CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nick
God, the little girl was so dirty. How the fuck had I gotten mixed up with the mink? Martin, a voice in my head warned, you’re in over your head.
Because what began as a game has become so much more. So fucking much more. Tammy’s coming to my office everyday now, showing up in the secret passage, sometimes arriving in nothing more than high heels and a big lipsticked smile, ready to do the dirty.
And do I stop her? Do I act like a responsible professional? Fuck no. I take what’s offered, devouring those big boobies, stroking that wet snatch, making her tremble and cream on the desk, the office couch, fuck even the floor of the bathroom.
And I admit, this isn’t the first time I’ve fucked one of my subordinates. I had a bad experience once before, a helluva shitpile that should have taught me a lesson but instead I’m still banging Tammy, making love to her again and again, the moaning, the creaming, like an addiction that I can’t shake.
So I berated myself in the privacy of my office, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you? I growled internally. Don’t you remember Jeanette? How can you not remember Jeanette? She sits outside your door everyday like a predator, fangs dripping, ready to draw blood, scratch your eyes out on a moment’s notice.
Because yeah, the bad experience was with my harpy of a secretary, which is so fucking ironic. The blonde’s not even my type, all stringy arms and legs, hips that jut out like glaciers, and flat as a pancake too. But it happened late one night, after a long conference call to Dubai.
“Mr. Martin, are you done in here?” came a sugary voice through my door, a discreet tap on the wood. Jeanette had just started then, it was her first week on the job.
“Yes, come in,” I called out. The remains of my dinner lay on a glass table in my office, crumbs everywhere, a discarded napkin on the floor. My new secretary probably wanted to go home and get some rest, it was late after all. So I expected her to waltz in, bus the plates, and then take off.
Except the blonde had a game plan. She edged open the door and threw herself into my office, quickly slamming the door even though no one was around this late.
I looked up, stupefied. What the fuck?
But the answer was obvious. Because Jeanette wore nothing but a body stocking, a transparent layer of hose that sheathed her from neck to ankle, except for three cut-outs. Oh yeah, both her boobs and her cunny were on display, the pink nipples jutting out like rocks, that shaved pussy oiled with something sugary and sickly sweet, like coconut or pineapple or some shit like that.
“Mr. Martin, I can help you relax,” she cooed as she minced forward, hips swaying. “You’ve had such a long day.”
Again, the blonde’s not my type at all. I’m not into Skeletor-looking chicks and this girlie was probably a hundred pounds max despite being six two in heels. So I growled, shaking my head vigorously.
But the girl couldn’t be dissuaded. She pranced over to me and plopped down in my lap, wiggling and jiggling, the sharp angles of her butt digging into my thighs.
“Mr. Martin, don’t you want some of this?” she asked, shaking her tits in my face, no, pressing them into my mouth so that my saliva actually got onto that body stocking.
“Fuck!” I roared, shoving her off, hacking as I tried to get the foul taste out of my mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck are you thinking?”
The girl stumbled but recovered quickly.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she smiled sweetly, checking her cleavage, noting the saliva stain. “Nothing at all.”
“Then why the fuck are you wearing this?” I gestured furiously at her slutty outfit. God, she didn’t have the right figure at all, you need curves to fill out something so form-fitting and this bitch was like a straw broom. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spit out again.
“Nothing’s wrong with me, you’re the one who’s wrong,” she cooed.
I was silent. What the fuck was she talking about? If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d just been assaulted by a horny bitch.
But the blonde just smiled nastily then.
“Guess what I’ve got on my tit here?” she said, pointing to the fabric next to her breast. What the fuck did she mean? All I could see was soiled black lace, the nylon mesh sheer and racy, glistening a bit with my spit.
“You shoved that cloth in my face, you fucking slut,” I ground out. “What the fuck did you expect? I’ll dry clean that shit for you, just get out,” I spat disgustedly.
But the bitch wasn’t perturbed at all, instead smiling like an evil snake.
“No need for dry cleaning reimbursement,” she said. “I don’t need that as a job perk. What I need is a raise,” she said.
“What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?” I gasped, eyes bugging out. This shit was fucked up, the girl was smokin’ something and was delirious. “You just started this job last week.”
Jeanette smiled nastily again.
“Well, what I see when I look at this spit stain is a sexual harassment suit,” she purred. “Do you see that as well? Boss stays late at the office, comes onto his hot secretary, drools all over the sexy outfit she’s wearing. Isn’t that grounds for litigation? Something that’s going to last years and years, damage your reputation, cost you a buttload?” she asked with a smirk.
And I paused for a moment. Because the blonde was probably right. Who would buy my side of the story? It was almost midnight on a Tuesday, we were the only ones in my office and there were no cameras here. Jeanette was stunningly beautiful in the popular sense, and now my DNA was on her slutty outfit. Right on the boob section in fact, like I really had drooled on her, a tomcat howling in heat.
