Serving Melons

"I've decided that we should officially rename her," Abi announced one day, sat at her desk, surrounded by the usual bunch of fawning admirers. "Let's just call her Fatty from now on." She turned to look at Fatima and giggled. "Suits her better, chaps, don't you agree?" They chuckled and said that it sure did. The defenceless Fatima said nothing. She no longer spoke much at work. The obliteration of her self-esteem had rendered her almost mute. Such was the extent of little Abi's triumph and domination.

4.

But no matter how appallingly she was treated Fatima had to suck it up. She knew, as did the rest of the firm, that little Ms Melons was 'special' in the eyes of the boss. Raising any sort of complaint about her behaviour, however diabolical, could lead only to trouble for the complainant.

The case of Rodney Smallcox was still fresh in the collective memory. It had occurred shortly after the staff appraisals.

Rodney Smallcox was a quiet and diligent young man, rather timid, who occupied a desk next to Abi. She had Fatima on her left and Rodney on her right. She soon sussed him out as the lonely and frustrated type, still living with his parents, his sex life a big fat zero. The ideal foil for an arch cockteaser like Abigail Melons. She was used to having an impact on men, of course, but with Rodney it was particularly and painfully obvious. If she deigned to speak to him he would stammer and blush, struggle to frame a sentence. For the rest of the time he would be snatching yearning sideways glances at her, at her legs especially, the merest glimpse of them clearly being a significant and uncomfortable distraction from his work. The peeping was furtive, Rodney was hoping that the sexy owner of the sexy legs would not notice, but of course she did. Abi always knew when it came to men and that sort of thing.

She decided to have some sport with the poor boy. She took to angling her legs, provocatively crossed in her little skirt, out from under the desk and towards Rodney, flaunting them at him, enjoying his agonized attempts to keep his eyes elsewhere. Futile attempts, because no matter how hard Rodney tried not to look he would always end up mesmerized by the tantalizing display. With them being next to each other, and with how Abi was sitting, her silky thighs were presented almost under his nose. When she could tell that he was staring Abi would sometimes turn the screw further, would heighten the cold-blooded blatant tease by inserting a finger under the hem of her skirt and lazily scratching herself high up there, close to her panties.

Day in, day out Abi tortured Rodney like this, pretending that she didn't realize what she was doing to him, until on this particular day, when she had become a little bored and was feeling extra mean, she made an abrupt and angry announcement in a voice loud enough for all of the office to hear.

"Rodney, can you please stop perving on my legs the whole time! What on earth is the matter with you?"

Cue general hilarity and excruciating embarrassment for the unfortunate Rodney Smallcox. He went bright red and mumbled something unintelligible, then turned to stare at his monitor. Abi allowed him to do that for a short while, just long enough for him to start to dare to think that it might be the end of the matter, then she moved in for the kill. She turned to him and told him that he must apologize. Rodney did so. In a halting whisper he said that he was sorry for staring at her legs. "Speak up!" Abi snapped. "Everyone needs to hear this." So he did it again, louder now, his voice high and strained, head twitching with shame. He was utterly mortified but he just about managed to get through it. "Good boy," said his smirking tormentress, now gurning to the room. People were laughing uproariously. Jesus, what a fucking loser!

"But you must also beg my forgiveness. So please get down on the floor and crawl to me and do that. You may kiss my feet while you're at it."

This got a raucous cheer and guys gathered round to see if Rodney would demean himself further and comply. Only Fatima remained seated and stony faced. There was pandemonium, cries of "yeah, c'mon Rod, let's see you crawl to Abi and kiss her tutsies!" and the like. The noise brought Dominic out from his room to check what the hell was going on.

Rodney looked at the boss as if at a saviour. He found a little of his mojo and explained the situation to Dominic, said that Abi was acting crazy, that she was telling Rodney he had to get on his belly and worship her feet even though all he had done was look at her legs for a second, which Abi had in any case been purposely showing off to him, and furthermore he had already apologized to her for it. Abi was a pricktease, Rodney complained. Why else did she wear skirts like that? She really ought to be disciplined, Rodney said. Or at least should be told that she was bang out of order. How could a guy be expected to do any work when he had a hot looking girl sitting so close and messing with him, getting him all het up the way that Abi was always doing? She just loves flashing her legs off at me. Don't believe her if she says otherwise. She knows it drives me insane and she's been doing it for weeks now. Jesus.

Dominic listened gravely to all of this and then he took the two of them, Abi and Rodney Smallcox, to his office and closed the door.

