31 comments/ 77303 views/ 97 favorites How to Get a Job at Fucking By: TheTalkMan (This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things to expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak. If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it. I do not condone any of these actions in real life. This is just a story. Enjoy.) ****************** (Tori) I honestly couldn't stand him. His name was Paul Martin. And apparently, according to everyone else I worked with he was this perfect fucking guy. Judging by the stories, when he would walk across the office, light would shine on him and the angels would sing. Everyone fawned over him. The other girls in the office talked about how cute they found him and how lucky his wife was. The guys would say how cool he was and talk about how they had hung out with him that one time. He was treated like a rock star within the office. No, actually it was more like, they treated him like a rock star, crossed with the pope, who was also an Olympic hero. And of course he was, without a doubt, the most aggressively nice guy around. He was annoyingly nice. He would chat people up, and he knew every little thing about every single person. He would talk to the other salesmen and the bosses one minute, and the secretaries and the janitors the next. He would even talk to those old-timers who had been working the same fucking job for years. He would schmooze them up in a way that would seem totally false from most others, but not him. I think he actually cared about these people, which is just nuts to me. He was either the most incredibly friendly guy around or an incredible conman. But as time went on he never slipped. His perfect veneer never wavered, even after working here for years. It seemed like he was actually as perfect as everyone thought he was. He was the top salesman at the company. His rise within the company was unprecedented, but his high intelligence, humor, and charisma made him an absolute natural. Even I could admit that. He was very good at his job. The big bosses loved him and he almost became the poster-boy for the company. He was the guy the company sent out for PR events, the young, handsome face of the company. His face was probably on a company billboard somewhere. I'd definitely seen him on the website. He would be the guy they would trot out to donate checks to charities, volunteering at the church and the local soup kitchen. The bosses knew what they had in him, and they threw everything his way. Promotions, money... the CEO even gave him permission to date his daughter. Now, he held one of the highest positions in the company, he served many different roles within the company, and he was married to the CEO's little princess. Not bad for 30-year old. He was a lifer here for sure, and judging by how his life was going, the rest of it was gonna no doubt be very good. At 30 he was already set, and it seemed like he barely had to try. His future was very bright. God, it was so annoying! He was just one of those guys that had everything just come to him, you know? If he bought one lottery ticket, he would win. If he went to a baseball game, he would catch the foul ball. If he dug a hole in his backyard, he would strike oil. Everything just went his fucking way. It was infuriating how easy he had it. I hated him with a passion. He was just... he was just too good, you know? He was too perfect. It just HAD to be bullshit. No one was that nice. No one cared that much about other people. I would see him at work, and it was SO obvious to me what he was doing. A conman couldn't do it better. He was such a good schmoozer and it was just so natural for him. He did it with everyone and they loved him for it. People bent over backwards to be in his presence to have his attention. To his credit, he was great at one-on-one interaction. When he talked to you, it felt like he was your best friend, like your problems were the only thing on his mind. He came across as totally genuine and truly caring. It was infuriating! I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when he flashed those pearly whites and gave that charming laugh of his. I couldn't let anyone else see how much Paul frustrated me. How irritating I found him. It was impossible for anyone to hate the immaculate Paul Martin, apparently. And even voicing the slightest bit of that annoyance would be enough to make me the talk of the office. Not that I already wasn't, but that's a whole other part of the story. I can't tell you how many times I had to look up and watch him chatting with the execs, seeing them slapping him on the back like a son. I grit my teeth every time he made some old lady giggle, or some young woman blush. I gave him my death glare when I heard him effortlessly transition from talking intelligently about world events with one group of people to chatting up fantasy football with another. Plus, because he had to just have everything going for him, he was also very good looking, of course. The girls in the office always talked about his cute smile and his square jaw, the dimples, and that perfectly unkempt hair. The less inhibited girls talked openly about his impressive fit body and cute butt. He was this fucking perfect, All-American golden boy. Good looking, with the perfect life, a pretty wife, a perfect house, and a perfect body. He would be the guy in the fucking pictures when you bought a fucking picture frame. He would be the love interest in some shitty rom-com. He was just so boringly fucking perfect. If it wasn't clear already, I just couldn't stand him. But, God, did I ever want to fuck him. I know, I know... I couldn't explain it. He was SO not my type. I preferred the type of guy I would find at the club, a guy who could knock back a few drinks. A guy who would look at me and give me THAT look, that 'I want to fuck you right now' look. A guy who would buy me drinks, chat me up, and drill my hot ass at the first opportunity. I knew I had terrible taste in guys, but those obvious flirts, those lecherous party guys who just obviously wanted a piece of my hot body... those guys were just way more fun. Guys like Paul were boring to me... normally. I couldn't explain it. He was so clean-cut, and boyish, and seemingly innocent, a good, friendly, nice guy. Ugh... boring, right? But when I would see him, being the fucking perfect guy, all I could think about was that he had to have a dark side. He HAD to. He couldn't actually be perfect. He had to have some sort of character flaw. Maybe he was a freak in the bedroom, but I couldn't even imagine him fucking. He no doubt made sweet, nice love to his pretty wife on a bed of flowers in the sunshine, while birds sang. I couldn't imagine that mouth of his in a snarl, fucking some slut hard. I couldn't imagine his muscles taut with need. I couldn't imagine his cute butt flexing. I couldn't imagine hearing him growl in my ear, voice heavy with lust. I couldn't imagine his big, manly hands on my large breasts, squeezing them, taking them like a man. I would squeeze his butt hard as he fucked me, screaming at him to take me like a slut, bite my nipples, squeeze my huge fucking tits, and take me like the stud he was. God, I would let him do it all to me. I would let him try to make a good woman out of me. Yeah, that's how it kinda started... Despite my best efforts, for some reason, he would keep popping up in my dreams. My fantasies. At some point, the wires in my brain got crossed, and suddenly a guy like him became the object of my lust. He was hot, okay! I admit it! He was a former athlete, and he still had the body for it. As annoying as I found him, I couldn't look at him without my thoughts devolving into thoughts of sex. Thoughts of sex with him. Thoughts of all the bad things I could teach a good boy like him. Whispers of his butt and his noticeable bulge were commonplace in the office, and even I wasn't immune. I hated myself for it. I hated myself for wanting him. I hated that a boring ole nice guy could get my juices stirring. He was the type of guy my mom would approve of. UGH! I hated that I, just like all the rest, was susceptible to his charms. I should know better. I could see through him, but it didn't make a God damn difference. I hated the guy, but I wanted the dick. Oh, did I ever want that fat married cock of his. I would inhale the shaft, cradle the balls, and swallow the load. I would blow his fucking mind with the things I could do. Thoughts of draining his balls into each and every one of my holes became commonplace. He was nice to everyone, even me. He had no reason to like me. He barely knew me, but he would be perfectly willing to chat me up, even though everyone knew about my... reputation. Some others at his level knew enough to stay away from me, but he wasn't afraid to talk me up. I would be polite and cordial, but I had trouble hiding my annoyance, and I'm sure he could sense it. But that never stopped him from being friendly to me. That never stopped him from saying hello. And when he'd walk away from me, I'd roll my eyes at him in annoyance as my juices dripped down my legs. On one hand, I couldn't stand him and didn't want to be anywhere near him. On the other, I wanted to spread my legs for him, let him use me like a cheap fucking whore, and have all of his babies. What the fuck is wrong with me? **************** My name is Tori Kryselneski, but most of the time, I go by Tori K, because, trust me, I know my last name is a total nightmare. I was an assistant at a pretty big company. We designed and did research on some new technologies, and I worked at the corporate end. We did business with tons of major companies, both domestic and international, and...ugh, I'm boring myself here. None of that really matters. All that matters is that Paul worked with the sales team, and handled special projects and hiring, and I'm a fucking glorified secretary. As it usually did on most slow days, or days when I didn't feel like being productive, my thoughts drifted back to him. To Paul. We really couldn't be more different. He was the guy with the fancy degree, the former athlete. I was the college slut who barely graduated. We were the same age, but we couldn't be more opposite. He was the big success, the guy they sent to travel internationally to handle major deals, and I answer phone calls and get coffee. But that was about to change. One of the most valuable positions in the company had opened up, and I had put my name in the fray. And that job was an executive assistant. Executive assistant to Paul fucking Martin. Now, you may wonder why this job would appeal to me. I, who proclaimed to not being able to stand perfect Paul. Why would I want to work for a guy like him? That requires some explanation. As I mentioned before, I had a bit of a reputation. A reputation that would be offensive if it wasn't completely true. The word was out on me, and everyone seemed to be aware of it. To put it simply, I was a complete fucking slut. I wasn't ashamed of it. Why should I? I love sex, and I love having a lot of it, with a lot of different guys. How dare I pursue the pleasure that is hard-wired in all humans? So yeah, anyway, I was pretty whorish, and that meant that all that time and money my folks put in to get me through college and get me a good education was wasted. Instead of studying and gaining an appreciable professional skill, I spent most of my time on my back, gaining an extensive knowledge of frat-guy cock. My best talents were in the bedroom, and that would never change. Sex was the one place where I could be truly outstanding. I graduated with an essentially useless diploma, so I had to find a way to get by professionally. A girl's got to pay the bills, you know? I eventually ended up getting a low-level secretarial job here. And trust me, it was low-level. I am by no means a genius, but doing that work made me feel almost insulted. Is this what the world thought of me? Is this what they thought I was best qualified for? While I wasn't much of a student, I was very ambitious, and after a month or so of this work, I needed more. And I knew just how to do it. To put it bluntly, I used my many talents to grease a few poles, and coincidentally, I was promoted. What a shocker! I stayed as a secretary, but I worked for different managers. Slightly more important managers. And slowly, this process continued. My hot ass kept climbing up the corporate ladder. When I got bored or saw an opportunity, I sucked another dick, got another job, and added a few grand to my salary. It was a pretty sweet