Inventory

Author's Notes: This is a story about a woman who knows what she wants, and she will do anything, use everything, and hold back nothing to get it. Strong, confident women are not always well-liked. They are often thought to be pushy, manipulative, and just plain bitches. Fair warning: this character lives up to the stereotype. She survives and flourishes in a dog-eat-dog corporate hellscape. If you do not like strong women, confident women equal to the task of the male-dominated, cannibalistic corporate world, then this story is not for you.

All characters are fictitious, and all are over eighteen. I hope you enjoy this work. Please vote and comment. That is how we learn.

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This was Janet's second job and a real step up. She had only been out of college for two years, and it was her dream job, at least at this stage in her career. It was with a prestigious finance firm and was more than just getting coffee for the handsy associates and bosses. There was a boatload of training, putting her on the fast track to promotions. Mrs. Abernathy in HR had told her that the sky was the limit, and especially for women, the glass ceiling had been broken as there were three women on the board and five female vice presidents. It involved her moving to The Big City and well away from the comfort and support of her kith and kin, but it excited her because, finally, she was on her own.

The firm was so big that it was housed in three dedicated office buildings in the city. After finding a modest efficiency apartment at a surprisingly reasonable price, she took her mandatory two-month training at the main building. It was the original location of the firm's founding and known simply as Headquarters. The apartment was very efficient, consisting of one large room in a large house with a kitchenette, bed, and a separate small bathroom. The shower was phone booth size, and one could almost sit on the toilet and brush one's teeth at the sink simultaneously.

Of course, she excelled in her training. That was just the way Janet did things. There was no halfway or slacking in her makeup. Everything she did, whether it was sports, she lettered in soccer, volleyball, and track, or academics, Janet missed salutatorian by two-tenths of a point, even though she blew or licked the pussy of every professor or coach in her last semester. Abigail Silverstein, the salutatorian, had evidently blown or licked the pussy of every professor, coach, and graduate assistant in her senior year. Brian Beasly, the valedictorian, had blown or licked the pussy or had been a receiver for, depending on their preferences, every professor, coach, graduate assistant, dean, and Janet-believed janitor on the campus for all four years. Janet determined that that would never happen to her again, being caught lacking in going all out.

After two months of training, she was transferred to Office Building Two with a stack of recommendations from her trainers, and she heard her name was mentioned at a managers' meeting.

Apparently, the company president, Steven Hursh, had stated, "Well, if you think she is that good, let's give her to Office Building Two and see what she is made of."

Office Building Two was a step up. All the other trainees were sent to Office Building Three, where their training would continue, and they would be given little responsibility. Being sent to Office Building Two meant she would get meaningful assignments and be expected to produce. When Deborah Lindsey of HR gave Janet her final briefing, Deborah was excited, praising and encouraging Janet's work. Deborah excitedly told Janet where she was assigned and what would be expected of her. Janet was excited as well. As HR detailed the assignment, Janet could feel herself moistening down there. She had worked so hard for this, and it was beginning to come true. By the time Deborah finished, Janet's skimpy thong was awash with her fluids, an errant drop or two tickling her inner thighs as gravity caused it to journey down while she stood there.

Deborah dismissed Janet to go home early that day when the meeting concluded as a further reward. Janet was happy with that because she didn't want to sit down in the skirt she had on, afraid her fluids would leave a noticeable wet spot.

Janet was told to leave by the executive exit, and as she met some executives, they knew who she was and stopped her to chat and congratulate her. Like all the other low-level players, the others in her class left by the front entrance at the end of the day. Her vibrator egg inserted in her pussy full blast could not have excited her more. By the time she managed this gauntlet of excited congratulations, drops of her pussy nectar were running down past her knees. When Steven Hursh stopped her and chatted with her like she was already an executive, it left her panting, and a new flood of her sweet juices flooded her thong, running almost in rivulets down her legs. At the exit door, she stopped her hand on the crash bar, trying to catch her breath. The totality of all that had happened today struck her like a lightning bolt, and she looked down and saw drops of her love juice on her highly polished shoes.

She whispered, "Holy shit," and exited the building.

