The Gold-digger Ch. 03

Throughout her college career, Stacy continued to refine her power while she "worked" several jobs, though she never really worked.

For example, she took a job as a waitress at an elite restaurant. She was aware that, statistically, men mostly paid the bill and the tip. So she would wear her low-cut blouses or dresses to work and allow her pheromones to do their magic. She would approach the table of new customers. If only one man was in the party, she would get as close as possible to him, lean over, and act like she was showing him the specials, as she filled the air around him with her pheromones.

Her favorites were all-male groups. She didn't have to worry about being sublte or about the men restraining themselves from giving to her as lavishly as they wanted to. Indeed, she would often lean in and rub the crotch of the man paying the bill until he agreed to an amount she found suitable. If there were multiple men at the table along with women, she would subtly move back and forth between them as the evening wore on, giving them multiple doses of her scent. By the end of the night, the wives/girlfriends were furious with their husbands/boyfriends, who were now openly ogling Stacy's chest. But she didn't care.

She would bring the check to the man in charge, and she would subtly lean in and whisper something like, "I would soooo grateful if you would leave me a tip that reflects how much you've enjoyed staring at my big. fat. tits. all evening. So go ahead and leave me a big. fat. tip." She punctuated these last words with pheromone blasts. The dazed man barely knew what he was writing down. Despite offering nearly non-existent service, Stacy was walking away with tens of thousands of dollars a week.

Of course, the wives and girlfriends began complaining to the owner, Mr. Jim Sykes. He couldn't afford negative press, especially from the elite ladies in town, so he called Stacy into his office to fire her. It didn't go as planned. Before the meeting ended, Stacy was topless and was jerking off Mr. Stykes with her hand while whispering in his ear, as he signed a contract giving Stacy all the profits from every customer she had and promised her their wealthiest regular male customers.

Of course, when the other waitresses discovered the new policy, there was an uproar. Sykes almost caved until Stacy entered his office with tight black shorts and a narrow halter top, her boobs jiggling wildly as she walked. She used her tits and mouth to milk him to three more orgasms. By the end, he was babbling wildly and was clearly no longer in charge. Practically, Stacy ran the restaurant.

Eventually, the hostility from the other waitresses wasn't working for her, so she quit. She next worked as an exotic dancer. Her pheromones drew customers to her like moths to a flame. Some days every male in the room was in a daze watching Stacy.

She would regularly say, with a sultry voice, something like, "Oh booooys, I'm getting tired. If you want me to keep dancing, you each need to hand me fifty dollars. And you would all loooooove for me to keep dancing, wouldn't you?" She would shake her tits, squeeze them together, and spray pheromones out over the crowd. They always complied, until they were out of money. As with the restaurant business, the other dancers complained to Frank Smith, the owner. Frank, a serious, heavy-set white-haired man with a thick Brooklyn accent, couldn't allow his business to be interrupted so he called Stacy in to fire her.

Again, it didn't go as planned. Stacy asked to show him a dance that would "persuade" him how valuable she was. Ten minutes into the dance, Frank Smith was slack-jawed and drooling as a topless Stacy was grinding against him and rubbing her tits up and down his face.

"Oh Mr. Smith, don't you see how valuable I am to the business? Other girls can't dance like me, can they? Nooo. In fact, you should take me on as a partner, since I know sooooo much more about dancing than you do. I've drawn up this contract that gives me 51% of the business. So just go ahead and sign it."

Mr. Smith was confused. 51%? But it was his company. "No...that's not...right....it's not....fair," he began to protest.

"Oh, but it is fair. Let me show you how fair it is." She backed up, squeezed her tits together, and pheromones began flowing into his nose and mouth. "Stroke yourself while you stare at my tits." Mr. Smith began pumping vigorously. "Now aren't these breasts worth at least a measly 1%? Say, 'Yes, partner.'" Smith answered as instructed. "Now go ahead and sign the papers, and when you finish, you may...finish." She giggled. Smith signed and exploded. Of course, the club could not survive with so many angry dancers, so eventually it went under.

By the time her college career came to a close, she had perfected her power to the point that she could seduce any man into doing what she wanted. Indeed, that is how she graduated with honors despite doing very little schoolwork. All it took was a few visits to the chair of the department and the academic dean, and she had a guaranteed perfect GPA, along with recommendations to several grad schools and firms. But Stacy decided she didn't want to waste more time in school, and she had trouble getting a decent job at the firms, both because she was lazy and because either the interviewers or the bosses were women, who could tell what kind of woman Stacy was just by looking at her.

Stacy knew what she wanted to do; she just wan't sure how to do it. With her powers, she shouldn't have to work a day in her life, if she met the right man. And the right man was a (relatively) unattached billionaire. But there were only a few billionaires in the world, and they were usually both very attached and very suspicious of outsiders. Not to mention, she wouldn't know where to find one. What perfect man could she seduce? And then it hit her. She was in her apartment complex's workout room, trying to ignore the hungry stares of several men and watching the news on the TV. She turned up the volume to hear the anchor.