arrangement. The work was dull, for sure, and I could do it just fine. But the real game was the corporate game, that maneuvering up the corporate chain. While I wasn't much of a worker bee, I was very good at that other game. The corporate game. The game of business. I felt like I had a complete understanding of how business was done, but I hadn't had the full opportunity to show off my skills. Business wasn't about honorable negotiations. Real business was played dirty. I had no illusions about that. No ideals. I knew what motivated people deep down, and I played on that to great success. Business was all about sex, and in that sense, my body was built for business. My rise was equally as meteoric as Paul's, but not nearly as respectable. He worked in the boardroom, I worked between the sheets. But unfortunately, this kind of thing could only get me so far. My tricks and flirting made mincemeat of the low-level management, but the upper-level guys weren't nearly so easy to fool. They were obviously a bit more cautious and wary of intrepid little schemers like me. Plus, word had gotten out on me. I don't know how it got out, I'm guessing one of my old bosses aired my dirty laundry. But then again, it probably didn't take a rocket scientist to figure me out. No matter how progressive some people claim to be, when they take a look at a woman with a body like mine rising up the corporate ladder, they make certain assumptions. In my case, they happened to be true. I was far from the girl next door. I wasn't the innocent sunny type. I have been told I come across as bitchy and that I have a resting bitch-face. My lips were plump and curved into a natural sneer. I've been told my eyes seemed combative, as if I was spoiling for a fight. I wasn't afraid to speak my mind, and I had a bit of a dirty mouth. I could swear with the best of them, and I had a short temper. It was hard for me to contain my true feelings about people, and I was often the center of office gossip, some of it true, some made up. If I wasn't good at what I did, there would literally be no good reason to keep me around. But I was good. I was very good. It certainly didn't hurt that I was drop-dead sexy as well. I was slim and fit, but not overly so. I wanted to make sure I had curves in all the right places. And I definitely succeeded there. I had firm, thin legs, and I always wore high-heels to showcase them. They also highlighted my round, juicy, heart-shaped ass. I had a great ass, and I worked very hard for it. It was firm, round, and with just the right amount of jiggle. I had learned how to walk to best showcase it, and I made it a point to wear slim, figure hugging clothing, just to make sure that all eyes were on me. I wanted to make sure that my ass was a topic of office conversation, and I'm pretty confident my tight, slim skirts got the job done. My upper half held up its end of the bargain. I had superb breasts, a pair of round, smooth, juicy EE's, capped with perfectly-sized, hard, rubbery nipples. I always found a way to show my tits off, even at work, packing them in to tight tops, testing the limits of decency at times. I had been given a few warnings about showing a bit too much cleavage, so I was forced to cover up at times, but once I would get promoted and rise up the ladder, those buttons on my tops would get undone immediately, until I was warned again. I was a complete package. My hot body, poured into sexy business clothes, which I spent a sizable part of my salary on, by the way. My shiny, brunette hair was chopped stylishly just past my shoulders, and my make-up was always immaculate. I was the perfect embodiment of a corporate slut. This fact eventually became apparent to the higher-ups. It probably didn't help that I vigorously posted pictures online of me at the club, partying and drinking, grinding up all on hot guys, and some hot chicks as well. Word got out on me and people compared notes to the point where it became well known exactly how I ended up in this position, an assistant to an upper-middle manager. There was nothing concrete enough to fire me, but it became clear after a while that I had hit the ceiling, that they weren't gonna let a woman like me rise any higher on the ladder. I was the exact type of person this company didn't want to succeed. But I wasn't gonna let that stop me. It would only make my success sweeter. I had interviewed for higher positions many times, but the bosses were always cold and obviously disinterested in me. But I wasn't gonna let that get me down. I kept trying and trying, hoping one of these interviews would take, desperate to continue my meteoric rise. That brings me back to Paul. The job of executive assistant to Paul Martin was a highly prized position. That job would lead to big things to whoever held it. His last assistant, Edwin, had just left for another company, leaving the position open. A lot of people speculated about why he would choose to leave such a great, cushy job, but uh... haha, let's just say, I had some suspicions. But... that's another story. Nevertheless, the job had opened up. And when it did, when the position working for Paul opened up, it felt like serendipity. At that moment, it all clicked into place. The solution to all my problems. The glass ceiling I had hit, the way people in the office looked down at me, my obsession with Paul, I could solve all those problems in one fell swoop. An insidious plan formed in my pretty little head. If I played this right, I would have to go down as, like, the smartest bitch ever. I'm sure within an hour, Paul's inbox was filled with resumes. Mine was among them. Even though the word was out and I was not likely to rise any higher in the company, they couldn't just not allow me to apply for new positions. They still had to at least give me an interview, and at least let things play out. And this little bit of forced generosity was all I needed. For this job, that would put me and Paul, alone in a room, one on one. Perfect. That was exactly what I needed to put my plan into motion. And with his unwitting help, I was about to turn his life upside down. My plan was beautiful. A work of art. In one ambitious maneuver, I had figured out a way to not only get promoted and, like, double my paycheck, but also get to the bottom of my obsession with Paul and, if I played my cards right, I could take control of this company in a manner so bold that even the hardened execs at the top of the company would have to respect it. And the most beautiful part was, this plan relied on me doing the thing I did best. Better than just about anyone. What was my plan, you might ask? I was gonna fuck Paul Martin's brains out. I was gonna put his hard cock in my tight pussy and blow his fucking world apart. I was gonna conquer him. I was gonna make him mine. It was perfect. It was beautiful. And the sweetest part was, he was unwittingly the engineer of his own destruction. He had unwittingly created the blueprint for me to conquer him, and I was the first clever slut to figure that out. How to Get a Job at Fucking Beautiful. ************** Obviously, for the position of working next to Paul, I would be interviewing with him personally. Even though he had only had a few assistants, that didn't mean he was inexperienced at the hiring process. In fact, the company had put Paul was in charge of hiring's, so he had plenty of experience with handling job interviews and he was no doubt quite good at it. The company was so proud of him that they published his personal guide to hiring on the website, proclaiming it like gospel. It was titled, quite simply, 'How to Get a Job'. Or, as it was known colloquially around the office, 'How to Get a Fucking Job'. The advice was fine, but the higher-ups shoved this guide so far down our throats that it became a bit of a joke. The tips were, as follows: 1)Know Yourself Before I Meet You. 2)Do Your Research! 3)Control Your Image, Change the Conversation to Emphasize Your Strengths 4)Set Yourself Apart. 5)Cliché's Make My Eyes Glaze Over. 6)Don't be Afraid to Blow Me Away. 7)Think Outside the Box. 8)Know When to Ignore This List. Good advice, right? Nothing too world changing, but he went into all of them in detail, and it was all good stuff. But I took it to heart, in my own twisted way. I had no allusions at being the first to interview with him to follow his list. But, I planned to do it in a way it had never been done before. Normally, I was more the type to let others do work for me, but for this, I did some serious work. Some crazy moving and shaking, things that could get me in serious trouble. But it was worth it. I was ready. This job was gonna be mine. And Paul was going to see the product of all that hard work. I was going all in. I was putting it all on the table. My frustration with the job, the glass ceiling I had hit, my annoyance and weird sexual obsession with Paul, it was all convalescing at this one moment it time. All of this work was for one clear goal. Sex. Hot and dirty, sweaty sex between me, the office slut, and Paul, the office golden boy. My whole career had been building to this moment, where I would have to test all the skills I had picked up in the bedroom against his skills in the boardroom. It was almost a philosophical conflict, a battle to determine whose way of life is truly more built for success. The people who work hard and do things right, or the people like me, who are willing to play very dirty. You might ask me why? Why would I want to work for Paul, after all the bad things I've said about him? I mean, yes, I was attracted to him, but despite his intoxicating presence, would it really be worth working alongside the guy who so clearly annoys me? My feelings for him hadn't changed. It was just, I couldn't wait any longer. This whole thing had to stop. I still found him turbo annoying, but he still made my clit fucking throb. The more I thought about him, the more fascinated I became. That annoyance and fascination with him had grown into an obsession. My frustration and obsession had turned into lust. I just couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't stop wondering why it was that this guy just did it for me in the worst way. It reached the point where every time I was hooking up with a guy, it was Paul I imagined in his place. It was madness. I never liked the good guys. They were always just so unbelievably dull. But Paul stood out. I hated him, and I hated that I lusted for him. My feelings were certainly passionate, one way another, but I had to figure out which way I truly felt. I had to get to the bottom of my feelings for him, for my own personal sanity. Either I had completely misjudged my own sexual desires, or... I had misjudged Paul. No... no. I was right about him. I was positive my assumptions about him true. I became convinced that there was an animal inside Paul, bursting to get out, hidden behind his perfectly tailored suits, and I was the only one that could see it. That was the conclusion I had come to. That his whole act, this whole person he portrayed himself as... it was total BS. I don't think he even was aware of the bullshit he was spewing. I think that he thought he was really that good of a guy. And to get to the bottom of this fascination I had with him, I had to prove him wrong. I had to prove that, behind that nice guy charm and amiable personality, there was a swaggering, cursing sex-god, ready to be brought to the surface. All men had that side of them. Some acted like they didn't, some acted holier than thou, but in the end, they all came crawling, and he was no different. That was the only possible explanation as to why I couldn't stop thinking about him. There was something about him that I was latching onto, that I was responding to, and that just had to be it. If that wasn't the case, if Paul was as good as he seemed to be, then I had no fucking idea what was going on in me. I would have no explanation about why he pushed all my buttons. It all had to come to a head at some point. It had to. And it would... during our interview. This weird sexual tension between us had dragged on long enough. I couldn't take it anymore. He annoyed me so fucking much, but I WANTED him. I wanted him bad. I couldn't think straight around him anymore. No man had ever made me act this way. It wasn't love, or anything like that. No, it was just... when I was around him, seeing his smile, smelling his natural scent... he made my body shiver. I had never wanted to spread my legs for any guy more than I did for him. He was so wrong for me. He was the good