Fuck. I was fucked. So I hung my head.
“What do you want?” I asked defeatedly.
“A raise of course!” she purred. “You’re going to say I’m the best executive secretary you’ve ever had and pay me the big bucks from here on out. I’m getting paid, I’m getting paid, cha-ching!” she squealed, jerking her fist in a victory motion.
I realized Jeanette was nasty, and tacky too. It was disgusting and I was positively repulsed by her tactics.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked, my voice wooden.
“Oh sure,” she said breezily, not even trying to hide it. “I’ve done this to two past employers, both old dudes who really did fuck me. It worked great, I’ve already got enough to retire on from the settlements in those cases, but when I saw you,” she paused. “I knew I had to try again.”
And I just shook my head. Rich men are always targets of gold-diggers, and this was a gold-digger of the worst type.
“How much do you want?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” said Jeanette. “There’s my hairdresser, my manicurist, my pedicurist, my facialist, oh and my rent. Let’s make it twenty thousand a month.”
Twenty thousand a month? That was highway robbery for a secretary, a fuckpile of cash for someone who booked plane tickets and took notes.
But my expression remained unchanged because in the scheme of things, twenty thou wasn’t that much. Sure, it was a lot for a secretary, but it was nothing to Luxor Corp. Not even a drop in the bucket, not even a rounding error. It if I could buy her silence with it, why not? I’d find some way to fire her in a year, get this Medusa out of my hair.
So I pretended to think about it, pulling my face into a serious frown.
“How do I know you won’t file suit?” I asked, my brows lowered.
Jeanette smiled at me coyly.
“You don’t know,” she purred. “That’s the chance you’re taking while I have my insurance,” she said, running her hands up and down the bodysuit. And as I watched, mouth agape, she began pulling it off, stepping out of the bodysuit delicately, making sure not to tear or rip the sheer nylon in any way, folding it into a small square once she was done. “Insurance, get it?” she laughed throatily, waving the fabric in my face. “This outfit’s my insurance.”
And I just growled, feeling trapped between a rock and a hard space. Fuck, it was Monica Lewinsky all over again with her blue dress.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I spat. “Twenty thousand it is.”
Jeanette smiled evilly.
“Make sure the first ten is deposited in my account by tomorrow morning,” she sang, sashaying out of my office, her bare ass swinging. “Otherwise the deal’s off.”
And I just shook my head again, feeling powerless and frustrated. I wanted to beat her ass so bad, report her to HR, fuck, report her to the DA for extortion. But my brain held me back. Because it would be cheaper, easier, just to make this all go away by paying her off for a short time. And then I’d find some way to fire her for good, she’d fuck up on the job sooner or later.
So with a growl, I shot an email to payroll directing them to make an immediate direct deposit into Jeanette’s account, and leaned back at my desk, angry, tense. Fuck! This was so wrong! I swore again, raging at my lot in life. Sure, it’s amazing to be rich as Midas but unlimited wealth comes with its own set of problems, its own set of headaches.
But all that’s been shoved to the back now because I have Tammy. The brunette is everything a man could want, curvy, sweet, sassy, with a body to die for and a mind in the gutter. She lets me do anything to her, fuck her in the ass, fuck her in the pussy, make her take toys hard and deep, working them into her body, making that little cunt cream and spill with pleasure.
So I’m all about Tammy now, letting her into my office day in and day out, spending hours a day bending her over my desk and trashing that cunt, spilling my seed on her every which way. I half-expected to hear her footsteps now, a soft knock on my apartment door.
“Coming!” I called. The Meridien was an exclusive hotel and getting an apartment here wasn’t easy. But money talks, and I’m used to getting my way. It hadn’t been hard swinging an apartment for Tammy, I wanted to keep her close, next to me, with me, on me. Right now she had an apartment on my floor and we spent nights going at it, enjoying each other’s bodies, but I was seriously thinking about moving her into my apartment full time. Fuck, why not? It’d be nice to have her in bed with me the entire night, wake up to her luscious curves, that pretty pink pout wrapped around my dick.
So I opened the door, expecting to see the brunette dressed in a sassy outfit. But instead, it was the harpy from hell, Jeanette.
“What the fuck,” I ground out. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The blonde just pushed into my apartment.
“That’s a nice greeting,” she said sarcastically. “Shut the door.”
“Hell no!” I growled back. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing next, the door’s staying open.”
But the blonde launched herself at me, clawing and biting. She was no match for my bulk whatsoever, being about a hundred pounds, but I let go of the door to wrestle her hands behind her and the door swung shut with a solid thunk.
