“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.”