The Receptionist and the Zombie

Grant never was much of a partier. He was even worse with women, but Jane, the new receptionist, was different. Her gap-toothed smile, her corn-fed physique, her frumpy outfits gave her an air of approachability that bolstered his confidence to the point where he actually got up the nerve to ask her if she'd like to go to the office Halloween party with him.

"So, what are you going to be?" he asked.

"I have an idea," she said, batting her wide eyes, "but I'd need a partner to help me pull it off."

"I'll be your partner," he offered, jumping at the chance to break the ice with her.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I was thinking of being a prostitute, but I'd need a pimp." Her lips lingered for a moment, her hot breath on his neck, the flowery fragrance of her shampoo making his head spin.

Just then the phone rang. Watching her pick up and route the call, he couldn't help but fantasize about the delicious jiggle beneath her buttoned-up blouse. It seemed she made a point of keeping her sweeping, sensual curves hidden under conservative outfits, which only made him more curious about what treasures lay beneath.

As she finished with her call, she flashed him a curious smile. "Well? You wanna do it? I'll make it worth your while."

"Sure," he stammered. "I'll be your pimp. What do I wear?"

"Just Google 'pimp clothes', and then go to the thrift stores. You'll find something."

He certainly would find something; something stunning, something cool, something to make her realize he wasn't just a lowly paper-shuffler after all, he was a player, and she was lucky to have him.

"Will we be... um, you know... driving together?" he asked hopefully, already betraying his pretend-player persona. "I mean... uh..., do you want me to pick you up?"

"Oh no, that's okay," she responded while rifling through the papers on her desk. "I'll be coming from the other side of town. We'll meet outside and walk in together."

"It's a date!" he exclaimed, but she was already back on the phone, totally oblivious to his presence.

?The company party was being held at the same sprawling faux-adobe mansion they used every year. It was a corporate destination property, fully furnished, with comfy Southwestern style furniture and colorful Mexican blankets everywhere.

As he tooled up the drive, he visualized Jane in some sort of R-rated outfit, with cleavage to die for, and perhaps a lot of leg showing. He was so excited about seeing her this way, he almost ran over the valet kid who was waiting to park his car.

"Sorry dude," Grant said, climbing out of his beat up Nissan.

The kid gave him a sour look, perhaps taken aback by Grant's shabby thrift-story pimp jacket with the ratty fake fur on the collar. Grant handed him a one-dollar bill, feeling quite flush in his new role.

The valet kid gave him a scowl but Grant was oblivious, strutting across the cobblestone drive and up the steps in his pointy black boots, tapping his gold-tipped cane against the bricks.

He bobbed his red velvet pimp hat at the doorman but didn't enter. He couldn't enter without Jane, but she was nowhere to be seen. Other than a couple of witches smoking cigarettes and a woman in a V-cut halter dress, there was no one even vaguely resembling his favorite homely receptionist. Then the woman in the V-cut dress stood up, her round breasts practically popping out of her top.

"Jane?" he gasped, staring in awe at the stacked woman with the five inch fuck-me heels and the fishnet stockings. She strutted towards him, her tits doing a spastic jello-dance with every step she took.

"Grant!" she giggled, grabbing his waist and pressing her jiggling chest up against him. She planted a wet kiss on his neck. "You look adorable, and super-bad, at the same time." She leaned back to take him in, her soft tummy still pressed against his hips. He could already feel his dick stirring.

"Holy crap, Jane," he stammered. "I didn't recognize you."

"Is that good or bad?" she pouted, her minty breath mingling with his.

"Good, I guess," he quickly decided, letting his hand rest on her round hip.

"You guess?"

"Well, you know. It's like you're a totally different person." He let his hand slide a little lower on her hip, marveling at the smoothness he felt, but also wondering why he was encountering no thong line. "Where do you get a dress like this?"

"There's a place downtown where the strippers go," she said, stepping back and doing a little spin, during which he noticed her dress was barely long enough to cover her bouncy ass.

"Nice," he sighed, marveling at her tiny waist and curvy hips. There was no denying it, she had the perfect body for a prostitute. With her glossy red lipstick and glittery eye makeup, he figured she could make a grand a night in Vegas without even trying.

