Jackie's New Job

Never screw your boss! Figuratively or literally it will end up coming back to bite you in the ass. That was the hard lesson I had learned this year. I mulled that over in my pretty little head as I sat in the first class cabin on the flight from Houston to my home in New York City.

I had been a money manager with a big firm on the Street until February of this year. I had been successfully climbing the ladder of my career for five years. Sometimes the bodies of co-workers provided convenient stepping stones on my journey and I used them without remorse. They may be going down in flames, but I was soaring!

Of course a girl has to use all of her talents to advance in this super competitive age, and I was not unwilling to use the gifts God gave me to full advantage. I dressed for success! Sometimes that meant professional wear, sometimes looking like a slut. Whatever it took, I did it. Two years ago when my department head starting to show some interest in me I was not inclined to discourage him. When the interest went farther, into invitations to dinner and the show I willingly agreed to it. The relationship that developed over the next months was mutually beneficial, earning Perry some of the best sex of his life and me an inside track on the better clients. My mistake was starting to take it seriously.

Perry was single, attractive, rich and a lot of fun to be with. As time passed I forgot why I started going out with him and gradually began to fall in love. I started to fantasize about us as a couple. I began to have these little girl daydreams of being Mrs. Perry, complete with the house and picket fence. Fantasies are fine, until you try to make them come true.

Christmas last year I made the mistake of bring up the subject of "our relationship" with Perry. He responded in that way men have when they don't want to piss you off because they haven't been laid yet. We spent the rest of the day together and no matter how sweet and loving I was I could never garner a reciprocal I love you from him.

Suddenly our plans for the New Year changed. He had a family crisis that needed him. Then our ski trip needed to be changed. He had never been much for calling me, but now my calls to him went unanswered, intercepted by his assistant. Then the office grapevine had him seeing another woman from the legal department.

I confronted Perry. Actually I bushwhacked him in the corridor and demanded to know just what the hell was going on. After the usual male stammering the matter boiled down to, I was becoming too serious and possessive and that we both needed to take a break so we could get our friendship back in perspective.

I don't know what hurt more, my heart, my pride or my ambition for my career.

God I felt so stupid! How had I let that guy get to me that way? How had I become just another mutton headed girl looking for a man to take care of her?

Looking back now I can clearly see my little mind at work and the path that eventually led to my destruction. I progressed from hurt feelings to a broken heart. Anger followed, first at myself, then at him. It brewed into a maelstrom of resentment and bitterness. I think that at the time I was really crazy. My next actions sure support that idea.

I was not going to let that son-of-a-bitch get away with it! He broke my heart, used me and for all I knew was in the process of stopping my flourishing career with the firm. In a fit of brilliance I struck on the perfect way not only to get even but to do some permanent damage to his bright prospects at the company.

I logged into his computer and very effectively pronounced 82 of his prime clients deceased!

You can imagine what it looked like when it hit the fan! Buy and sell orders were ignored, drafts on multimillion-dollar accounts were declined, accounts were frozen and best of all condolence letters were sent to the next of kin. God it was beautiful! Except......I forgot one thing.

Every password computer transaction is recorded, tracked, filed away, backed up and permanently stored. This is for the SEC and for protection from lawsuits by irate clients. It also was my undoing.

The office was in a total uproar. Clients were pulling accounts, threatening to sue and demanding explanations from the firm. Everyone, except yours truly, was in recovery and full kiss ass mode. Perry was frantic and I was in glory. Then two very large and very unfriendly security guards appeared at my office.

I think I handled it well. I was stunned that my game was uncovered, but I confronted the branch president and Perry with grace, "How do you like being fucked!"

I carried what was left of my job and precious career out in a cardboard box minutes latter.

For years I had made a good income and for the last couple a great one. I'm afraid that I wasn't very smart about saving. I liked my lifestyle. A $6000 a month apartment, a nice car with payments to match, good furniture, art and lots of clothes ate up whatever I made each month. In the beginning I wasn't too concerned, thinking I would soon find another job. I realized after the first few refusals that I was being blackballed. I finally applied at a temp agency and there learned the firm had indeed put the word out.