“That’s better,” she said, panting, her blonde hair askew, licking those red lips evilly. “See, isn’t it better with the door closed? I love how you’re pinning my hands back, Nick, didn’t know you were into impact play.”
Immediately I let go. I wanted nothing to do with this chick, especially not the slightest hint of anything sexual.
“Get out, Jeanette, before I throw you out. How the fuck did you get in here anyways?” I growled, glaring at her.
“Oh the doorman let me in,” she said breezily. “I told him I was your fiancée.”
My mouth gaped. What the fuck? Fiancée? I was going to have a talk with George tomorrow to discuss better observation skills, not to mention adding this bitch to the blacklist.
But Jeanette just smiled again, waving her left ring finger in my face. Sure enough a five-carat stunner gleamed from her hand, the rock so blinding it made me squint.
“I got this from my last victim,” she purred. “He promised that if I went away and never told his wife, I’d get more loot than I ever dreamed of. And it’s true,” she smiled slyly. “I’m a girl from the bad part of Philly and look at me now,” she said, admiring the whopper, studying the glinting jewel. “Wearing a five carat diamond that literally weighs my hand down because it’s so heavy!”
I shook my head disgusted. The over-the-top gold-diggery was fucking disgusting and this woman really took the cake. Bragging about blackmailing another man, passing herself off as my would-be wife to get past the doorman, they were the machinations of a sick, sick woman.
But right now, I just wanted to get her out, squeezing her hands tight behind her, making her squeal with a bit of pain, arching her back.
“Oh Nick!” she cried, “I had no idea you were so bad!”
“That’s right,” I growled menacingly into her ear, “You have no idea who I am, what I’m capable of.”
Because I’ve done some messed up shit in my life, taken advantage of others, pressed every edge for what it was worth. All’s fair in the business world and I didn’t get to where I am by being Mr. Nice Guy. Fucked-up shit goes on every day and I’ve contributed more than my share to the pile.
But the blonde just giggled breathily, her face smushed against the wall now, her voice slightly garbled.
“Do it then,” she hissed. “Do it, do it.”
But I realized I was playing right into her arms. Jeanette loved this stuff, was eating it like an anaconda devouring its prey. I was falling into her trap and shook myself, standing up straight, letting her hands go.
I stepped back, took about five steps back, putting a mile of distance between me and the viper.
“Get out,” I said harshly, my blue gaze an icy polar gust, the temperature in the apartment dropping about fifty degrees. “Get the fuck out.”
At least the blonde did as told this time.
“Oh you want it,” she huffed and panted, smiling at me sassily. “I know you want it, alpha males like you always do. You act so hard to get, like you’re too good for me but I know your schtick. Your mind’s in the gutter, you’re looking for a whore in the ghetto, not some fake princess.”
And I stopped for a moment. That was true, I was looking for a whore from the ghetto, just not this particular whore. The whore of my dreams had big brown eyes, jouncing boobies and a sweet disposition, with none of the deviousness and diabolical cruelty that rolled off the blonde in waves. So I didn’t even bother to answer.
“Get the fuck out,” I lashed out again, rage building in my body, my face tight. “Before I have security come and escort you.”
“Fine,” smiled the blonde sweetly, her expression full of malice. “But stop acting holier-than-thou, you’re just as bad as me, Nick Martin.”
And with a quick flip of her head, she was out the door in a second, her high heels leaving imprints in the plush carpet.
I sank back onto the couch, exhausted from the exchange. What the fuck had just happened? I’d been accosted by Jeanette for the second time in months, she was so fucking wily and ambitious. I was going to have to find some way to steer clear of the bitch, at least until I got her fired for good.
But her words stuck with me too. Because I knew she was calling it like it is. I can be a dipshit, a complete asshole to people I don’t like, people who are asshats, people who are just fucking annoying. And when she said that my mind was in the gutter, it was true. Look at all the things I’d made Tammy do. Ride the Tool Box even though she’d just lost her virginity. DP her with the Tool Box as my partner, thrusting my dick in her ass as the Tool Box fucked her pussy. Fuck, popped both her cherries within days of knowing her. Shit, I was lucky Tammy hadn’t reported me to the police with the way I used her body, bent her over and made her my fuck slave.
But that was the good part of it. I knew the brunette loved it, the way her body trembled, the way it shook, jiggled and creamed, the way fluid ran from her pussy in a river, streaming down her thighs, coating everything worth having. And she let me know it too, gazing at me with limpid eyes, gasping with every nasty thing I did to her, panting, “Mr. Martin, yes!”
And so I resolved to have a talk with her. Tammy was everything I was looking for and more, and this encounter with Jeanette had only made it even more obvious. Move into my apartment? Shit, that wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough. I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to make Tammy mine … permanently.