The Chosen One 7

Yolanda McCarter followed her colleague, Lauren Matthews, to the registration booth to get their credentials and packet. You know, the standard packet distributed at every convention that lists the agenda and itinerary of the events and meetings for the next few days. At each convention, there are more needless breaks scheduled than during the Super Bowl, strategically designed to draw out the convention itself.

Truth be told, the agenda was such that it could have easily been completed in one day, but this was just a reason for the conventioneers to spend another night on the road, to have "cocktail receptions" and "annual award dinners', and any other miscellaneous excuse for the participants to be away from the families for a night or two of drinking and a hotel stay, with whatever other shenanigans ensued. All in the name of company bonding and networking, of course.

What happens at convention, stays at convention, Yolanda's friend and mentor Lauren had informed her on their flight in from Philadelphia to the home office in Charlotte. Nonetheless, Yolanda was excited to be at the first convention of her new company, one of the largest shopping center developers in the country.

Yolanda flipped through the contents of the welcome folder waiting for Lauren to finish the check-in process. The two made a striking pair, and had already attracted the attention of a fair amount of the male convention goers, scattered around the lobby like upperclassmen on move-in day at a college dorm, ogling the newbies.

Lauren was a bit of a veteran to this experience by now, this being her sixth year with the company. She had recently been promoted to Regional Marketing Director and had hired Yolanda a few months ago to fill the vacancy that Lauren's promotion created. As such, Lauren was not only Yolanda's boss but also her self-appointed mentor. Yolanda was the new Marketing Manager of Liberty Run Mall, a large enclosed mall in the western suburbs of the City of Brotherly Love.

Lauren had just turned thirty a few months ago, coinciding almost to the day with both her promotion and the her fourth wedding anniversary. She maintained the figure and youthful All-American looks of a cheerleader, which she had been at the University of Iowa.

Her golden blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and despite being dressed conservatively today in a light peach sweater and black linen slacks to try to dissuade any advances, her 36D breasts were always the focus of most men. Lauren was just over five feet tall in heels, so she did her best not to wear anything that would give taller men the ability to have instant cleavage shots just by standing next to her.

As Lauren affixed the name badge to her sweater, she joked to her new hire that men rarely forgot her name when she put her name badge on because they never lifted their eyes from her chest, and couldn't help but to have the "Hello, my name is Lauren" image emblazoned in their minds.

For her part, Yolanda was envious of her boss' impressive endowment, but she had no reason to be. None at all. Yolanda stood about eight inches taller than Lauren, and had the long, lean torso of a former track and field star, which she was at the University of Pennsylvania a few years ago.

Yolanda's own breasts, which stood proudly and perkily beneath her silk blouse, were accurately described as "perfect" by one of the two older men standing in the corner, admiring the new addition to the company.

"Damn, who the hell is she?" asked the tall, silver-haired man to his companion, popping a breath mint into his mouth.

"The tall black chick?" asked the stockier man. "Or, I should say, the brown chick?" he added, referring to Yolanda's light almond-colored skin. "Lauren hired her to fill her position at Liberty Run. I saw her photo in the company news letter. You really should read those once in a while, you know. I think her name is Yvonne, something.....no, no, Yolanda, that's it. Waddya think, 34C's?"

The silver fox, in his late forties, nodded slowly, his eyes running up and down Yolanda's frame. "I haven't gotten up that far to do a proper calculation yet. I can't get my eyes off of that ass. Christ, now THAT is perfect."

"Well, John," Mr. Stocky said, patting the Chief Operating officer on the shoulder. "Looks like we have an early contender for your initiation party this year. Have fun," he said, chuckling as he moved on to greet one of his incoming vice presidents, arriving into the lobby. "Tell me the good stuff, as always. And be careful out there."

John Devlin winked as the Chief Financial Officer, Ross Turner, grinned lecherously as he walked away. Ross was well aware of his long-time buddy and fellow board member's well-deserved reputation with the ladies, especially the young ones, earning him the nicknames of Johnny Devil and Johnny the Javelin, the latter referring to both the alleged length of Devlin's legendary endowment and his propensity to throw it around with precision.

