Inventory

Anthony, his white makeshift apron streaked with marinara sauce outlining his bulging cock nodded and staggered away. She chuckled as she saw the bartender point at Anthony's crotch laughing, and he quickly stripped off his makeshift apron. The ravioli was good and stuffed with Italian sausage, Janet assumed, given the Italian spices and lack of the heat of Chorizo. Janet knew Anthony was observing her, whether she could see him or not, so she didn't hurry. Janet often rubbed her chest and tasted herself, not trying to hide it anymore. With her last bite, she finished her glass of wine, placed her fork on the plate, and pushed it away. As quickly as before, Anthony appeared, walking towards her from the kitchen. Janet unbuttoned her next button. Her blouse was now open low enough to show her navel, and she pushed the lapels further apart, displaying her areolas and just shy of the rock-hard pebbles of her very erect nipples.

"Will there be anything else, Signorine?" Anthony stammered.

"No, just the check, I guess," she said, twisting slightly for her purse, exposing her entire left breast, tit, areola, nipple, and all.

"Signorine..." he began.

"Oh, Janet, please, Anthony," she pleaded.

"Yes, Janet, would you be willing to go out with me?" he proposed, stammering.

Shyly, she said, "Anthony, I don't know. I don't know you."

This time, she faced him and arched, exposing both her breasts fully to him.

"I...I...I am an honorable man," he pleaded.

Smiling, still arching, she surreptitiously pulled her skirt up, exposing herself fully, and reached forward, placing her hand on his bulging cock like one does touching someone when they say something sincere, "I love honorable men. When do you get off...from work?" she replied, stroking the bulge slowly.

"I don't get off until closing at one," he said.

"Oh," she said sadly, shrinking back with her lapels covering her tits and her skirt falling, covering her pussy but still stroking his bulge. "That is so long to wait. I loved my ravioli stuffed with your juicy, spicy, and big Italian sausage, but I guess I must come another time."

Trembling, he wailed, "Wait, give me a moment."

He didn't dawdle this time and sped off to the kitchen again.

He returned quickly and said, "My boss has given me the rest of the day off. So, let's go out now."

"But I have to pay my check," she said in fake timidity.

"Forget that. I will take care of that," Anthony replied.

"Oh, I can't let you do that," she said, arching to give him unrestricted view of tits.

"Don't worry about it. It's covered," he said nervously.

"Thank you," she breathed, rubbing her exposed tits on him, starting with his cock up his torso and chest as she rose to her feet. "I have to go to the ladies' room first."

Thankfully, there were no other patrons nearby as she walked sensuously, her rock-hard nipples pointing the way. She buttoned a couple of buttons on her blouse, just enough to keep the girls hidden, and said to her image in the mirror, "Let's reel him in."

Once outside, she said, "I need to...get out of these work clothes..., Anthony. I live nearby. Let's...go to my apartment... so I can...strip off these clothes..., and I can...get ready for some real fun."

Anthony's bulge was quite noticeable without the makeshift apron, and all he did was nod. As they mounted the stairs to the second floor, Janet, on the sly, undid all the buttons on her blouse. At the door, she turned to Anthony, handing him her keys. Eyes wide as he saw her standing there on the landing with both of her magnificent tits out, Anthony robotically took the keys and opened the door. She led the way in as she flicked on the lights. Her king-sized bed dominated the efficiency apartment.

"Anthony, my clasp is stuck on my skirt. Can you help a girl out?" she purred.

He reached out, and as he touched the clasp, Janet let go of it, and her skirt fell to the floor, leaving her naked from the waist down.

"Oops," she said, not bothering to cover up.

Overcome with lust, Anthony grabbed her and drew her into an open-mouthed lover's kiss. She squealed and surrendered as his hand found a tit. He pawed her tits, pushing her blouse off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Janet loved to have her tits mauled and relished his aggressive tweaking of her excited nipples. When he let her come up for air, she squatted, expertly undoing his belt, button, and zipper, dropping his pants and briefs to his ankles. He stepped out of his loafers and was naked from the waist down in moments.

His cock was no disappointment to Janet. It was long and thick and hard as a rock. She took his large, angry-looking purple head in her mouth and ran her hand down his shaft. Janet loved big cocks, especially one that was thick. They stretched her and gave her a feeling of being filled, which she loved. She bobbed on his cock, taking a little more with each stroke until it hit the back of her throat. He groaned when Janet swallowed it, putting her nose on his abdomen without gagging.