guy, Mr. Perfect, the apple of his mother's eye, who spent his free time helping others. I was the office skank, a girl others look down upon, who spends most of her free time taking excessive amounts of dick. I was convinced that, deep down, he liked me. In my interactions with him, he never looked down on me for my slutty behavior. He always treated me fairly, when others didn't. He didn't judge me for my choices. He gave me that same charming smile he gave everyone else. It seems as if perfect Paul Martin had a soft spot in his heart for the office slut. I planned to exploit that bit of kindness. Tear him apart, draw out the beast in him, and bring it to the surface. I would make him fuck me. I would command it, and like the good guy he was, he would comply. I would convince him logically that he had no choice but to do me, to get balls deep in the office slut. And once he did, this company would be in the palm of my hand, as would his heavy, swollen balls. I was gonna use his words against him. I would use his guide as a weapon, a step-by-step guide on how I would convince him to fuck me. I had it all planned out and ready to go. I would make him mine. I would shatter the glass ceiling, and convince the office good-guy to hire the office slut. I had to prove to everyone how right I was about perfect Paul Martin. I wanted to ruin him. I wanted to destroy his perfect image. I wanted to deface the piece of art that was his charmed life. The thought of doing that, of exposing the truth behind his act... it was intoxicating. I would corrupt the office saint and bring him down to my level. The thought of all the bosses seeing this anointed symbol of all that is good and true fall victim to the office slut made me dripping wet. Paul Martin would be mine. ************* The morning of the interview, I looked into the mirror. My make-up... perfect. My lips, plump and juicy. Lipstick, subtle but sexy. Eyebrows plucked. Mani-pedi... fresh. My tan... immaculate. My skirt... slim and tight. My high heels... sexy. My bra, extra jiggly. Cleavage, exposed. My thong... tiny. My cunt... waxed. My asshole... bleached and ready. My resume was packed in my bag, alongside the USB containing my presentation. That presentation, my guide to seducing Paul Martin, was the key to everything. All my hard work was in that presentation. I was going all in. In twelve hours, I would either be promoted, or out of a job. There was no in-between. In twelve hours, I would either be emptying my desk, or be filled with Paul Martin's thick cum. But in my head, there wasn't any doubt. I was confident my plan would work. Paul would be mine. That promotion would be mine. And he didn't even see me coming. I looked at my reflection and blew myself a little kiss. "Let's get to work." *************** (Paul) The last interviews of the day always ended up being the memorable ones, without fail. They were never quick and easy. Something always seemed to come up. And knowing who I was interviewing, I expected that pattern to continue. My name is Paul Martin. And I was in need of a new assistant. My executive assistant Edwin had taken a job at a different company. I had worked with him for years, and he had grown under my tutelage, learning from me and my style of work. I prided myself for my integrity and honesty, while still being able to be firm and tough when necessary, on doing business the right way. So when Edwin took my lessons and went somewhere else, taking his talents to another company, I wasn't angry. I was proud. I was happy to know that someone else was out there, doing business the way I liked to see it done. His new job was very lucrative, which made the empty position he left behind very much in-demand. Most saw it as a ticket to higher things, the chance to learn some good skills and improve their professional standing. Many of the applicants were from within the company, some rising young talent who had come highly recommended. We had some applicants from outside the company, but a thorough knowledge of the work we did was gonna be required for the job, so more than likely, I would be hiring someone from within. The job was to basically work alongside me, to shadow me and help me out. I wasn't looking for a secretary. I was looking for something more than that. I needed someone in the boardroom with me, in the thick of it, learning, helping me out and contributing. I needed someone ready and willing to actively help out and go beyond the call of duty. I didn't need someone good. I needed someone outstanding. I'm not saying this because I am tough or wanted someone that I could run ragged. Far from it. I needed help! I considered myself a good boss, open to criticism and negotiation. I didn't want to be one of those guys who goes on a power trip once I get the smallest bit of authority and success. I had seen other people do that, and I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand seeing other people used in that way. When I worked that closely with someone, I didn't see any reason to make that relationship contentious. Not only was I looking for someone who could do the work, cause honestly, there was a lot of work, but I was looking for someone I could imagine myself bonding with. Someone who I could see as a friend. Me and Edwin were friends. I was one of the groomsmen at his wedding. When he told me about his new job, he did so with tears in his eyes. It was I who smiled and told him it was alright. That I was proud of him. Part of me was a bit worried about the uncertainty of having to find someone to fill such a huge role in my professional life. But another part of me was excited for this new adventure. My role in the company had only gotten larger the longer I had been here, and now in my eighth year, I had a lot of work on my plate. I traveled the world, and negotiated with some of the shrewdest businessmen and women in the world. It was tough, it was demanding, but I loved it. I loved the thrill of the negotiation. The feeling of a job well done. The validation of my bosses patting me on the back, knowing I got the job done. But, to be the best I could be, I needed someone there with me. I needed someone to cover my ass. I needed someone I could count on. I had already interviewed quite a few candidates, all of them extremely well qualified. I tried to prevent things from feeling too formal, since a lot of this job would depend on personal interaction. The candidates were clearly nervous and I did my best to ease the tension and get them to just breathe. I wanted them to give me their best and not leave with any regrets. For the most part, the interviews went well, and it was going to be a tough choice. I was almost done interviewing, so that big choice would come soon. But first, I had to interview Tori K. The fact that she applied for this job was a bit of a surprise, for a number of reasons. Looking at her resume... quite frankly, her qualifications didn't really compare to some of the others. Her references weren't nearly as impressive. And honestly, I didn't really even think she liked me that much. Her attitude towards me was icy at best. And most importantly, and most pressingly... she had a bit of reputation that followed her. To put it lightly, she had a reputation for sleeping around. It was alleged that that was how she had risen so high within the company, higher than her education and work performance would imply. I made it a point to not give life to any rumors, to be my own judge of people. But, the evidence seemed pretty overwhelming. She certainly acted the part. Her attitude, her tone, the way she dressed, it all supported the story. I had once heard her described as being 'nasty hot', and while I certainly never looked at her that way, I could see the point. Tori was very attractive, but in a way that you could just tell she was not exactly the... purest... of women. She was attractive, with an impressive body, and she dressed in a manner to support these rumors. As much as I hated to give life to those nasty rumors, the story seemed to check out. But in a sense, it didn't really matter what I thought. My bosses seemed to believe the story, and while it had never been explicitly said, it was heavily implied that a woman of Tori's reputation would never be allowed to rise any further in this company. They would be happy to have her just be gone, but they didn't have any grounds to get rid of her. So, while this hire was entirely up to me, I could feel the pressure on my shoulders to not hire Tori. Not that she would be hired anyway. I try to be as open-minded as possible, but her resume just did not compare to the other applicants. And plus, I wanted someone on my side who shared my value system, who felt the same way on how to conduct business. I took pride in doing business the right way. I didn't feel the need to use any dirty business strategies or underhanded tactics to get things done. Sure, some of those bad things may give you a short term benefit, but in the long term, the house of cards constructed by bad business would collapse. I was positive of that. The people who did business that way never thought of the long term implications of their actions. I was happy to give Tori a chance, but she would have to plead a pretty convincing case for her to have a shot. I had never interviewed her, so I didn't know exactly what to expect from her or what she was capable of, but if she wanted this job she would have to earn it. I always liked to take a few minutes to clear my head before an interview. I stopped thinking about Tori, about the job, and decided to just take in things for a few moments. I was again amazed by my station in life, and how I had gotten here. I was raised by humble middle-class parents who instilled good values in me. I worked hard, put in years of hard work. And now I'm here. In a window office on the 32nd floor of the tallest building in the city. Working for a huge company that has put the utmost amount of trust, faith and support in me, and has given me all these blessings. I approached the window, letting my eyes take in the city, proud that I had risen so high. I could see my reflection in the mirror, my gray, stylish suit still looking pretty neat after a long work day. My blue button-up shirt was a little cock-eyed, so I straightened it out. I looked at my own face in the mirror, and gave myself a smile. I tried my best to always look the part, to dress for the job I wanted, so I took pride in my nice clothes, especially since there were times in my younger life where I didn't have that luxury. I turned around and took in my office, and even that filled me with pride. At times, it felt like I was still an unsure teenager in grown-up clothes, but whenever I sat in my office and took it in, I felt like I belonged. Everything in my office was there for practicality. Some people liked to have fancy trinkets or impressive tech, but I simply wanted stuff that worked, that made my life easier. I had two computers, one that I did my work on and a spare one that was hooked up to a projector for whenever someone needed computer access or needed to give a presentation. The far wall was left blank, no decorations, where the image could be projected. I was always a bit scattered, so I had a few piles of papers on my desk, but I knew where everything was. My desk was made of a dark, heavy wood, and although at first I thought it was a bit much, I had to eventually admit that it was pretty cool. It really cemented my role in the company in my own mind, and it really cemented that I had made it. This was the type of desk a grown-up, professional businessman had, and it was my desk. It was great. I didn't have too many creature comforts or personal items. I had a couch along the side wall for when I was hosting some people or when I just needed to relax for a few minutes. I did have a flat-screen TV, but I would try to keep its use to a minimum, mainly keeping the news or the weather on. The only other real prominent personal items were the pictures on my desk of my wife. My eyes fell to one of the pictures, looking at my wife's smiling face, as if she was looking at me, giving me strength after a long and busy week. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. I loved my work, I would never complain, but, it had been a long week, and I was exhausted. I had done a lot of traveling lately, and because of that I was playing catch-up. That, on top of doing all these interviews, it had worn me out. And plus, it had kept me away from Andrea. It still felt surreal to be married to the boss's daughter, but it was one of those love at first sight sort of things. The CEO had had introduced us one day, clearly in the hopes of setting us up, but to be honest, we had already met before at the Christmas Party the year earlier. That first sight, seeing her long gorgeous, shiny blonde hair, her perfect smile, her lovely slim dress... she looked like an angel. I know it sounded corny, but I fell in love with her right there. And to be honest... we had started dating then, way before my boss introduced us. He didn't know that me and his daughter already knew each other and were dating. I was always a pretty good guy, and exceedingly honest, so I was nervous about being deceptive and secretive about dating the boss's daughter. But I had to admit there was a certain thrill at taking part in something so forbidden. Luckily, the boss eventually introduced us formally, giving us an excuse to be seeing each other. She was the opposite of what you'd expect from the daughter of a CEO. She was the farthest thing from corporate. She was sweet and loving and friendly. And warm. She just had a great, charitable spirit, and she stayed away from the family business, preferring to shape the future as a kindergarten teacher. She loved it, and seeing her with those kids, how she cared for them, and how crazy they were about her, I felt good about choosing her as my wife, the future mother of my children. Work had kept us both busy, and I was looking forward to getting this weekend off. We were heading up to a place on a lake for a couple days. We had both been so exhausted that we hadn't had the chance to be... intimate... in a while. And we were both feeling it. We were both looking forward to blowing off some stress on a long, romantic weekend together. How to Get a Job at Fucking Knowing I had a few minutes before the interview was set to begin, I pulled my phone from the pocket of my suit jacket and pulled up some pictures of me and Andrea. I know it sounds dorky and cheesy, but I couldn't get enough of just looking at her. Seeing someone so pretty, with such an infectious smile, and such an effervescent personality, and knowing she had chosen me to marry, it filled my heart with love. I don't know what I did to be so lucky. I was looking at a picture of us standing together outside of a nice older movie theatre downtown, my arm around her. Her brilliant smile let me know that she was as happy with me as I was with her. I admired her again, her silky blonde hair, her slim, taut runner's body. It reminded me of how proud I was that she had run multiple marathons, not just for personal accomplishment, but to raise awareness for various children's charities. She was such an amazing, impressive woman, and I couldn't imagine loving anyone as much as I loved her. For a moment, I was overtaken with an almost overwhelming obsession for the woman I married. I was again reminded of my current predicament and the plans we had for this weekend, and as much as I loved interviewing and this whole process, at this moment, it was the last place I wanted to be. I couldn't wait to leave, to just be around Andrea again. A knock at the door caused me to jump. I pocketed my phone and stood up as one of the women from HR poked her head in my office. "Hey Paul," Shanice said, "Miss, um... Miss Krez..." she began, glancing down at her file, struggling with the name. "Miss Tori Kryselneski," I finished for her, stepping around my desk, straightening my suit-coat. "Yes, Miss Kryselneski is here for her interview," Shanice said, thankful for my help. "Send her in," I replied with a smile. "And you can head out, Shanice. I'll finish up here." Shanice smiled and thanked me, before stepping aside. From behind her entered Tori, stepping past the HR woman to enter the office. "You might be the first person to pronounce my last name correctly," Tori began with a smile. "I'm impressed." "Hey, I do my research too," I said with a smile, moving towards her. She certainly looked the part of an executive assistant. Despite the fact that she had to know she wasn't nearly as qualified as some of the other candidates, it was clear she was taking this interview seriously, which I was impressed with. She was dressed to the nines and made-up and styled, without overdoing it. I had to admit, despite everything that was said about her, I couldn't help but be struck by how stunning she truly was. As I shook her hand, she smiled at me, showcasing her full, glossy lips. Her eyes met mine, and her striking eyes and dark eyeliner held my gaze for a moment too long. I pulled my hand from hers and guided her towards the chair across from me. Her outfit seemed perfectly fitted too her, a nice looking business suit. The slim jacket was fitted well to her upper half, and her knee-length black skirt clung to her legs and rear. She had on black stockings and high-heels, all in black, professional, but attractive. She slid her leather portfolio down onto the heavy wood table, and as she did, I noticed the silky, white blouse under her jacket, a few buttons near the top undone, not to an indecent level, mind you, but enough to show off the glowing, smooth skin of her upper chest. And, she wore a small, dangling necklace, the bauble on the front nestled in the hint of smooth cleavage left exposed by the slightly unbuttoned blouse. And although the blouse looked expensive and professional, it was clear from the color contrast that she was wearing a red, lace bra beneath the silky white top. I didn't leer at her or anything like that, I just noted it, as I would with any other applicant. Because one of the big things about an interview is how the applicant presents themselves. It tells you a lot. And her look was telling me that while she was trying to come across as professional, she wasn't afraid to use her obvious appeal to her advantage. As she moved to her chair, I watched her eyes scan the room, gaining a sense of where everything was. Her eyes hung on the couch along the far wall for a few moments before she took her seat, sitting down in one of the office chairs across from me, her perfectly styled brown hair shimmering on her shoulders as she did so. She unbuttoned her suit-jacket as she sat, sitting up straight, pushing out her chest ever so slightly. She had large breasts and she knew it. Very, very large breasts, a size you don't often see in an office setting. Among the office's male population, her boobs were a common source of conversation, the uninitiated seeking out those who had seen them in the flesh, seeking out the juicy details. I never participated in that kind of rumor mongering, and people knew that, as that kind of conversation tended to cease whenever I was around. But, I was a man and it wasn't like I hadn't noticed her impressive bust size. And they were great breasts, for sure, but I guess I just wasn't the type of guy to go gaga over a pair of boobs. I could appreciate them, but that wasn't gonna sway my feelings on her either way, no matter how much flesh she showed off. It was a little unprofessional to dress provocatively in the office, as she tended to do, but I wasn't about to tell anyone how they should present themselves. I wasn't gonna tell anyone to cover up or lecture them on how they live their lives. Her showing off a hint of cleavage didn't matter to me. It wasn't gonna help me make up my mind either way. It would take a lot more than a large pair of breasts to make me hire someone. According to her file, she had been reprimanded about not adhering to the dress code, so it was clear she knew how to use her body's assets to her advantage, and was willing to push the limits whenever she had the opportunity. Her top was by no means indecent, but it hugged her slim frame, and it struggled to contain her excessively large boobs. The top few buttons that she actually had buttoned were being tested by the two large mounds stuffed inside. As I said before, it was important for me to note how the applicant presented themselves and now that I had given her the once over, I promised not to acknowledge that aspect of this process again. I didn't want to give her the impression I was leering at her, and I didn't want to let myself be unprofessional and let my current predicament get the better of me. "So, how was Italy?" she asked in a tone more genial than I had ever heard from her before. "Oh, it was good. I got the account. It was tough, but I finally got them into the fold. But the country itself was incredible. And the architecture there... amazing." I replied, discussing my recent business trip there. "I think I heard you'll be going to Brazil soon?" she asked. "Uh, yeah, looks like it." I said, not sure how she knew that. "Well... maybe I'll be with you by the time you go there," she said with a smile, opening up her portfolio and retrieving her professional looking resume and cover letter, sliding it over to me. "Yeah, maybe." I replied with an even smile, taking the resume and glancing at it, even though she had to know I had looked at it up and down well before the interview. "So... you ready?" I asked with a smile. "I was born ready." she replied confidently. I could appreciate that confidence. "I like to keep these interviews pretty conversational, you know, as opposed to me asking you questions and you answering. That kind of boilerplate structure feels too... stuffy... to me, you know what I mean?" "Right," she replied, "But I'm way ahead of you on this one." "What do you mean?" I asked, slightly surprised. "I actually made a little presentation on why you should hire me," she said with a smile, pulling out a USB stick from her portfolio. "Do you mind?" she asked, gesturing at a laptop hooked up to a projector. "Oh... sure." I said, pleasantly surprised at her going above and beyond like this. She stood up from her seat, running her hands down her hips, smoothing out her tight skirt over her rear. "Don't seem so surprised Paul," she began with a laugh, stepping towards the projector. "I don't know if you've heard, but I have a bit of reputation." I held my breath, wondering what she was about to say. "I'm a very good interview," she said with a knowing smile, as if in on the joke. "Right." I said with an even laugh. She tapped away at the laptop for a few moments before the front page of her presentation projected onto the wall. "There we go..." she said to herself. She slid off her jacket and set it on the back of her chair, exposing her smooth, bare arms, clad only in the short sleeves of her top. With the slight bulkiness of her jacket removed, her large breasts were even more noticeable, standing out proudly from her chest. I quickly looked away, hoping she didn't notice. I dimmed the lights slightly with a remote to make the image on the wall clearer. She took a deep breath, stood next to the projection, and turned to me. "So, before I begin, I want to make a deal with you." she started. "Sure, what is it?" I asked, curious. "The case I'm about to make is very... unorthodox," she began. "All I ask is that you agree to hear me through, because I think I can make the case as to why I am the absolute best woman for the job. You might not agree with me at the beginning, but if you hear me out, I think I can change your mind." "Deal." I replied warmly, willing to give her a chance. "I'm gonna hold you to that," she said with a slight smile and a pointed look. She tapped a button on the projector remote to begin the presentation. The first page of the presentation was very familiar. They were words I knew well. How to Get a Job 1)Know Yourself Before I Meet You. 2)Do Your Research! 3)Control Your Image, Change the Conversation to Emphasize Your Strengths 4)Set Yourself Apart. 5)Cliché's Make My Eyes Glaze Over. 6)Don't be Afraid to Blow Me Away. 7)Think Outside the Box. 8)Know When to Ignore This List. "Now, I am sure I'm not the first person to base their interview around your list of tips," she began, gesturing to the list projected on the wall, my list of eight tips to get hired. "And, I have to admit, as badly as the bosses shove these tips down our throats, there are some pretty good ones here. And to prepare for this, I have to confess even I studied them," she said with a laugh, every gesture she made causing her breasts to bounce ever so slightly. 