Sherman Myers squirmed like a maggot at the bottom of a trash heap. With his pocket protector and duct-taped glasses, he looked like the kind of wimp who stayed home on Friday nights to play video games on his computer. Nothing gave me more joy than to watch him suffer. I'd finally found an excuse to fire the worthless prick, and he knew it. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I felt no desire to help. Instead, I glowered menacingly. It was me versus him. He sat in the straight-back visitor's chair. On the other side of a mahogany desk, I leaned back in a leather swivel chair. This was no contest.
Oh, how I love to be bitch. Just because I can.
"Sales dropped 30 percent last quarter," I said. "How do you explain this?"
Sherman froze for a minute and shifted from one ass cheek to another as if he had a bad case of hemrroids.
"Uh, well, the market just wasn't there to --"
I cut him off.
"Bullshit," I said. "You're my marketing director. You didn't do your job. I didn't get to be the vice president of a Fortune 500 automaker by listening to excuses. Now get the hell out of my office. You're fired!"
The words tripped off my tongue like poetry. Sherman broke down in tears.
"How am I going to tell my wife?" he sobbed.
"Not my problem," I said. "Now go."
Sherman shuffled out of my office with his shoulders slumped. After he shut the door, I pushed back from my desk and spun victoriously in my chair. Breaking the weak to the point of tears always makes my day.
By now, you probably think I'm a heartless cunt. You know what?
I don't care.
The fact is, life is all about power. Either you have it or you don't. Here's the difference: Sherman probably went home to his suburban, ranch-style house where he ate greenbean casserole and pork chops before telling his wife he just got canned. Meanwhile, I told my driver to head uptown where dined with my friend, P. Diddy, and went clubbing with Britney Spears and Christina Aguliera.
I'm a 32-year-old multi-millionaie. I can have anything I want, anytime I want it. A condo in Miami Beach? Write a check. A lift in the company jet? One phone call, and it'll be ready in the time it takes to drive to the airport. Whatever money can't buy, I turn over to my DD tits and long, red hair. I want for nothing.
Everyone wants my fringe benefits, but few are prepared to do what's necessary to earn them. It takes hard work, dedication and -- most importantly -- superior cock-sucking ability.
Every couple months, I have to treat Larry, the CEO, and a few of his associates to a nasty, cum-filled gang bang. They jam their pricks into my every hole. I used to hate myself for allowing them to treat me like a living pin cushion. But I like it now. I'm so used to having control of my life, it's a relief to surrendur to men even more powerful than me.
Of course, I always get the control back. By the time the last glop of splooge has been shot, I have a chunk of evidence that would sink any powerful executive forever. But more on that later.
Larry calls for a fuck fest whenever he's in the mood or needs to close a deal. He tips me off by saying he needs to go over some "DPS reports."
So, I knew what was up when he rang my cell the Friday morning after I fired Sherman.
"Diane," he said. "I need you to meet me in Conference Room A at 3 today. We need to go over some DPS reports."
"I'll be there with bells on," I said.
He chuckled. "Not for long."
If you read The Wall Street Journal, you've probably heard of my boss and the two associates he brought with him that day, but I'm going to use only their first names for reasons that will soon become clear.
They were kicking backand laughing about something when I walked into the conference room. The top-floor room had a panoramic view of the whole city on all four sides. The only way in was a special elevator that allowed access only to a few select executives, including me.
Jim, the soda exec, stopped instantly as I sashayed in. He peered shamelessly at my cleavage. The rest of them quickly followed suit.
"Wow, Larry," Jim said. "She's even prettier than you described."
Larry smiled.
"Fellas,"he said. "This is Diane."
I quickly sized them up. Jim was built like linebacker. I would've fucked him even if my job didn't depend on it. Michael, the legendary venture capitalist, leaned forward. He already had his jacket slung over the back of his chair and his shirt sleeves pushed up, revealing strong forearms. I dug his enthusiasm. Larry was a skinny guy with an average-size dick, but I already knew that he could use it.
Without saying a word, I threw my purse on the confence table and tore off my blouse. The guys were dumbstruck at the way my lacy, black push-up bra accentuated my tits.
"Hey boys," I said. "Wanna fuck?"
They hollered and whooped like frat boys at a strip club. I slid my skirt around my spike heels. A garter belt held up a pair fishnet stockings, but I wasn't wearing panties. The fellas shamelessly stared at my neatly trimmed bush.