They were in there for over an hour. It was Rodney who emerged first. He was distraught, had clearly been crying. He walked like a zombie to his desk, packed up his belongings and made his way towards the lift. It was the last sighting of him on the premises.

When Abi came out she looked like the cat with the cream. "Guess he should have kissed my feet after all," she announced contentedly to an avid audience.

"Don't tell me that the poor bastard been sacked," said one of the guys. "Oh my god, Abi, that is just too funny."

Abi grinned and said that Dominic would explain. There would be an email.

And indeed there was. Later that afternoon a missive from the boss arrived in everybody's inbox. It said that Rodney Smallcox had been let go on account of gross misconduct. Therefore no notice, no pay off, no references. He would no doubt struggle to get another position. This may seem harsh, the memo said, but it was the only viable response to an individual who had violated one of the core values of the firm, which was respect for its female employees. This was more important than ever in the light of the #metoo movement which Dominic was sure that every man there was fully signed up to. So let this be a lesson for everybody. It should not need saying in this day and age, nevertheless say it he would. Just because a pretty girl might choose to wear strikingly short skirts, or whatever, to the office this does not (repeat NOT) give her male co-workers carte blanche to be checking out her lovely legs. Ditto eyeing up her fabulous cleavage if she happens to be displaying plenty of that too. Consent was the watchword here. Guys were perfectly entitled to ogle Abigail, of course they were, but ONLY if they first expressly ascertained that she was happy for them to do so. Consider that to be the official firm policy from this point forward. Oh and the same applies to letching over Ms Fogblower obviously.

The memo was read immediately by everyone and prompted much discussion along the lines of how Abi's 'express consent' to be ogled might best be obtained.

Thankfully the matter was soon resolved by the girl herself. Abi tapped out a quick mail as a follow-up to Dom's.

Hi everybody. Just so you know. I got hacked off with Rodney (such a dork!) but I have absolutely no problem with the rest of you. You guys can drool over me any time you like! xxx Abi.

PS: Although I can't of course speak for Fatty - Fats, do you give the guys permission to ogle you too if they want to?

Fatima did not reply to this, although a few other people did.

Thanks, gorgeous, that is SUCH a relief to hear. Looking at you is the best thing about working here. And I don't think we need to worry about Fatty, do we, because in her case this particular issue is vanishingly unlikely to arise in practice. You know what I mean? I'm sure you do, lol!

That was from Aloysius Dillard Potter and was one of several along the same lines.

Abi replied to each one, flirting outrageously, and she invited ADP and co to spell out for everyone's benefit on group email exactly why this issue of blokes wanting to ogle a girl in the office was highly relevant in her case and yet not at all relevant as regards Fatima. They were happy to oblige and Abi spent an enjoyable hour or so reading the ever more elaborate and flowery paeans to her beauty, her all round loveliness, how she was a million trillion times more attractive than the horror that was Fatima Fogblower.

Fatima was reading the emails, somewhat masochistically, and at one point she turned and caught Abi's eye. Abi stared implacably at her, savouring the pain being inflicted on this unfortunate girl who she had so mercilessly transformed into her abject stooge. Fatima's expression was truly tortured, a mix of hurt and bemusement and a sort of pathetic pleading. Her eyes were silently begging Abi to stop all of this.

"You ok there, Fatty?" Abi said, her voice soft and needling and dripping with derision. Fatima looked away, unable to hold the other girl's gloating gaze.

Abi smirked gleefully and moved her chair closer. She dropped her tone to a whisper, so only Fatima could hear.

"Oh you poor creature, how you must wish you were slim and pretty too. All the guys here fancy me, don't they? Always running around after cute little Abi even though it's obvious they have zero chance. Still, I do enjoy flirting with them and being a tease. It's fun to do that stuff. Of course only attractive girls get to do it. Girls like me. It must make you green with envy! Especially since I have several dishy boyfriends competing for me as well. Hey, you know what I do sometimes when I'm feeling extra horny? I sleep with two of them at the same time. Honestly, Fats, I do! I take two naked hunks to bed and they take it in turns to make love to me. We go on for hours. Can you imagine how heavenly that feels? I really hope you can because imagining any sort of guy action is all that a hideous looking girl such as you will ever do. I bet you've never even been kissed. Probably never will be. And here's me able to take my pick and gorge myself. You must hate me very very much. Oh and by the way, my appraisal. Guess what? I'm getting a big promotion. Yeah, I am. Not that I will need to work harder, nothing tedious like that, in fact I won't have to do anything different at all. The point of the promo is purely so that I can be paid more. Lots more. My salary is doubling! How about that? Plus I was promised the same for next year and the year after. Then I'll be the highest paid person here apart from Dom himself. Can you believe it? And do you know why, Fatima? Fatty. Fatso. I think you do but I will tell you anyway. It is because I'm a beautiful girl and the boss just loves to make me happy. He knows how I'm forever tormenting you, you know, and he doesn't mind one bit. Life is terribly unfair, isn't it?"