In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that Devlin had started banging the former VP of Human Resources after the most recent sexual harassment claim against him, he probably would have been given his walking papers. As it was, instead the HR woman soon after "resigned to pursue other interests and spend more time with her family" and the harassment claim was quickly and quietly settled for a small six-figure sum. Peanuts, really, pocket change.

You see, John Devlin, through a variety of shrewd leasing negotiations with various national retailers was worth millions of dollars each year to the Chairman, Greg Herbert, who was well aware of his COO's dalliances, but protected him with a paternal ferocity. There was a running joke within the higher-ups that even if Devlin were caught fucking a cow on the company's main conference table, Herbert would rationalize it by saying, "Well, see now, John sure knows his beef."

Devlin munched on his breath mint and made a short detour to the event director for tonight's award dinner before approaching Lauren and Yolanda. Yolanda wore a tasteful charcoal-grey business skirt that was cut stylishly short enough to more than adequately display her long legs. She shifted on her heels as she watched the handsome man approach, the sinewy muscles in her calves flexing as she moved slightly. The action did not go unnoticed by Devlin. Nothing ever did. He was an "attention to detail" fanatic.

Devlin went right up to Lauren, extending his hand. If he had learned nothing else from the numerous sexual harassment training classes he had been required to take, it was not to hug or peck on the cheek in public. Touching was prohibited. He smiled inwardly at the sweet irony.

"Lauren, how good to see you again. Congratulations on your promotion. I've been meaning to e-mail you. Shame on me. How was your flight in?"

Yolanda noticed the tight smile on her boss' normally very friendly face. "Hello, John," Lauren said, quickly shaking his hand and then withdrawing it. "Thank you. And our flight was fine. The notorious Philly airport was right on time, for once."

Lauren almost grimaced inwardly as she motioned to her replacement and made the introductions between Yolanda and the COO. Perhaps she should have forewarned Yolanda, but Devlin moved in even more quickly than usual. Besides, Lauren thought to herself, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be interested in Yolanda. Maybe a pretty African-American woman wasn't Devlin's cup of tea.

In reality, Devlin was a believer in equal opportunity for all. "No discrimination here," he thought to himself as he took Yolanda's hand warmly. "I'd love to bang this hot mocha piece of ass. I haven't had some light chocolate in forever."

They made small talk for a bit, Devlin peppering the young beauty with questions. Yolanda was taken by the charm of this handsome and obviously important man in the company. And besides, what young woman doesn't like talking about herself, especially when it was an older and successful man doing the inquisition.

"I don't know if Lauren told you about the tradition we have for incoming Marketing Directors at Liberty Run," Devlin said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Uh, no sir, no she didn't," Yolanda said, intrigued. "What tradition would that be?" She turned to her boss, who resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Devlin saw the distaste on Lauren's face and worked quickly to get Yolanda's attention back squarely on him. "Well, Miss McCarter....it IS Miss, isn't it?" he smiled coyly at Yolanda, who felt her stomach flutter with butterflies as she nodded. "It's a tradition that started with Lauren herself, actually, when she began here, what was it, Lauren, three years ago? Four?"

"Six, actually, John. I've been married for four years now, so I remember exactly." Lauren's lips tightened as she clipped her words.

"Ah, yes, six. Time flies, doesn't it? I'd forgotten how long you've been married now." Devlin gave her his best charmingly condescending grin, turning his charm back to the sexy young Yolanda.

"Anyway, MISS McCarter, the marketing director at Liberty Run is cordially invited to sit at my table for tonight's award dinner. Consider it an appropriate welcome to the organization, and you can tell me all about your plans for our gorgeous mall in Philly. In fact, I'm long overdue for a visit there. I'll make a note to arrange that very soon."

Lauren knew what was transpiring. She had lived through it first-hand. She was a bit surprised, but perhaps she shouldn't have been, Lauren thought to herself. She hastily interjected, "John, would you please excuse Yolanda and myself. I want to introduce her around and we also have to check in to our rooms."

Devlin gave that smile to the ladies that Lauren recognized as insincere, but Yolanda, still blissfully unaware of his intentions and background, found engaging. Yolanda was more than used to being charmed by men, but the charismatic banter of the dashing COO had made its impression. Devlin excused himself, looking Yolanda deeply in her fetching light green-brown eyes. "I look forward to learning more about you, Yolanda. Until tonight."

