I hope to have this series out and continued in a more timely manner.
xxx... Victoria
*****
Clickity-click, click, click, clickety-click, click, click... zzzzzzip! I just entered my private office, sitting down at my desk, and crossed my stocking-clad legs. A quick check of my hair and face in the mirror located in my top desk drawer... mmm, perfect!... and it's ready to do a little work.
Just then, Marjorie peeks her head into my office and says, "Good Morning Victoria! There's a call for you on line 102, a Philip Milner."
I motion for her to enter and say, "Well, and a Good Morning to you as well. Could you bring me in the Finger-Martin file while I take this call?"
Forgive me. Let me interject here. I know it's been many a year since I've submitted a story to this site, so let me fill you in a little about myself, or if you've read my stories, a little update. My name is Victoria Petersen, part-time corporate insurance saleswoman, full-time black cock whore. Yes, those two days, seventeen years ago changed my life forever. For whatever reason, the black-white contrast took me away... for good.
I just recently turned fifty-one, and am getting more big black shafts than ever before. I don't really have to work, I'm filthy rich. Just say I'm a relative of the owner of a large retail chain. But I don't get involved whatsoever with the company, just take in the almost unlimited royalties it provides. I don't flaunt my wealth, except for maybe my love of impeccable clothing, shoes and hosiery.
I donate to a couple of charities, and I always take good care of my lovers as well. I own a modest, 4-bedroom home on 3+ acres in an affluent suburb. Besides, working gives me the satisfaction that I've accomplished at least something worthwhile. It also gets me out regularly to meet new people, especially new black studs.
I'm rather good at my occupation, the part-time one also! I tend to bring in some high-level accounts on occasion and I can see why. Except for my rather small breasts, I'm downright gorgeous. I'm sure flaunting myself in sexy business attire has a lot to do with it.
Let's start at the top of my 5'5", 32-20-38 figure, shall we? A full head of thick, extra-wavy, mid-back in length, platinum-white hair. At least twice a week, sometimes more, I go to my hairdresser to keep it at the utmost perfection. Sometimes I wear it in a style atop my head, sometimes down, free and flowing.
Sultry brown eyes with dark brown eyebrows; a normal, yet slightly longer nose than I would have wanted, and a wide mouth sporting a pair of full lips. Put that all together with just the right make-up and you have a pretty slut face that says, "Wouldn't you like to fuck me?"
We'll skip my tiny titties, only to say that I fit into an a-cup with ease. A tiny, twenty inch waist mounted on a huge, bubble-butt ass, and what I consider my best feature, my long, perfectly-shaped legs. Legs that I just have to show off every waking hour. Not thick, not thin, but with a little fullness, and nearly always encased in vintage, non-stretch, tight-fitting, rh&t stockings. I can't go a day without them. They just make my legs feel out of this world, and they look that way also. And always extremely, high-heeled pumps, 5" minimum heel height.
Most people take advantage of dress down Friday's. I wouldn't think of it. Therefore, it's still business suit attire, although maybe a little more on the risque side.
Today I have on a shimmery, long-sleeved satin gold blouse with ruffled collars; a royal-blue (black pin-striped), just-above-the-knee pencil skirt with matching blazer; a pair of beige vintage Albert's rh&t stockings connected to a white, custom-made, smooth satin-paneled 16-strap garter belt; and 6" high black-patent stiletto pumps.
My shiny white hair is atop my head in a tightly pulled double bun, one swirl bun on top, the other in the rear. Enough, let's continue, shall we?
As soon as Marjorie exits my office I pick up the line, "Good Morning Darling, is everything alright?"