I pawned my mink, then my Rolex, then other jewelry, art and even furniture in an attempt to keep my apartment and car. It was all futile and by the summer I was on the street looking for a place to stay. New York is hard enough to find a decent apartment in, but unemployed and with bad credit it is impossible.

I called my college roommate, Marianne. She agreed to take me in as long as I didn't mind the couch. At that point my other alternative was the shelter, or, God Forbid, going back to the Midwest and MOM!

Marianne was wonderful. She treated me like a sister. Over the years since graduation I had kept minimal contact with her, and then usually only to brag about how well I was doing. She never threw that back up to me.

Her walkup was small but cozy and the couch wasn't too uncomfortable. It was only going to be for a couple of weeks, until I found something to support myself.

A couple of weeks became several, then a month, then two. Marianne was easy to live with and never made me feel like an intruder. The only time that I felt like a problem to her was when her boyfriend came over. In the small apartment there was no privacy to speak of.

Marianne was an enthusiastic lover and Dale was totally unconcerned about my being there. They didn't actually fuck in the tiny living room in front of me, but some nights it came close. Once in the bedroom they gave no quarter and fucked with abandon and noise.

In the mornings Marianne would often come into the front rooms in just her panties, with Dale in close pursuit in just his boxers. I would feign sleep as they made coffee and played a little grab ass. When they retreated back to her room I would very noisily get up.

Often during the night one or the other of them would pad naked into the kitchen for a snack and through shielded eyes I would follow the bobbing of a hard cock or the jiggle of pert breasts across the room. I was embarrassed. It wasn't because I'm a prude, but because of how horny it made me feel. For six months I had been without sex and since I had been at Marianne's I didn't even dare masturbate. Sometimes I get a little load when I cum and I couldn't stand it if she caught me at it.

I finally was able to find work as a fill in waitress. It wasn't much but at least I could contribute a little to my own support. We settled into a routine, I was approaching acceptance of my new station in life and Marianne never once indicated she was ready for me to leave.

Early in November we were sitting at the table enjoying some take out from the restaurant where I was working when Marianne brought up the subject that would change my life again.

"Honey," she began in a small voice, "I came across an ad today in the Village you might be interested in. Now don't get me wrong, you can stay here forever if you want to, but I thought this might be something you could handle."

She had me intrigued. The Village was an alternative paper full of ads from all sorts of shady businesses and with personals that would make you blush. What in the world would be in it there I might find suitable?

I reached across the table and took the paper from her and read;

Very Rich Single Man

Looking for

Live in Playmate

Must be attractive, intelligent, educated and Most Important WILLING!

I will furnish all expenses, wardrobe, car, travel and luxury accommodations.

Very generous salary and even more generous bonus for 1 year contract

Send clothed picture to XXXXXX@.com

Include 25 words or less why you qualify.

I read the ad again, then again. "You want me to be a whore!" I exclaimed at Marianne.

"God Jackie!" she replied, "I didn't say you had to do it, or even that I thought you should do it, I just thought you might be interested in it! Excuse me all to hell!"

I choked back a sob. Marianne had always been odd, but she was being wonderful to me. "I'm sorry Marianne," I told her, "I guess it just took me by surprise. The idea that I have sunken low enough to trade my body for a roof over my head is so degrading."

"Jackie you can stay here as long as you want. Sooner or later this will all pass over and you will be able to find another great job. I just thought that was funny, and that maybe you would be interested in the adventure and sexy thrill of it."

"I'm just so confused," I admitted to her, "I really don't know where my life is going."

"I know honey," she soothed me. Then she shocked me. "What do you think you were doing with Perry? Trading your cunt for better clients! We're all whores in some form, even me."

She left the table and for the next hours I watched senseless TV and my mind turned in turmoil. In the early morning hours I read the ad again.

When Marianne came in for breakfast in the morning I was still awake.

"Marianne will you take a picture of me?"

I've got to give her credit, she didn't smile. "Sure, when? Now?"