Michael couldn't help himself. He whipped out his cock and started jerking off. I kneeled in front of him and looked longingly into his eyes. He tensed, as if he were about to cum. But I pried his hand off his cock before he could blow.
"I'd be more than happy to help you with that," I said.
"She will!" Larry said. "Believe you me!"
The others chuckled as I teasingly licked the bulging head of Michael's fuckstick before jumping back.
My next move was to mount the table and strut like a stripper. This gave them a chance to check out the goods. Using the tip of my right heel, I punched a single button on a console at the end of the table. The blinds closed and the lights dimmed as a bouncing techno beat boomed from the speakers. A movie screen descended from the ceiling and my nearly naked body appeared on it 10 feet tall, thanks to a hidden camera in the wall. Anything that happened on the table was televised on the screen in larger-than-life proportions. All this was planned, of course. We did this for all our gang bangs. Larry would have a secretary set it up under the pretense that we were considering an ad campaigned aimed at hip 20-somethings.
With the mood set, I tried a few moves that Amy, a dancer friend of mine, taught me when I visited her in Vegas. Jim looked the hungriest so I started with him. I knelt in front of him and unhooked my bra. Extending my arms straight out, I let it slide down my arms and fall into his lap. Jim did nothing to hide his desperate, drooling lust as I pulled his head into my cleavage. Swining my body side to side, I slapped his cheeks with my tits.
"Damn!" he said. "Don't leave a mark! I don't know how I'd explan it to my wife!"
Next up was Larry. I slid off the table and dropped to my knees in front of him. A beautiful boner strained against his Brooks Brothers suit. I put my lips on his cock, over his pants, and blew a warm breath. He shook with ecstasy but had the discipline to keep the cum in his nuts. For now.
The guys were beyond whoops and catcalls now. They were groaning and staring like hungry lions. It was time for the closer, the move that would make them pounce.
I went for my purse. First, I pulled out a tube of KY Jelly and set it on the table, knowing we would soon need it. Next, I went for a chrome dildo. Bending over doggy style on top of the table, I turned the dial to high and reached between my legs. I slowly slid the humming stick into my wet pussy. Juice trickled down my thighs. I fucked myself gently before pulling out and pressing the dildo against my clit. Finally, Jim just couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm gonna fuck this bitch 'til she bleeds!" he said.
He lept up and hastily unfastened his belt.
"Shit yeah!" Micheal yelled.
Larry smiled, knowing he had another round of satisfied partners. I threw the dildo aside.
They all stripped naked. Each one had bodies wilted by age with wiry, gray chest hair and flabs of fat rolling off their stomachs. But they all had stiff cocks, and that's all that mattered.
Jim was the first to join me on the table. He uncapped the KY and spread my ass cheeks. When he squeezed the tube, it farted a dollop of gel onto his hand. He greased up his forefinger and shoved it up my ass. A lusty groan oozed from my chest.
"Fuck me," I rasped.
"Gladly," Jim said.
Larry and Michael stood back and watched, licking their lips, as Jim positioned himself behind me. I felt the head of his cock nuzzle my bunghole as his fingertips firlmy grasped my hips. He rocked back and forth, knocking but not coming in. I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists. The last thing I saw before squeezing my eyes shut was Larry and Michael stroking their own cocks.
Anyone who has been fucked in the ass knows it's a mix of pleasure and pain. When cock rushes in, it's a shock to the system. You're insides feel like they're on fire. But then the body adjusts, and it's the most exhilirating high on earth.
So, I stuck with it when Jim thrust all eight inches of his hump muscle into my ass at once. He had the best ass-reaming technique on Wall Street. Jim would pull back slowly, then shove himself back inside me fast and hard. The slap of his balls against my wet pussy set a rhythm that matched the bass thumping through the conference room. He was pumping the full length of his cock into me every two seconds. My poop shoot quickly adapted to Jim's high-powered thrusts. All I felt was pleasure by the time the CD switched to a harder, faster beat. Jim matched the pace of the music. With each thrust, he unleashed an animalistic "grrrr." An indescribable pleasure rippled through my body like waves through a pond. My entire body tingled. I heard myself moaning.
I knew Jim was close to jizzing when I felt him shake.
"Turn over," he said. "I want to see your face when I cum on you."
