Unemployment sucks. It's been sucking for damn near a year now, and my benifits are about to run out. That's the only reason I'm even going to this interview. The job itself is worthless. I'm a CPA ferchrissake.
I arrive on time at Midland MicroAssembly inc. Personelle escorts me immediately to the CEO's office suite.
The secretary has luscious pouty lips all done up with bright red lipstick. "Ms. Fenton will be with you shortly," she says. A big, block-lettered name plate announces that this scretary's name is Beth. Her light brown hair is in two braids that drop down, one over each tit. And, oh, how I'd have love to sweep those things aside to see if her nipples show through that tight, stretchy tube-top she has on. But this certainly isn't the time or the place, so I just wait and pretend not to look at her.
"You may go in now, Mr. Abelton," she says, getting up and opening the door for me. I walk in. Beth shuts the door behind me.
Ms. Fenton is a slight woman with short dark hair that has a gray streak through it. She wears an expensive looking navy blue skirt and blazer combo. The blazer has a jewel encrusted butterfly pinned over her left tit, which, like the right, would fill no more than a champagne glass. I can't see her legs as she is behind her desk.
She slips on a pair of wire-rimmed and motions me to sit down. She doesn't even offer to shake my hand.
"Abelton -- Abelton -- I've got your resume right here. You last worked for Windham Commercial Credit, right?"
I nod.
"And that ended eleven months ago. It seems you got yourself terminated for being a worthless sack o' shit."
"I beg your pardon," I reply.
"Oh, I always call former employers, especially when they're close business associates of mine. Let's see -- you spent more time running the office football pool than you did at your work, and then there's the little matter of your sexually harassing poor Ms. Brisbane."
"Well, I guess I won't waste any more of your time," I say, getting up to leave.
"Sit down, young man," she commands. "First, show some respect. You will address me Ms. Fenton, or Ma'am, or both, and you won't interrupt me. Second, the only person allowed to draw conclusions in this office is me. You'll do just fine, Abelton. You're a little overqualified, but I can use you. You'll start immediately. Beth will get you your W-2 and show you to your desk. The rules are simple around here. You do what I say. If Beth tells you to do something, it's the same as me telling you. Got that? And if you so much as lay a finger on her, you'll hear from my attorney before she even has time to yelp. We clear?"
"Yes Ma'am."
Her steely eyes squinting through those glasses are burning holes through me. And the rest of her face looks like an icecube. If my life weren't about crumble like a moldy pound cake, I'd tell that bitch to shove this job up her tight little ass. But I need the work. The wife might even speak to me again if I come home tonight and tell her I'm employed.
"You may go." she says. I rise and back out of her office.
Here's what the job is: accounts payable. That means paying the bills. Any idiot could do it. I just write the checks and keep a ledger on my computer. The bitch seems to know how much money I'll need each week, and it magically appears in the checking account.
Beth has given me a desk across the hall from hers. When I lean over I can see those red lips and round tits. All day she's doing her nails or putting on mascara or smearing more red lipstick over those lips. It's a good thing this job doesn't take much of my time. I spend most of it daydreaming about having a big red ring around the base of my dick.
The nineth Friday into this job and things are going well. I've got my mortgage paid up and I'm working on paying off the credit card.
The wife actually got naked for me last night -- first time in six months. And here at work, the bitch says I'm doing a great job. Says if I keep it up she might even move me up to payrole. Whoop-dee-doo.
But Beth is driving me nuts. She wore this short little skirt today with irridescent blue stockings underneath, and a V-necked lacy silk top that shows lots of cleavage. I just know there's nipples sticking through under those braids. She comes over to my desk this morning with a handful of bills and stands there drinking coffee out of a white mug. It has a big red stain on the rim.
And those thighs. I could eat them right now, stockings and all. She steps to my side and stares at my computer screen.
"I wanna get one o' these things for my home checkbook," she says.