"Now's as good as anytime," I told her and went to change clothes.

I returned to the room in my best professional suit with heels and fresh makeup. I did look good.

"He said a picture with clothes on, I can do that and see what happens next I guess," I allowed.

Without comment she took a half dozen digital snapshots of me and then we selected what we considered the best of them to send off.

"Have you written your 25 words or less yet?" she asked me.

I handed her a typed sheet.

"My life is a disaster and I am willing to do anything to escape it!" was all it said.

"Well that's to the point!" Marianne chuckled.

We sent it off that afternoon and returned to the daily grind of our lives. Thanksgiving passed without word and I had given up on ever hearing from the mystery man. During the holidays I got more hours at the restaurant and even made enough to get Marianne a cute silk scarf for Christmas. Then in Mid December I answered the door to find the Fed Ex guy there.

"Package for Miss Jackie," he said.

At first I thought it was from Mom, but as soon as I saw the return address from Houston I had the feeling my answer had finally come. I tore the package open and inside found a first class round trip ticket to Houston and a short letter.

Dear Jackie,

Almost a thousand women applied for this position and you are one of the three selected finalist. If you are still interested use the ticket enclose to come to Houston this Friday. You will be compensated $1000 for your time and effort. There will be a suite for you at the Airport Marriott and you will be able to return home on Saturday. Our interview will take about an hour, the rest of the time will be yours to spend as you like.

Please dress appropriately for our interview.

A car will meet you at the airport to take you directly to our meeting.

If you chose not to come use the envelope provided to return the tickets.

Hope to see you soon,

David

That was tomorrow! A thousand bucks, damn could I use that! What kind of interview was this going to be? Would I have to fuck him to earn my money? Questions, more questions, darted through my head.

When Marianne crossed the threshold I bombarded her with it all.

"What should I do? I never expected this to go this far! Should I go? What do you think, oh God what should I do now?"

"Relax Jackie," she told me. "What can it hurt to go? I mean if things go farther than you want you can always get back on the plane and come home. You know you're welcome here. But, you know what, I bet that by now you could use a good fuck anyway!"

My brutally honest friend! God she was right about that. I was so horny that I had thought about picking up some guy in a bar, but couldn't afford the drinks while I was looking for Mr. Right.

"Ok, so I go." I mumbled.

"Yeah, you go!" she cheered me on. Of course I was going! I needed the money, my curiosity was aroused and frankly I was horny.

"What does he mean by "dress appropriately' do you think?"

Thinking out loud Marianne mused, "Well we know he's not hiring a secretary, or housekeeper, so I think you want to go with something attractive and sexy. You need something that will show willingness, that is one of the things he wants."

Soon we were busy getting me ready for the trip. Marianne cut my dead ends and then gave me a manicure and pedicure. While we were painting my nails Dale showed up. Both of us were dressed in only t-shirts and panties, and while I had never been so casual around Dale before I figured what the hell, I was going to Houston to apply for a job as a high priced whore so what if he saw my barely covered ass.

Of course he wanted to know what was going on but all we would tell him is that I was going to Houston for a job interview. Judging from the tent in his pants he was enjoying the scene. Later when they wandered off to bed I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry. I hadn't realized just how much being on display to Dale had turned me on until I felt the damp spot in my panties. I wondered if he saw it too.

The City was cold the next morning so I dressed in loose slacks, tennis shoes and a pullover sweat shirt for the plane ride. In an overnight case I carried a change of clothes.

When the plane was about 30 minutes out of Houston I carried my bag to the restroom. It was time for me to get into character for my interview. Once in the tiny room I stripped off my travel clothes. I lifted the sweat shirt over my head baring my breasts. I hadn't worn a bra thinking it probably wasn't required for this trip. Seeing my naked breasts in the metal mirror brought home what I was doing and for a second the fear overcame me and I almost chickened out. Then the sight of my topless form started to excite me. I don't know why, but it felt so sexy standing there on a flying airplane half naked. Quickly I removed my slacks, panties shoes and socks so that I was totally nude, surrounded by several hundred people and hidden by just a thin door.