"Oh, Dio, (Oh, God), he squealed as she pulled his cock out of her mouth.

He just stood there trembling, trying desperately not to cum.

Janet smiled and thought, "Caught hook, line, and sinker."

"Sorry," he stammered.

"Oh, that's alight, Anthony, my Italian Stallion. We have all night," she cooed, rising and leading him to the bed.

She let him lay there to recover and helped him by pinching down his cock, deflating it a bit and cooing encouragement. He groaned as his balls ached to discharge their man-goo, but he also didn't want to look like some teenage novice. Anthony was a highly experienced lover at twenty-five, but this woman had caught him off guard and pulled him along like his grandfather led his bull by its nose ring. Even in his macho, manly Italian masculinity, the nagging thought poked at the outer reaches of his awareness that she was the pursuer, the seducer, not him.

Soon they began to neck and pet and paw each other until Anthony, again not in control, found himself sucking and licking her pheromone-scented pussy. He licked her thighs, outer lips, inner lips and then penetrated her slit as far as his tongue would go. She wailed as he surrounded her clit with his lips and sucked hard again and again. Going out of her mind in ecstasy, Janet wailed.

With his skilled attention, she finally squealed, "Oh, fuck!" Cumming hard, arching, bucking, spraying, and frantically rubbing her pussy on his face.

Anthony looked up at her body through the valley of her thighs and tits, smiling. Janet shivered and invited him up to be on top. For the first time, he took a little control. As they necked, she whimpered and moaned, squirming underneath him, encouraging him. All Janet could think of and wanted was that spicy Italian sausage stuffed in her ravioli. He split her labia with his cock as he rubbed it up and down her badly leaking slit. When he inched it in, slowly burying it as far as it would go, Janet's eyes bugged out, and she arched, moaning.

The sensation of being filled up made her wail, "Yes, fuck yes."

Anthony started slowly making long slow strokes as Janet went wild, humping, wanting, desiring, needing him to speed up, but he did not relent and kept his slow pace. Squirming and bucking, she pleaded with him to pound her to fuck her.

"Oh, Anthony, fuck me. Pound my pussy. Wreak my cunt. Please, harder, fuck me harder, please," she begged. Suddenly, he pulled out, and her eyes went wild, screaming, "No! Oh, god, Anthony, don't stop, please, don't stop," she wailed.

"What will you give me?" he snarled.

Shocked, she looked him in the eyes and, using all her willpower, said remarkably calmly, "Whatever would you want?"

Her answer took a little wind out of Anthony's sails. Why was she so calm after begging him? He had never experienced this before with any woman. At this point in their begging, they would offer the usual "anything," but she didn't.

"I want to fuck you any time I want," he offered just the slightest bit of unsureness entering the timbre of his speech.

As I said, Janet is an apex predator. She pushed him roughly off herself.

"Naw, I can't agree to that, Anthony," she said, standing beside the bed, not covering herself. "You see, there would be times you wanted to fuck, but I didn't, and there would be times you weren't interested in fucking me that I would want you to. So, you see, that arrangement just won't work," she said, smirking, cocking her hip sexily.

"But...," he stammered.

"You see, Anthony, there was a time when men were all in charge and shit, and your kind of thinking is just gone the way of the Wooley Mammoth. If I want to fuck, I fuck, and if I don't want to fuck, I don't fuck. So, if you want me to make a promise, I will make this promise. If you fuck me when I want you to, I will be happy and will do everything in my power to make you happy. I am sure, knowing the men I have, that there are few times that a woman would offer her pussy to you that you would say no. If you ask me when you want to fuck, even if I don't feel like it at the moment, I might say OK and let you fuck me anyway, and if I do, I will make you happy. But if I don't want to fuck, I will say no and mean it," she lectured.

"Then, if you say no too many times, I can find another cunt to fuck," Anthony said, thinking he had somehow derailed her argument.

"Again, you have this archaic thinking. You see, getting your itch scratched or scratching it when you want isn't the question. It is caring about the partner and caring enough to put off your gratification to honor them. So, I guess conversely with your way of thinking, if you didn't want to fuck me or were unavailable to fuck too many times, I could find another cock to scratch my itch, also. Knowing you masculine types, that wouldn't go over too well with you, would it?" she growled,

Outmaneuvered, he mumbled, "No."