"Here," she spoke up while pulling something out of her sequined bag. "Clip this on your belt. It's a beeper for my panic button."

"Panic button?" he asked, feeling a little faint, like maybe he was the one who needed a panic button.

"Yeah. I got it when I used to work at an assisted living place, only it's not for when I've fallen down and can't get up, it's for when some guy starts getting too rough with me."

"Oh, I get it," Grant chuckled nervously. "We're playing this prostitute/pimp charade right down to the last detail."

"Details are my job," she reminded him, scrunching her nose in a way he'd never noticed before. "They're what I'm good at." She gave him another squeeze, during which his hand landed on her hip again, only this time he felt her garter belt. She looked down, perhaps sensing his fingers lingering there. "You like?" she smiled, shoving a long leg in his direction.

'Yeah," he gasped. "I've never gone out with a woman with stockings like that."

"Don't you mean you've never gone out with a woman with stockings?"

Grant hung his head. "That too."

They both laughed, and then she hooked her arm in his and they proceeded past the doorman.

"Now," she whispered into his ear, "we're going to go trolling for johns. If anybody asks, it's going to be one-hundred large for ten minutes, paid to me, not you. As soon as I hook up with a guy, you start getting the next guys lined up. Here's a notebook so you can keep track of the customers." She handed him a pen and pad.

Grant took the notepad, but something was bothering him. Why would she go to all this trouble unless she was actually lining up real customers to have sex with? He stopped in his tracks.

"Um, Jane?" he asked, choosing his words carefully, "this whole prostitute thing, with the notebook and the hundred large, it's..."

"Grant, honey," she giggled, squishing her tit up against his side. "You're not insinuating that I'd actually, you know...?" She flashed him an innnocent grin. "This is the perfect way to get to know the people I'm working with. It's the ultimate icebreaker. I take them in the back bedroom, they pull out their wallets and show me pictures of their wives and kids, and next time they're thinking about promoting someone, they'll remember the hot chick from the Halloween party."

"Cool," Grant sighed, a rush of relief making his knees go weak. It was so overwhelming being with such a stunningly beautiful woman, it was all he could to to keep his head on straight without having to worry about what she was doing in the back room.

She gave him a moment to catch his breath, then she un-squished her breast from his body, grabbed his hand even tighter as they strutted into the living room.

Madonna disco music was playing, orange and black balloons were dancing about the ceiling, and everyone was in costume. It was common knowledge around the office that promotions had been given based on the cleverness of the costumes, and the partiers had gone all out. There were several Xenas, kings, queens, hobbits, a Robin Hood, but, fortunately, no whores or pimps.

"Good choice on the costume," Grant said, inhaling Jane's tropical perfume. He looked around the room, feeling quite proud of himself. Finally he would gain some respect from his coworkers, the ones who teased him about his lack of female conquests. He reveled in the moment, but it didn't last long. He and Jane hadn't even taken three steps when Pete, in a wolf's head, accosted them.

"Dude!" Pete gasped, raising the wolf's head off his face. "Who's your lady?"

"It's Jane, you know, from..."

"That's Lady Jane," she interrupted, offering Pete her hand, "and I'm working tonight. You lookin' for a good time, son?"?

?"Shit yeah," Pete grinned. "How much?"

"Hundred large."

"Let's go," Pete agreed, grabbing Jane by the hand.

It did give Grant a twinge of jealousy watching his new girlfriend strutting off to have pretend-sex with his work rival, but what could he do? It was what she wanted, and what she wanted was what he wanted. Sort of.

His brooding was broken by a man in a Nixon mask. "That your bitch?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"Sure is," Grant said. "Hundred large for ten minutes. You down with that?"

"You're damn right I am, you sonofabitch."

Grant had to laugh. The guy obviously had Nixon down to a T. The Nixon guy reached for his wallet, but Grant stopped him.

"Just pay the lady," he instructed. "I get my cut later."

The Nixon guy gave him a thumbs-up and Grant continued to circulate about the room, taking down names, and then crossing names off as Jane emerged at the head of the hall to flirt with her next customer. It was amazing to watch her work the crowd. She could wrap a guy around her finger in thirty seconds. Grant's only salvation was the fact that, at least, at the end of the night, he'd get the last dance, so to speak.