I carefully removed my interview clothes from the bag and then stuffed the unneeded clothing back into the bag. I prolonged putting anything on, taking time to freshen my makeup and brush out my hair. I did look good. My weight was not a problem and my body was still firm and tight at 29. My breasts are a bit small by normal standards but just fine on my short 5 foot 2 inch frame.

I slipped the stockings up my legs and smoothed them into place. I pulled the short black pleated skirt over my hips and zipped it tight. It fell to mid thigh, just long enough to hide the tops of my stockings under most circumstances. Then I slid into a white cotton blouse, buttoned it up and tucked it into my skirt. The cuffs and collar were huge French cut and the neckline hung open to the top of my breasts. The material wasn't thin enough to be see-through, but not thick enough to hide the prominent nipples standing hard against it either. I slipped into 4 inch black patent heels and was ready to go.

I wore neither bra nor panties. I wasn't sure what David expected. While my outfit didn't appear sluttish to the casual observer I thought it was "appropriate attire" for a playmate. I knew it was willing, god it was so willing that I was quivering inside.

The walk from the lavatory to my seat was only six rows, but in that six rows a dozen men ogled me. My seat partner, a businessman from Houston suddenly was very attentive, where he hadn't spoken two words previously. I sort of enjoyed the stares and it reinforced an ego very badly beaten over the past months.

At the airport I walked with purpose to the pick up area. Once again I sensed eyes following me, staring and enjoying what they were seeing. My stride improved and my butt swayed with happiness.

There was a man standing at the curb holding a sign that read simply "Jackie". I hustled to him and introduced myself and he led me to a stretched limousine. Long and black it shined in the warm afternoon sun. He held my door and I quickly slipped into the rear seat. I had forgotten about my lack of dress and I am sure he got an eyeful of me.

The ride was short. On the way I talked to the driver and learned that he was David's full time driver and security guard. He was ex-military and lived in separate quarters at David house. We pulled up in front of a high rise office building and Mel parked right in front. He came around and opened my door. This time I was more careful, but it is hard to slip out of a car and not show a lot of leg, or more.

Mel escorted me across the lobby and up the elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened I face a beautiful foyer of marble counters and tile floors with a view of the city that was spectacular. We walked past the receptionist with just a nod from Mel and into a private office.

The office was huge, taking up one fourth of the floor. The windows gave an equal view of that in the foyer from two entire walls. The carpet was plush and obviously expensive. The third wall held an entertainment center and complete bar set up. There were sofas and overstuffed chairs in a sitting area and then at the head of the room was a gigantic desk. The desk appeared to be some exotic wood that shown with a gleam from deep within itself. On it's top was a lamp, a blotter and a laptop, nothing else.

Sitting behind the desk was who I presumed to be David.

He looked to be in his early fifties but still fit and healthy. His hair grayed a bit on the sides and his face was hard angles colored by a lot of sunshine. His hands perched on the desktop looked to be strong and while well manicured were not the hands of an office clerk. They were rough looking even from the top side. I could imagine calluses on the finger and palms from hard manual labor. His dark brown eyes shone with a gleam that exceeded the luster of the desk.

As I approached he rose and walked around to meet me, hand extended in greeting. David was about 6 foot tall and maybe 180 pounds. He seemed to be a great shape, not flabby or soft. When I took it I knew I was right; not the hands of an office worker. His business suit was well cut and expensive. His shoes shown brightly.

"This is Jackie Boss," Mel said as an introduction.

"Welcome!" David said in greeting.

All I could manage was a, "Pleased to meet you."

David offered me a drink and I eagerly accepted hoping it might calm my shaking limbs. I was never so nervous before in my life.

Mel fixed my bourbon and water and David offered me a seat. The guest chairs were arranged in front of his desk back far enough that he would have a clear view of my legs. I didn't attempt to move them closer, knowing that the placement was intentional on his part and maybe a test for me. As demurely as I could I sat and crossed my legs. I was aware that the lace tops of my stocking were showing, but there was nothing to do for it now.