"Today RJ Media bought out Star Corporation for a record $370 billion. This buyout makes Richard Jameson, the owner of RJ Media, one of the wealthiest men in the world, with an estimated personal net worth of $200 billion. Mr. Jameson recently returned to his business after he lost his wife to cancer last year..."

Stacy's eyes lit up and her heartbeat quickened. This was it. Richard Jameson was her meal ticket. She could not even wrap her mind around $200 billion. She could have any life she wanted. Mr. Jameson appeared pretty old, which meant he would be weaker. She worried that he might be too experienced and so more cautious, but he was also a grieving widower, which made him especially vulnerable to a sexy young woman's charms. "Mr. Jameson must be soooo lonely," Stacy wickedly thought, "but I'll fix that." The only problem was where to find him.

She returned her attention to the TV. "...Mr. Jameson is one of the most disciplined leaders in the industry. He regularly spends his days in his office at Jameson Towers." This just keeps getting better, Stacy thought.

Two days later, after she had gone shopping for some revealing clothes that could barely pass as a secretary's work attire, Stacy, wearing a low-cut white blouse and a short black skirt approached the entrance to Jameson Towers. Once she was inside, she looked around. It was evident that she would need a key pass to take the elevator to the top floors. And she didn't know exactly which floor Mr. Jameson's office was on. She walked sexily over to the desk with the security guard, a rather heavyset young man with short brown hair. He was looking down at his phone.

Stacy cleared her throat loudly and daintily said, "Excuse me." The guard looked him and his eyes met the most perfect pair of tits he had ever seen, a long line of juicy cleavage encased in a white blouse. Stacy was leaned over the desk to give him a clear view of her weapons. "I need a key pass to Mr. Jameson's floor, please."

"Um, name, please?"

"Ms. Stacy Grant." He started typing.

"I'm sorry, we have no one by that name in the system."

"Oh, well, this is my first time here. I have a meeting with Mr. Jameson in a few moments."

"I'm sorry, but I can't just allow you in. To get a key pass, you need an invitation recorded in our system."

And with that disappointing response, Stacy began to pump pheromones into the air around the security guard. His eyes grew glassy and he started breathing deeply. A visible tent appeared in his pants.

"What's your name, sweety?"

"Uh...uh..." He looked down at his name tag for a brief moment, before returning his focus to her cleavage. "Mark."

"Oooooh, Mark, I love that name. It's so manly. Now, Mark, could you tell me what floor Mr. Jameson is on?"

"I....I....can't...can't remember."

"Well, here, let me help you jog that memory." She walked around counter and sat on Mark's desk. Before he could stop her, she squeezed her tits together and up, almost uncovering the tops of her nipples, and she began stroking his hard-on with her foot. Mark was lost in bliss. "Mark, listen to me very carefully. It's very important for me to meet with Mr. Jameson. It will make my veeeerrrry happy. And it makes you feel soooooo gooooood to make me happy, doesn't it?" She pressed into his cock harder and rubbed faster. Mark started groaning. "So tell me, what floor is Mr. Jameson's?"

"F...f...fortieth.....fortieth floor."

"Goood boooy. Will you please give me a key pass now?" Mark fumbled to grab a card and gave it to her. "Thank you so much, sweety. Now as a token of my appreciation..." She leaned in and kissed him passionately as her hand now worked his cock through his pants. Soon he was blowing his load in his pants.

Stacy walked to the elevators with her new key pass and pressed 40 once inside the elevator. If she were lucky, there would be no staff waiting outside the elevator...or at least only male staff. On her way up, she shared the elevator with a short, elderly, white-haired gentleman. He was clearly a professional, though a much smaller fish than her current target. But she decided to have some fun anyway. Since the elevator was a tightly enclosed space, she began pumping out pheromones as soon as the door closed on them, but the time they reached the 20th floor the old man was sporting an erection and he couldn't stop staring at her tits. At first, Stacy pretended not to notice. Then she looked at him, getting his attention, and winked.

She sauntered toward him and began circling his chest with her pointer finger. "I'm new here, and I don't really know my way around. I would really like some money to help me out. Would you mind giving me yours?" Of course, the logic made no sense. But that was part of the fun. Stacy felt powerful knowing that she had an experienced professional so dazed with sexual arousal that he didn't even notice how nonsensical her request was. The man reached into his wallet, opened it up, and gave her all the bills, $1000 total, all without losing eye contact with her massive boobs.

Once he had handed over the money, they reached the man's stop on the 30th floor. The man wouldn't move. "Baby, you've got to go to work today to keep making more of this money for me. You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you? So go on, go to work." And so the man did. When the doors closed again, Stacy couldn't help but laugh. This was too easy.

Over the next several minutes she seduced Mr. Jameson into firing his own secretary and hiring her. She had returned home and was now awake the next morning, ready to implement the rest of her plan to wrap Richard Jameson around her finger and milk him of his wealth with her tits.

She wore a tight, low-cut black dress with heels. Her curvy blonde hair tumbled down her back. She was wearing bright red lipstick and a subtle, feminine perfume. She was ready for work.