"Wow," Yolanda said to her mentor, watching Devlin greet another group of employees. "He's so nice. And gorgeous, too. Ya know, for an old guy." Yolanda giggled and turned to Lauren, expecting her reinforcement.

Instead, Lauren shook her head at Yolanda. "Oh, my God, I should have known. I should have known, God, he never changes. Just another year, another new toy. You're this year's mark. You're 'The Chosen One', Yolanda. I should have prepped you for this."

Yolanda's pretty face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean, the chosen one?"

Just then a group of women approached Lauren, squealing, and Lauren disappeared into a big group hug with her counterparts from other parts of the country. "I'll tell you later," Lauren said, squeezed by her co-workers and friends. "You need to know."

As things turned out, Yolanda and Lauren got separated and Yolanda had to check-in to her room on her own. That was fine with Yolanda, she wanted some time to relax and prep herself before her first company function tonight.

Meanwhile, Ross Turner sidled up to his friend before Devlin returned to his own room to shower and change into his suit for tonight's dinner and awards ceremony, which he was essentially hosting as the primary figurehead for the company.

"You hit the jackpot again, you bastard," Turner told the COO in the elevator lobby. "She likes white guys. And, apparently, older white guys, too."

Devlin gazed at his co-conspirator. Turner himself did not chase the pussy, but he sure enjoyed living vicariously through his long-time friend's many conquests. And Turner did his best to encourage the activities, it seemed.

"Just how the fuck do you know that, Ross? Clairvoyant? Or wishful thinking?" Devlin asked his CFO, who could always be counted on for digging up the dirt on anyone. Not that this information ultimately mattered to Devlin. Once he set his sights on a target, as he had with Yolanda, it didn't matter to Devlin if the woman preferred one-armed Filipino midgets. He was going to bed them regardless. Yet, Turner's revelation had peaked his curiosity.

Turner seemed to take pride in his ability to get data that no one else could discover. It was partially why he achieved his lofty position in the company to begin with. He wasn't particularly talented for a senior executive, so being a snake and a snitch was a valuable survival tool.

"I called up Brian Mahoney, the regional security manager. He knows everything about everybody, the prick. He's also a little pervert. Anyway, Mahoney told me that Yolanda dates some rich lawyer from Philly who's about ten years older than her. But before that, she dated one of her professors at Penn. Some guy who was even older than that, maybe fifteen years more than her."

Turner chewed on a gnarled fingernail. "Mahoney's info is usually very reliable, that sneaky little shit. Plus, it gets better. It seems that our new little brown beauty is a big fan of reading erotica. He hacked into her laptop and accessed her history, and the stories she likes best are black women getting fucked by white guys."

Devlin shook his head, smiling incredulously. If Turner had any ambition at all, he'd be head of the National Security Agency. "Hmmm, Mahoney's probably due for a performance bonus, isn't he, Ross? Make sure he gets taken care of, OK?"

I hope Mahoney never hacks my laptop, Devlin thought, popping a breath mint.

*******************

Yolanda stood in front of the mirror after emerging from her pre-dinner shower, admiring her own body. She caressed her firm, upturned chocolate breasts, the approximate shape and size of small coconuts, with a slightly darker hue, yet oh, so much softer. Her darker nipples and oversized areolas were in marked contrast to her lighter skin, the nipples protruding like Hershey kisses candies on two bowls of coffee ice cream.

She ran the tip of her thumb and index finger over each nipple, pulling, pinching lightly, causing the nubs to tighten and protrude. With her other hand, she slid her palm down her flat stomach, and twirled the middle finger of her other hand into the tightly trimmed tangle of pubic hair just above her fleshy mound. She turned sideways to view her profile, and looked at the tight, somewhat tiny buttocks that stuck out from below the cleft in the small of her back. Her cheeks rose back upward in that direction, essentially defying gravity.

She thanked her maternal grandmother, a striking brunette, a white woman who married a black man, which was scandalous back in the day, for the DNA that provided this genetic aberration. Her ass was what not at all what one would call the prototypical black woman's bubble butt, which was a stereotype built not so much on racial shallowness but mainly on visual evidence.