"Now, if you want to fuck me, and I do want your juicy Italian sausage buried deep in my soppy wet cunt filling me with your man sauce, then let's go. But don't ever try negotiating fucking with me. I have toys that will scratch my itch until I find a cock to take over. Cocks are nice, but cocks don't run my life. Cocks don't control me. I control them. Got it?" she spit out.

"Yes," he said.

Janet half expected him to bolt, but he lived up to the reputation of men, dogs chasing pussy. She crawled back on the bed, and to prove and drive home her point, she refused to get under him and insisted on riding him. Taking control of sex like the legends said Lilith tried to do to Adam before that submissive slut Eve showed up. Janet expertly held him off until she had three more orgasms and then let him cum hard in her pussy. After this, he was much tamer, and she let him have his way, missionary, doggy, and lying on their sides from behind. They fell asleep in each other's arms. The Saturday she had hoped to have of Anthony and his big cock, spending the day fucking her in her king-size bed, didn't happen. After a couple of orgasms in the morning, she found out he had to work, so she let him go, escorting him to the door nude, much to her neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Bruno's, shocked looks.

She kissed him passionately in front of Mrs. Bruno, his cum running down her legs, finally smiling and saying, "Good morning," before closing her door.

A shower and half the day with her toys finished the job, not to her satisfaction, but good enough for now.

>>>>>

Janet reported early on Monday to her assignment in Building Two. Her boss was Mr. Oscar Lambert, a forty-something manager she would learn was on his way up. He had a mid-life paunch, but the gut wasn't from overeating. It was because he spent too much time at work and not enough time in the gym. He was just out of shape. As she sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk, he spoke at length about the company's organization and her assignment.

A vice president, Robert Bentel, headed five departments, each headed by an executive, in her case, Emily Watson. Each department has two groups, each having six full associates headed by a manager. The group she was assigned was headed by Lambert, and Deborah Quinn headed the other. Besides the six full associates, the group had a couple of general go-to gofers for all the supportive shit work, a computer specialist, and a receptionist to answer the phones. As was the policy of all no-nonsense predatory financial organizations, these two groups were in direct competition. They were compared weekly in their productivity by the overall executive of the two groups, and all five departments were again compared by the vice president. Way above her pay grade, the ten company vice presidents were also in active competition and compared weekly by the President's executive board.

As for Janet, she was still a trainee but at a much higher level than her classmates. She, at first, would help with the crap work, an expression he used causing her to realize he understood and may even be empathetic to her situation, not just a hard-assed boss type. Janet was always observant. Her father, an ex-Army Ranger, had taught her that situational awareness was all important. On Mr. Lambert's desk was a picture of a woman and two kids, a pencil holder with a half dozen pens, an inbox, an outbox, and a laptop. His office was neat and orderly. This told her volumes about him. He was organized, and she had better keep everything in check because his wife's picture with the kids on his desk said to her that chances are he wouldn't be like her professors. There would be no changing a B to an A that way.

Lambert told her that if she proved reliable and energetic, her assignments would improve from assisting associates to being given a chance to seek out prospects and even earn commissions. She picked up on the word energetic right away. He didn't want slackers or low-energy people. No one had ever accused Janet of being low-energy.

The associates were all thirty-somethings, but half were out on calls. Lambert had a female what? She wasn't a secretary. They went the way of the buggy whip. She wasn't an assistant because she didn't seem to have any actual authority, but she worked closely with Lambert. So, having read The Art of War by Sun Tzu, Janet decided this might be a person to cultivate. Her name was Helen Wright.

At lunch, Janet approached Helen, asking if she could sit at her table of two. There were other empty tables, but Janet took the chance she might not be rebuffed. The woman had seemed pleasant enough when Janet had met her earlier. She was fortyish, just a bit thick, with large breasts and a lovely face but an almost sad demeanor.

Looking up from her folder as she ate her sandwich, Helen smiled shyly and said, "Sure."

"Thanks," Janet replied, seating herself across from the woman.

It seemed Helen was about to return to her folder when she sighed an earth-shatteringly sad sigh and closed the folder, picking up her untouched sandwich. Janet took a chance.

"Is everything alright?" she timidly asked.

Helen looked at Janet with a look that was common to people in these types of organizations: suspicion. Everyone in the group was under constant scrutiny and in constant competition with others. The woman's apparent first thought was, "Why would Janet want to know except to exploit it somehow?"

"No, everything is fine," Helen said. "How do you like it so far," she continued, putting on a show of congeniality.

