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He loosens his tie, and explains that he was impressed by her... potential. By the luscious curves of her body, and by her willingness to use them. She deserves more than just using the office photocopier to run off prints of her tits to circulate around the office. To give furtive blowjobs to married executives in the stockroom. Although she's perfectly qualified for those tasks too. She should set her sights higher, although still at groin level.
She smiles in an encouraging way, crosses and uncrosses her legs in a Sharon Stone 'Basic Instinct' way so that he's sure to catch a teasing glimpse of her pussy, to demonstrate she has negotiable assets that are temporarily unexploited.
And he explains. The world of high finance has other necessities better suited to her expertise. There is a Japanese delegation arriving to negotiate trade deals. They will be staying in the penthouse suite of the city's most expensive hotel. They will have generous expense accounts. But they need a more tempting inducement in order to get favourable terms in the boardroom. Which is where Kitty's assets and abilities could be put to lucrative use, as a sweetener? If she's willing? If she is conducive to his offer? No pressures.
She smiles prettily. 'Tell me more, Mr Cartier, sir.'
People are stupid.
They can't tell the difference between fiction and reality. That's what I call stupid.
So does Kitty accept Mr Cartier's offer? Does she become no-holes-barred 'hostess' for the Japanese business delegation. Does she share their penthouse suite, naked, for the duration of the negotiations? Does she suck each of them off, get fucked by each of them in various combinations with her legs spread so far apart it's as if they're not on speaking terms, does she take them up the tight little puckered butt-hole with graceful squeals of pleasure? And yes, she makes more as corporate erotic facilitator than she ever would have done as mere office slut.
This is fiction. In fiction she does all those things.
In fiction there are erotic chance encounters in rail carriage washrooms.
In fiction there are amazingly fulfilling blowjobs delivered in hotel rooms.
How can we ascertain the truth of them? We can never know. We can only conjecture.
BY TRISTAN TROTSKY
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