Tracy Olie walked into her husband's home office, a pencil behind her ear, a cup of coffee in her hand. Light-haired and hazel-eyed, she was half-Irish and half-Polish, 4' 9', reed thin - some, and one in particular, would say too thin -- and whip smart if not at all beautiful. She sat down at the desk, ready to do some work at the computer, when she noticed that he had one unread message in his home email account. Sender: Danielle M. Parnell.
Tracy set her coffee cup on the desk and stared at the computer screen. She wasn't a sneak or a spy, but how could she pretend not to see this when it was staring her in the face? The problem was she knew this woman.
Tracy and her husband, Joe Cardozi, were both lawyers in Washington, D.C., and, thanks to their excellent credentials and the lack of an anti-nepotism policy, both had just joined the Washington office of the prestigious law firm of SmythKnight. Although they had only been there a short time, a few things had already become very clear.
First, despite her towering intellect and being a partner in her new firm, Tracy almost didn't exist in the eyes of the firm's Managing Partner who was the self-same woman whose e-mail, yet unopened, sat in the
Inbox
of Joe's home account. To the extent that Mrs. Parnell gave the frail Ms. Olie any notice at all it was to practically sneer at her either in SmythKnight's marble halls, conference rooms or - more disconcertingly - the Equinox fitness club adjacent to the firm's offices where many of its lawyers worked out.
Second, although Danielle paid no heed to Tracy, she seemed to eye Joe like a delicious meal to be consumed at her pleasure. In stark contrast to his meek, mousy and by no means ugly genius of a wife, Joe Cardozi - though only an associate due to taking time between college and law school to pursue other interests - was both model good-looking and incredibly fit. Those facts however didn't interfere with his being one of the nicest, most caring men at the office and loving his wife unconditionally.
Those same characteristics (nice and caring that is) were not shared by Danielle Marie Parnell. The 46 year-old mother of three was every bit the alpha female. As brilliant as she was beautiful, the gorgeous brunette had a better body than most women half her age. Her toned legs led up to a spectacular pear shaped ass and her firm midsection gave rise to a pair of pert, baseball sized tits. Her face, a cross between Miranda Kerr and Keri Russel with its emerald green eyes and perfect smile, was flawless. There wasn't a man at SmythKnight or elsewhere whose head wouldn't turn in her presence particularly because she wore only the highest heels and most fashionable clothing that, although in good taste, showed her body to its best effect.
Unlike the affable Joe Cardozi who in his wife Tracy saw love despite her lack of purely physical beauty, the only love that Danielle Parnell had was for herself. What's more, her special thrill -- as she liked to think of it -- came from flaunting her ruthlessly exercised body, clad in her highest heels and power suits, in front of the pathetic men and boys who so desperately longed for her - the losers. The only higher high for Danielle came from knowing that the power she had over men manifested itself most satisfyingly in how weak and insignificant their lust for
her
made their actual wives, girlfriends and daughters feel. Perhaps they should take better care of themselves the cows.
Despite her principal role as the top lawyer at SmythKnight, Danielle had the body of fitness model and spent at least two hours a day at the gym, perfecting what was already the most perfect body Tracy had ever seen. Although only 5' 3" tall she towered over the smaller Ms. Olie even while working out which is the only time Danielle was in anything less than a 4" heel. Mrs. Parnell also seemed perpetually tanned and Tracy had been unable to take her eyes off the woman when she first saw her showering in the locker room. If anything she was too perfect, her diamond belly button ring glittering in the center of her six-pack abs, the carved contours of her calves and thighs rising into a powerful, round ass neatly bisected by the pristine white crescent of her tan line.
One day in the locker room Tracy had realized with sudden embarrassment that Danielle knew she was being watched. She smirked at Tracy, her hands on her hips, the shampoo suds running down the steep cleavage between her heavy tan tits. Tracy wondered if they were fake-- she'd never seen real breasts that were that large and that pert, and the skin seemed stretched preternaturally tight.
Watching as Danielle Parnell curled her lips disdainfully at her, Tracy felt that old high school dread of being snubbed by the richer, more popular girls. The true injustice was that this woman didn't just have an insane body-- her face was perfect too, her eyes a brilliant, emerald green, her nose small and straight, her lips full and cruel. Her thick hair was brown but streaked almost perfectly with sunlit blonde highlights; in the gym she usually wore it pulled back in a tight ponytail.
So when Tracy saw the email, she felt a great sinking feeling. She clicked on it to open it.
"Dear Joe:
I genuinely admire how much you seem to adore that little wife of yours, but wasting all of your obvious gifts on her is really such a poor use of a beautiful man. In case you ever get bored of the weak little midget, let me know. It would most certainly enhance your career prospects (and protect hers). We could get a room at the Mandarin Oriental where I could show you a few things. After a few hours with me you'll forget all about wifey.
XXX
The Boss"
Below the message was a large, high-resolution photograph of Danielle, dressed incredibly provocatively in one of her most form-fitting skirts, a sleeveless blouse and a sky-high pair of leopard print heels. The sexy solicitor was bending forward over the white leather sofa in her opulent SmythKnight office. She was looking over her shoulder, giving the viewer a sultry look. It was a photograph that would make any straight man question his vows, even one as loyal as Joe.
Tracy stared at the Danielle's arrogant, perfect features. She stared at the woman's long, well-muscled arms. She stared at the perfect smile that seemed to be smirking at her.
At 4'9", Tracy wasn't a midget, but she sometimes felt like one in Danielle's presence. In addition to her incredibly fashionable office wear, the fantastically fit Mrs. Parnell wore infuriatingly sexy outfits to the gym: skintight black spandex bodysuits; short shorts that seemed to stop midway down her ass; sleeveless tops to better show off her developed biceps and triceps. Whatever she wore, her nipples always seemed ready to burst out of her clothing, as if she were walking around in a perpetual state of arousal. Which, in fact, all the men in the gym probably were as they stared at her fantastic body. Danielle knew her power over men and flaunted it constantly, flirting with everyone, bending over to give all the husbands and boyfriends a good view of her butt, brushing her tits against them even as she gave them withering and disdainful looks.
Tracy wasn't alone in noticing the domineering diva's behavior. Some of her new partners like Lauren Butcher and Karen Manley were equally intimidated by their boss' preening behavior at the gym but none wanted to risk her job over challenging it and, unlike Tracy, neither woman had her husband in Danielle's sites. Linda Bertrand, Mrs. Parnell's executive assistant, had warned Tracy that Danielle's
interest
in her husband Joe was matched only by the comely counselor's similar view of Adam Hess, a bailiff at the Davidson Municipal Court where Danielle served as a pro bono judge.