The pretend customers came and went, and before he knew it, he had five guys stacked up on his list. Finally he could take a little break. He was on his way to the punch bowl when he felt a tug at his elbow.

"Hey, aren't you Grant, from Accounts?"

"That's me," he said, barely noticing the petite brunette. His mind was still trapped in Jane's world, her jiggling cleavage, her long legs, her ass an inch from showing under her dress.

"I'm Patricia, from Customer Service."

She held out her hand and he took it politely. But as soon as she touched him, he felt something, a connection, a willingness, a sense of surrender. It was totally different than being around Jane. There was an aura of calmness about this woman, a feeling that wherever she was, somehow, everything was going to work out okay.

"Nice outfit," he said, finally noticing the subtle curves of her petite frame.

"I'm a princess," she grinned, doing a little spin. Her dress was sheer, with spaghetti straps setting off her delicate collarbones. Her cleavage was understated, like a teenager's, with small, firm breasts.

?"A princess indeed," he grinned, taking in her fairy-tale beauty.

"Who's that girl you're with?" she asked, raising her paper cup to her lips for another swig of punch.

"That's Jane, the receptionist. She's a prostitute tonight."

"No shit!" Patricia said disapprovingly. "But what are you?"

"I'm her pimp," he said, punctuated by a "Yo!"

"Well you certainly seem to be doing a good job. She's been busy since the moment you two got here."

"That reminds me," Grant said with an air of urgency, "I have to see who's up next." He pulled out his little notebook, scanning the room for johns.

"You want to hang later?" Patricia asked. "The view from the deck is amazing."

"Sure," he said absentmindedly. He watched the princess disappear in the crowd just in time to catch sight of Jane glaring at him from the hallway. He practically sprinted to her side.

"Who's next?" Jane inquired in a slightly annoyed tone.

He looked at the scribbles in his notebook, crossing off one more name. "Don?" he said, feeling a little uneasy. He couldn't help but wonder why Jane was taking this charade so seriously. Wasn't it supposed to be fun, acting the part of whore and pimp? She was turning it into a damn job.

As he watched her take Don's hand and lead him down the hall, he felt a gnawing in his stomach, the uneasiness that only her closeness could cure. Cursing himself for being such a wimp, he let his mind wander back to Patricia. Why hadn't he noticed her around the office? Sure she worked downstairs, but he went downstairs all the time. Then he remembered, the mousy little girl in the corner cubicle. Bingo! She certainly did clean up nice.

With renewed interest he went searching for her, finally spotting her on the couch. She was jabbering with a couple of witches and a nun; work buddies no doubt. They seemed to be getting along just fine so he went back to work lining up more customers for Jane's pretend tricks.

Caught up in the schmoozing and the ever-growing list of crossed-off names, he suddenly realized it had been a couple of hours since he'd last seen his favorite little princess girl. He needed to find her before she left, tell her he remembered her from work, and tell her how much he liked her costume. Just then he felt that familiar tug on his sleeve.

"Come on," Patricia giggled, "Let's go."

Grant could smell the alcohol on her breath. Obviously she'd spent a little money over at the cash bar. But he was glad to let her drag him out to the deck, especially when he noticed the cheeks of her ass creasing the back of her dress as if she was wearing no panties. Suddenly he felt rejuvenated, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He gripped her hand tighter as she looked back to flash him a blissful smile.

It was, indeed, a beautiful view out on the deck, with the lights of the city twinkling below like Christmas. That was one of the good things about living in the southwest - even at the end of October you could still go outside without a jacket.

"I live down there," she said dreamily, while pointing nowhere in particular.

"So do I," he added, feeling the relief of having someone to talk to without having to pretend like he was a pimp. As they gazed out at the magical view, he felt Patricia's arm snaking around his waist.

"I've been wanting to meet you for the longest time," she admitted, looking up into his face. "But I'm shy, and the only way I can meet a guy is when I'm drinking. Can you tell that I've been drinking?"

"Not really," he lied.

"Do you want to go for lunch sometime?"

"I'd love to," he responded, noticing that when the angle was right he could see down her cleavage for a peek at her stiff nipple.

