CHAPTER 8

Bill sits up, interest piqued, his eyes scanning her body with renewed greed. "Is that so?"

Jessica reaches for the hem of her tight pencil skirt, hikes it up slowly, exposing the tops of her thighs and the delicate lace of her stockings.

Then she says in a seductive voice, basking with the thrilling power of seeing a powerful man reduced to a shivering mess. "You've been dying to see what's under here, haven't you? Spent your afternoons throbbing your dick starving to have a glimpse, huh?" 

Bill’s mouth went dry. He leaned so far forward he was nearly falling off his chair. "Jessica..."

She walks closer to the desk, hips swaying, her eyes locked on his. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was a reckless, and beautiful London girl, and was absolutely done with being told what her value was. 

She passed the guest chairs and circled his massive desk like a shark sensing a leak in a life raft. Bill’s eyes followed her, as she reached him.

Bill tried to pull himself together, to regain some shred of "managerial" dignity, but she was faster.

She gave his chair a violent shove and the wheels screeched against the floorboards, sending the stout man rolling backward a bit. 

With a disrespectful grace, her hand swiped across the desk, sending his "Managing Director" nameplate and a stack of logistics files flying down like wounded birds.

Then she hiked her skirt up and settled her ass onto the edge of his mahogany desk. 

 

The scent of her floral perfume fills his lungs as she spreads her legs open. "You like the view from down there?" 

Bill’s gaze went through her thighs like he was about to have a stroke.

"You're a pathetic, sweating little toad," she grabs his fleshy hand, dragging it slowly upward her thigh right to the burning heat of her pussy. "You think cutting my pay makes you a man? 

"Holy shit," his face turning a deep, dangerous shade of purple. "You’re… you’re not wearing panties."

"I never do. Too much of a hassle when I find a man who actually knows what the fuck he's doing.”

She watched his eyes glaze over. "You want a taste of what you're looking at, don't you? You want to see if the reality matches the videos you watch when your wife is asleep?”

"Yes," he gasped, "God, yes."

Jessica slapped his hand away. "Not for free, you greedy prick. Then pay up. I want a transfer. Now. Double what you owe me for the 'adjustment' and the emotional trauma of having to look at your face every morning.”

Fumbling with hands that looked like sausages, Bill pulled his phone from his pocket. His breath was coming in short, desperate bursts as he tapped the screen. "Done," he showed her the confirmation screen. "It’s done. Double what I owed you. Now, please..."

A slow smirk spread across her face then she raised a single finger and pressed it against his forehead, pushing him back firmly into the leather of his seat. "Good boy." 

She dipped two fingers into her pussy hole, swirling them to get some of the creaminess, then she pulled them out, and shoved them into his mouth. 

Bill groaned like a starving man at a banquet, and began to lick her fingers like they were coated in the finest honey. He was eager, pathetic, his tongue working frantically while his hand went to the hard dick in his trousers. 

Jessica unbuckled his belt, zipping down his pants. When the fabric fell away, she paused, giving a scoff that echoed in the quiet office.

"What?" Bill mumbled around her fingers, looking up with glazed eyes.

"Is that it?" she asked, her voice flat. "Are you serious? You’ve been harassing me for months with that? It’s a fucking pea, Bill. It’s a miracle you can even find it to pee, let alone think you could handle me.”

The blood drains from Bill’s face so fast he looks like he’s seeing a ghost. 

He pulled her fingers out of his mouth, his ego finally screaming louder than his lust. "There’s nothing 'pea-sized' about it! I made Dana beg for mercy on this very desk!"

Jessica hopped off the desk, smoothing her skirt. "Hold your breath, Bill. You aren't deserving of this pussy. You don't get to buy your way in with a stolen paycheck. I decide who I give it to, and trust me, you aren't even on the waiting list."

The power dynamic in the room doesn't just shift; it shatters. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He looked at his open pants, his hard dick, then at the locked door, then back at her smirking face. 

"You... you were never going to let me fuck you, were you? You just played me for the money."

"Well, you had a taste of the creamy pussy you’ll never get to fuck. Consider it a parting gift."

"You bitch," his voice trembled with rage. "You're a cold-hearted, manipulative bitch."

Jessica walked to the door and unlocked it with a satisfying thud. She turned back one last time,

"I’m a bad bitch, Bill," she corrected him, eyes flashing. "And if you ever come near me again, I’ll find a dildo big enough to make your ass bleed."

She fixed her blouse, adjusted her skirt, and walked out of the office, heels clicking triumphantly.