom.  "Sally, please dispose of Ms. Webber's effects before bringing in the next candidate, thank y—" he released the intercom just before his final word became an undignified belch.

Glancing down at his belly, he reached for his mug.  "I hope you take your coffee black, Ms. Webber," he said just as he emptied the contents down his throat.