The cool breeze driven down the street between the skyscrapers tingled her wet legs and excited her so that what she wanted to do was pull her skirt up, yank her thong off, and enjoy the erotic pleasure of it. She hadn't dated in some time. The hard work she had been doing kept her mind safely off sex, but freed now, all she wanted was a big stiff cock and a male with the energy and desire to use that cock on her, over and over again. Her college sex life had been incredible. Beautiful, she had no problem getting dates, and her large breasts and hairless pussy, given readily and easily, kept them coming back. It wasn't necessarily that she was an easy lay. That would imply that the male was hunting for her. No, it was the other way around. She was the huntress, and males were easy prey. She remembered what her roommate at college had said when they were freshmen after Janet, studying Bio 101, had made the offhand comment that it would be nice to have a dick.

"If you have one of these, Janet," her roommate said, pulling her dress up and rubbing her pussy, "You can get all of those," pointing to the picture of a cock, "You want."

Janet stopped at a McDonalds next door to the building. Not to get a Big Mac or coffee but to use the bathroom and remove her soaked thong. As she sat there, she absentmindedly rubbed her clit and moaned. Janet brought the wet thong to her nose and inhaled her musky scent. Oh, she loved the smell of pussy almost as much as she liked the taste of cum. Luxuriating in the sheer eroticism of her scent, her clit being rubbed, and the incredibly sexual feelings she had, she used all of her inner strength to refrain from making herself cum. Janet knew the pleasure and power of not giving in to instant gratification. Sighing, she wiped her pussy, thighs, and legs with toilet paper drying them the best she could, stood, adjusted her hem, and exited the stall. There was no one in the restroom with her, and she tossed her soaked thong into the waste bin.

She whispered, looking her image in the mirror in the eyes, the mantra she had developed, "Do anything to get ahead. Use what you have. Don't hold back like you did in college, Bitch."

In the big city, one doesn't need a car. The costs of parking a vehicle is almost as much as human housing. So, Janet took the bus being careful to pull her skirt up so that she didn't sit on it to prevent a wet spot, and put her naked pussy on the cool faux leather seats. She smiled at the naughty sensations, remembering it being a part of the training and requirements of the slaves in The Story of O. Janet wasn't all hot to be a slave, although she had been tied up and fucked a few times. Professor Richardson, the fucking professor of her nemesis chemistry, liked it that way. His wife wouldn't do it, he told her, and well, Janet had to get an A, and her B needed to be corrected any way she could. As she stood to exit the bus, she looked at a big wet spot on the seat and smiled, a tingle in her pussy making her moan.

She decided to go to a restaurant in her neighborhood after the bus ride as a reward. It was an Italian restaurant, her favorite, and she could smell the garlic a half block away. All that wiping at McDonald's was for naught now as she felt the slick wetness on her thighs unimpeded by some nasty thong trying to guard her modesty. She relished the feeling as the female greeter escorted her to a booth. The greeter was tall and thin with large Italian boobs. Her ass swayed back and forth, and Janet imagined her between her legs licking her desperately needy pussy.

Again, Janet adjusted her skirt to sit directly on the Naugahyde seat, its cool, naughty sensations reviving a flood of her woman syrup, and in the time between the greeter leaving and her waiter arriving, she stealthily tasted herself. This taste of pussy again opened the floodgates of her sex, and as she sucked discretely on her fingers, the waiter appeared. To say he was handsome would be to say that Halle Berry was pretty. He was tall and muscled. His tight Black T-shirt with the restaurant logo was skin tight and showed all his rippling muscles, even the six-pack on his stomach. A white towel tucked in his waistband partially covered his black pants.

Used to the early crowd being grandmas and grandpas, he looked startled and pleasantly surprised by the sight of a beautiful woman for a change.

"Buon pomeriggo (Good afternoon). My name is Anthony, and I have the pleasure of serving you today. Can I get you something to drink to start," he said in an Italian accent.

Was it an authentic Italian accent or fake? Janet had no idea and didn't care.

"Do you have Soave, Anthony?" she asked, smirking.

"But of course, we have Soave. It is the most popular white wine in Italy, Signorine (Miss)," he said, smiling.

"Then I will have a glass, Anthony," she said, smiling and noticing a bulge beginning even the makeshift apron couldn't hide.

