I didn't have the first clue who Snooki was, but I had to admit that the boss's attempt to dress like her had a good result. Ninve was a babe in her own right, so that wasn't difficult. Every time I saw her, I had an immediate rush of blood to my cock and impulses that I dared not follow. Among those was the urge to take my supervisor and grudge-fuck her there in front of the whole office, something that would no doubt wreck my career. Even though she got her promotion based on something other than merit, that wouldn't excuse my conduct. Management always had double standards for the rest of us.

The Halloween party went well that night for everyone concerned, with plenty of booze to go around, too. I lived in easy walking distance, so I hadn't bothered to ride my Harley to the office for this function. I didn't need a designated driver, but I still didn't get plastered.

The same couldn't be said for Ninve. She had tossed back more than a few tumblers of her favorite cocktails by this point and she wasn't feeling any pain. I saw her bloodshot eyes and knew that she was in trouble. The morning would see her hung over like a damp rug on a clothesline, a phrase that made me think of her pussy and got me very hard as I thought of it. I knew that I would have to do the responsible thing and find Ninve a designated driver. This realization caused my dick to go limp again, as I didn't look forward to it.

I had just washed my hands after pissing when the power went out. I didn't know how or why it was off, but I knew that the doors were automated, so we were all stuck there until the morning. Since tonight was a Friday, this was a bit of an awful start to the weekend. Then again, wearing the same clothes and being hung over at work could be more than a little awkward for all of us, even if we understood why.

"Damn!" I thought, as I grasped for the paper towels.

That was before I opened the door and bumped directly into someone.

"Ouch!" Ninve squealed, her voice unmistakable with its whiny tone.

"Sorry, Ninve," I apologized, indicating recognition.

"Mark, it's okay. I just need to know if this is the mens' room," she worried.

"Yes, Ninve, it's the mens' room ... I'm not gonna sneak into the ladies' room, even in the dark. Though I don't suppose that it really matters, since I can't see anything just as you can't," I observed.

"That's a comforting thought, Mark. But you're right, so can I go ahead and use the mens' stalls? Promise you won't tell a soul?" she pleaded with me.

Now, it's not commonly known, but I have a soft spot for chunky women like Ninve. She wasn't obese, just soft, curvy, and adorable. She had a gift for making one feel bad for her, but especially a guy like me. She had the passive-aggression angle figured out, at least where I was concerned. This didn't mean that I lacked a backbone, as she knew well, but it meant I had to keep an iron grip on my feelings around her. Otherwise, she'd walk all over me. Thankfully, this incident wasn't a serious issue for me, and I saw some potential leverage in it for me.

"Sure, Ninve. I'll stand guard outside and make sure no one walks in on you," I offered in most my genteel guise.

I was good at the phony chivalry game, despite knowing what a load of unfair hypocrisy it was for women to demand special favors and equality at the same time. I didn't mind voluntary courtesy, of course, but I resented the sense of entitlement, the "princess" persona, the idea of obligation.

Even so, I could maintain a facade of being just another pawn in the ladies' mental chess games. It had the virtue of making most women think that I'm harmless when I'm anything but. The last thing that I wanted was for my true nature to be revealed to all and sundry. I was a fairness fanatic disguised as something else entirely, a zealot obsessed with my own notions of justice.

"Why bother? I'd rather you stood close to the stall and talked to me. I'm scared of the dark. I could use your company, Mark," Ninve urged me as she headed to the stall.

"Very well, I'll do that, Ninve," I relented with a hint of disgust that I didn't actually feel. It was good for turning the guilt trip against her.

Ninve babbled incessantly about why her costume was modeled on Snooki from Jersey Shore, a reality TV program of the sort that I avoided like the plague. It was a short dress which stopped somewhere in the upper thighs and didn't leave much wiggle room if one bent over. If a girl went commando while doing so, she'd flash a man for certain in that outfit. Of course, Ninve was notorious in terms of mooning people whenever her pants were too baggy, let alone dresses that barely covered her assets. We guys often joked that she was the only girl who got ahead by inviting the boss to kiss her ass, not vice versa. Then again, with a nice booty like Ninve's, I wouldn't blame a manager for having that urge, regardless of his or her sex.

"Mark, are you still there? You haven't said a thing," she abruptly queried, evidently scared that I got bored with her chatter and bolted.

"Yep. Afraid so. Are you okay, Nin? You sound a little frightened," I asked her in turn.

"I think that would be a good description. I'm in the mens' stall in the dark, with a weird guy standing outside who has a reputation and stares at my ass whenever he doesn't think I'm watching him. Not to mention that I'm drunk, horny, and don't even know where the sink is. You're not gonna tell anybody about this situation, right? I have your word on that?" Ninve ranted, clearly under some stress.

"Again, I swear I won't say a thing. Are you ready to wash your hands?" I acted calmer than I was.

"Yeah, I think so. Help me get there. I don't want to miss it. I really don't do well in the dark," Ninve tried to sound brave as she left the stall, which she hadn't totally closed due to the darkness.

"Okay, Nin," I led my supervisor to the sink and actually washed her hands for her, mostly as a means of reinforcing her sense of helplessness.

It was a silly psychological game, perhaps, but it really worked on the girl, since she was that terrified of the dark. Just when I thought we were done, however, Ninve bent over the sink and lifted her dress in front of me. I knew this because I stood right behind her and felt her bare skin against my pants, causing my bulge to grow.

"Ninve, what are you doing?" I feigned shock. I actually had a pretty good idea, not being half as naïve as I let on.

"I'm letting you fuck me, Mark. Don't act like the 40-year old virgin. You're strange, but you're sexually active. You don't have me fooled. You may not gossip, but everyone else here does. Sandra goes to my church and she told me about your fling with her. Lucy is my favorite waitress and she had a lot to say, too. Anyway, I'm horny, scared, and drunk, as I told you. Let's get it on. It's dark. No one will know, since you agreed not to tell. Let's fuck," she called me on my bullshit.

After that sales pitch, there was nothing to do but drop my pants and fuck Ninve. Evidently, she had more in common with Sandra than their Assyrian heritage. Both of them were screamers during the act, causing me to wonder if this would really stay our secret. Between the screaming and the tendency to gossip, word of this would reach my colleagues. I would be the guy who fucked Ninve in the dark.