'Stop it, Paul,' I warned myself. "Now, I didn't want to just recite them and answer them one by one. I wanted to put my personal spin on them. It took a while, but I think I figured it out." "To summarize, I know myself very well. I've done a hell of a lot of research. I know my image and how to use it. I know my strengths and how to set myself apart. I hate clichés, and I am very good at rocking people's words. And trust me, this presentation is gonna be so far outside the box, so far away from what this list was designed for, that you won't know how you didn't see this coming." "Bring it on." I challenged her, amused and impressed by the effort she was putting in to this. She wasn't exactly known as the hardest of workers, so this was refreshing to see. "I think the biggest thing here for me is knowing myself and changing the conversation," she resumed. "I've looked at the other candidates and compared them to myself, and quite honestly, in any appreciable way, they've got me beat. They all have the experience, the education, the training, the sparkling reputation... and I don't. I get that. I know my place, my role, and how I got here. So, if you're just going off of a resume, I'll probably lose." "Okay." I said, curious as to where she was going with this, surprised at her still confident tone while acknowledging her own weaknesses. "But what I'm going to do here is to convince you to ignore the resume. I'm going to convince you to ignore the degrees and the experience and all of that bullshit, cause none of it really matters anyway." she said, looking right at me with a serious expression. I gave her a quizzical look. "And how do you intend to do that?" I asked. "Simple... I change the conversation." she took a deep breath before advancing. "If you want to hire an assistant, the perfect little worker bee, you can choose one of them," she said, pointing out the door. "But you're not gonna be hiring an assistant, Paul," she said, looking at me with a knowing smirk. "What am I going to be hiring, then?" I asked, interested. "You're hiring not what you ask for but what you need. What you've always needed, what any man of your stature needs. Like I said, you're not going to hiring an assistant," she paused and stepped closer, leaning over the edge of the desk, looking right at me, before speaking her next words slowly and clearly. "What you need is a slut." The room went silent. My throat went dry, and my heartbeat went rapid. I looked at her, not sure if she was serious, but she looked down at me with a twinkle in her eye. She licked her lips, and as her large breasts hung down over the desk, deliberately being showcased, her deep cleavage evident. Was she really doing this? Was she actually, brazenly offering...I think she was! I was shocked and completely taken off-guard. Finally, I found words. "Is this a joke, Tori?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Are you serious?" "Deadly serious," she replied, standing up straight, and walking back towards the projection, shaking her butt at me, each of the round full cheeks jiggling with every step. "Tori... this is really inappropriate!" I began. "If this is some sort of bad joke, I can understand, but if this is serious... you're not gonna keep your job here." I warned, not wanting her to make a career killing mistake. "I'm taking your advice. I'm changing the conversation. If you hiring a totally professional, qualified executive assistant doesn't favor me, why not change the conversation?" she said, holding her arms out, shaking her boobs slightly. "Just hear me out, and I will convince you that what you need, more than an assistant, more than a wife, is a dirty fucking whore," she asserted. "Tori... you can't do this. Do I need to call security?" I asked, shaking my head. "Paul, you agreed to hear me out, no matter what," she began, her genial attitude gone. "Well, when we made that deal, I thought you planned to be somewhat reasonable." I replied. "I'm not gonna force anything on you. I made a presentation! That's it! And all I'm doing is using logic and reason. If, by the end, you still feel this strongly, I will walk away. But I think I can change your mind, and if I do, I will certainly blow your mind. I will make you realize how important it is to have a slut working by your side. Paul, I just want to make it clear, by the end of this, we WILL be having sex. You will have me bent over your big, hard desk and be drilling my hot ass till I fucking scream!" I was completely dumbstruck. I had been in some of the toughest boardrooms in the world, but... I had never been this caught off guard, ever. I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't know what to do. I put my head in my hands. "Tori, I stood up for you. I gave you a chance here, and this is what you do?" I asked, pleading for her to reconsider. "Well, I am a slut." Tori said, shrugging, causing her boobs to bounce. "This is what sluts do. And deep down, I think you wanted this too. Deep down, you knew it would come to this. You've been desperate to find a reason for us to start hooking up, and now you have it." "No... I..." I began, shaking my head. I began counting off on my fingers. "I'm a boss. I'm married. I'm a professional... need I go on?" "At least let me finish." Tori pleaded. "What's the worst that can happen? I mean, if you're right, if I don't have a chance, then you just have a story to tell your friends, about how that dirty whore made a move on you. I mean, you're not actually worried that I'm right... right?" she asked with a knowing glance. I sat back and rubbed my chin, not knowing what to do. "I mean, this is certainly outside the box, right?" she asked with a laugh. "Just give me a shot? This was so wrong and so inappropriate for so many reasons. Like I said, I'm a married man, very happily married. Plus, I was a professional, and I was never the type to do anything like this. She was barking up the wrong tree here, for sure. I don't know why she thought this would actually work. But, part of me was curious of what her plan actually was. What could she say to logically convince me to cheat on my wife? What could she possibly say to change my mind? It was so ridiculous that I was morbidly curious. I know I should just kick her out, but I abhorred conflict, and despite what she was pulling here, I didn't want to be the one to destroy her career. So, despite my better judgment, if she agreed to just walk away when this was all said and done, then just maybe I could just hear out her ridiculous argument and then be done with her. "And you'll leave when you're done?" I asked. "Agreed." she said, smiling wickedly, thinking in her mind, that she actually had an opportunity. "I can't believe I'm doing this... fine. Fine!" I relented. "Give me your worst. I'll hear you out, but when you're done, you're done here. If you walk away now, we can just forget this. But if you go through with this, I have to fire you. You understand?" "Deal," she agreed, eyes flashing, clearly feeling no fear. She clicked the button to advance the presentation. With a new pep in her step, she sauntered over next to the projection, again shaking her round ass at me. She pointed at the image, which was titled with the first step of my list followed by a blank page, and continued. "Okay, the first thing you recommend is to 'Know Yourself Before I Meet You,' and the one thing about me is that I know exactly who I am," she began, before hitting the clicker, causing some images to enter the blank page of the presentation. These pictures made my eyes grow wide. There were four pictures, and they were of Tori. But these were not pictures of her at work. No, they were far from professional. These were pictures of her at play. The top left picture was her at a club, dancing, coated with sweat from the no-doubt heated atmosphere she was dancing in. She was wearing a tight purple top, scooped low so her large boobs were just pouring out from within. She wore a skirt that barely went below her ass, and as she danced, the skirt flared up, millimeters away from showing off what was underneath. The top right picture was her at some sort of house party, and in it there was a picture of her dancing in front of some guy, her back pressed against his front. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing them firmly, causing them to nearly overflow from beneath her silky red top. And as this invasion of her person took place, she was simply smirking, as if everything was going exactly to plan. The bottom left picture was her at work, but she wasn't exactly working. It was a picture she clearly quickly snapped of her bent over a desk, a suit-clad man behind her, his face hidden, clearly... obviously having, uh... relations... with her. While she was still clothed, her outfit looked astray, as if what was happening was very aggressive and rough. And on her face, that same satisfied smirk. The bottom right picture was her in what was probably her apartment, standing in front of a mirror. She looked perfectly coiffed and styled, her face turned into a wicked looking kiss, but her outfit was absolutely filth. A trashy looking tight blue tank top, the spaghetti straps digging into her shoulders due to the stress caused by her mammoth rack. Her top was molded to her large breasts, showing off their perfectly smooth, round shape, and there were clear indents caused by her throbbing nipples. Her midriff was exposed, leaving her fit belly bare. Down lower, she wore a tiny, denim skirt, cut way too short, barely covering her nether-regions. Her long legs were bare, smooth and firm, leading to some trashy high-heels. Her outfit was obscene and looked incredibly skanky, but it was clear that was the look she was going for. How to Get a Job at Fucking "Like I said, Paul, I know exactly who I am," she continued, talking in a seemingly professional manner while showcasing these obscene images. "I am a slut! A huge slut! The sluttiest of the sluts. The skankiest of the skanks. The trashiest of the trashy. The whoriest of the whores. Ever since I grew tits, I've been letting guys, and the occasional girl, play with them. I've been told I should be ashamed of myself, that no one likes a slut, but I don't care. I love it! I love being a slut! It's my best my quality. Paul, I am really, REALLY, good at sex, like, amazing at it. You do your work in the boardroom, I work in the bedroom." "Oh my God..." I said to myself, rubbing my eyes in disbelief at what was happening in front of me. When I looked up at her, she smiled, loving my consternation. She was loving it so much that her nipples were evident beneath her top, throbbing to escape into the cool air of my office. And I had a bad feeling, no matter what I said and did, they would be soon getting their wish. Why was I letting this happen? "Now, the next step you list is 'Do Your Research', and, as you will see a little bit later in this presentation, I have gone above and beyond in that category," she said with a hungry smirk, as if desperate to reveal that delicious part of the plan, a plan that made her mouth water. "But before that, the next part is what I mentioned before. I'm controlling my image. Like I've said repeatedly, to put it bluntly, I'm a slut." Tori paused for a moment, putting her hands on her hips, jutting her chest out, showing off her impressive frame. "I mean, look at me," she began. Staring right at me, she brought her hands up and slid them under her large breasts, bouncing them in her palms before squeezing them lightly, grazing her fingers over her protruding nipples. She turned to the side and let her hand slide down her torso and over her round, jutting ass. "It's no secret I'm the office slut. With a body like mine, it's hard not to be. I'm built for sex... what's wrong with me doing what I'm good at?" I simply shook my head. I didn't know if I was just tired and this was some strange dream, but I couldn't figure out how to respond to this bold attempt at seduction. Tori turned back to face me and brought her hands to her top. Working deftly, her fingers got to work, unbuttoning her blouse. This motion caused me to jump slightly. Was she disrobing just like that? "No need for me to play it coy anymore," she stated, unbuttoning her top halfway down, so her giant, barely covered breasts and red bra were exposed. "If I accept that I'm a slut, I've got to at least look like one. And besides, there's nothing wrong with a bit of cleavage," she said proudly, downplaying the size of the crevasse between her bulbous breasts that was now exposed to me. "It's all good, clean fun, right?" she chirped with a sickeningly sweet smile. I didn't respond. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to let this play out. She probably took this as some sort of endorsement of her crazy plan. "Tori, this has gone too far already..." I began, keeping my cool as I looked to end this. "But, I'm just getting started," she replied, "And you promised to hear me out." "Yeah, well, I think I've seen enough." I responded, looking away from her. "Hon, you haven't seen anything yet," she said wickedly. Undeterred, and before I could interrupt her again, she continued her presentation. "So, anyway, clearly, I know myself very well. But part of this is you knowing yourself, knowing who YOU really are," she said, pointing at me. "What?" I asked, a bit exasperated with this whole game already. "Now, I don't know if you know this, but I've never really liked you that much," she admitted. This admission caused me to bark in laughter. "If you don't even like me, then... why are you even doing this?" I replied, raising my hands questioningly. "Exactly," she said, pointing at me as if I hit the exact point she was making. "I couldn't figure it out either. I mean, I find you annoying and completely full of shit. I see your act. I know what you do. No one else does, but I do. I could see through your bullshit, I can't stand this fucking good guy act of yours, but I couldn't stop thinking about riding your, no doubt, fat cock until I can't think straight." "Jesus," I said, sweating a little, shocked at her casual depravity. "Trust me, you are SO not the type of guy I'm normally into. I mean, no offense, but to a girl like me, you're kinda boring. Guys like you don't typically have the type of fun that women like me need. So, I started thinking... maybe there's more to you than meets the eye. Maybe deep down, beyond that stiff, dull, boring façade, this whole good guy, everybody's friend act, maybe there's a dirty fucking stud just BURSTING to get out," she said, smiling proudly, acting out an explosion with her arms, causing her big breasts to bounce. "Bursting to get out... dying to be exactly the type of guy I crave." At this hypothesis, I simply closed my eyes and rubbed my palm on my forehead. "Tori..." I began. "I know you think I'm completely off-base, but think about it. I mean, I can't stand you, but for some reason, I can't stop thinking about you. The only explanation is that you are, in fact, exactly my type of guy. And, if I'm right, that would make me exactly you're type of girl," she said perkily, looking down at me. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Ha... Tori, you certainly have a very... interesting... view of things, but you are completely off-base." I said, trying to be as civil as possible considering what she was proposing. "I knew you would say that," she said, smirking while rolling her eyes. Looking upwards, she continued. "I mean, it is kind of odd that you seem to always find an excuse to talk to me. You've heard the stories. The nasty rumors. A guy like you in management shouldn't be caught anywhere near a dirty slut like me, but you always found a reason to stop and chat. Chat it up with the office skank." "I talk to everybody! That's part of being a good manager!" I said, losing my patience slightly. She was right about one thing. I had heard plenty of rumors about her. Even though, as I said before, I didn't give life to rumors, that didn't mean I hadn't heard them. And the more she went on, as over-the-top as this had already gotten, the crazy things I had heard about her were starting to sound more believable. Obviously, I had heard that had fucked her way to her current position, but those rumors were positively tame compared to some others I had heard. Among those things was that she had willingly performed a full-on strip tease on one of the desks down on the fifth floor during a Christmas party. I had also heard a rumor that we had hired a really good prospect straight out of college a few years back, and on his first day, he was caught fucking Tori in one of the supply closets. They were caught by one of the bosses, and although the guy was immediately fired, Tori eventually convinced the guy who caught them to fuck her, turning this penalty into a promotion. Another thing was that one of the other secretaries was spreading nasty rumors about Tori to whoever would listen. Tori apparently went to that woman's house and slept with her husband. That woman quit the next day. I had also heard that there was an email thread with sexy pictures of Tori, promising full-on shots of her naked breasts. And then, to my surprise, that email had ended up in my inbox, but I had been a good guy and deleted the email immediately without opening it. At times seemed like there was a secret club of men who had been spent one wild night with Tori K. A brotherhood. And you would think that her sole success with men in the company with be with that type of swarthy, douchebags who were willing to play at her level. One of THOSE guys, you know? But then it would be revealed that someone that I was aware knew better energetically leapt into bed with her. Fallen victim to her wiles. One of my oldest friends, a guy named Louis that I had gone to college with, after he left the company, the rumor was that he had cheated on his girlfriend with Tori. I knew he would never do that kind of thing, that this was just a nasty rumor. But when me and a few co-workers ran into him, and one of them brought up Tori, knowingly mentioning her body to him, I could see the heat behind his eyes, and it was clear there was some sort of history there between him and Tori. I tried to keep my head above this stuff, but these rumors had a habit of reoccurring, no matter how much I tried to avoid them. Even I had my weak moments. When I had heard a guy talking worshipfully about her chest, although he shut down the conversation as soon as he saw me, there was a part of me kinda hoping to hear more, just cause of deep seeded masculine curiosity. If the rumors were true, Tori had a habit of making men do bad things, and staying above the fray seemed to be the best idea. "But even good managers know better than to be seen with a whore like myself." Tori continued, as if reading my mind, but was simply continuing the conversation we had been having. "Every other one of the big managers steer well clear of me, but not you. Every chance you get, you leap at the opportunity to talk to me. A good guy like you... you just want a little taste of the other side, don't you? A sample of the dark delights you're missing out on," she said, her voicing lowering to a lusty tone, moving around the desk. Why did I talk to her? I mean, like I said, I liked to judge people for myself, but there was pretty overwhelming evidence in the case of Tori K. Sure, I would never not be cordial to someone and I think that was all I was with her. I never wanted anything more from her. I didn't want her to flirt with me. I wasn't interested in her in that way. It wasn't like I was one of THOSE guys... right? All those guys, who acted like they disliked Tori or looked down at her, but when the time came they were still happy to leap into bed with her. No... no. I wasn't like that. I was not that type of guy. I had self-control. I was better than that. But Tori was unconvinced. "You kid yourself into thinking you're being nice, but you just want to get close to me. You want to smell me. And maybe, if you get lucky, you'll get one good taste..." she said, moving in close, purring in my ear, causing me to shiver. I felt the softness of her huge breasts pressing against my arm, and this contact caused me to jump. I moved away from her, not daring to look, as she stepped back around the table, content with not pushing forward too quickly. "I think perfect Paul Martin has a little crush..." she began, cocking her head at me slightly as she walked back towards her projected presentation. "I think someone's in love with my huge titties!" she sang, giving them a little jiggle. I couldn't help but glance at them for a moment, but it was enough. Her smirk told me she noticed. "So, by the end of this interview, I will not only prove that you need a slut like me by your side, but I will prove that you are actually the dirty, slut-mongering asshole you pretend you're not." she said professionally, as if presenting the fourth quarter earnings. "Okay, so, I'm gonna power through a couple of the other points so I can get to the good stuff. With your point about clichés making your eyes glaze over, clearly, you've never seen anything like me. And besides, it's not gonna be cliché's making your eyes glaze over. And, not being afraid to blow you away... I mean, c'mon? You're practically spelling out how you want a slut on her knees... 'blowing you' away. And then, thinking outside the box, ignoring the list... clearly, I'm way ahead of you there," she said, quickly clicking through the slides. "And that brings me to the good stuff," she said, smiling wickedly, as if this was the moment she had been waiting for. She clicked to the next slide. "Now, there are two points left... 'Set Yourself Apart' and 'Do Your Research'. And, to me, they're intertwined. Now, there are plenty of other candidates, and as I said before, their qualifications are impeccable. They have me beat. But, to take my place as your personal whore, then it's not the other applicants I'm competing against," she paused, and gave me a smug, arrogant glance. "The person I'm competing against is your wife." She advanced the slideshow, and up appeared a picture of Andrea, my wife. I moved forward in my seat slightly, caught off guard. The picture was just showing her face, the sun shining through her hair, her brilliant teeth flashing at the camera. It was a great picture, but knowing it was Tori showing me this sent a surge of concern through me, as if I knew deep down what she was about to do. "This is your wife, Andrea. Pretty as a peach, and sweet as can be." Tori affirmed. "I've met her, and yeah, she is as nice as everyone says. She is totally perfect wife material," she said, her lip curled up slightly, as if there was something insidious hidden within this seemingly sweet compliment. She advanced the slides forward to another picture, this one of Andrea and Tori, standing side-by-side at a Christmas party, smiling. "Girls sniff each other out immediately. And even a girl like Andrea, the sweet perfect Kindergarten teacher, she had to know I was the office skank. But like the sweetheart she is, and like the nice, sweet husband she married, she didn't shy away from chatting me up, being friendly and nice to the dirtiest tramp in the office. Of course, her daddy pulled her away pretty quick, cause he knows better, but you two, you're like moths to the flame, attracted to your own destruction." I sat there in silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if on cue... "But..." she began, with an arrogant smirk, "We did have time to snap this picture, and honestly, I think this kind of sums up the whole thing." The picture itself was in the office, Andrea and Tori side by side. Andrea looked stunning, her golden blonde hair hanging down past her shoulders, perfectly styled. She wore a slim cocktail dress, the material hugging her slim, athletic body. It was formal and tasteful, not showing too much of anything. Her chest was mostly covered, only the upper chest bared, and the dress went down to her knees. Her legs appeared from the dress, leading down to her stylish high-heels. She looked stunning. She was the perfect picture of restrained, mature, adult, feminine sexuality. Classy, but restrained. Tori was the opposite. If Andrea was in a cocktail dress, Tori was in a prom dress. Andrea's cocktail dress was a formal black, Tori's was a flashy red. Tori wanted all eyes on her, and with the amount of skin she was showing, she was succeeding. The dress was scooped very low, showing an expansive amount of her bulbous breasts and deep cleavage. The dress molded to her voluptuous frame and covered just enough of her to remain decent. The dress ended halfway up her thighs, and the thin straps left her arms bare. On her feet were a pair of high-heels, which helped showcase her long, firm legs. Her makeup looked more like she was ready for a night at the club, and her hair was perfectly composed in a wild, wicked manner. While Andrea's look came across as composed and classy, Tori looked more brazen and wild. Something about her, not only her outfit, but her look, her hair, her makeup... there was a certain wickedness that came across very obviously. Andrea was smiling warmly in the photo, but Tori, she was almost smirking, as if teasing the viewer. "You see it, just like I do. Your wife, looking great, just the perfect corporate wife, and me, the office