"Bene (good), I will return with it right away," he said excitedly but didn't step off quickly.

This hesitation elicited a smile from Janet, and his eyes widened, his bulge increased, and finally, a bit embarrassed, he nodded and stepped off to get her drink. The flood of Janet's juices went wild. She closed her eyes as a spasm of tingling went through her pussy, building that tightening knot that, at some point, by toy, finger, or cock, Janet's hands-down favorite, would have to be relieved not just once but several times. Janet, panting as if she had run a race, opened her eyes and could see the waiter speak to the bartender. Quickly and secretively, she tasted herself again, causing another spasm. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she unbuttoned three buttons on her blouse and pulled the lapels apart, exposing her luscious cleavage and the top of her bra.

Anthony almost dropped her glass of Soave when he returned as he was presented with the voluptuous view. When Janet saw this, she knew her bait had begun to work and smiled an overtly flirtatious smile.

"Are you alright, Anthony?" she asked in fake concern.

Shaking, he mumbled, "Yes, Signorine. Yes, I am fine."

"Oh, good," she cooed.

Setting the glass down gently, Anthony tried visibly to control himself. Janet had no intention of letting him do this.

Grasping her chin and running her hand down her neck, chest, and breasts, she sighed, "Is it me, or is it hot in here?"

Anthony's mouth hung open as he watched her sensual stroking, wishing it was his hand. The bulge now was quite visible despite the camouflage of the apron.

"Have you decided?" he stammered, barely getting the words out.

"Oh, yes. I want my ravioli stuffed with your sausage, sauced well, and baked hard," Janet said, speaking slowly and emphasizing each word meant to elicit a response in her double entendre.

Food-wise, what she was asking for made no sense, but the clear double meaning made him stop writing at the word stuffed.

Stuttering, he asked, "W...w...w... would you like a garden s...s...salad?"

"Yes, with a light vinaigrette," she said, fumbling with the next button on her blouse.

Gulping, Anthony mumbled, "Yes, Signorine. I will put your order in immediately."

His bulge was so big and obvious that Janet almost reached out to stroke it, but she had yet to set the hook, which she was going to when he returned with her meal. Here was a very interested fish, but he could still be scared off.

She smiled a wonderfully sexy smile and cooed, "Thank you, Anthony." She caught his arm as he turned and said breathily, "Where is the little girl's room?"

There was a three-foot-long sign, with nine-inch letters in her direct line of sight, not fifteen paces from where she sat. She had seen it before she sat down. Robotically not turning his head, Anthony pointed toward the sign.

"Oh, silly me," she said coquettishly, twisting hard to get up, exposing half of her left lacey and sexy bra-clad breast.

Anthony's eyes bugged out, and if possible, his bulge looked even more prominent. Janet emphasized the undulation of her hips as she walked toward the restroom, leaving Anthony panting.

Janet was now putting the plan into action. It was one she had done many times. Janet didn't need the restroom except for preparations. After entering the stall, she pulled her skirt up and rubbed her clit a half dozen times. She always did this thinking she would get relief, but all it ever did was amp her up. Janet did it anyway and tasted herself. Then she retrieved a wad of toilet paper and mopped her soppy wet pussy and thighs. The final step was to remove her bra and stuff it in her purse, leaving the three buttons undone. In her confidence, she primped in the mirror, smiled at her reflection, and exited the restroom. Reseated, she pulled out her phone and checked messages, more as a habit and something to do as she waited. There was a clear view of the kitchen, and since no other patrons were near her when she saw Anthony disappear into the kitchen, she figured he was getting her salad. Janet then hiked her skirt up until it barely covered her pussy and undid another button, opening the lapels to the point her areolas were almost put on display.

Smiling and more in control, Anthony confidently started, "Ahh, Signorine. Here is your sal..."

Pole axed in mid-sentence, Anthony's eyes went wide, mouth open, and the bulge that had subsided was now prominent again. Gulping, Anthony put the plate of salad in front of her, holding her napkin frozen in place. The four-star restaurant followed the old European custom of the waiter dramatically snapping the napkin and draping it across the patron's lap.

In her most seductive voice, Janet said, "Aren't you going to place the napkin, Anthony?"

