Monday morning at the office, nearly ten o'clock, and the guys are settling in for the week's grind. (Well, one guy and two girls to be strictly accurate.) They're out there in the communal open-plan space where I can easily keep tabs on them from my glass-walled office. Assuming I have the blinds open, that is, which most of the time I do.
It's my company and I run a tight ship. With the boss watching all the time there's no slacking or messing around. They know I have no trouble firing people I'm not satisfied with and the climate being what it is (challenging) nobody wants to lose their job, even a crappy one. They're frightened of me, frankly, and that's how I like it. Ok, not the whole truth. They're not all frightened of me. Natasha isn't. Natasha's not remotely scared of the boss. Reason being she's special, Natasha Reeves is heart-stoppingly pretty and has a great body. These are qualities I prize in a girl, therefore I spoil her rotten. (And she spoils me back, to be fair.)
The other two resent it, of course. There they are, slaving nine to five solid with a half hour (if they're lucky) for a gobbled sandwich-at-desk lunch, and by contrast there's the delectable Natasha Reeves whose 'job' entails floating around looking gorgeous and doing exactly as she pleases. Guess what makes it seem so unfair is Natasha's just nineteen – slightly younger than Sylvia and more than twenty years younger than Simon - plus she's the newest employee, been with the company only a few months. (She replaced Colin Morgan, a rather loud and irritating character who I took great pleasure in telling to get on his bike: Natasha Reeves is a big improvement, let me tell you.)
It seems unfair, did I say? Ok so strike that, it IS unfair. Thing is, I enjoy the power I have as the boss and I get a kick from abusing it (e.g. showing blatant favouritism towards the lovely Natasha, treating her like royalty and the other two like shit). Doesn't make me a bad person, does it?
Natasha enjoys the scenario too. In fact, that's putting it mildly – she loves it. Has a whale of a time.
Like now, for example, she's decided to go and have one of her little 'chats' with Simon. She's left her desk (the biggest one, over by the window in the corner - prime position) and she's gone and perched herself up on Simon's table. I can't hear what she's saying – my door is shut – but I see she's smiling down at him, looking amused. I'm amused too because it's clear that Simon is desperately trying (and failing) to concentrate on his work rather than stare at Natasha's glorious legs. She has one of her short skirts on today. It's nothing slutty (not at all) but with how she's sitting, Simon is getting an eyeful. I chuckle as I watch what she's doing: the way she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs in front of Simon, letting her skirt ride up those luscious thighs. It's hilarious how he drools over something so unattainable and out of his league. Has the sad sack even had a woman – any woman - in the last decade? Seriously doubt it. Poor guy has gone bright red, I can tell from here. Natasha catches my eye and I grin. She grins back and blows me a kiss.
I beckon to her. Natasha smiles and climbs down from Simon's desk. She ruffles his hair like he's a pet (which he sort of is) and saunters across in my direction. She wiggles her hips as she walks, pleasantly aware of how hot she looks in her tight skirt and heels and tantalising top, knowing perfectly well that me and Simon are lustfully admiring her every move. Only person not ogling is Sylvia Tusk, the other female in the office, whose facial expression as she watches Natasha's brazen little catwalk is one of hopeless envy.
Poor cow: as ravishing as Natasha Reeves is, that's how plain Sylvia is. Or is 'plain' even a little too complimentary? Yes, I believe it is. Short, seriously overweight, bad face, bad hair, bad skin - 'distinctly unappetising' is nearer the mark. And as I say, 'poor cow', because having a stunner like Tash around the office only serves to make Sylvia look and feel even more unattractive. It really is Beauty and the Beast – a remark I once made to Natasha, making her laugh. She realises how inferior she makes Sylvia feel and she gets off on it, treats the unfortunate girl with a lazy and patronising contempt (and often considerably worse than that).
Natasha has entered and plopped herself down on my office couch. 'Hi, Mark.' (Only Tash gets to call me by my first name. It's 'Mr Taylor' to Simon and Sylvia. Or 'Sir'.) I smile fondly at her. 'Hey, sexy, how you doing?'