No, Yolanda's sublime derriere was like the rest of her body. Sleek, shapely, and tight. She considered it her best feature, and secretly loved for her buttocks to be appreciated by a man's knowing fingers, tongue, and, well, other appendage, if the right situation presented itself.

Her current lover shied away from such anal play, so Yolanda did not encourage it. They had indulged in attempts once or twice, but Brad clearly wasn't comfortable or experienced enough to be anything but clumsy. Funny, Brad was a seasoned and extremely successful trial lawyer in the courtroom, but his confidence shriveled like a grape when faced with the specter of penetrating Yolanda's puckered star.

Pity, Yolanda mused. What a waste. If only people knew the secret desires of this classy, dignified, beautiful young African-American beauty. She could be such a slut for the right man.

Only one man, her former professor and older lover, had unlocked the mysterious vault that contained Yolanda's rampant libido. It was such a shame when his wife discovered their three-year affair, which ended things when the wife threatened her husband with financial ruin and family humiliation, if not public castration.

Oh, well, Yolanda sighed, c'est la vie. Brad would do for the time being. He would be partner within a year, and well, Yolanda had pretty much repressed most of her sexual wants and needs in lieu of comfort and stability while she focused on her own promising career.

Most of them.

Yolanda's taste in lingerie was exquisite. She wore only the finest and most elegant intimate apparel, even on the most ordinary of days. It wasn't difficult for her to decide on this evening's choice, a lavender bra and garter belt, complete with sheer silk stockings and the tiniest of G-strings that was so snug it literally disappeared into the folds of her generous labia.

She slipped on a deep purple cocktail dress that was tasteful, but hugged her curves like a second skin. The wardrobe was accentuated by three-inch periwinkle pumps.

A blossoming purple orchid, she thought, looking at herself one last time in the mirror before she closed the door and headed for the cocktail hour.

Purple rain, John Devlin thought when he saw her. Yum. Hot damn, what a fucking luscious body. All through cocktail hour, he stole glances at her, not wanting to be overtly obvious. After all, it was obvious enough to everyone but Yolanda as to his intentions when she found her seating assignment to be just to John's right.

It was all he could do at the dinner table to maintain his decorum and not fondle her right then and there, but he did so, helped exponentially by his frequent visits to the podium to present awards and make the rah-rah motivation speeches, including detailing the company's strategic plans for the upcoming fiscal year.

In between, John surreptitiously made sure that Yolanda's wine goblet was always filled. At the very end of the dinner, just before the event adjourned, Yolanda was surprised to find a hotel key card being slipped into her hand by the COO. She looked down to make sure it was what she thought it was.

John glanced at her sideways, not wanting to attract attention. "Please join me in my suite in a half-hour, Miss McCarter," he said softly. "Room 1412. I have a wonderful cabernet on ice and we can spend some private time to get to learn more about each other."

He rose, letting his finger slide up her thigh to where the stocking ended and her skin began, feeling the strap of the hook held the stockings in place. He smiled. Just as he thought. Garters. His favorite.

Slightly drunk, and more than a little panicked, Yolanda looked around frantically to find Lauren. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Lauren since her mysterious comment earlier.

Yolanda found her friend by the bar in the huge ballroom. The bartenders were taking last call before most of the crowd would end up in the hotel bar on the floor below. Lauren was waiting to order when Yolanda literally pulled her aside from the thirsty and mostly intoxicated fellow employees in line to cop one last free drink.

"Lauren, look. Look!" Yolanda glanced around nervously and opened her palm to show Lauren the key card. "John Devlin gave me this. He wants me to come to his suite in a half-hour. What should I do?"

Lauren brought the straw from her gin and tonic to her lips, which curled into a knowing grin. "Ah, yes. The Chosen One. You're this year's Chosen One, Yolanda. Why are you surprised? Did you think just anyone gets to sit with him? Do you think he picked you at random?"

"Chosen One?" Yolanda's face contorted. "What does that mean, Chosen One? I asked you before. Just what the hell does that mean, Lauren?"

Lauren steered her younger friend further away from the masses. They found a reasonably secluded section of the now rapidly emptying ballroom.

"Every year, almost like a tradition now, at least in Devlin's mind, he picks a new female employee who he finds attractive to, well, uh, give a private welcome to the company. Apparently, it's been going on for at least six years now, that I know of."