Executive Pantyhose

The office smells of oak and quiet sex. Dana DeArmond sits knees-together, listening while Mona Wales names the price of the job. Salary, insurance, parking – each item wraps another demand around the conversation like silk ropes. "I like to see exactly what I’m buying," Mona says, calm as a board meeting. Dana stands, heels silent on the carpet, and peels her blazer off. Blouse next. Skirt. Panties. Naked under fluorescent light, she turns slow circles so Mona can inspect every curve and hidden seam. Mona taps her pen against her lip. "Bend and spread." Dana plants her palms on the cool glass table, chest lowered, ass lifted. The first slap lands with a clean crack; the second follows to the same sting; by the fourth, her skin is glowing pink and Dana’s cunt shines wet between parted cheeks. Mona walks around, slips two fingers in without warning, curls once, then slips them out, tasting the sheen. "You taste serious. Keep that posture while I open the benefits package."