"They called in sick. Every one of them." Mr Williams had his elbows on his desk with his hands clasped beneath his chin, and was staring at me intently. He was an older man, grey hair and moustache, a hard look on his face. "This doesn't look good for our firm. Rothman is a multi-million dollar client."
I shook my head. "It's that flu going around. It always hits us the hardest."
"Regardless, Mr Rothman decided to visit first thing in the morning, so he's on his way here. We haven't had time to recruit any more cumdumpsters for the office. You know what that means, Susan." He motioned at me. "Take off your clothes."
I obediently pulled my short mini-skirt down and revealed my dripping pussy, then took the short sweater that I wore to work (because of the winter chill) and showed off my small B-cup breasts.
"So I'll be servicing Mr Rothman?" I asked. It seemed fair enough to me; obviously, the more women he could choose to fuck the better for our firm, but I knew I was capable of getting the job done.
"And anybody he brings with him," Mr Williams said, reaching over and tweaking my nipple. "We need desperately for him to sign with us. If he takes his business over to Hall and Rodgers then we might just be sunk. Today's the day everything needs to go right. And it's all going wrong."
I frowned for a moment, but then I found my resolve. Williams and Peters had been good to me; the firm had kept me employed for three years, and they were never too rough when it came to my daily (or sometimes hourly) fucking. "I'll get it done."
"I hope you can. Put in your best effort to satisfy him. It might all ride on you."
I walked out of Mr Williams' office, red high-heeled stilettos my only item of clothing. I was thin, a little wispy to be honest, usually not the first choice of holes a man had when he needed to fuck something. Over the years, though, I'd compensated for that, learning how to put my all into a good anal fuck or blowjob.
I sat down at my station, a desk facing the entrance to the floor. As secretary I made all appointments, dealt with potential clients, and took phone calls; today, however, my chief aim was to please the next man to walk through that door.
It was only a short—if gut-wrenching—wait before Rothman walked strolled into our offices. Three suit-wearing bodyguards flanked him, and all in all he was entirely different to what I had expected. Where I had thought I would be fucking a middle-aged, maybe pot-bellied man, instead he was young and muscular, immaculately dressed in a ten thousand dollar suit. The only thing I got right about my assumption was the air of boredom and arrogance he displayed; that I had expected right from the very start.
"So this is Williams and Peters," the man drawled as he stopped in front of my desk. The floor was filled with men in separate offices, walking around doing printing, standing by the watercoolers; but all in all there wasn't many women. Well, there was one woman. Me. Usually any company hired a number of women even if it was just for fucking purposes but our standing staff of ten were all out sick, so I was the only one left.
"Where are all the women?" Rothman asked, running a hand through his hair.
"I... I'm afraid..." I said in a squeak. I cleared my throat. I wasn't going to be intimidated by this man! "I'm the only one here today. I'll be servicing you."