Then she had a giggling fit.

5.

The following morning Abi got back on the office email and instigated a couple of fun competitions.

The first one read as follows.

So guys, back to the subject of you lot being free to ogle me, how about you decide what I wear to work this Friday? Tomorrow in other words. The options are:

(i) An extremely snug-fitting (and really short, hardly more than covers my bum!) little red dress, low neckline obviously, and cute matching pumps?

(ii) A nice black pencil skirt, few inches above the knee, with stockings and suspenders, teamed with stilettos and a sheer (so sheer in fact that it's more or less see-through) white silk blouse?

(iii) Skin-tight faded blue jeans with open toe sandals and a teeny weeny crop top (no bra BTW so nipples straining through) that reaches down to just below my tits and shows off my perfectly toned belly to the max?

What do you men all think?

No, don't bother telling me, I know exactly what you men all think.

So each of you take a while to imagine me (I mean REALLY imagine me!) in each of the above outfits and then vote.

Really looking forward to seeing which one wins!

PS: We can make this a weekly thing if you like. Every Thursday I give you three choices and then on Friday I come in wearing whatever is the most popular pick. How does that sound? Would you chaps enjoy that?

She hit 'send' and then went off to see Dom. To do more than see him, in fact. It was time to reward the boss for the great news on her promo and pay rise. She was looking forward to it. He didn't know it yet but Dominic Dankeschoen was about to be presented with the same view of luscious little Abi Melons as her one of her boyfriends had been in the bedroom that morning, the only significant difference being that the boyfriend had promptly plunged in and pumped her to high heaven and back, whereas Dom, gentleman that he was, would not be doing that. He would be showing some restraint. Not quite his usual level of restraint, there would be brief contact between lips and tongue of boss and bare buttocks of junior trainee, but restraint of almost heroic proportions nevertheless.

It turned out that everyone loved Abi's idea about her Friday outfits. And yes definitely, gorgeous, please let's do it every single week without fail. Fantastic. Sentiment was unanimous in this regard. The voting on which outfit, however, was far from unanimous. It was close, extremely close.

Abi emailed the result from Dom's office. By arranging herself suitably she was able to type it out on her tablet as she was lying stark naked on his desk having her rear attended to.

Ok chaps, a tight contest but (iii) has the most votes. Which means that tomorrow you will get to see the woman of your dreams frolicking around the office in tight jeans and a ridiculous little crop top. And I'll leave the bra off, I promise!! xxx Moi.

PS: Dom voted for (ii). He's disappointed (in private moments he often fantasizes at the thought of me in sheer silk stockings and suspenders) but I told him not to worry, I'd be sure to include that particular choice again next week. So you might bear that in mind.

PPS: Dom also pointed out to me that I am not the only girl here. There is 'F' too. And he suggested that in the name of equality in the workplace (very important to the firm!) you guys ought to be able to express an opinion on what SHE should wear tomorrow. But I have managed to talk him out of this. It would be a waste of time, I told him, given that I happened to know that all of you are of the exact same mind as to what the perfect outfit for 'F' is, either tomorrow or any other day. An enormous great big sack! LOL.

For her second competition later that day Abi asked for witty and imaginative specific one-liner comparisons between herself and Fatima. Once everybody had submitted she would pick her favourite and the lucky author would get to take her for a drink this evening. Just the one drink, since she had a hot date later, but she was sure that it was still a great prize and very much worth winning. Hey and who knows, perhaps a little snog in the bar too? Perhaps.

The entries poured in.

Abi was the sweetest and loveliest of fresh roses, Fatty was a dead twig.

Abi was a bottle of chilled vintage champagne, Fatso was a glass of warm tap water.

Abi was the moon and the stars, Fatface was the shit on a shoe.

Etc.

Everyone had a go.

"Men can be really rather poetic sometimes, Fatty, can't they?" she remarked loudly to Fatima, not bothering to turn and look at her.