"Cool," she grinned, making him feel guilty for checking out her tit. But what a fine tit it was. In fact, her whole body was perfect; pointed tits, round ass, just on a smaller scale. He laughed to himself, thinking about how an old friend of his called girls like that 'spinners'. It made him curious, looking at Patricia, imagining what it would be like to make love to her. Finally he put his arm around her, casually, almost like it was an accident.

"I do remember you," he said, peeking at her tit again, "You've got a cubicle in the corner. Your hair's usually up in a bun, and you wear big, thick glasses."

She gave him a hurt look. "Please don't make fun of my glasses. You'll ruin the moment."

"I'm sorry," he stammered, noticing her furrowed brow. "I just wanted to tell you that I remembered you, and that..."

"And that you like me?" She gazed up at him with such devotion, such surrender, he had to catch his breath.

"Yeah," he confirmed while feeling the blood rushing to his face.

"I've always liked you Patricia."

They stood there at the railing, side by side, and it occurred to Grant that this could be the beginning of something big - not just a little fling, but the kind of thing that could last. He'd never in his life felt so at ease with a woman, and yet so in awe and excited. Suddenly, Jane and her prostitute routine seemed tacky in comparison to Patricia's intriguing innocence. He let out a sigh, pulling her petite body closer to his. He was trying to get his nerve up for an attempt at a kiss when she turned and grabbed his hand.

"Come on," she announced bravely, lurching past him. He followed as she led him down to the end of the deck.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed at her aggressiveness.

"It's this," she said, stopping in front of him. They were behind a huge potted shrub, where no one could see them. "I picked out this dress especially for you." With those spoken words she gave her shoulders a little shrug and the dress floated down around her ankles like a sheer white lacy parachute.

He gasped at the site of her naked body, her small firm tits with the stiff pink nipples, her slender waist and boney hips, her smooth flat tummy, her furry little puff of bush.

"Kiss me," she commanded.

She threw herself up against him, grabbing his hand and clamping it onto her firm ass. She arched her back while trying to reach his face with hers. Her small breasts tickled his chest as their lips met.

They melted together, the pimp and the princess, kissing like it was their wedding night. She ground her mound up against him. He felt his dick expanding, nudging up against her quivering body. Her little hand snaked up under his shirt and onto his bare back. He let his fingers slide deeper under her ass cheeks, until he could feel the heat emanating from between her legs. Just as her dainty fingers found the head of his dick, his beeper went off.

"Patricia!" he gasped, visualizing Jane in extreme peril, perhaps with some gargantuan ape-man manhandling her in the back bedroom. "Stop. I can't do this."

"What?" she screeched, shoving him away. "Aren't my tits big enough?" She snatched her dress off the deck, trying to find the straps at the top, but it was all tangled up.

"It's not that," he said, standing there helplessly watching while she fumbled with her princess gown. "It's Jane."

"You fool," she snapped in a voice steely and cold. "She's just using you but you're too blind to see it." She flung the dress over her head, smoothed her hair, and looked him straight in the eye. "I give a guy one chance. You just blew yours. Happy Halloween, asshole." She stomped off, leaving him standing there with the sweet taste of her strawberry kiss still on his lips.

He watched her as if he was watching a movie, detached, emotionless. It was like his heart had been stolen from his chest, replaced by Jane's beeper. He wondered if perhaps this dazed feeling was some kind of protective mechanism, like going into shock during a car wreck. He had certainly made a wreck of this evening, falling under Jane's spell and then letting Patricia sweep him off his feet.

The strange part was, even with the rational knowledge that he and Patricia had made a true connection, he still was inexplicably tied to Jane; her bouncing breasts, her swiveling hips, her lipstick smile trapping him in another world. It was like she was his destiny and there was nothing he could do about it.

He gave Patricia a moment to disappear into the crowd before hurrying back inside, anxious to see why Jane had beeped him with her panic button. Was she already beaten to a pulp, bleeding to death in the back bedroom? He rounded the corner into the kitchen and there she was, leaning up against the wall of the hallway, munching on a pretzel.

"Hey baby," she grinned, grabbing his arm. "Let's go." She turned back down the hall.

"What about the panic button?" he whined, feeling cheated and relieved at the same time.

"Oh that? I couldn't find you, but you're here now."

"Is everything okay? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, baby. Chill out. Remember, I told you if you'd be my pimp, I'd make it worthwhile? Well hon, it's payday."