Gianna
I sat on the only stool in the room. All the men sat in plush chairs around a large oval hardwood table.
Of course, I sat at the front of the room and was in full sight of everyone at the table. They were just faces to me. I didn't even know their names. It was times like these when they were haggling over business, my mind wandered, and I had time to reflect on how I had gotten into this mess.
My name is Gianna. I'm sitting here with my legs crossed at my ankles, my knees pressed together. The off-black nylons picked up a sheen from the light beside me. I have worked at this large novelty company since I graduated high school. The man who owned the company was a dream to work for. He was a father figure for me for the father I never had. He never said or did anything inappropriate, even when he commented on my attractiveness or my appearance.
Needless to say, when he died suddenly, I was in shock. His son, Craig, twenty years older than me, took over the company. It was no secret that he never liked me. With his father gone, he didn't have to hide the fact that he hated that I was his father's pet.
So both of us were shocked for me to be included in his will. A stipulation stated that I couldn't be terminated. I had just turned thirty years old and was sure of a job for life or until I found something with a better boss. This pissed off Craig to no end.
The first thing he did was to fire the older women and bring in younger girls. He would have fired me in a second, but I knew too much about the bookkeeping.
He had spent the last six months making it as hard as possible for me. First, he had created a dress code for me, being the only executive secretary. Of course, it required I could only wear skirts or dresses and, to be sure, heels and hose.
I dislike wearing pantyhose; it's too confining. So stockings it was. I'm very feminine, so I love lacy, frilly clothes, especially underwear. I prefer four-inch heels, much to the delight of my male co-workers.
It took me a while to set them straight. My choice of clothes and nylons was not an open invitation for sex.
However it didn't stop them from leering at me all day.
My mother said my body was a curse, and I never would know if a guy just wanted my body or liked me for me. "Thanks, Mom."
I was proud of my body a little top-heavy, but I never slouched. I had good posture, always shoulders back and head up. My thirty-two c-cup tits were perfectly formed. I always wore push-up bras, finding they were best for controlling my girls. Garter belts and stockings were cooler to wear but posed the problem of showing stocking tops and garter clasps. All of my skirts were above the knee, so it took some getting used to.
It took an effort for me to ignore the childish games of Craig and his sales force, which was all men. For instance, my desk's front and side panels were removed, so my legs were on constant display. My desk was at the front of the office, facing everyone. I spent most of the day tugging at the hem of my skirt.
Their favorite was on a day my skirt was particularly short and tight. They would give me a stack of files that required both hands to hold and deliver them to an office on another floor—knowing how my skirt would ride up, exposing my stocking tops. I couldn't pull my wandering skirt into place. It delighted them to see my underwear, but I was mortified.
I put up with this bullshit because I needed my benefits and a paycheck, and Craig knew it.
I was lost in thought when I heard Craig saying. "Are you awake, Miss Wilks? I wanted a woman's opinion."
"Sure, Mr. Williams. What do you need?"
He wanted to avoid being on a first-name basis in front of clients.
"Do you know if women your age use dildos to satisfy themselves?"
My cheeks turned red as the men nervously laughed.
"I really won't know, CRAIG." I was so embarrassed I couldn't look up."
"We are planning on adding them to our website. Maybe we could get you some samples and give us a report." He said, grinning.
"That won't be necessary," I said icily.
The meeting was over shortly after. Of course, the lechers stayed to watch me slide off the stool, purposely hiking my skirt up. As I wiggled back to my desk, I could feel their eyes on me.
Later, Craig called me into his office to see if I could take some clients out to dinner. I was shocked and caught off guard.
"I really would be uncomfortable, Craig, especially if they had specific questions."
"Oh, I would be with you. Your main job would be to give the old guys a thrill. You know you're a beautiful young woman who could wrap them around your little finger."
My ears burned; I felt he wanted me to be a hooker.
"I don't think I want to do this; it's just not right."
"That's interesting; your job description states you must encourage good customer relations."
I bristled, "I never saw my job description, where is it? Show me?"
He laughed. "I haven't made it up yet. But I'll see you get it soon."
I stormed out of his office, walking as quickly as my heels allowed, my tits bouncing. I just didn't care.
The ironic part about going out with some customers was that I would love it—especially older men. My introduction to sex was at the hands of an uncle who had come to live with us. He was a perv; many times I caught him looking up my skirt. But I thought nothing of it. I couldn't imagine an older man being interested in me at eighteen. Yes, I was that naive.
I had come home from a party a little high. My mother was asleep upstairs, so I sat beside him on the couch. He could smell the pot and threatened to tell my mother I had been smoking dope unless I did what he wanted. I had no choice. I had only some experience as I had dated very little.
He started me out with a daily hand job and rapidly progressed to him forcing his cock into my mouth. To titty fucking me, then cumming on my face. For a while, I thought every sex act finished with the man cumming on the girl's face.
I was really screwed up; I had only made out with two boys in high school. So, this changed my whole outlook on men and sex. I liked pleasing older men to the point that I didn't get excited about guys my age.
My uncle died of a sudden heart attack. Except for the sex, I really wasn't sad. I stood at his casket at the viewing, wondering if he died with a hardon. I realized his wife and I were the only people there who knew what his cock looked like.
My twenties were a series of affairs with men over sixty. I became adept at giving blowjobs and fingering myself to climax. I knew I was fucked up. I had no idea what a normal relationship was like.
When I got home, I went online to search for jobs.
It was the same old offers. Good jobs would require me to move, and I wouldn't do that. The jobs locally didn't offer decent benefits. I was stuck, and I am sure he knew it.
The next few days were routine. Craig had not spoken to me since the meeting; he found running the company more challenging than he thought. Friday rolled around, and I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend.
It was almost five o'clock when I saw Craig waiting for me. He had a genuine smile on his face. He started out.
