Stripping the CEO

Ms. Karen Seattle was the Queen of all bitches. "Are you capable of getting anything done at all? Do fifteen copies for each department in this company equal 150? Is this how you work for Mr. Quinn? It's a wonder you haven't been fired yet." Clara stared at her, head bent low and fingers clasped tightly to the pile of documents in her hand which weighed her down. Ms. Seattle's lips moved rapidly in front of her, sprewing insults and complaints as though it were her responsibility to make copies of those documents. Working overtime had already become part of her since she joined the company, but having to keep her fingers busy firing away at the keyboard to record the long conference the day before had been hellish. Coupled with it, she had immediately walked hastily out of the conference hall to keep up with her boss whose strides were so long he was almost invincible. And he sure was. Andre Quinn's reputation for being made of steel and expecting perfection in return wasn't so m

Quinn Andre was mad. He wanted to hit something. In his years of experience, there'd definitely been situations when unexpected people from work had walked in through the doors of the strip club as members, watching him and then engaging in the private services which promised debauchery and hot sensual pleasure. But not once had he experienced this kind of shit; having his mask pulled off by not just any worker, but his damn assistant who made his coffee and ran errands... For Pete's sake, this wasn't only unprecedented, but a hell of an unbelievable situation. Was this intentional? Had someone perhaps tipped her and put her to this? "Mr. Qui...nn?" In her voice was innocent confusion, her eyes filled with doubt. Great, even she couldn't believe the sight before her. As though that fucking made anything better. "Why. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. That?" He asked between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched in rage. His palms were fisted, hot blood rushing through his veins as the urge to s

It was another Monday in New York City, different cars made their way down the streets of Manhattan, hooting in commencement of another busy day. The Quinn Corporation headquarters remained outstanding in its tallness, expansiveness and architectural structure. Nothing had changed in the building, but as Clara stared at it long and hard before walking into it, her neck almost breaking, it was with the realisation that a drastic change had occurred in her life. It had begun with the weekend, but she was yet to see the end of it. Her dressing was the same, blonde hair with streaks of silver in a low bun, features accentuated with light make-up, slender figure clad in grey dress an inch below her knees. Covering her feet was a pair of short-heeled stiletoes which she'd had for a year. There was basically nothing about her that announced a change, but she knew it was coming. Apart from the talk she'd had with Andre, she felt it. That change that might not be as wonderful as she expect

"I... Ahem." Clara stopped, giving up on making up a reply since all that was in her head was gibberish. Blah blah blah... She had nothing to say to that, and so she pushed her hair backwards although it was perfectly still in the boring bun she had again knotted it into. It was easier to work without having strands of hair falling all over her face and blocking her view. Andre waited for a response, but seeing as he wasn't getting any verbal one, a conclusion he reached by observing her fiddle with her hair and fingers, he stood, closing the button of his stripe suit jacket he had opened to seat down in a motion as swift as that of a professional. And yeah, he'd gathered enough experience from years of playing dress up in designers' suits. He walked towards her direction, his eyes focused steadily on her; his gaze hot and piercing. This time, he didn't walk fast like he always did, but took his time, prancing casually with the gait of a peacock. A royal, fucking hot peacock. Her

He was Adonis on stage tonight, emanating hardcore sex like a cologne and spreading it through her body. An hour into her arrival and Clara was beginning to wonder if she had made the right decision accepting Andre's invitation, because all she wanted to do as she watched him from the lounge was to do something crazy like spread her legs and flash him the black lingerie she had worn. Or dip her fingers into her swollen wetness and get herself off. It was what his performance was doing to her; it made her want to get down and dirty. Hard. Everything about the décor tonight went beyond sensuality to exude an aura of untamed, raw, eroticism. The strobe lights were shades darker than they had been the past week, and the waitresses and waiters were dressed in outfits even more revealing than before. The hunky males wore crossing belts carefully fixed to lay emphasis on their hard nipples, their pants so tight that every shape of their heavy bulge was visible. They were all tanned, dar