Janet knew the only way to assuage this direction in the woman's thinking was to act innocent to make herself a non-threat. So out came the bubbly, just-out-of-college Janet, all sparkly and with the brains of a carbonated soda. She babbled on and on about this and that until, by the end of the lunch hour, she saw Helen visibly relax. Each day, she would seek out Helen, chatting with her and laughing, telling jokes, and putting her at ease. By the end of the first week, Helen was seeking Janet out.

As the days passed, Janet threw herself totally into any job Lambert gave her, going above and beyond each time. At the same time, she got to know the associates somewhat, offering to help where she could. Even the other gofers came to like her. Each lunch brought Helen seeking her out, eager to sit with her, but Helen's ever-present sad and dower countenance remained.

After a couple of weeks, at lunch on a Friday, Janet scooted her chair around beside Helen and whispered, "What's wrong, Helen?"

"What? Why nothing," she said just as sadly.

"You act so sad all the time, Helen. Please, won't you tell me what is wrong?" she said, a crocodile tear set loose down her cheek.

Seeing the tear and believing sincerely, Helen whispered, "I am so lonely."

Then, before Janet could question her more, Helen launched into a veritable dissertation on how her failed marriage had scared her, how no one liked her, how she was ugly and fat, no man would even look at her, and how she was so sad all the time.

Janet was not empathetic inside. To her, a failed marriage was just an inconvenience. Who cares if people don't like you fuck them? Both ugly and fat can be fixed, and if you want men to look at you, you have to give them something to look at. However, Janet showed great empathy outside. She cooed and tried to comfort Helen, who eventually started crying, so Janet held her tight, thinking sarcastically, "This is going well."

It did set the wheels of Janet's planning side in motion. It was Friday. Racing home, Janet changed into something a bit sexier, a short skirt and tight blouse, grabbed a bottle of wine from her fridge, and jumped on the bus to Helen's neighborhood. Ever the resourceful one, Janet had obtained Helen's address and phone number. In fact, she had obtained a copy, clandestinely, of course, of Helen's employment jacket from HR, which was as thorough as any jacket she had ever seen. It only required one blow job with accompanying breast groping, simple. She had paid the same price for every group member except Lambert. Lambert's cost her a weekend of being fucked by three guys. After they were done with her, she thought she should have paid them.

In Helen's neighborhood, she stopped at a deli, got soup and sandwiches to go for two, and rang Helen's doorbell. To say Helen was shocked to see Janet would be a gross understatement. Dressed in an oversized brown sweatsuit, she was about as sexy as a potato in a brown paper sack.

"Hi, Helen," the bubbly, scatterbrained, just-out-of-college Janet said. "You said you were lonely, and I don't know anyone in this whole city but the people at work. So, I thought we could be lonely together. I got food and wine," she said cheerily.

Stammering, Helen said, "OK," and stepped back to let Janet in.

Janet, bubbly Janet, went to work talking a blue streak, unloading her groceries on the kitchen island, then turned and gave Helen a very European kiss on each cheek. The startled Helen soon came around with Janet's super infectious manner. Eventually, they were sitting on the couch, the TV on but unwatched, drinking wine and slowly succumbing to the effects of the alcohol.

"Are you lonely and sad now?" Janet asked Helen in the middle of a laughing jag as they approached the door for Janet to leave.

"How could I be?" Helen replied, smiling.

"Good," Janet said, then reached out and pulled Helen slowly into a chaste kiss on the lips.

Helen's shocked eyes were wide as Janet pulled back.

"I'll see you on Monday," Janet said, smiling when Helen suddenly pulled Janet into a desperate kiss opening her mouth.

Everything went rapidly from there. The two women pawed each other mutually, stripping each other's tops off, groping and sucking on each other's tits. Janet liked Helen's tits a lot more than she thought she would. They were giant pillows, soft and mushy, with enormous dark brown areolas and incredibly long nipples. Janet sucked and twisted and pulled them until Helen squealed, begging her to stop claiming they were too sensitive. Janet giggled and put her hand down Helen's sweatpants, inside her panties, and started playing with her clit. Helen was soon wailing, and getting Helen to take her pants off was no chore at all. Stripping her skirt off, Janet pulled Helen into position roughly like she loved men to do to her and started licking Helen's thighs. Helen arched, wailing. The closer Janet got to Helen's pussy, the more actively Helen bucked and squirmed, finally begging Janet.