Cindy Raphaels looked in the mirror and smiled. It was an image that she had never quite seen looking back at her. And she liked it. She liked it so much she lifted her tight black mini-skirt and rubbed the thick dildo over her freshly shaved pussy. There were no panties to move out of the way to do so.
This was a definite no-panty evening, her first.
This promised to be a night of a lot of firsts for normally shy Cindy. Her thick, thimble-like nipples on her small A-cup breasts distended through the material of her sleeveless blouse as she forced the toy deeper into her glistening quim. All in preparation for her plan.
Revenge fucking was the sweetest fucking of all, she mused, pinching her nipples with one hand while frigging her barely-used cunt under the skirt with the other.
Exhibiting the self-restraint that Cindy was admired for, yet had come to detest, she stopped her self-pleasure just on the verge of cumming. She wanted to be on edge to serve as motivation for the proper execution for her master plan.
She smoothed her skirt down over her long, athletic legs, noting that the pools of her desire were cascading down from her slit and onto the lacy tops of her ebony thigh highs. The smell of her arousal permeated the small, musky North Jersey hotel room across the street from the office party that was already taking place to celebrate her co-worker's promotion to the buying offices in New York City.
That rightfully should have been my job, Cindy said to herself, mussing her short blonde hair into a wild mane, like a white lioness. She slipped on the five-inch pair of satin stilettos, raising her height on her rail-thin frame to well over six-feet tall.
The exaggerated make-up, blood red lipstick and thick mascara she adorned this evening could have easily made her worthy of being in a Manhattan runway show, at least for tonight. She augmented her look with a pair of librarian-like horn-rimmed eyeglasses. After all, Cindy giggled inwardly, what man can resist shooting his load onto the lenses of a blonde's eyewear?
Inside the lively tavern across the parking lot, Ron Ward sat nursing his Cutty and water and watched Linda Jarvis hang onto her boyfriend's beefy biceps. Linda had fucked her way into the premature promotion, which was Ron's typical litmus test for holding the fate of ambitious young ladies' ascent from department managers in the suburban stores to ritzy assignments in the tony buying offices of Macestrom's department stores in the Big Apple.
More accurately, Linda had repeatedly fucked Ron to move ahead of the pack of more qualified and tenured candidates, including Cindy Raphaels. Ron was taking perverse glee tonight at the celebration for Linda's career gain, knowing that the dumb-ass boyfriend was blissfully unaware of Ron's clandestine affair his slutty girlfriend, half Ron's age.
Ron ran his fingers through his neatly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair and tried to suppress his giggle as he thought of the old joke, the one that went like this:
The executive couldn't decide between three equally capable candidates for a job. So, he called them all in and explained his conundrum to the women, and gave them a tie-breaking question to test their morals and ability to think on their feet under fire.
The question he posed to them was, "If you tried to withdraw one hundred dollars from an ATM after banking hours, and the machine instead spit out a thousand dollars, yet credited your account only for the original one hundred, what would you do?"
Candidate number one didn't hesitate. "I would go to the bank first thing in the morning to return the money."
Number two responded, having the benefit of one-upsmanship, "I wouldn't wait until morning in the event that the machine continued to make erroneous transactions all night. I would call the 800 number on the back of my ATM card and immediately report the error.
Number three replied, with an evil smile, "What's mine is mine. I've been screwed by banks many times before. This was their mistake, not mine. I'd keep it."
So, which one got the job?
Why, the one with the biggest tits, of course.
Ron always liked that joke, gazing at Linda's ample tits nudging into her boyfriend's arm. He liked it a lot. Which went a long way to explaining why Ron's division of Macestrom's always had the bustiest group of assistant buyers in the industry, including the newest addition to the team, Linda Jarvis and her 38D's.
Cindy Raphaels didn't know that particular joke, but she knew one thing. Tonight, the joke would be on Ron Ward and Linda Jarvis.
Heads, including Ron's and Linda's hunky boyfriend, turned on cue when Cindy entered the bar. The volume in the previously loud room softened noticeably, enough for the clack of Cindy's heels to echo from the hardwood floors to the low ceiling of the smoky tavern.
One lone wolf whistle escaped from the corner as Cindy swung her torso onto a barstool and crossed and uncrossed her legs enough to display smooth, bare white skin above the thigh high tips. Her nipples now literally ached with desire, and threatened to poke holes in the blouse. Headlights are most definitely on high, Cindy thought, knowing that if her plan went well, she would soon be the smallest breasted assistant buyer in Ron's division.
Thank God for long legs and big nipples, she thought, ordering a shot of tequila to calm her nerves. She slammed it down and felt the burn in her belly match the fire in her cunt. "Another," she demanded from the bartender, who eagerly complied.
"On the house, pretty lady," the barkeep announced. "Legs like that drink for free in my house." He said that while staring blatantly while her poured the Cuervo, only his eyes were emblazoned not on Cindy's legs but on her nipples.
The outlines of Cindy's disproportionately large and dark areolas were clearly visible. Though pale in complexion, Cindy had almost chocolate brown areolas. A freak of tit-genetics, Cindy reasoned, motioning with her smoky brown eyes for one more fresh shot.