At close of play Abi climbed up onto her desk and announced that the result was in. She had decided, she said, so gather round people. She struck a sexy suggestive pose, up on the table, as the guys crowded eagerly around. There was a satisfying and deliciously ego-boosting cacophony of wolf whistles. Abi giggled and rewarded the whistlers with an insinuating hip wiggle and a sultry pout. "So I wonder who will be taking me out tonight?" she teased, prolonging the suspense. It was such a blast to toy with them all! She just adored the way these men were looking at her, like hungry dogs at a juicy bone. She idly played with a button on her blouse, the one that if she went ahead and opened it would cause her fabulous boobs, just barely encased in a sliver of a bra, to pretty much tumble into full sight. The men's lusting eyes were trained like lazers on her fingers on the button, desperately willing her to do it. She didn't, no way, but it had the desired effect. They all had serious erections now, Abi was certain of that. She could actually make them out in some cases. A dozen stiff cocks because of her! How delicious! What more could a girl want? Dom had come out of his office and was observing from afar, clearly amused. Abi smiled across and blew him a sardonic kiss. Then she finally put the men out of their misery. A whoop of unabashed triumph from the victor (Paul Pratt) and a loud chorus of disappointed groans from the also rans.

Abi had chosen Paul's entry not because it was the best, it was downright crude in fact, but because Paul Pratt was in her opinion marginally the best looking of the men who worked there. Not that this was saying a great deal. She also happened to know that Paul had very recently got married, would therefore be out drinking and cavorting with Abi while his brand new wife waited anxiously at home, and that kind of appealed to her. Yes, that was quite an amusing notion. Abi determined on a slight change to the plan. She would have several drinks with Paul and she would canoodle heavily with him. In fact she would go further. She would get him really revved up in a quiet corner of the bar, then she would push him over the edge, send the guy home to his new wife with a sticky mess in his pants, lipstick on his collar and bites on his neck, and reeking of her perfume. Serve him right, wouldn't it, for even thinking of straying?

And that is more or less what happened.

He collected a lurid black-eye to return home with too. As they were thinking of leaving, he got involved in a mismatch of a fight over Abi's honour with a large and muscled young brute who had been eyeing her up big-time ever since he arrived and had begun hassling the two of them. He was not to know (how could he?) that the 'brute' was in truth a boyfriend who Abi had earlier texted from the bar with the suggestion that it might be amusing if he were to rock up there incognito and dish out the appropriate physical punishment to this creep from work who was all over her. Whatever, the evening ended very badly for the winner of the 'take Abigail out for a drink' competition.

The poor guy did not even get to see Abi in her incendiary jeans crop-top combo. The next day Paul Pratt was off sick. He didn't return to work until the following Wednesday.

6.

Abi exited the lift and did her sauntering catwalk to her desk, wallowing in the usual salivating looks from all the men. It was such a lovely way to start the working day!

The places on either side of her were already occupied, Fatima on her left and Rodney Smallcox's replacement (a confident young guy who Abi rather liked called Adrian Cheese, such an improvement on Rodney Smallcox!) to her right. Both of them would have been there for well over an hour by now. Only little Abi Melons got to be habitually late.

Adrian had probably got plenty done in that time but Fatima would have spent it brooding miserably, dreading the eventual arrival of her nemesis. This was a thought that Abi took great pleasure in. Often, whilst still in her apartment in the morning of a workday, perhaps in the shower, perhaps freshly out of it and musing on what to wear (let's see now, what would really send the guys into a frenzy today? should she wear that short grey skirt or the even shorter green one?) or perhaps a bit later when applying the finishing touches, the final toss of dark lustrous hair, a touch of liner on beautiful big brown eyes, shiny red lipstick applied to full pouting sensuous lips, a few dabs of seductive scent here and there, the careful arrangement of the blouse for maximum titillation, or perhaps considerably earlier in the scheme of things, as had been the case today, lying in her bed and half asleep, with a gorgeous dish of a boy going down on her, his ardent mouth between her legs, getting her nice and wet and ready for a delicious morning fuck to add to the collection of equally delicious ones from the night before, at these times Abi would enjoy thinking of poor Fatima Fogblower, savouring the knowledge that she would right now be sitting at her desk in the office, consumed with fear and trepidation, and just waiting waiting for the dreaded Abigail Melons to appear, wondering what indignities and humiliations were in store today, never knowing quite how Abi would choose to torment her, knowing only that she would and that it would likely be even worse than yesterday.