As she said this, she leaned back seductively, arching her back and thrusting her tits forward, almost displaying her nipples, and at the same time pushing her butt forward, raising her skirt just shy of showing her pussy. Anthony's eyes didn't know where to land. They stared at her tits, then pussy, back to tits, jumping from one to the other in a wide-eyed, open-mouthed frenzy.

Letting him stew momentarily, she finally cooed invitingly, "Don't be shy. Let me help you."

Janet reached up and took his wrist, sending sparks of sexual energy up his arm. Sitting up but still thrusting her tits out to the point the edges of her areolas showed, she pulled him down much further than needed and slowly draped the napkin across herself well above her lap, giving him a closer view. Even she could smell the hot musky scent of her soppy wet pussy.

Whispering, she cooed, "There, that's nice." Janet puffed the words, "Thank you, Anthony," directly into his ear in a stream of hot, sexually charged air, causing Anthony to shiver.

She didn't release his hand immediately, allowing him to absorb the entire scene. Finally, coming to himself, the man stood slowly.

Stammering, barely able to speak, Anthony said, "Your ravioli will be out soon."

"Wonderful," she squealed. "My ravioli, stuffed with your sausage and baked hard, sounds delicious," Janet breathed and seductively emphasized each of the words in the phrases, "my ravioli stuffed," "with your sausage," and "baked hard."

She was a bit afraid he would pop a nut right there. Janet sat displaying herself this way until the man tore his eyes off her and ambled away.

The salad was "delizioso" (delicious), she thought, laughing, hoping it was the correct word as she didn't speak Italian. Janet only knew a few words and phrases like "fanculo a me" (fuck me) and "voglio il tuo cazzo" (I need your dick). Both had been useful more than once. She had learned the phrases early on in college as the area had a large population of young men of Italian descent. The phrases came in handy when she had to seduce the head of the language department to change a C into an A. It is quite a feat to bring a B to an A but a C to an A! Her pussy momentarily tingled, gushing a bit as she remembered the pounding her pussy had taken to pull that off! With her pussy nectar leaking heavily, she couldn't help but touch herself, adding an occasional taste of the tang of her pussy to the tang of the vinegar in the vinaigrette.

She could see Anthony trying to be secretive, peaking at her and speaking excitedly to the bartender.

"Men are so predictable," she whispered. Janet thought, "Here Anthony is telling the bartender all about the slut in the booth and what I had done, and probably what he wanted to do to me. He thought he was in charge, but no, Anthony, I am."

Janet knew that women control coitus. To take a woman against her will is rape, illegal, evil, and most men wouldn't do it. So, women control the gates to their sex. She also knew that any woman, no matter how repulsive she might seem, could get some man to fuck her. Janet had seen unwashed homeless women fucked, even gang-banged willingly on the sidewalk. In one of her more empathetic moments, she had helped one to her feet and to find her scattered clothes.

As she finished the small garden salad, Janet placed her fork on the empty plate and pushed it away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anthony come to life and rush into the kitchen.

"Now is the time to set the hook," Janet snickered.

Sure enough, the waiter came through the door with a steaming plate, smiling in anticipation. Janet closed her eyes, shivered, unbuttoned another button, and pulled her hem up. The front of her blouse was now open almost to her navel, and her pussy was just shy of being on display. As Anthony approached, he noted the difference, and his bulge returned. Or maybe it had never gone away. He came right up to the edge of the table, towering over her, his bulge right there, and placed the plate in front of her.

"Oh, I do so look forward to having my ravioli stuffed with your sausage," she cooed, looking into his eyes seductively. Janet then "accidentally" got some sauce on her fingers and said, "Oh, my. You don't mind, do you?"

She cleaned the sauce off her fingers by rubbing it on his makeshift apron. Up and down his excitingly prominent bulge, she stroked three times, imagining its angry purple head, prominent veins snaking down its shaft, and a drop of precum on its tip. Her fluids gushed, and if she had continued with a couple of more strokes, Anthony's would have, too. His wide-eyed, shuddering moan told her that.

"The hook is set," she thought.

Barely able to speak, he asked, "Is there anything else?"

Coquettishly, she replied, breathily, "Not now, but later...for sure."