At Stella's arrival the infamous nervous twitch overtook her secretaries left eye. His peach eyelid snapped and contorted, making a mockery of his boyish face. His rapid typing ceased, and fumbling out of his chair, he picked up a pile of pink slips and feverishly began shuffling through them as he _ raced in front of Stella, his eye twitching and face blushing.
"Um...um" he stammered. "You have a call from Burk and he sounded...pissed"
Stella snatched the pink slip out of Mike's unsteady hands "Anymore calls while I was out?" She liked the way that sounded, very professional. She looked around the office, an office full of her minions working diligently. Frumpy women sitting at their desks yammering on the phone, young men in cheap suits absorbed in endless paperwork, the gossip group of cat-like women standing near the coffee pot positioning themselves in a manner that best displayed their assets. Marisole, the mentor of the group flashed a sly smile at Stella, which had a daunting effect causing her to grow cold. Stella wasn't used to having many friends and she wouldn't classify Marisole as a friend by any means, but she had been the only woman at the office who had welcomed Stella without malice. Staring at Marisole's figured tightly wrapped in a lightweight suit, Stella felt a prickle of uneasiness ripple up her spine. She was still dismayed by the fact that she had accepted Marisole's offer to get to know each other over a few drinks and even further dismayed that she had confided in a woman as sexually vulgar as a prostitute. Stella had acted on impulse. She considered acting on impulse to be a weakness, but there was a spark of excitement in the pit of her stomach she tried to deny. Pushing back the nightmarish flashbacks of drunken gossip that had taken place between her and Marisole in a dimly lit piano bar frequented by cheesy businessmen in their expensive business suits trying to appear more gentlemen-like to the elite population of desperate women in their 40's who had been driven to panic by the sound of their biological clock ticking away.
Fixing her gaze back on Mike she caught his eyes statically glued to her chest. "Mike," she soothed as he snapped his head back up eyes blinking. He started rambling on about some AD campaign advisor leaving a message along with her mother. She wasn't listening, she was musing the sexual effect she had on the young secretary with a twig frame, gangly limbs, fire colored hair and blotchy skin. She liked to toy with pathetic men such as Mike. He was so easily distracted by her sexuality, which she had noted the second he came staggering in for an interview. His resume had been impeccable, with admirable references, reliable work history and the ability to use a coffee pot. The clincher was that she was younger then Mike, and that had sealed the deal. She hired Mike on the spot. At the age of 24, Stella had more drive, passion and control than most of the imbeciles she worked with, including her nervous secretary who at the age of 25 still gawked at her tits and ass as if they were in high school. She smiled to herself and swung her ass right into her office. Looking back over her shoulder, blue eyes gleaming, she thanked Mike and shut the door. Once inside she surrendered to the cold of her leather chair.
----
Marisole slid off the bed and rubbed her wrists. "So I have a new prospect for you." I kept my eye on her red ass hailing the ceiling as she gracefully bent over to collect her clothes that were strewn about the floor "She's the new vice president, only a year out of a college; she's a bitch, not to mention a fucking uptight cock-tease. One of those goddamn control freaks, you should see her struts into work with her perfectly pressed conservative suit, her brief case, and sophisticated ponytail. She's completely uptight. The type with a noticeable stick wedged up her ass."
"I'm not positive I follow the parallel you have drawn between a sophisticated pony tail equating to an uptight cock-tease." Silence. "Correction, uptight cock-tease with a stick wedged up her ass"
"Anyways... It's obvious she's a bore in the bedroom."
"Perhaps a sophisticated ponytail equates her to being physically tight. Now if that is the case it would be safe to say I enjoy a sophisticated ponytail," I said, looking at Marisole's wild, teased, curled mane of black hair while flashing her a wicked smile.
"Clever, but not cute"
"Don't judge a book by its cover, you of all people should know that best."
She rolled her large brown eyes at me "Point is no one can stand the bitch. She's the type of girl you just want to bend over and rape with a dildo to teach her a lesson about being high and mighty. She would learn quickly with an ass trouncing that she isn't as in control as she believes. "
"Knock her off her pedestal," I mused.
"Exactly."
I admired how quickly Marisole could switch from submissive to dominant. How quickly her meek "Yes sirs" dissipated back into her daily explicit and lewd vocabulary. She was now moving swiftly wiggling up her lace panties over her silky legs to her curvatious hips, and then over her round abused ass. Her tits bouncing as she sauntered over to her purse and dug around until she pulled out and lit her cigarette.
"So being a bit curious about this little twat, I invited her for drinks after work. Of course she obliged my friendly offer because who could refuse me?" A click of her lighter sounded. "She accompanied me to a night of drinking and gossip. I got her to loosen up after a few drinks. Next thing you know she's shit-faced and confiding in me how she worked her ass off in college, has no social life, no friends, and hasn't been fucked since her sophomore year in college."
