She knows how to make friends and influence people.
Petra’s excitement grew as the lift whisked her up to the top floor of the seven-storey building after work. Everything was in place for her to get that job she wanted, in spite of her boss in despatch telling her that without qualifications she was wasting her time. Hah, the stupid cow was talking about bits of paper. She had no need for those.
She smiled into the lift mirror. Adam in HR would vouch for her qualifications, in spite of being the loneliest guy on the planet because of his squeaky voice and geeky looks. Last week at lunchtime, behind that long row of filing cabinets, he’d had the best arse-fingering blow job a girl could deliver. It had been worth it to get advance information on when the new chief executive would be the only person up there doing overtime. Tonight.
Besides, Petra mused, pouting a rose petal kiss at her reflection, no one would believe the size of the geek’s cock. It was a rare treat for her not to be able to deep throat a guy. Come to think of it, it was a challenge. She would just have to give it another try.
Petra squirmed deliciously at the thought. It was making her juices run.
She watched her other self lower her hand inside the apple green miniskirt, felt the tips of her fingers slip over an engorged clit, pushed two of them past soaked lips to her G-spot. Then Petra shivered uncontrollably and pulled her hand away. There wasn’t time to finish the job off, but she would keep the scent for the new man.
The lift glided to a halt. Petra checked her job application was among the files she was carrying and smoothed the flimsy white blouse she’d put on in the first floor loo. Now all it needed was the executive’s signature. No problem.
The doors sighed open. She stepped out and padded along the neon-lit corridor with her adrenaline on overdrive. As expected, all but one of the offices were empty. Sliding up to the door she read its shiny brass plaque. Paul Simmonds, Chief Executive Officer. Bingo.
She peered through a window. He was slumped in his swivel chair, hands behind his head, heels resting on a leather-topped desk. She couldn’t help a low moan at the familiar stirring in her groin. It didn’t matter that he was squat and balding, he was still a high-powered executive. A real man.
Petra tapped on the door and pushed it open. “Good evening, Mr Simmonds,”
she purred, her voice low and husky.
The sumptuous leather chair jerked upright. His feet thumped to the floor.
“What? Oh, I didn’t realise there was anyone else around.”
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Petra from Dispatch.”
“Are you?” He fiddled with his collar, ran his palms down the front of his dark blue shirt.
He was edgy. Petra felt a warm glow of satisfaction. It proved her point. Given a film starlet’s looks a girl could wield her own sort of power.
“I heard you were doing overtime tonight,” she simpered, vamping her way across the thick pile carpet. “I wondered if you would give me some advice.”
“Well, I’d like to, but I’m afraid…”
“It shouldn’t take long,” she broke in, stretching forward to push the files across the desk, giving him a long, lingering glimpse of a bra-less cleavage and taut nipples.
“It’s just that…”
“Perhaps if I came round that side?” She circled the desk. “Only I need to point a few things out.”
The portly figure swallowed. Petra bent over until her cheek was only inches from his. Resting a damp, coral-tipped finger on the top sheet she lifted it, hesitating at the top to allow him a waft of her inner juice, then letting it fall, began to run through the details.
He interrupted her, his voice ragged. “Look, Miss…”
“Petra, please.” She flipped to the next page.
“Well then, Petra, I think that you should come back tomorrow. I’m sure…”
“But it won’t take long,” she breathed. “There’s no one around to bother us, is there?”
“No, but I … er … do have a lot of work to do.”
“Do you?” She pouted, twisting round to perch side-saddle on the desk. The skirt rode ever higher, revealing more and more of her smooth, bronzed legs, until she could see by the way he swallowed that he’d noticed she was knicker free. “Are you really so busy that you can’t even spare a few minutes for poor little me?”
He cleared his throat, threw a glance to where his mobile sat on his desk.
No! He was going to ring security! Hurriedly Petra slid off the desk and stumbled against him so they flopped backwards in the swivel chair with her on top.
“Oh,” he grunted. “Are you all…”
“Shh,” she whispered, placing a finger against his lips. “We can talk later.”
Petra slid down his front and on to her knees, skillfully unhooking his belt buckle and tugging at the zip beneath. “Let’s see this as a bit of give and take,” she breathed, as with practised ease she rolled a raspberry-flavoured condom onto his pulsating cock with her teeth. “You scratch my gack’n I crack yourg…”
This time she took it all with no problem. Her long auburn hair whipped his bare belly as his cock plunged in and out of her mouth. She squeezed him with her lips, raked him gently with her teeth, until, “Stop. I’m coming,” he gasped, grabbing her shoulders and throwing her to the floor.
Seconds later he was inside her. Petra arched her back to welcome him, enjoying the roughness of the carpet against her naked flesh as he pounded into her.
“Yes, fuck me. Harder … Harder …” she moaned, bucking and writhing as if she too was about to come…
“I was going to say,” said Petra, when she’d finished repairing her make-up, “that there’s a job application I’d like you to sign for me.”
“Oh, yes?” He was standing by the door.
“I’d have mentioned it earlier, but you were far too keen,” she said coyly, flashing her bright green eyes. She picked up her form and crossed over to him. “It’s to fill one of your vacancies on the third floor. Once you’ve signed it I’ll be home and dry.”
“Really?” He grasped the door handle.
“Yes, then there’ll be plenty of opportunities for me to visit you.” She stroked a finger down his plump cheek. “And you know what that means.”
“Of course I do, Petra. And believe me, I wouldn’t hesitate if I thought it would do any good.”
“Sorry?” She stepped back frowning. “What do you mean?”
He smiled and shrugged. “I mean I don’t think the cleaner’s signature would help.”
[pullquote] “The skirt rode ever higher, revealing more and more of her smooth, bronzed legs, until she could see by the way he swallowed that he’d noticed she was knicker free”
