The plaque on her desk read Marie Rossi.
The last name was fitting -- it was an Italian word meaning red, and Marie had on her favorite red lipstick at the moment.
Right at that moment, Marie also had on her favorite leopard print silk blouse, black leather skirt and patent-leather open toed stilettos.
Marie herself was definitely Italian, possessed of olive skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and now, a beautiful rack.
Marie also had a bit of a problem on her hands. She desperately needed a raise, because her landlord recently sent a letter to everyone in the building he was raising the rent. Not by very much, to be sure, but by just enough that she would almost have to move.
Marie hated moving.
The other problem part came in the sense that she had a female boss -- a beautiful, blonde, British boss with ice blue eyes who hardly ever laughed, at least while she was in the office.
Marie had recently had her boobs done. If she'd had a male boss, the raise would have already been hers. Certainly her boyfriend couldn't keep his hands off her.
But no, she had a female boss. And so, the problem.
Sitting at her desk, pondering her problem, she had no idea that a solution was about to present itself -- just maybe not in the way she imagined.
* * *
Stasia Taylor sat at her desk in her private office, staring at her secretary Marie through the glass door to her office, thinking all sorts of unprofessional, inappropriate thoughts.
Stasia's full name was Anastasia, having been born in Russia but then raised in Great Britain, now living in the US. She was also at least ten years older than her secretary. She had been around the block, so to speak -- her passport had more stamps than most people's -- and knew exactly what she wanted, and was not shy about going after it.
Right at the moment, what she wanted was her beautiful Italian secretary.
Marie was Italian, and she had also gotten her boobs done. Stasia knew that because Marie had requested time off to have the procedure done. The procedure had gone off without a hitch or any complications, at least according to emails she had been copied on. Even so, it had taken a few weeks for the swelling to go down and have the bandages removed.
Now Marie was walking around with high, full, perky tits. And probably not wearing a bra. She also wondered if she wore panties under that leather skirt. Maybe she could find that out as well.
She also knew, from having eavesdropped on a conversation between the fellow secretaries, that Marie needed a raise. Stasia suddenly thought of a plan that would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak -- Marie would get her raise, and Stasia would get to find out whether Marie wore a bra under her blouse.
Time to put her plan into motion.
She pressed the button for the intercom.
"Yes, Miss Taylor?"
"Marie, can you please come in here? And bring your notepad."
"Yes, Miss Taylor."
* * *
Out at her desk, Marie suddenly had a hard time concentrating. Something about the way Miss Taylor had made that command, for command was what it was, impossible not to follow.
Pulse quickening, she located her yellow legal notepad and a pen and headed ten steps over to Miss Taylor's office door, clear glass with a stainless steel handle, labelled Stasia Taylor, Executive Vice President, framed with clear glass walls, although she also had Venetian blinds.
She knocked three times. Donk, donk, donk.
"Come in, Marie."
Ignoring her suddenly racing pulse, Marie pulled open the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
Right away, the background noise of a busy office cut off.
"You needed me to take a letter, Miss Taylor?"
"Yes, Marie," Stasia said. "Come in and have a seat."
Marie did so, then held her pen at the ready, poised over her legal notepad.
"Before I have you take a letter, I wanted to ask you how your enhancement procedure, well, proceeded."
Marie smiled. "Just fine, Miss Taylor."