"It amazes me the information you can get out of an uptight bitch by getting her to suck down a few drinks. Too bad she wasn't here to suck my cock last night; it was most definitely a lonely night here."
Marisole made a disapproving sound followed by a drag from her pungent cigarette. "Well, naturally, I pushed her a bit further after she willingly mentioned her sex life. Get this she only fucked 2 guys in college. For Christ's sake, I fucked more than 2 guys my first week in college which brought us to a discussion about my sexual endeavors, which she found intriguing." Smoke was now billowing up and swirling around her blackened hair.
"Intoxicated girls are easily intrigued." Truth was Marisole's sexual endeavors would most likely intrigue anyone, so I could hardly fathom the impact they would have on some uptight bitch that hadn't been laid for years. The thought of a young attractive girl perched at her desk surrounded by four suffocating dorm walls drifted into my thoughts. This girl probably came from money and a pristine taste in clothes. She was daddy's little girl, driven by fear of failure rather than by a passion to succeed. Sitting in her dorm studying night after night while the rest of the young drunks partied and fucked like rabbits. My guess was that nothing had changed from her college years except those four suffocating dorm walls were now replaced by four office walls plastered with degrees and pictures that falsely pointed to happiness.
"So I told her about you and the services you provide for women."
"Services?" Of course she was accurate with the term services; indeed I provided women with specialized services. Stripping them of control. As a young child I was taught to respect women, but through the years I had learned it was rare that a women returned that respect or even truly appreciated the respect men handed out pathetically. My first love had crushed my heart into oblivion. Of course I should have seen it coming; I had warranted the breakup with my detested romanticized ideals of women. It had been the summer of my Junior year, when I sat in my room pining over Claire Demson, the fucking bitch who used me up and spit me out, that I had discovered the truth about women.
I had been flipping through a Playboy, looking at trashy women sprawling out their pussies for every man to see and fantasize over when it occurred to me that with the blessing of female anatomy also came control. Women were relishing in control simply because they had a fuck hole and tits. I flipped the page in a sting of anger. There on page 32, a blonde with huge fake breasts and a creamy center oozing nothing but sex was staring up at me from the glossy page. The bitch was trying to control my thoughts even from a goddamn magazine. The center of every man's fantasy was the center of every woman's being: her pussy. However, that left me with the question of what was the center of every man's being? Women could use their pussies to easily hook men but how often could a man hook a woman simply with his cock? But how often could a man hook a woman with his masculinity, aggressiveness and power? Power that was not derived from his cock, but power that was derived from the beginning of time, a power that was imbedded within a man's every vessel, a power that went beyond his sex. It all went back to caveman basics. Women didn't want a gentleman. They wanted a man with demeaning aggression and raw power, the center of every man's being. The trick was learning to tap into that power and to metaphorically shut a woman's legs and diminish her control. She was nothing with her legs closed, her power depleted. The problem was that men used their cocks to think and by doing so they willingly surrendered into woman's wide-open legs.
That had been the defining day of manhood. I took on a new perspective of women. No longer did I wallow in self-pity about the complicated aspects of pleasing a women mentally and physically, instead I looked at every women as nothing more than a fuck toy waiting to cum in the presence of my power. Waiting to give into their deepest secrets and hand over every ounce of their control to revel and bask in the glory of their fantasy, my power. No longer was I in awe of women, but I was amused by their antics. Amused by the way they strutted around knowing every man was fantasizing about getting a piece of their hot tail and how they would use those sexual fantasies against every man as a lethal weapon to get their way. So I sat back, observed women from afar and began to cultivate ideas and theories that in my college years I would put to the test.
College had been a blur of drinking, fucking, manipulating and photography. I had been an art major; the love of photography had captured my interest at a young age. I played the expected role of an Art major: sweet, sensitive, caring and the women loved it. Of course, playing a typical sensitive pansyass did not work in my favor on a sexual level but it allowed me inside access to the mind of women. I could clearly pinpoint their weaknesses, and knowing their weakness was a vital part in manipulating the little bitches to play right into my hand.
Lisa Carter had been my first prey. She had been in a majority of my art history classes and her prize-winning smile and big tits gave her the title of "hottie" among the male population on campus. She showed off long shapely legs daily with short skirts. Tits she showed off by neglecting to wear a bra. Slender waist she showed off by wearing shirts that displayed her tanned midriff. With my innocent charm I had managed to befriend her. I gained her trust through the simplicities of friendship. I didn't pamper her or dote on her; I treated her like a platonic friend. Of course I wanted to fuck her, but even more than that, I wanted to strip her of her pathetic control. I was sickened by every male who allowed himself to be swallowed whole by deluded fantasies of her spread legs and willing hole that was ready to take hard cock. It was their fatal mistake; they were feeding women control and vanquishing every ounce of power they encompassed as men.