whore, looking even better." Tori stated. "Now, I'm not just doing this to show pictures of me looking hot. This is the lead in to the main... thrust... of my pitch as to why I should be your assistant. And that pitch is how I, Tori K, have your wife beat in every possible way." With that, she pulled a laser pointer from her pocket and continued. "Now, I want you to look at the picture, Paul, really examine it," she teased, but that smirk of her was getting under my skin, and she knew it. Through gritted teeth, I just looked up at her, my silence the only assent I was gonna give her. She pointed the laser dot at Andrea. "I mean, your wife is pretty, I'll give her that, and she at least seems fit, which is good. But let's examine the important things. Let's start right here," she said, shining the laser dot at Andrea's chest. "Let's talk about your wife's breasts, Paul. Does it bother you that your wife is as flat as a board?" "Tori..." I warned, my blood boiling, but she loved it. She was loving the anger she was causing me. "Ooh, I hit a sore spot, it seems. I'm sorry, but all girls compare cup sizes. I didn't realize it was a touchy subject to you. So, it bothers you how small and pathetic your wife's breasts are?" Tori asked casually. "Tori!" I called out again, losing my cool. "Don't talk about my wife." "But Paul, that's all I'm gonna be talking about, so please, calm down," she said, slightly shaking her breasts side-to-side, emphasizing their size as she seemingly tried to cool my anger with the sight of her bouncing boobs. "I know the truth can be tough to hear, but we all know it. It's a fact. Andrea has itty bitty titties. They're mosquito bites. I mean, all the women in the office like her, but we all can't believe how tiny her little titties are. We all can't believe you settled down with a woman with breasts so small, when you easily could have been with a girl with tits so much bigger. C'mon, Paul, you have to admit your wife's tits are, like, crazy small," she contested, stealthily unbuttoning another button on her top, allowing more of her copious breast flesh to become visible. "I love my wife's chest just fine." I said, looking away, wanting to change the subject. As I said before, a girl's cup size doesn't change my feelings on her. The foundation of a sturdy relationship is based on stronger things than that. I mean, all things the same, would I mind if she had bigger breasts? Of course not. But honestly, Andrea is perfect the way she is. "Just fine, huh? Not a really strong endorsement." Tori said. "Now, look at mine." I just looked her in the eyes, not wanting to play along. "C'mon Paul, the sooner you do, the sooner this ends. The sooner your eyes are hungrily gazing on the smooth, hot, sexy flesh of my giant breasts, the sooner we can move on." I held her gaze, resisting her invitation. "Fine. You can look at the real thing, or the picture, either choice is fine." I lazily shifted my glance back to the picture, where Tori was shining the laser at her own pictured, jutting chest. "Look at my tits, Paul. So big...so soft...so perfect...34 EE's, baby, and they are all real. Just imagine squeezing them, playing with them... the softness is addicting, you'll never get enough," she said, her tone low and lusty as she moved closer to my desk, leaning over it again. "Have you ever thought about squeezing my tits, Paul?" she asked, shaking her tits slightly, trying to get me to look at her exposed cleavage. I glanced at her in the eyes, the look in my eyes voicing my displeasure. "I bet you have. I mean, me and Andrea, together, it really showcases the differences between us. Your wife is all flat and dull, but I have all these luscious curves. My tits... my ass," she said, turning slightly to point her butt at me. "She's pretty. I'm hot. She's classy, I'm dirty. She's a wife... I'm a slut." "All men need a slut, Paul. Especially men in power. They work so hard and do so much good, every so often, they just need to vent all that stress somewhere. I'm sure all the big bosses you idolize have sluts like me too. Men like you... they need to do all the sick, disgusting, hot things they could never do with their wives. Things they couldn't possibly do to a woman they respect. That's why women like me exist, Paul. That's the role we play. All men have these needs, and women like me can provide them," she affirmed, pausing for a moment, clasping her hands together. How to Get a Job at Fucking "You are out there, Tori." I said, shaking my head at her insanity. She just smirked. "Now, I can tell you things about your wife that only you know. Things that only sluts like me can see. For example, Andrea strikes me as being a bit... precious... in bed. I bet she makes you do all the work. Sure, she buys some lingerie that she thinks is fancy, but it's actually pretty cheap and unflattering. I bet she whispers adorable dirty talk, talks to you in between the sheets, lies back, spreads her legs, and lets you do your thing. She doesn't talk, she just moans cutely in your ear. She clutches you tight as you take care of her needs, and sure, you feel the love, but it's not love that makes a guy's balls boil. You don't know enough to know that what she's giving you is the beginner stuff, and you're too nice to ask for the good stuff. You both are practically begging for a slut like me to swoop in and show you what real fucking is all about," she finished, gesturing her arm as she did so, brushing it against her jutting rack. I bet those huge breasts got in the way a lot... wait, what am I thinking? "You don't know what you're talking about," I replied, not letting myself think about her words too much. "Well, I think you're lying, and I can prove it. Because I've done my research, and I know exactly what type of woman Andrea is." Tori affirmed. She advanced the slide show. When a picture popped, my eyes widened in genuine shock. "This is the contents of your wife's underwear drawer," she said. Projected across from me was my wife's underwear, strewn neatly across my marital bed. "You broke into my house!?" I said loudly. "I didn't technically break in," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I can be quite convincing, and your housekeeper isn't exactly the brightest of the bunch. I told her that me and Andrea were total besties, and I wanted to check and see if she had this purse I was getting for her. Not the best lie in the world, but Rosa bought it, so, yeah..." I shook my head, gawking in shock. Tori had been in my house, my bedroom? She was insane! "So, as I was saying, this is all your wife's underwear," she resumed, taking advantage of my silence, acting as if this was totally normal. "And I must say, I am not impressed. I mean, not a single thong in the bunch. No thongs, no g-strings, what is this, the 50's?" On the screen was picture after picture of my wife's underwear, nothing skimpy. She wasn't that type of girl. All of it was full-coverage, covering her butt. Some of it was more practical, stuff she wore to work, simple, utilitarian undergarments. She did have some more sexy stuff, a few lace bras and panties, some sexy nighties and camisoles, stuff like that. But, looking at all of this laid out like this, I suppose I could see the argument she was making. I suppose one could say this stuff was a bit on the plain side, but I was never one to complain. "Now, here is a real woman's underwear." She changed the slide, and my eyes widened. The same shot she had taken of my wife's underwear strewn across my bed was replicated, no doubt on her own bed. And while my bed was a classy soft beige color, this bed was black satin and an expensive looking red sheet. The contrast was striking. It was clear my bed was designed to hold a happy, content couple, and Tori's... her bed was used for fun. On the bed were tiny bits of fabric, thin and lacy and all different colors. The last things these garments were designed for was practicality. They were designed to highlight the wearer. I couldn't help but take in all the bras and thongs and G-strings on the bed. Did thongs really come that small? And some of the stuff there, I had no idea how a person could wear it. "This is the contents of my underwear drawer, but honestly, most modern sluts nowadays would have similar things. A girl's gotta be committed to looking hot 24/7, because for women like me, sex can happen at any time. Like last weekend, I was at this restaurant with some friends, and this guy, while sitting next to his wife and kids, could not take his eyes off my tits. I mean, yeah, I admit, the top I was wearing made me look like a total slut, but this was a married man. He should know better, right?" she said, giving me a knowing smirk. "I give him the look and the nod, and while his wife cleaned up after the rugrats, mister nice, married man was railing my tight cunt in the bathroom. So that was nice. And then, oh yeah, like, the week before, me and some of my friends were at the bar, and my friend's older sister was just drinking me in with her eyes all fucking night. And this chick was, like, the hottest lesbian I've ever seen. I don't think my friend knew her older sister was into chicks, and, who knows, maybe she wasn't and my hot body was enough to make her switch teams, but I could tell immediately she wanted a piece of my ass. That whole night, she had her hands all over me. When no one could see, she had her hand on my ass, squeezing it like she couldn't get enough. She slid her hand down my skirt, fingering me, keeping me dripping wet all fucking night. And whenever she could, she would find some excuse to put her hands on my big tits. I didn't have to do anything, my hot body was enough to make this super-hot chick just fucking drool over me. When she offered to give me a ride home, I knew exactly what the ride would entail. Needless to say, minutes later, me and her were in the backseat, pulled over in some parking lot somewhere. She had pulled my thong to the side and she was rimming my ass. And when she got at my pussy...God, that girl made me gush," she trailed off in a warm silence, letting that heated scene linger, slyly popping undone another button on her top. I didn't know what to say to that. I mean, yeah, it sounded like a very, uh... sexually charged scene, but I couldn't let that affect me. I couldn't let my mind go down that road. "So, you see, for a chick like me, with a body like mine, sex can happen at any time, with anyone. I'm the type of girl that guys throw their vows away for. I'm the type of girl that women get hot for, no matter how much they fucking hate me. And also note, that even though I will be your assistant, that appeal won't go away. Guys will be jealous that you have this hot piece of ass as your assistant, and they will respect the fact that you've locked this down. And other chicks, they'll want a piece of the pie. They'll want a piece of you, or a piece of me. So, hiring me isn't just bringing me into your bed. It's bringing all sorts of dirty sluts in too. I'm your ticket to a future full of filthy sex. Doesn't that sound exciting?" she asked with a wide smile, her top now undone to the point of showing off part of her fit belly. Her excitement was clearly one-sided. "This is what a man like you needs from an assistant," she stated. "Booty. Copious amounts of top-shelf ass. These are things I can provide that no one else can. This is what being a good assistant entails." "Edwin... he was a great assistant." I pointed out. "He was someone who did the type of work I respect. He did the type of work that gets you places." This argument didn't affect her. In fact, it made her smile in such a smug manner that it made a bolt of concern shoot through me. "Do you really want to know why Edwin left?