Natasha stretches and shrugs. 'Oh you know ... Monday morning.' Fuck: her long, shapely legs do look fabulous in that little skirt! I treat myself to an extended, appreciative gaze and she sits there happy to let me. It's a toss-up which I like the best, this outfit she has today or last Friday's one (tight, low-slung jeans and very skimpy tee-shirt - still fresh in my memory). I really can't decide. Only thing I can conclude with utter certainty is that the girl sitting there on my couch is the tastiest piece of ass I've ever seen in my life. She's a grade A, 24 carat babe. I tell her what I'm thinking and I'm rewarded with a flirty 'thank you, kind sir!' and a seductive toss of her lustrous, dark wavy hair. 'I aim to please, ' she pouts, patting the couch next to her, looking at me invitingly. I'm busy but I forget that immediately. Yeah, little Miss Reeves has the boss wrapped around her little finger and she loves every minute of it. So does the boss. I leave my desk and we continue our conversation snuggled together on the couch. 'You weren't putting Simon off his work, Tash, were you?'
'Was I? How precisely was I doing that?' There's a glint in those beautiful brown eyes.
'Hmm, let me see. Could be wrong, of course, but I'd say you were prick-teasing the poor guy ... again.'
'He was staring at my legs instead of working, you mean?'
'Yeah. And who can blame him?' My hand falls to her silky thigh as I say this and I softly stroke it. (With Simon, it's 'look don't touch' as regards Natasha Reeves but me, I can get busy with her any time I like. Another perk of being the boss. Course, Simon knows I'm fucking Tash on a regular basis, which only makes it more exquisite.) 'Bet he'd love to be doing what I'm doing right now, ' I whisper in her ear, hand snaking under her skirt. Natasha shifts her position to make it easier for me to fondle her. She's getting wet, I can feel it. 'From the look on his face I'd say you're correct there, ' she giggles.
'What, is he watching?'
'You know he is, honey. He's green, the poor thing!'
I glance over and, yep, Simon is indeed looking our way. (We usually close the blinds if we plan to get serious, gonna fuck, for example, or if Natasha's treating me to a blowjob, but just fooling around like this it's fun to do it in full view. Stokes the jealousy no end!) 'Sad bastard, ' I snigger.
'Guess I shouldn't wear short skirts to the office. All it does is torment the poor man. It's really not fair of me, is it?'
I'm kissing her neck. 'It's not, princess, no.'
'Should I stop doing it then, Marky?' she asks in a soft 'baby doll' voice.
'Up to you, sweetie. Do you want to stop teasing his rocks off?' (It's not a genuine question: her relentless cock-teasing of the hapless Simon Woodrow, how she drives the poor guy beserk, is one of my favourite spectacles and Natasha knows this. The boss's approval only eggs her on, of course.)
'No, Mark, I don't believe I do.'
'Well there you go then.'
Natasha gives a sly smile. 'And you don't want me to either, baby, do you?'
'Sweetheart, I like you torturing the sad bastard, you know that. Fact, how about another pay rise? Say another twenty per cent? You know, to show my appreciation.' (This will be Natasha's fourth rise since she joined. She's already on treble what Simon, who's been here for years, gets. And as for Sylvia ... well I pay her the legal minimum, which is peanuts. She used to get more than that but I decided to fund Natasha's last pay rise by cutting Sylvia's. Natasha couldn't stop laughing when I told her.)
'Why thank you, Boss!' Natasha is delighted and I receive a sexy kiss on the lips.
'Can't wait to tell Sylvia, ' she giggles. Such a little monster! This is something else I get a buzz from watching, another good spectator sport: the slim and pretty Natasha Reeves being an utter bitch to the irredeemably fat and unattractive Sylvia Tusk. Like the other day (last Wednesday, was it?) when she made poor Sylvia give her a pedicure while she sat there, feet on desk, flirting with some boy on the phone. Classic! I know I shouldn't encourage Tash in this sort of thing, but I do. 'Why don't we tell her now?' I suggest.
'Sure.' I pick up the phone and buzz through. 'Sylvia, can you bring me and Tash a couple of coffees? ... Yeah, like immediately.'
A few minutes later and Sylvia's at the door. She knocks but Natasha and I are wrapped up in each other on the couch so we ignore her. We keep her loitering like a lemon for a while (she's scared to knock again) before I finally deign to notice her and summon her in with a crook of my finger. She enters and sets the coffees down on the table in front of us, her expression kind of anxious and unhappy and resentful all at the same time.
.... There is more of this story ...