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. "He got a job offer at a good company who recognized his good work, and he took it," I said, confused as to what she was leading to. She rolled her eyes at my response. "Edwin left because I fucked his brains out at the company cookout, and after he confessed to his wife, like an idiot, she made him vow to move across the country, away from me. So you can't hold him up as this paragon of virtue, cause he was just like all the rest, just wanting a piece of Tori K's ass," she replied smugly, making sure to point her butt at me as she did so. I was floored by this. I remembered his wedding day quite well. He loved his wife so much, and she loved him. There was no way he cheated on her. No way. "That's... that's not true, he... he... he's married, and his wife..." I stammered, completely caught off guard. She turned her back to me and... SMACK! My stuttering was interrupted by Tori smacking her own ass crisply, and the bouncing of her firm ass-cheek stole my attention, and the words from my mouth. "None of that mattered compared to this," she said, proudly shaking her ass at me. She turned back to face me. "And these..." she said, cupping her hands under her huge breasts. "His new job pays, like, way less than this one, has way less benefits, and less room to move up. All because his pathetic fucking guilt prevented him from keeping his mouth shut. Eh, it's not that big a deal for me, anyway. He wasn't that good of a fuck." I shook my head, not believing this. I knew Edwin, he wouldn't cheat on his wife... right? "No, no, he left because he got a good job offer, a better position," I began. "Paul, he lied to you to save face. His new job is much worse, trust me." She approached my desk slowly, confidently. "Everyone lets you down in the end, Paul. All these perfect people have their sins. Have their dark sides. You're no different. All those life lessons you taught him fell aside when he was in close proximity to these tits," she said, shaking her breasts, again using her body to lure my reluctant gaze. I pulled my attention away, shaking my head, hoping she was lying, but deep down having a nagging suspicion that she might be telling the truth. At this point, I wanted nothing more than to extricate myself from this incredibly awkward situation, but I knew deep down, if I tried to simply kick her out or try to end this decisively, she would take this whole thing to another level. This Edwin thing, it had wounded me, and I feared what other secrets she could bust out if I kept trying to push her away. Unfortunately, the safest play might just be to let this play out and keep everything at a level I could handle. I tried not to think about why I kept letting this circus continue, why I was finding reasons to not just call security. Why I kept letting Tori stay in this office and keep going with this brazen seduction. For some reason, maybe cause I was still in shock over the Edwin thing, I didn't try to stop her here. I just let her continue. She gestured at the screen, forcing my attention back to her presentation. Back to her bed, covered with her thin, lacy underthings. For some reason, this one red thong caught my attention. It was tiny, and lacy, with just enough material to cover her nether regions, but gosh, I just don't see how it could cover anything. The thong was so small, and the lace was so thin... even if it covered her, you would no doubt be able to see EVERYTHING. I bet she looked amazing wearing some of those. They would really highlight her many curves. And the little red strings of the thong were so tiny... the middle string would just disappear between her... no, NO. Stop thinking about this stuff, I told myself. I shook myself out of my revere, hoping she didn't notice my momentary interest in her underwear. She didn't hesitate, ready to continue her presentation. "This is my resume, Paul. This is the clearest illustration of my many talents. This picture is the most plain argument I can possibly make about why I belong in the corporate world." I didn't even try to understand her logic. I was silent and I just let her continue. "But as we all know, great clothing is only as great as the person who wears them. So..." She clicked forward to the next slide, and what appeared there really shocked me. It was pictures of my wife in her underwear. "What the hell?" I asked, unable to contain my shock. She simply smiled that Cheshire cat grin of hers, filling me with anger. There were two pictures of Andrea, one from the front and one from the back. They appeared to be taken from the bathroom she used, after her shower. "How did you get this?" I asked. "I did my research," she replied calmly. "When I was in your house, I was pretty busy. It's not too complicated to put a spy cam in your wife's bathroom. I just hid it in there, went back the next day when no one was around to pick it up." "Wait, how did you get in?" I asked, the first of a million questions I had. "I took a set of keys, silly," she replied, as if the answer was obvious. "You have keys to my house!?" I asked, incredulous. "Well, if I'm gonna be your assistant, I need full access to every aspect of your life. Your house, your car, your bank accounts, everything," she replied, nipples throbbing underneath her top. I was too shocked to form a reply, so she used the silence to continue. "But don't worry, I didn't take any naked pictures of you. I wanted to save my prize for when I had earned it," Tori stated. "That moment when you willingly unzip your pants and scoop out that fat, rock-hard married dick for me... that moment is too delicious to waste." She paused, her finger grazing over her protruding nipple, clearly enjoying these thoughts. I didn't know what to say, and my eyes slid back to the pictures of my wife. "So, in my computer, I labeled these pictures 'The Disaster Zone', for obvious reasons," she began. "I mean, just look at this." In the pictures, it seemed like my wife was getting ready for the day in the bathroom. She wore a plain, gray cotton bra and panties, nothing too fancy, but certainly economical and practical. She would wear this to work, but it wasn't like this would be the type of thing she would wear for me in the bedroom. She did have some slightly fancier stuff. Nothing like those ridiculous thongs that Tori seemed to prefer, but stuff that was, you know... nice. "This stuff is just disgusting!" Tori stated. "I mean, she is wearing unflattering underwear on a really unimpressive body. She is literally curveless! Her butt is flat and dull and gross, and, just look, her panties are just big and bulky and baggy, hanging off her nasty ass." The picture certainly wasn't flattering to my wife. I could immediately tell that where the camera was hidden, in a plant on top of the cupboard. It was pointed at my wife as she looked in the mirror. She was brushing her teeth, standing in front of the mirror as she got cleaned up. The material of the cotton panties sagged a bit around her butt, not hugging her body. Some would call these 'granny panties', but I wasn't the type of guy to be bothered by this type of thing. "And then, look at her bra! Ugh!" Tori spat out. I looked at the other picture, of Andrea facing the camera, putting her bra-covered chest on display. My wife wasn't overly busty or anything like that. Her breasts were petite, but again, I wasn't the type of guy to be bothered by this type of thing. The bra covered most of her breasts, containing her small breasts. The gray garment was practical, not built to impress. "Your wife has itty bitty titties and they STILL sag!" Tori remarked. My wife wasn't completely flat, I mean, she certainly had boobs, but they weren't exactly perky and fleshy. They weren't bad. They were enough for me. But to Tori, anything less than perky, fat, fleshy EE's were a disappointment. "Your wife has these sad little mosquito bites. I mean, it's as if her body didn't even try. And she does herself no favors with that cheap bra." "She's a kindergarten teacher! Why would she dress up?" I asked, angry. "No excuse." Tori affirmed. "I was wearing a g-string at my niece's baptism, and I ended up making out with the fucking priest." I shook my head at how off-hand she made this boast. "Some women are willing to go the extra-mile at every minute of the day, and some women, like Andrea, only try when they have to. A girl always has to be ready, cause when those moments come, you have to be ready. That is the kind of devotion you can expect from me. The only time a thong won't be nestled between my butt-cheeks is when you rip it off of me." She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "Now, let me show you something that I think you need to see." Tori said, pausing, smirking slightly before clicking the presentation forward. The pictures on the screen were replaced by ones of Tori, in the same bathroom, wearing the same underwear. The picture on the right showed off Tori in my wife's bra, standing in front of my wife's mirror, making a kissy face as she took a selfie. But, where it covered most of Andrea's breasts, it struggled to contain Tori's prodigious jugs. They jutted out, straining the material, the flesh overflowing the material. This was a garment meant to be practical, but Tori somehow made it look indecent. The other picture was a picture of Tori's butt. And, where the cotton material hung off my wife's butt, the material clung to Tori's round, jutting ass. The firm cheeks were seemingly bursting to escape the undergarment, parts of the bottom of them bared in the picture, as the material was seemingly sucked between them. This garment covered Andrea's butt and nothing more, but it showcased Tori's rear end. "What the..." I began. "I know. I couldn't help myself." Tori said. "It was tough to force those disgusting things onto my body, but I had to prove the point. Even in plain, ugly, cheap clothes, I still look awesome. I can look sexy without even trying. Your wife can barely pass as sexy when she is trying. But, although I look good, even in your wife's cheap underwear, my body is not really being showcased. Now, let me show you a picture of a woman who puts in the effort. Let me show you works every day to look good. A woman who can work a full-time job and still look sexy." She advanced the presentation, and the two pictures were replaced with one. My breath caught in my throat. I was now staring at a picture Tori's thong-clad ass. It was framed perfectly in the center of the picture, clearly taken in my wife's bathroom. It was evident that she took her time with this image, making sure her butt was being shown off perfectly. And it was. The cheeks were firm and round, standing out clearly from her slim body. Each of them were just perfectly shaped, round and smooth and firm. Her skin was evenly tanned, the smooth, silky flesh of her ass making it look even better. The creases between her ass and her legs were almost artfully smooth. The way her butt emerged from her lean, tight back really highlighted its lusciousness. And the way the two cheeks curved inward where they pressed together, forming the cleft of her ass-crack, was just visually striking. Her firm ass-cheeks were round and full enough to engulf the string of her miniscule thong in her deep ass-crack, the tiny material disappearing between the fleshy mounds. The thin black, lacy thong showcased her mouthwatering rear-end perfectly, framing it, showcasing its shape. The thin material dug in slightly into her smooth flesh lightly, the small straps of the tiny thong drawn tightly against her body. The straps hugged the upper edge of her butt cheeks, meeting at the triangle of material at the cleft of her ass-crack. And above the thong was her tramp stamp, a tattoo of some green, thorny vines, roses bursting out from it. The tattoo not out of place on the image she was presenting. "Look at that ass," Tori gasped quietly from my right, startling me as she stood over the side of the table, closer than I thought she was. "It's amazing, isn't it? That, right there, is a corporate ass. That's the kind of ass that's built for the boardroom. That butt is meant to be in business skirts. All good businesses have a butt like that stashed away somewhere." My vision was arrested. It was an amazing ass, I couldn't deny that. And judging by her posture and the way I had seen the firm cheeks bounce and jiggle, she knew exactly how to use it to her advantage. She knew how to make a man crawl behind her, looking for a glimpse. I am positive she had used it to her advantage in the office, distracting some hard working man as he tried to do his job, making it a point to strut by his cubicle, stealing his attention, his gaze. He would try to look away and focus on his work, or his wife back home, but he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about those round cheeks, watching them jiggle. The sight would be so sexy he would be drooling. He would become obsessed with that ass, not being able to think about anything else until he just had to see it. And when he came crawling, he would offer up anything to see it. And when he did, and he experienced everything that butt could do first-hand, he would be broken forever. He would not be the same man again. He would be corrupted, both professionally and personally. And in this fantasy, I couldn't help but think that this man... was me.